by Cindi Myers
She checked the closet—his suitcase still stood there. He’d left his spare change and a handkerchief on the nightstand, though he’d taken his wallet, phone, and gun. Of course, he couldn’t venture out without those necessities.
Some part of her knew David was in trouble. Her mind came up with a dozen scenarios to explain David’s absence, and none of them were good. He hadn’t gotten caught in a long line at the restaurant, stopped off to gamble, or simply left. Charlie and Victor, or someone even worse, must have waylaid him. Or maybe Tommy, angry about their fight, had sought revenge.
Nothing on the list of possible actions she might take gave her much hope either. She could call the FBI in Chicago—if she could find the number—and demand they help David, but why would they listen to her? She couldn’t remember who she’d talked to the other night. If she reached the wrong person they’d probably never believe her crazy story.
She could contact the local police and report David missing. Descriptions of mob thugs and undercover operatives coupled with the fact that she’d married David when she’d known him all of five minutes weren’t likely to lead them to take her seriously.
Instead, she voted for wandering the Strip, starting with the Hard Rock. If she saw Charlie or Victor or even Tommy, she’d demand to know what they’d done with David. If she made a big enough scene, they might even tell her what she wanted to know.
On the theory that two sets of eyes were better than one, Laura called her sister. “Where are you?”
“We’re at Slots and Shots at the Lucky Diamond,” Rachel shouted into the phone over loud seventies disco.
“Slots and Shots?”
“JELL-O shots and penny slots. It’s a blast. And the shot guys are smokin’ hot.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“Come on down!” Rachel giggled and hung up.
Laura pocketed her phone and headed to the hotel lobby, where she stopped a passing hotel bellhop. “Where’s the Lucky Diamond?” she asked.
“Just down the street. You going to Slots and Shots?”
“How did you guess?”
He shrugged. “That’s the reason most women go there.”
She was still two doors away from the place when the music drew her in. Flashing neon strobes and a relentless bass line overwhelmed her senses. A bare-chested man in black leather pants stopped her before she’d taken more than two steps into the place. “Twenty bucks buys you a wristband that entitles you to all the shots you want,” he said.
“I don’t want shots. I only came to find my sister.”
“You want to go any farther inside, you need a wristband.”
“All right.” She dug a twenty from her wallet. She still had most of the money she’d won playing blackjack. If she had to spend all of it to find David, it would be worth it.
Rachel and her friends sat at a bank of slot machines, their attention riveted on a man in very tight jeans, leather chaps, and a cowboy hat who gyrated on an elevated platform behind the slots. Laura slid onto an empty stool.
“Rachel, we need to go somewhere where we can talk.”
“We can talk here.” Rachel handed her a quarter. “Put that in your machine. They’ll run you off if you’re not playing.”
She fed the quarter into the slot machine and spun the reels. Nothing.
“What flavor would you like?” Another half-naked man stood before them. Bottles hung from a leather holster slung low around his hips, and he carried a tray of brightly colored gelatin shots.
“Lemon cream pie for me,” one of the bridesmaids said.
“I’m partial to Sex on the Beach,” Rachel said.
“And you, miss?”
Laura realized the guy was addressing her. “Nothing for me.” She turned back to the machine and fed in a few more quarters. That seemed to satisfy him. While Rachel and the others giggled, flirted, and drank, she watched the slot machine reels spin and come up empty every time.
“What is wrong with you?” Rachel demanded when the waiter had wandered off in search of fresh customers, or maybe more JELL-O. “This is Vegas! You’re supposed to be having fun. Instead, you look like you’re at a funeral.”
“I’m looking for David,” she said. “He’s disappeared.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. He hasn’t disappeared.” Rachel threw back the contents of the shot glass in her hand and pressed the button to spin the reels of the slot machine. “Oh, look, I won a dollar!”
“I can’t find him,” Laura said. “I was hoping you’d help me look for him.”
“He’s just off with those business associates of his,” Rachel said. “We saw them together earlier.”
Her heart thumped harder than the music’s bass line. “Who was he with?”
“The two burly guys in bad suits. Honestly, they look more like extras in some straight-to-video mafia movie than successful businessmen.” She laughed. “They probably thought that’s how they needed to dress to fit in in Vegas.”
She grabbed Rachel’s arm. “Where did you see them? When?”
“Let go! You’re hurting me.” Rachel pulled away and rubbed her arm. “Seriously, you are no fun tonight.”
“I’m sorry.” She took a deep breath. No sense upsetting Rachel. “Please—tell me where you saw David and these men? How long ago?”
“I don’t know how long ago. We were coming out of dinner and we saw them up ahead. They were getting into a Hummer stretch limo. I noticed the car first, then realized it was David. Come to think of it, they must have some money to afford a ride like that. Though I bet you can rent one. You can rent anything here in Vegas.”
Her stomach twisted at the thought of David being driven away by Charlie and Victor. Would they take his body out to the desert to dump it, or hold him somewhere and question him first? She shuddered.
The music increased in volume, and the young man in front of them danced faster. He definitely had good moves and an impressive body, but the only man she wanted to see was David. But how was she going to find him? The music switched again—Roger Daltrey of the Who singing about the pinball wizard.
Tommy! Tommy would know where David was—or he could find out. But she could end up in a lot of trouble going to see him. Maybe he’d changed his mind about testifying. Maybe he’d turn her over to his father.
But she didn’t have a choice, not if there was a chance that talking to Tommy could save David. But how to get in to see him? He was probably staying at Planet Hollywood with the rest of the Zacolli “family,” but he wasn’t likely to open the door to her. So she had to find someone he would open the door for.
The dancer in front of them did a handstand, showing off impressive muscles. All around her, women screamed their appreciation. Crazy, how inspiration could strike out of the blue. Hadn’t David said something about Tommy having a thing for male dancers? She opened her wallet and took out one of the crisp one hundred dollar bills she had left over from her winnings. She waved it at the dancer and beckoned him to lean close. “What time do you get off?” she asked.
He looked her up and down, then at the hundred again. “I get off at nine. What do you have in mind?”
“If you meet me in front of Planet Hollywood at nine-thirty, I’ll give you two of these. All you have to do is knock on a hotel room door for me.”
He considered this then nodded. “Okay. What should I wear?”
“As little as possible.”
…
Laura’s first obstacle to carrying out her plan was figuring out where Tommy’s rooms were located in Planet Hollywood. The front desk was unlikely to give out the information, but there were other ways of finding out. On the way to the hotel she stopped at a florist and bought the largest, gaudiest flower arrangement she could afford. The orange bird of paradise, green zinnias, and some purple flowers she couldn’t identify were set off with curlicues of metallic ribbon and glitter-spangled ferns. Carrying her purchase awkwardly in front of her, she made her way to the front desk. “
I have a delivery for Mr. Tommy Zacolli,” she said.
“We’ll see that it gets to him.” The desk clerk relieved her of her burden.
“It’s important that he gets it right away,” she said.
“Of course.”
She moved away and a few minutes later a bellman arrived to take the flowers. Keeping out of sight of the desk clerk, she followed the bellman onto the elevator. At the thirty-fifth floor she exited and turned the opposite way from the bellman, striding purposefully down the hall. But she ducked behind the first large potted plant she came to and turned in time to see him knock on the door at the end of the hall.
After the bellman left, she made note of the room number and returned to the lobby to wait for the dancer, Rob. She explained what she wanted and rode up in the elevator with him, but hung back while he knocked on the door. Dressed in a black leather vest and tight leather pants, he was certainly an eyeful—and he clearly caught Tommy’s eye. “Hello.” Tommy opened the door and all but batted his eyelashes at his visitor.
“Hello,” Laura said, as she slipped in behind Rob.
“Hey! What are you doing here?”
At Tommy’s cry, two burly men rushed toward Laura. Her heart went into a polka rhythm, and she forgot how to breathe, but she managed to raise her hands and squeeze out a few words. “I’m not armed and I don’t mean you any harm. I just wanted to talk for a few minutes.”
Tommy scowled at her. Strips of white surgical tape criss-crossed his nose, and both his eyes were black. She wondered what would happen if she passed out from fear. “All right,” he said. “I’ll give you five minutes.”
“What about me?” Rob asked. She had almost forgotten he was in the room. She’d paid him in advance. “I really need to be somewhere else.” Anywhere else, probably.
“Give me your card.” Tommy held out his hand. Rob hesitated, then dug a card from his pocket and handed it over. Tommy smiled, which still didn’t make him attractive. “I’ll give you a call.”
Rob left—maybe to go change his phone number—and one of Tommy’s goons took her purse and rifled through it while the other man searched her. Or rather, he felt her up, squeezing her boobs and her butt as if he thought they might contain plastic explosives. She thought about telling him he needed to work on his technique but opted to keep her mouth shut.
When the goons pronounced her weapons-free, Tommy dismissed them. He sprawled on an orange leather banquette in the center of the room but didn’t invite her to sit. “What do you want?” he asked.
“David is missing. I think you might know where he is.”
“David was making a pest of himself, and my father doesn’t like pests.”
The words chilled her, as if her blood had turned to ice water. “David and I came to Vegas to get married and have a little honeymoon,” she said. “He ran into some business acquaintances—I guess it really is a small world. I know the two of you had a fight, but that doesn’t warrant kidnapping him.”
“Who said anything about kidnapping?”
“My sister saw David being escorted by those two thugs—Victor and Charlie. He wouldn’t have gone with them willingly.”
“He broke my nose.” Tommy gingerly touched the tape.
“And you blackened his eye and busted his lip. I’d say the two of you are even.”
Tommy’s grin surprised her. “My old man was pumped about the fight. Said I must have plenty of testosterone running through my veins after all.”
“Couldn’t you tell your father David is harmless and he should let him go?”
Tommy’s smile vanished. “Nobody tells my old man what to do.”
This is where Laura Nichols—the schoolteacher who went out of her way to please people and never made waves—would give up and go away. But Laura Abruzzo had too much at stake to leave now. She moved closer, and lowered her voice. “Tommy, David was just trying to help you,” she said.
“What? By cleaning my clock?”
“No. By getting you out from under your father’s thumb. Your dad doesn’t give you much credit, does he?” She was guessing—she hoped the guess was right.
“My old man thinks I’m a loser.”
“But you could be a hero. You could live life on your own terms.”
“In Chicago?”
“Or San Francisco or Houston or here in Las Vegas—wherever you want. But you need David on your side. Please…talk to your father. Convince him David is harmless.”
He sat up, arms folded across his chest. “Why are you so interested, anyway? You with the Feds too?”
“No, I’m with David. I love him, and I want him back.”
“You took a big risk coming here tonight. Those two—” He jerked his head toward the door where his two bodyguards had retreated. “One word from me and they’d be happy to take you out in the desert and dump your body. Send a message, you know? In our family, we believe women should be seen and not heard.”
She thought she might throw up right there on his polished black shoes. “Love is worth taking risks for,” she said softly. “One day I hope you’ll find that kind of love for yourself.”
The lines along either side of his mouth deepened. “I’m not making any promises, but I’ll see what I can do. Now you’d better leave.”
“Thank you.” Tears blurring her vision, she fled toward the door, but she only got as far as the foyer.
The door swung open, and Frank Zacolli smiled at her, a smile with no mirth behind it that twisted her stomach into a hard knot. “Good evening, Mrs. Abruzzo,” he said. “I’m very pleased to see you. You’ve saved me the trouble of sending someone to look for you.”
Tommy hurried to join them. “I was going to call you and let you know I had her,” he said, his face flushed.
“I’m sure you were.” Zacolli moved further into the room, forcing Laura to take a step back.
“Wh…why would you want to see me?” She swallowed, trying to control the trembling in her voice.
“Joseph, please help Mrs. Abruzzo with her belongings,” Zacolli said.
One of the muscular men who walked in behind Zacolli stepped forward and slipped the strap of her purse from her shoulder. “Excuse me, but—” she protested.
“Now, now. You need to be quiet.” Zacolli wagged a finger, as if scolding a naughty child.
Joseph rifled through her purse, extracted her cell phone and camera, and handed them to his boss. “No weapon?” Zacolli’s eyebrows rose. “I’m pleased.”
He tucked the phone into the pocket of his jacket and switched on the camera. His expression darkened as he flipped through the photos.
Laura suppressed a squeak. The pictures she’d taken of Cassandra’s stuffed cat—and the money inside—were on that camera. Not the sort of photos one would expect from a woman on her honeymoon.
Zacolli switched off the phone, his expression impassive. “I think it’s time you and I had a long talk,” he said.
…
David had had some close calls before, but this might be the closest. He sat on the floor against a wall, his arms tied behind him so tightly he could no longer feel his hands and someone’s dirty handkerchief stuffed into his mouth. Charlie and Victor had brought him here over an hour ago and turned him over to a beefy, quiet man who reminded David of a bear—big, dumb, and almost as hairy. The man hadn’t said one word since David’s arrival, though he occasionally took out a Glock and rubbed his thumb across the engraving on the barrel, which he always pointed right at David.
Victor and Charlie had been much more talkative when they found David on the street. They’d let him know that Zacolli didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him. In Zacolli’s world, if a man wasn’t a friend, he was an enemy, and Zacolli was used to dealing with enemies. They’d spent some time impressing this on him, trying to persuade him with their fists to tell them what he was really up to. Despite a black eye, bruised kidneys, and some battered, if not broken, ribs, he’d kept his mouth shut, and they’d decide
d they were wasting their time. He figured the goons had stuck him in this suite at Planet Hollywood with Yogi Bear until it was dark enough for a drive out to the desert—where no one would find his body for a very long time.
At least Laura wasn’t here with him. He only hoped that for once she’d stay safely put and wouldn’t come looking for him. Zacolli’s beef was with David, not her, so she ought to be safe. In the meantime, he figured he had about half an hour to work his way out of his bindings, get past Yogi and whatever other guards Zacolli had stationed on this floor, and then out of Vegas altogether.
Right. Piece of cake.
The door opened and Laura stumbled into the room, one of Zacolli’s thugs behind her. Her hands were tied in front of her, and her eyes were wide with terror above her gag. David wanted to throw up, but all he could do was thump his feet against the carpet in frustration. Forget saving his own hide—he had to save Laura.
She moved over beside him, her eyes filled with concern now, as well as something like an apology. He shook his head. She didn’t need to apologize to him. This was all his doing. He never should have trusted Zacolli to leave her alone.
“Time to go for a ride,” the new goon, who wore a diamond stud in one ear and a soul patch in the middle of his cleft chin, said. “Mr. Zacolli thought you might like to see the desert.”
David grunted, groaned, and shouted against the gag. He sounded ridiculous, but it had the desired effect. Yogi jerked the handkerchief from his mouth. “Someone needs to take my wife to the bathroom,” he said. “Or she’s going to be sick.”
They all looked at Laura, who, to tell the truth, was looking a little greenish. She did her best to imitate someone on the verge of vomiting.
“He’s bluffing,” Soul Patch said.
“You want to take the risk of her barfing in your car?” David asked. “Or all over your shoes?”
Now all eyes went to Soul Patch’s shiny patent leather half boots. “I’ll take her,” he said, and grabbed Laura by the arm. She cried out, and David made a mental note that Soul Patch would pay for that.