Lucky In Love

by Deborah Coonts

  As if he’d been waiting outside the door for his cue, Jeremy burst into the office. “Hey, Beautiful.” Offering Miss P a perfect yellow tulip, he leaned across the desk and bent to kiss her.

  With a soft smile, Miss P put a hand to the side of his face and met him halfway.

  “What am I? Chopped liver?” Apparently my words fell on deaf ears. When the phone rang, I reached for it. “Customer Relations, Lucky O’Toole speaking.”

  “Lucky, oh I’m so glad I found you.” Mona sounded out of breath.

  My heart tripped. “Are you okay?”

  “Me? Of course, don’t be silly. I’m here with one of the game show couples and, well, we have a situation.”

  “Of course we do.” Mona mixing with the reality folks... God help us all.

  “You don’t understand. They’re going to call the police.”

  That got my attention. “Where are you?”

  “Smokin’ Joe’s Sex Emporium.”

  Chapter Five

  Something about a trip to Smokin’ Joe’s just screamed for a Ferrari.

  Maybe I was feeling sorry for myself. Maybe I needed a pick-me-up. Maybe I just needed a dose of the real world. Who knew? Who cared? A simple phone call was all it took to strong-arm the dealership into letting me put my ass in some of their class.

  A new F430 Spider, top down, awaited me at the valet stand when I hurried through the front doors, dodging the crowd surging in. Red, of course, with a tan interior and enough wow-factor to make grown men weak with envy. I traded a twenty for the keys from a wide-eyed kid in an ill-fitting uniform, who drooled as he eyed the gleaming machine. “I agree,” I said, as I slipped into the car through the door he held open for me.

  He closed it with reverence. “Is it as great as I think it is?”

  “Superb in every way.” Well, except for the fifteen-hundred-dollar oil change and the fifteen-thousand-dollar service at eight thousand miles. I didn’t bother to bring those up—they would be mere trifles for those plunking down close to three hundred grand to buy the thing anyway.

  I pushed the start button and the engine growled to life, lifting my spirits. Easing it into gear and away from the curb, I pushed my worries to the side. There was something so freeing about strapping on almost five hundred horses and kicking them into a flat-out gallop. Crossing the Strip, I took my time—I didn’t need to turn a couple from Peoria or somewhere into a hood ornament. Hanging a left, I hit the on-ramp for the I-15. Powering through the paddle shifters, I reveled in the visceral joy of speed. The wind whipped my hair, stinging my cheeks with its bite.

  Smokin’ Joe’s was barely far enough to lift my spirits. A right off the 15 onto Trop, straight a few blocks, and then I wheeled into the parking lot. Flashing lights and squad cars were conspicuous in their absence—either Mona had forestalled the call to Metro or I’d beaten them there. Either way, the absence of cops simplified my problems dramatically.

  I probably knew more about Smokin’ Joe’s xxx Video Parlor and Sex Emporium than any well-adjusted person should—a fact that worried me when I allowed myself to think about it, which wasn’t often. A full city-block long, Joe had cobbled together an incredible assortment of toys, costumes, magazines, and videos with one purpose—to launch libidos. To hear tell, he was enormously successful. Heck, even I had an account there. Before you leap to the obvious conclusion, I used to buy videos for Mona’s bordello in Pahrump... before she’d found legitimacy.

  After making one circuit of the parking lot, I angled the car across two spaces far from neighboring cars then levered myself out of the low-slung vehicle. It was still early, and the hookers had yet to man their posts on the street corners. But with cocktail hour easing into dinner hour, they’d be along soon. Not that I was overly concerned.

  Mona lurked inside the front door. She pounced when she saw me. “Lucky, don’t be mad. I did what I thought you would do.” She ran a shaky hand through her hair as she took a shallow breath, and looked at me with eyes that seemed a bit haunted. “But the woman came at him like a banshee! Blood went everywhere. You know how a head cut can bleed. Joe freaked. He wanted to call the cops, but I convinced him you would be a better choice.”

  I took her arm and led her over to a swing that hung from the ceiling. “Mother, sit a minute. Can I get you water or something?”

  She shook her head as she eyed the swing. “I’m all right. And, honey, I am not going to sit in that. It would be so... undignified.”

  Pointing out the obvious indignity of the whole scenario unfolding would be lost on Mona, so I didn’t waste my breath. “You said there was blood?” I could handle most anything—through the years I’d been spit on, vomited on, had countless beverages thrown at me, but I really wasn’t all that keen on blood. Although I’d been know to spill some of it myself, when circumstances warranted.

  “The woman, she was fast. She laid open a three-inch gash on his temple.”

  “With what?”

  “One of Joe’s high-end toys. I had no idea dildos could be inlaid with real gold and diamonds and stuff, did you?”

  “I’ll cop to the Fifth on that one.” I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or to run. “Why don’t you give me a few details?” I glanced around and the furor seemed to have died down, so I assumed the guilty parties were sequestered under Joe’s watchful eye. Better to go in prepared, so I took a minute to grill Mona.

  She took a deep breath, smoothing the pleats in her broom skirt, arranging the turquoise belt that rested on her hips, nipping in the peach silk tunic. The gold sandals were a nice touch. She glanced toward the rear of the building before she started in. “I was having breakfast by myself in Neb’s when I overheard the couple at the next table discussing, well... things.” She glanced at me through lowered lashes then looked away. “I really didn’t mean to interfere.”

  “I understand.” She looked genuinely concerned, so I took pity on her—usually not wise, but I had nothing to lose. How much worse could the day get? Besides, I just had to keep the lid on until tonight’s taping of the final installment of The Forever Game. The audience and the judges would vote, we’d have a winner, and I’d have my life back, such as it was.

  “Anyway, the long and the short of it was, they apparently had broken one of their own toys and were looking to replace it. I offered to introduce them to Joe.”

  “It was the least you could do.” I bit down on a grin.

  “Right.” Mona stood a bit taller—I think she even preened a little bit. “Anyway, how was I to know the woman with him was not his fiancée?”

  Somehow this little tidbit didn’t rock my world. Dealing with interesting choices was part of my job description. “And the fiancée?”

  “The dildo-wielding banshee.” Mona looked at me matter-of-factly, with her hands on her hips, like a teacher ratting on a student to the principal.

  “With all this bed-hopping, Viagra missed an incredible promotional opportunity.” I grabbed Mona by the elbow and spun her around. “You’d better take me to them. We just have to prevent homicide until eight p.m. After that, they can kill each other during prime time for all I care.”

  “The ratings would go through the roof.” Awe infused each of Mona’s words.

  “And add a dose of reality to reality tv.”

  We’d made it past the toy display and the private viewing booths when a thought hit me. “I’m not that great at math, but it seems to me there were three of them and two of you. Did you and Joe stop the bloodshed all by yourselves?”

  “With a little help from Detective Romeo.” Mother glanced at me through narrowed eyes, reading my pulse. Apparently she deemed it safe to continue. “When I couldn’t get hold of you... that brings up a point, why does Teddie keep answering your phone?”

  “I left it at home, and he’s untrainable.”

  “They all are, honey. Remember that.” My mother shot me a look that saw right through me. Thankfully, she didn’t belabor the point—a first for her. “As I was s
aying, when I couldn’t get you, I called Romeo. Told him to keep it on the qt. He calmed everyone down.”

  “Yes, a man with a gun can have a chilling effect. You did the right thing.”

  This time I know she preened.

  Detective Romeo, my ally in the Metropolitan Police Department, had a knack for making the right decisions despite his lack of experience. The fact that he was a bit older than he appeared—he looked all of twelve—also weighed in his favor. Today he sported his ever-present rumpled overcoat, a creased suit that looked like he’d slept in it, probably for good reason, a tie loosely knotted around his thin neck, and a wilted shirt. He wore his sandy brown hair shorter than the last time I’d seen him—he’d probably grown tired of trying to tame his cowlick. The short hair looked good on him, framing his open face, blue eyes, and mischievous smile—which grew wider when he saw me. “About time you showed up.”

  “I learned long ago it’s best to let someone else do the heavy lifting.” I squeezed his shoulder, feeling bones. Not good. “If I time it right, when I show up there’s nothing left to do but take the credit.”

  “You’ll have to teach me how to do that.” Romeo reached into his inside coat pocket and pulled out his notebook, which he flipped open. “We got one Walker Worthington in Booth Three over there.” He pointed behind me. “He’s going to have a pretty good shiner. And he could probably use a few stitches, but he refuses. The lady”—he pointed to another booth on the far side of the room—“popped him pretty good.”

  “Really? With what?” Call me ugly, but I just had to jerk his chain a bit. Hey, I got my jollies where I could, not that it made me proud.

  “This.” Romeo’s face turned bright pink when he held up the weapon: a gold-inlaid, diamond-encrusted penis, which gave a whole new meaning to rough. He must’ve punched a button or something because the thing started vibrating and flashing lights through the jewels. “Someday, you’re going to have to explain why this is so... ”

  I held up my hands, stopping him. “Barking up the wrong tree, my friend.” I shook my head as I eyed the battery-operated boyfriend. “Even I have no explanation for... that.”

  Mona heard her cue. “Oh, well, I think I can explain it. You see, women, because of their anatomy—”

  “Not necessary, Mother,” I snapped.

  “Perhaps another time,” Romeo added, a red flush coloring his cheeks.

  “Well.” Mona pouted. “You don’t have to get so huffy.”

  Romeo started to comfort her, but I waved him off. Playing into her little games only made things worse.

  “Which lady popped our banker with the penis?” Briefly, I wondered if my counterpart at a Four Seasons property in some wildly exotic location, like Cairo or something, had my particular set of problems. How many times in the average day did they have the opportunity to say penis in public? Not many, if I ventured to guess. It would almost be worth putting myself in the crossfire of political strife to avoid ever having to trot out that word.

  A door crashed open behind us. “I hit the lout.”

  At the sound of the high-pitched voice, our heads swiveled as if pulled by the same string.

  Buffy Bingle. I’d read in her profile that she liked to watch cartoons. Today, in a skimpy little red dress with her assets on display, and carrying a purse shaped like a little white dog, which could double as a stuffed animal in times of crisis, she was reading from the Betty Boop book of fashion. Her blonde hair had been gathered in two knots, one protruding from each side of her head. I think Mona had done my hair like that... once... when I was six.

  “Why the penis?” I don’t know why I asked that. I guess I needed a moment of self-flagellation.

  “Because it was the only thing within reach.” Ms. Bingle looked at me like I was severely iq-challenged. She wasn’t far from the truth.

  When I glanced at Romeo, he looked at me with wide eyes and a blank expression, clearly trying not to laugh.

  “Why did you hit him with it?”

  “Because he already had a stick up his butt.”

  Romeo snorted, and she whirled on him. “You think this is funny?”

  “No, no. Of course not.” He straightened and tried to wipe the grin off his face, with little success.

  “All of you think this is funny.” Buffy/Betty wilted. “Men. Why’re they always doing their thinking with the wrong head?”

  “Mother?” I turned to Mona. “I believe it’s your turn.”

  As I knew she would, Mother stepped up and put an arm around Buffy, leading her to the side. This was in her wheelhouse—I’d lost count of all the young women my mother, the Madam, had saved from a life in the sex trade. I know, she’s a walking contradiction. It’s one of her charms.

  “Okay, let’s go tackle the others.” I stepped aside for the young detective to move by me. “Lead on, McDuff.”

  Smokin’ Joe himself stood guard in front of Booth Three. A tall, thin Native American man, with dark hair, sad, soulful brown eyes, and tats covering every square inch of skin visible below his rolled-up sleeves—he even had m-o-m tattooed on the three middle fingers of his left hand, one letter on each finger—Smokin’ Joe reminded me of an addict either just out or on his way back in. He had trust issues and didn’t play well with others, but he’d taken a shine to me, which worried me a little. “Man, Lucky, what’re you bringing your low-rent clients here for?” He grinned a half-toothless grin, which shocked me. Normally a dour personality, he’d never smiled in my presence before.

  “Thought I’d give them a taste of hangin’ with the highbrows.”

  “They could do worse.” He stepped aside and opened the booth door for me.

  Walker sat in a low, cushioned chair with Vera on his lap, holding an ice pack to his right eye. A movie played on the screen, but I made a point of not looking at it, although the two of them seemed engrossed.

  “Well, you two are certainly taking this whole ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’ thing to heart, aren’t you?”

  At the sound of my voice, Vera pushed herself off of Walker’s lap, then reached a hand to help him out of the deep chair. Neither looked embarrassed, nor did they offer any explanation. Walker kept the ice pressed to his face. Blood, dried to a brownish hue, crusted the left side of his face. A stain—looking like a darkening red tie—marred the front of his beautifully tailored white shirt with his initials in blue on his right cuff.

  “Looks like you two put more than your heads together.”

  That cracked Walker’s reserve. “What?” He lowered the ice pack, revealing the start of a nice shiner plus a long red gash across his temple that disappeared into his hairline.

  “That’s what you told me you were going to do, the last time I saw you.” I moved in to get a closer look at him, squinting my eyes in the darkness. “Shouldn’t you get that sewn up or something?”

  “It’ll be fine,” he growled.

  “I wouldn’t want to explain it either.” I stood and looked him straight in the eye.

  “A bit messy, I admit.” To his credit, a little bit of color rose in his cheeks.

  “A wee bit,” I agreed.

  Vera stepped into the abyss. “We’ve always enjoyed each other’s company—we do have so much in common, a shared value system. We’d just been denying the obvious.”

  “Interesting attestation in a sex toy store, but hey, common ground is a wonderful thing.”

  Vera eased closer to Walker and clutched his arm.

  “Your timing sucks, but I’m happy for you, truly I am.” I fought with myself—I really wanted to shoot them and put them out of my misery. But idiots were probably out of season, and justifiable homicide was so tricky to prove. “I hate to throw a blanket on the fire, but we have the little issue of a televised contest tonight... with your respective betrotheds. Remember?”

  Reality dumped on their heads like a bucket of ice water.

  “What exactly do you propose we do about that?” Walker asked.

 
; “Well.” I looked at Vera. “I’ve saved your stones once today already.” I expanded my gaze to encompass both of them. “I’d say I’ve done my job. How you two play it from here is up to you.”

  * * *

  As darkness settled over the valley and the lights of Vegas worked their magic, I actually felt fairly happy with how the day had turned out—I hadn’t killed anybody, and all the couples had been delivered to Trey Gold for pre–prime time primping. We’d patched up Walker as best we could; the make-up artist would have to do the rest.

  As luck would have it, the final show was to be broadcast live from Siegfried & Roy’s Secret Garden, behind the Mirage. Yes, the moveable feast had decamped; the Babylon’s responsibilities were officially over.

  Ella found me standing in the lobby. I must’ve looked a bit the worse-for-wear as she said, without preamble, “Those contests folks are nutcases.”

  “Is that a technical term?”

  “A professional diagnosis, dumbed-down for you lay people.” Once again, she used her inside voice—the second time in as many days. She must be coming down with something. “The whole thing has left a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “Dysfunction on display.”

  Ella gave me a slight smile. “Welcome to my world.”

  “You and I occupy different sides of the same street. On my side, we just pretend everything is fine.”

  “You can’t hide there forever, Lucky.”

  “Watch me.” I spied Teddie as he rounded the corner and waved.

  “Hope it doesn’t bite you on the butt.”

  Teddie grabbed me, pulling me close. “If anyone’s biting you on the butt, it’s going to be me,” he murmured, before he covered my lips with his.

  The man took my breath away. When he righted me, my thoughts had tumbled. I knew there was a witty response in there somewhere, but I’d be damned if I could find it.

  “How’re you getting to the Mirage?” he asked. “As one of the judges, I have to get going. Want to head over with me, ladies?”