Plum Lucky

by Janet Evanovich

“I called him earlier.”

  I’ve known Joe Morelli all my life. I know his family, his friends, his history. I know his sexual tastes, his favorite sports teams, his shoe size, his pizza preferences, his iPod playlist.

  I’ve had to judge Ranger and Diesel on actions and attitude, and touch. Rangers touch is firm. He feels comfortable assuming authority. Diesel’s touch is surprisingly gentle. I think Diesel is afraid he’ll leave a bruise.

  “Can you make a quarter of a million on this game?” I asked him.

  Diesel shrugged. “Hard to predict how a game will go. I’d have preferred something with higher stakes, but this is what Snuggy found for me so I’ll do the best I can.”

  The door behind the registration desk opened, and Briggs walked out with an envelope in his hand. He gave the envelope to Diesel and answered his cell phone.

  “I’m on my way” Briggs said into his phone. He listened to something said on the other end, and he giggled. “Gotta go,” he told us. “Don’t wait up.”

  Caesars Hotel and Casino was a couple blocks north. The Boardwalk was lit, but beyond it was black ocean and sky.

  The surf surged onto the beach and whooshed away, sight unseen, and mist swirled around overhead lights. I found an elastic scrunchie in my bag and tied my hair back into a ponytail before it frizzed out of control.

  “The game is in a high roller suite,” Diesel said. “The suite was occupied this afternoon, so I wasn’t able to get in, but it probably has a living room area where you can hang out. Stay away from the poker table and stay awake. I’ll be John Diesel, so remember to call me John.”

  “I thought you were just Diesel?”

  “Not everyone is comfortable playing cards with a guy who has only one name.”

  The casino and shopping pier were in front of us. Professionally illuminated palaces of hope and recreation. Diesel steered me toward the shopping pier.

  “We need to glam you up a little,” he said. “The jeans are okay. The sweatshirt and sweater have to go.”

  “How about you? Are we going to glam you up?”

  “No. I’m the hedge fund guy who’s so rich he can wear whatever the hell he wants.”

  “And I’m...”

  “You’re the bimbo.”

  Fortunately, since I was born and raised in Trenton, I’m good at selecting bimbo clothes. I found a little white T-​shirt that had sweet thing written in sparkly pink glitter across the boobs. It was a size too small and was cut low on the top and sat an inch above my jeans to show maximum skin. I covered it with a black leather jacket that coordinated with my black-​and-​white Converse sneakers. I added some extra eyeliner and mascara, and I was ready to rock and roll.

  Diesel smiled when I walked out of the dressing room. “If I didn’t have to save a horse, I’d marry you.”

  “I’m not surprised. I always had you pegged for the bimbo type.”

  “Saves time,” Diesel said.

  We left the shops and crossed the Boardwalk to the casino. The gaming floor was similar to Daffy’s. Substitute statue of Caesar for Big Brass Dog. Even on a weekday in March, it was packed. Colored neon pulsed around the room. Slot machines clanged and dinged. We went directly to the bank of elevators.

  Minutes later, we were in the suite. The guy who answered the door was young. Early twenties. And big. Over six feet and bulked up with steroids. A rental goon hired to serve as doorman. The suite was luxurious, with an ocean view. Not much to see but black glass at this hour, but in the morning, it had to be spectacular. Five men were already seated around the poker table. They were all in their fifties. All overweight from booze and excess. They looked like carnivores. They studied us with mild curiosity.

  Diesel nodded to them. “John Diesel.”

  “Diesel, like an engine. Are you a train engine or a truck engine?” one of the guys asked.

  Diesel just smiled. Diesel heard that a lot.

  “I’m Rocky,” the guy said. “Who’s the lady?”

  “Stephanie,” Diesel said.

  “Hedging your bets in case you drop out early?”

  “Brought her along for luck,” Diesel said.

  He gave me a light kiss on the top of my head and took his seat at the table. I got a soda from the bar and got comfy on the sofa. It was a big overstuffed affair with lots of throw pillows. Fresh flowers on the glass-​topped coffee table. A plate of fresh fruit. There was a full buffet set out on the sideboard.

  An hour later, I was still perched on the couch, watching the game. It had taken on a rhythm. Cards were dealt. Chips were moved. Not much was said. Diesel was looking pleasant, playing under the radar, staying in the game but not making a splash. I’d thought he’d be playing a role by now. Maybe drinking a lot or looking nervous. Instead, he’d chosen to almost disappear. It was a no-​smoking room, but three of the men were smoking. One was smoking a cigar. No one objected. Diesel had a rum and Coke in front of him, but he’d only sipped at it.

  Two of the six players had dropped out by midnight. Diesel and Rocky looked about even. The man to Diesel’s left was sweating. His name was Walter, and he’d lost beyond his comfort zone. He laid his cards down and was done. He stood and left. Didn’t look at me.

  From my distance, it was hard to tell how much money was involved. Diesel and Rocky were the only players still working from their original stake. All others had added. Some had added a lot.

  Diesel looked around at me. “Are you doin’ okay, sugar?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’m fine. Are you done soon?”

  “Hard to say.”

  “Maybe we want to up the ante now that we’ve separated the men from the boys,” Rocky said to Diesel. And he pushed his chips into the middle of the table.

  The guy opposite Diesel scraped back in his chair and stood. “Too rich for me. I’m out.”

  Diesel counted his chips. Not enough. “This is too bad because I have a real good hand, but I’m short. I tell you what. I’ll throw Stephanie into the pot and call you.”

  I jumped off the couch. “What?”

  Rocky looked over at me. “I guess she’s cute enough. What’s the deal?”

  Diesel leaned back in his chair. “What do you want? The night? Twenty-​four hours?”

  “The night. I’m flying out in the morning.”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” I said. “You can’t bet me in a poker game.”

  “I’ll buy you a new car tomorrow,” Diesel said.

  “What kind?”

  “What kind do you want?”

  “I want a Ferrari,” I told him.

  “Forget it. I’ll buy you a Camry.”

  “Lexus.”

  “A used Lexus.”

  “No way,” I told him.

  Diesel took another look at his hand and at the money on the table. “Okay, I’ll get you a new Lexus.”

  I bit into my lower lip. I was pretty sure Diesel knew what he was doing. I mean, he cheats, right?

  “How good is your hand?” I asked him.

  Diesel shrugged.

  “She’s kind of a pain in the ass,” Rocky said.

  Diesel rocked back in his chair and studied me. “She grows on you. Anyway, she’s the best I’ve got to offer right now unless you want to take a check.”

  “What the hell,” Rocky said. “What have you got?”

  Diesel laid his cards on the table. “Straight flush. Jack high.”

  “Beats me. Four of a kind. All kings.” He gave me the once-​over for the second time. “Just as well. She’d probably give me a heart attack. She looks like a lot of work.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

  “Don’t get your panties in a bunch. I’m just saying.”

  I had my purse hung on my shoulder and my shopping bag in hand. I was ready to go. It was past my bedtime, and I was pissed off that everyone thought I wasn’t such a great prize. All right, so I’m no Julia Roberts, but I had a nice nose, and I’d tweezed my eyebrows two days ago.

&n
bsp; Diesel pocketed his winnings and moved to the door. “We should do this again sometime.”

  “I’m pretty sure you were cheating,” Rocky said, “but I don’t know how.”

  “I was lucky,” Diesel said.

  The rent-​a-​goon let us out and watched us walk to the elevator. We stepped in, and Diesel hit buttons for the fourth floor and the lobby. We got off at the fourth floor and took the stairs.

  “Just in case,” Diesel said. “Walter looked like he was going to shoot himself, but he might have changed his mind and decided it would be more satisfying to shoot me.”

  “How much did you win?”

  “A hundred and ten thousand.”

  “That’s a lot of money, but not enough.”

  “Delvina doesn’t want to kill the horse. He wants his money, and I’m hoping he’s smart enough to understand that half of something is better than all of nothing.”

  When we got to the second floor, Diesel took the service elevator to the ground level, and we exited through the kitchen. The staff didn’t seem all that surprised. Probably people sneaked out like this all the time.

  “Now what?” I asked Diesel.

  “Now we go back to Daffy’s and get a room.”

  “Two rooms.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What do you mean there are no rooms?”

  “There are four major conventions in town,” the desk clerk said. “I’ve been calling around all night, trying to find rooms. If you want a room, you’ll have to go off the Boardwalk.”

  It was almost one o’clock. Going off the Boardwalk at this hour in Atlantic City didn’t sound like a good idea.

  “We can drive back to Trenton and be home by two-​thirty,” I told Diesel.

  Diesel had his hand at my back, moving me away from the desk. “Do you have a car?”

  “No. We came in Lula’s car, and Connie borrowed it to take the FTA back. Don’t you have a car? How did you get here?”

  “You don’t really want to know the answer to that question, do you?”

  “Do you think we could rent a car?”

  “Not at this hour, but I could borrow a car,” Diesel said.

  “You mean steal a car?”

  “Stealing implies permanence.”

  “Grandma has a suite. We can crash there for the night and find a way to get back to Trenton in the morning.”

  We took the elevator to the fourteenth floor, stepped out into the hall, and saw Lula sprawled on the carpet in front of Grandma’s suite. She was changed out of the fancy gold outfit, and she was wide awake, flat on her back with a pillow under her head.

  “And?” I said to her.

  “And I can’t sleep, is what. I got my big photo shoot first thing in the morning. I need my beauty rest, and I can’t sleep with your grandma snoring. I’ve never heard anything like it. It’s not normal snoring. I tried to get my own room, but there’s no rooms left.”

  “Where’s Snuggy?” Diesel asked.

  “He’s still in there.”

  The door to the suite opened, and Snuggy lurched out. “I can’t take it anymore. I need sleep.”

  Lula was on her feet. “Me, too. What are we gonna do?”

  “Let’s kill her,” Snuggy said.

  “Works for me,” Lula said. “How you want to do it? Smother her with a pillow?”

  The elevator dinged, and Briggs hopped out. “What’s everyone doing in the hall? And what’s that disgusting sound? It sounds like King Kong with a sinus infection.”

  “It’s Grandma snoring,” I told him. “We haven’t got any place to sleep. The hotel is full, and no one can sleep with Grandma. Where do you sleep?”

  “I sleep in the RV. I just came back to make sure everything was okay here.”

  Lula’s eyes opened wide. “I bet the RV has lots of room. It probably can sleep lots of people.”

  “Five,” Briggs said.

  “We’re five,” Lula said. “Imagine that. We’ll just fit in that sucker. Where is it?”

  “It’s in a lot next to the garage.”

  “I’m there,” Lula said. “Lead the way, and hurry up. I can feel bags growing under my eyes.”

  We followed Briggs to the lot and filed one by one after him into the RV.

  “We can’t turn too many lights on because no one’s supposed to live here,” Briggs said. “This is just a lot for hotel parking. I have a little battery-​run lamp that I use.”

  Briggs switched the light on, and we all squinted into the dimly lit RV. It looked like at one time it had been a big, boxy Winnebago, but that was a while ago. It had been modified by exterior paint and patch and a complete interior retrofit.

  “What the heck is this?” Lula said. “Everything’s teeny tiny. Look at this itty-​bitty chair. It looks like dollhouse furniture. How am I supposed to get my ass in this chair?”

  “This RV was owned by a little person,” Briggs said. “It fits me perfect.”

  “I feel like I’m in Barbie’s camper,” Lula said. “Where are we supposed to sleep?”

  “There’s the couch here in the front, and then there’s two bunks in the middle of the RV, and there’s a bedroom in the back with a double bed. That’s where I sleep.”

  “The heck it is,” Lula said. “Do you have a photo shoot in the morning? Hell, no. Get outta my way.” Lula bustled into the bedroom and slammed the door shut.

  Diesel looked at the bunks. “These are only four feet long.”

  “Plenty of room for me,” Briggs said, rolling into the bottom bunk, pulling his curtain closed.

  Snuggy looked at the top bunk. “I guess I could just about fit.” He climbed the ladder, settled in, and closed his curtain.

  Diesel was hands on hips. “That leaves the couch for us, Sweet Thing.”

  “The couch is five feet long and maybe a foot and a half wide. Your shoulders are wider than that.”

  Diesel kicked his shoes off and stretched out on the couch, one knee bent, one foot on the floor. “You can have the top.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  I shut the light off, got rid of the sneakers and leather jacket, and maneuvered myself onto Diesel, breast to chest, my knee wedged between his legs. “Am I squishing you?”

  Diesel wrapped his arms around me. “No, but it’d be good if you don’t make any fast moves with the knee.”

  “Oh, cripes,” Briggs said from his bunk. “You two aren’t gonna get romantic out there, are you? This is a family RV.”

  “If I thought there was a chance for romance, I wouldn’t be worrying about her knee,” Diesel said.

  Stephanie Plum 13.5 - Plum Lucky

  Chapter 6

  I was jolted out of a sound sleep. Without thinking, I tried to roll over, and Diesel and I fell off the couch and crashed to the floor.

  Diesel was halfway on top of me. “Earthquake,” he murmured. “Where am I? Thailand? Japan?”

  “Atlantic City.”

  “Am I drunk?”

  “No. You were holding on to me, and I rolled us off the couch.”

  The door to the bedroom burst open, and Lula stormed out in the gold supermodel outfit. “What time is it? Am I late? Did I oversleep?”

  Diesel checked his watch. “Its six-​thirty.”

  “I’m supposed to be at the photo shoot first thing in the morning. What does first thing in the morning mean?”

  I dragged myself up to my feet and realized I was still in the little sweet thing T-​shirt, but I wasn’t wearing a bra. “What the heck?” I said, looking down at myself.

  Diesel pulled my bra out of his back pocket. “You were uncomfortable.”

  “How did my bra get off my body and into your back pocket?”

  “One of my many special talents,” Diesel said, handing the bra over to me.

  “I gotta go,” Lula said. “I got a room number where I’m supposed to show up, and I’m just gonna go wait.”

  Briggs st
uck his head out of his bunk. “It’s the middle of the night, for crissake. I’m trying to sleep here. Do you mind?”

  Diesel sat on the couch to lace his boots. “I’m hungry. I’m going in search of breakfast.”