“Perhaps you should’ve thought of that earlier,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“How much?” Davis set his drink down and reached for his wallet. “I’ve got fifty grand here. That’ll stake you the boy somewhere else.” He thought he saw a softening at the mention of the boy. “You don’t want the kid to get caught in the middle of this, do you?”
“You want to buy me off like some cheap whore?” Her posture rigid, she didn’t move.
“Oh, you’re anything but cheap.” He gave a rueful chuckle as he shook his head. “I’m being nice now, Eugenia, but it won’t last. Trust me, you don’t want to make me angry.”
“Don’t threaten me, Davis. You don’t hold all the cards. Seems to me that you have more to lose than I do.” When he opened his mouth to answer, she held up her hand, stopping him. “My son is out of your reach. I’m not afraid of you.”
Davis Lovato moved to loom over her. “You should be.”
July 2012
Las Vegas
Detective Romeo found me in my office trying to jump-start the day with my second cup of coffee. Too much Wild Turkey, too much skipping down Memory Lane, too much Teddie and his friggin’ song—it popped up all the time on the radio feeds around the property until I felt like running for cover . . . or shooting the pompous little songbird. My head was fuzzy, my skin sallow, my smile wan and my heart heavy. Not my best morning. Not that morning was ever my optimal time.
“You seen your father around?” Romeo didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked uncomfortable. His eyes, normally clear and direct, refused to meet mine. “I can’t seem to find him.”
“Good morning, Detective.” I added a healthy dollop of vanilla-flavored creamer to my coffee—a new obsession—then took a sip. Too hot. As I blew on the steaming liquid, I looked at Romeo over the top of my mug. The dark suit was new. So was the tie. Hermes. Nice touch; it must’ve been a gift. His sandy hair was a trifle longer than normal. And his expression was a bit more grim than I was used to. “It’s early. I haven’t seen anybody. Why?”
“You might want to sit down.”
I gave him a dirty look. The kid knew full well that I could take whatever he could dish standing up. Turning and running was so much easier from this position.
He waited for a moment, then shrugged. “Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
My heart skipped a beat at the frisson of fear that jolted through me. My head cleared. As jump-starters, adrenaline outranked caffeine any day.
“You know that implosion?”
“The Lucky Aces, sure.”
“There was a problem.”
“What kind?” A tickle of fear drifted up my spine. What had my father said? Something about secrets at the Lucky Aces? To steady myself, I took another sip of my coffee. Better. Even though Romeo was trying to rain on my day, I just couldn’t work myself up to going to general quarters. Not yet, anyway. “The Big Boss hasn’t owned that property for years.”
“He built it, though. Right?”
“It was his baby.” The thought made me happy and sad at the same time.
“Well . . . ” Romeo paused. His eyes met mine and held. “We found skeletal remains in the foundation.”
I paused, my mug halfway to my mouth. “In the foundation?”
“Apparently the remains had been there since the walls were erected. I’d like to talk to your father.”
“I’m not sure I like where you’re taking this conversation.” No longer interested in my coffee, I set my mug down. “My God, anybody could’ve dumped a body in there. Back then, that practice was so common it’s clichéd.”
“All true.” Romeo pursed his lips as he stepped over to the wall of glass that provided a view to the lobby below. Crossing his arms behind him, he kept his back to me. “Still, I need to talk to the Big Boss.”
“I’m sure he’s not hiding from you.”
Romeo turned to face me. When he did, I saw the seriousness in his eyes. “I wouldn’t be too sure.” Romeo reached into his pocket, then extended his closed fist. He turned his hand over and opened it. “We found this next to the body.”
A ring. With the initials AR in diamonds.
#
Denny Mix had agreed to meet me in Teddie’s old theater. To be honest, I wasn’t really excited about being hypnotized, but I didn’t see any other option, especially in light of Romeo’s little bombshell. The first to arrive, I passed the time pacing from one side of the stage to the other. If Mona was right and I did know something else about the explosion at Jimmy G’s all those years ago, now was a good time to find out what it might be.
Denny came out from behind the curtain surprising me. A short man with an open, honest face, shaggy dark hair and a sincere smile, he wore torn jeans, a muscle shirt, and Converse high-tops. Even though he was not yet forty, the muscle shirt was a bad idea . . . especially considering the hair on his back. I stifled a shudder of revulsion—what was it with hairy men and muscle shirts?
“You alone?”
“No witnesses,” I managed to say with more glibness than I felt.
Denny brought a chair with him, which he placed in the middle of the stage, then motioned for me to sit. “This won’t hurt.”
Feeling totally out of my comfort zone, I took the chair, crossing my arms across my chest in a defensive reflex.
“Are you afraid?” Denny asked.
I thought for a moment. “No. Uncomfortable, but not afraid.”
“Good. Fear makes hypnosis impossible.” He squatted in front of me. “After your call, I did a little quick and dirty research on the event you mentioned.”
“The explosion when I was four?”
“Right. So I’m going to get you real relaxed and take you back.”
“You’re not going to make me bark like a dog or anything, right?”
He smiled. “Tempting.” At my stricken look, he sobered. “Kidding. This is serious, I know. We’ll leave the silly games for the paying crowd. You do know that this might not work; the jury is still out as to whether hypnosis can open the door to repressed memories.”
“It’s worth a shot.” I purposely hadn’t told him the latest particulars—the body, the ring, Romeo’s insinuations. Actually, I hadn’t told him any of the facts I remembered. I didn’t need Denny Mix to implant a memory that wasn’t there.
“Okay. Just relax. I’m going to talk to you, try to get you to really relax, work your way back in time. This won’t feel odd to you, really. Our brains go into what we call a hypnotic state several times a day. You’ll be present. You’ll be able to respond to me. The whole thing will feel normal.”
Not a chance in hell, I thought, but I didn’t say so. Instead, I added the rather insincere, “If you say so.”
“Close your eyes.”
I did as he asked and tried to relax, to let go. For once I was glad I hadn’t overdosed on caffeine.
“Okay, concentrate on relaxing your shoulders.” Denny’s voice took on a soothing timbre. “Good, you’re doing fine. Now your arms, relax them.”
I keyed on his voice, letting the rest of the world and my worries fall away. I felt myself relaxing. We worked out way down my body, focusing on relaxing the muscles.
“Now your breathing. Make it slow and deep.”
I took several deep, slow, conscious breaths as my mind drifted. As tired as I was, letting go was easier than I thought—my body, needing rest, overruled my fears. I let my mind wander back to that day long ago. Back to Jimmy G’s. I could see Mona. So young. So happy. Short shorts, her legs swinging as she sat on the stool sipping a Ginger Ale.
Mona fidgeted; she was nervous. The Big Boss was late. Unusual. She was worried. Funny how kids picked up on those subtle emotions so easily.
Then the bathroom. The bomb.
Fear. Then running. Mona pushing me toward the door. The light . . .
I was alone. Scared. Then Mother followed me.
But I hadn’t stay
ed outside. I’d gone back. Back inside.
Why? There was something else. Something important. The bathroom . . . the bomb with only tens of seconds left. Hurry. I crouched down. I knew what I’d come for. A bit of gold next to the bomb.
An earring? I’d grabbed it. Turned to run.
Then hands grabbed me. I looked up.
My breath caught. My eyes flew open. My hand clutched my chest.
“Oh my God!”
PART TWO
Chapter Five
July 2012
Las Vegas
“YOU were there.” I faced down my father.
He turned his back to me and stared through the wall of windows at the Las Vegas Strip as it unrolled at his feet. My father, Albert Rothstein, the owner of the Babylon, Vegas’s most over-the-top Strip property, flinched as I stepped in beside him, but he didn’t look at me. Normally a vital force, he seemed to lose wattage, shrinking in on himself like a dying star.
I wasn’t very happy with that analogy. Turning my back to my father, I squinted against the brightness as I took in the view. The sun drowned the neon—midday, not Vegas’s most magical time. To be honest, it wasn’t shaping up as my best time either. “At Jimmy G’s, right before the explosion. You were there.”
“I knew someday you’d remember.” His voice was emotionless, pragmatic.
“I went back inside. You grabbed me.” My voice caught. I couldn’t say the rest, but I remembered. “You saved my life.”
“Life is funny.” His voice hitched as he shook his head, then angled a quick glance and a fleeting one-sided grin my direction. His gaze steadied, capturing mine as he said, “It can change on a dime.”
“Why did you hide it?”
A flash of shock fled across his face, then was gone. If I didn’t know him so well, I would’ve missed it. “Hide what?” His voice was steady, the defeat in it a memory.
“You being there. None of the police reports, none of the newspaper articles, not one mentioned you being there.” I paused, trying to pull through my panic the facts Flash had told me. “In fact, you specifically told the police a phone call had delayed you.”
“That was the truth.” He turned back to the view out the window.
“But not all of it,” I pressed. I knew I had bits and pieces, but not every detail. I sensed there was something missing—something important, riding on the edge of my consciousness like a butterfly on the wind, floating just out of reach.
“What else do you remember?” he asked. I got the feeling he was trying hard to sound as if he didn’t care, wasn’t worried.
“Bits and pieces, but clearly not everything.” Vegas stretched toward the western horizon. My city, filled with magic . . . and secrets.
“It was a different time, Lucky.” My father ran his hands over his eyes as if trying to rub out the memories.
We both jumped, startled as the elevator whirred to life.
“Are you expecting anyone?” I asked.
“Probably just your mother. Mrs. Olefson invited her to lunch.”
Mrs. Olefson was nearing ninety and from somewhere in the Midwest. She’d lost her husband a few years ago, and time had dwindled her circle of friends until she had only her Maltese, Milo. The two of them had come to the Babylon and had decided to stay . . . permanently. So we gave her a nice, sunny room, and she became a de facto den mother, riding herd over our ragtag little bunch, but especially over Mona. Which, if I had any say, earned her a gilded throne and phalanx of handsome footmen in heaven.
“Those two, they’ve become thick as thieves.” I relaxed a bit, thankful for the change of topic.
“Hmmm.” My father’s thoughts were clearly elsewhere.
As the elevator doors opened, Mona charged into the room like a bolt of lightning—unbridled energy that attracted attention like an atom pulling in electrons. Today she wore pink, not one of her best colors. Her cheeks flushed to match her sweater, a loose-knitted tunic that hid her growing baby bump. She wore her hair collected at the nape of her neck with a few tendrils pulled to frame her face. Her eyes were big and worried. “Albert! Albert!” she called as she scanned the room. Spying us on the far side, she beelined in our direction.
She wasn’t alone.
Trailing one arm dramatically behind her, she hurried across the hardwood floors, her flats lacking the normal clackety-clack that heralded her arrival. “Detective Romeo wants to talk with you. I didn’t see any harm.”
My father calmed her worried look with a smile. “Not at all.” He turned his attention to the two cops who had ground to an uncertain stop in the middle of the apartment. “Come, gentlemen. Welcome.” My father motioned them closer.
Detective Romeo had been a total greenhorn when I’d met him not too long ago. Had it really been less than a year? Hard to believe. Now, his boyish face and sad blue eyes seemed to sag under the burden of death on a daily basis. I was glad to see that his cowlick at the crown of his skull still refused to bend under the weight of responsibility and sadness, even though his sandy hair held the hint of a recent combing. His normal jacket hung on his increasingly thin frame, making him look as if he were a boy who’d pulled his father’s coat from the hall closet. And he didn’t look happy, which was the first sign that this wasn’t a social call. My stomach tightened.
He stopped in front of my father. “Sir, I’m sorry.” His gaze flicked to me and, if possible, he looked even sadder. But, he squared his shoulders as if bracing for a storm and turned back to my father.
“You need to come with us.”
Las Vegas
1982
Terror seized Mona as she turned to see her daughter bolting back into Jimmy G’s. The bomb. No more time. “No! Lucky, come back!” Moving to chase after the child, Mona was a step too slow.
Hands grabbed her arms. “No, Mona. You can’t.” Jimmy G held one arm in a vise.
Gripped with fear, Mona struggled and pulled. When that didn’t break his grasp, she turned like a cornered puma, clawing, scratching. “Let. Me. Go,” she growled through clenched teeth. “You have to let me go.”
Jimmy ducked away but tightened his grasp. Another pair of hands grabbed her, helping. Male, strong, but Mona didn’t turn to look at the face. “No, honey,” Jimmy insisted. “The bomb . . . ”
A huge explosion ripped through the building. The concussion lifted them, then threw them to the ground. Mona landed on her back, Jimmy on top of her. The other guy had disappeared. Glass and splintered wood rained down. Instinctively, Jimmy covered Mona as best he could; she was twice his size.
Jimmy felt the heat of the flames before he heard the roar of the fire. He held Mona with the weight of his body.
Mona must’ve heard it, too. She pushed weakly at Jimmy’s body, most of her fight gone. “Let me up, Jimmy. I’ve got to find Lucky.”
Sirens sounded in the distance. He twisted around and watched the fire tear through the dry wood, consuming everything. “She’s gone, baby.” He wrapped Mona in his arms as she started to shake. There wasn’t anything else he could do. He felt the cool, wet trail of tears on his own face. “Damn that kid.”
The sirens grew closer. Fueled by gas from broken and twisted pipe, the fire grew into an inferno. The heat raked his skin like sharp needles of pain. Insatiable, hungry, the fire inhaled the oxygen, leaving Jimmy fighting for air.
Still cradling Mona, he worked himself to his feet, easing her upright as well. Her legs wouldn’t hold her weight, so he shouldered as much as he could. “Honey, help me. We have to move back.”
He’d managed to half-drag her to a safe distance when he thought he heard a voice. He paused, lifting his head, turning to try to catch the faint sound again.
“Mom!”
He waited, his heart stilled. Could it be?
“Mom!”
Yes, louder now. He didn’t imagine it. “Mona . . . ”
She straightened in his arms and whirled toward the voice. “Lucky?”
“Mom!” The kid came
whirling around the building as fast as her little legs would carry her.
A keening, primal sound escaped Mona as she knelt. Lucky launched herself at her mother. Arms wide, Mona clutched her to her chest, burying her face in her daughter’s hair.
Tentatively, Jimmy reached out and touched the girl’s shoulder. She was real all right. “Lucky, how the hell?” His fear coalesced into anger. “Why did you go back in there?”
Mona set her daughter on her feet but kept an arm around her. “Yes, why, Lucky?”
With one sooty hand, the girl brushed her hair out of her face. Ghostly pale under a fine layer of soot, Lucky looked at her mother, her eyes wet with unshed tears. Her lip quivered.
Mona stroked her face. “Honey, you’ve had quite a shock. But what possessed you?”
Lucky started to say something, then her eyes rolled back, and she fainted into her mother’s arms.
July 2012
Las Vegas
Memories. Weren’t they supposed to be our solace in old age? As I stared at my father, I realized how wrong that might be.
“Romeo, you can’t be serious. You’ve got nothing but some bones and a ring. Anybody could’ve put them there.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “A ring, with your father’s initials, in the foundation of his old hotel. A bit more than coincidence, don’t you think?”
“You really think the Big Boss’d be so stupid as to leave his ring there?” My voice ended the sentence an octave higher than when it began.
“Lucky,” my father said, his voice calm. “Don’t argue. I have a feeling your young detective here is following orders—orders he can’t refuse. Am I right?” He directed his question to Romeo.
“Yes, sir,” he answered, then brushed me off with an “I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands.” To his credit, he looked as stricken as I felt.
Lucky Now and Then (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure) Page 7