Crouching low behind the top tier of seats, she had meticulously worked her way around the Arena. I saw her pausing to peer over the seat back in front of her. Twenty-five feet and she would make her escape.
Putting my two pinkies in the corners of my moth, I let loose an ear-piercing whistle. Security whirled. And, as I’d banked on, Molly stopped in her tracks, ducking down.
I pointed to the nearest pair of guards and motioned to close the distance. They pulled their guns and moved immediately, following my hand signals. A couple of pros. Thank God.
My momentary satisfaction evaporated.
Hurdling seats, Molly bounded toward the Arena floor.
Crouching, one guard squeezed off a couple of rounds.
Without pausing, and not taking time to aim, Molly shot back, peppering the Arena.
The rapport of rapid-fire hit me like bullets to the chest.
Molly kept going. Metallic clicks sounded. Out of ammo, she threw away the gun. Then with one hand, she grabbed a rope hanging from the lighting grid high above. Hand-over-hand, she pulled herself higher and higher.
Darkness swallowed her.
“Damn!”
Without conscious thought, I kicked off my shoes. Running, I leapt on the ladder bolted to the wall near me. Rung by rung, I climbed as fast as I dared, shutting my eyes to the growing distance between me and the ground. Fury drove me. Time slowed.
At the top, on hands and knees, I felt the vibration of someone running. Hands on the side rails, taking a deep breath, I forced myself to my feet. Following the hollow ring of footfalls, I ran.
The thin metal grid shook violently with each stride.
God, let this thing hold.
Aware of Security and police streaming into the Arena below, I shouted into my walkie-talkie, “Don’t let anyone up here. This thing wasn’t designed to hold much weight. Just secure all the ways down.” I repocketed the device without waiting for a reply.
Scanning ahead, I again looked for movement, something passing in front of a light… anything. Twenty strides, nothing. Then I saw it. A shadow. Not more than fifty feet. Bolting out of the darkness heading in my direction. Then stopping.
For a fraction of a second, Molly’s eyes met mine. Then she turned and ran. One hand on the rail, she threw herself around a ninety-degree turn. Stumbling briefly, she regained balance and darted. I ran after her.
Following her shadowed outline, I paused only to make the sharp corner around a turn. Then another. The catwalk shook as I pounded after Molly. I tried not to think about it.
Even though she had a head start, I could sense I was closing the distance between us.
I slipped around a turn, recovered, then ran after her. Fifteen feet. Ten feet.
Suddenly, Molly skidded to a stop and whirled. Before I could react, she threw an elbow at my head. Bracing, I ducked to the side. Her elbow glanced off my jaw. Momentum jackknifed me over the waist-high rail. My stomach lurched. Hands grabbed for the rail. Too late.
My body slipped into space.
Chapter Nineteen
ONE last lunge.
My hand brushed metal. My fingers grasped the narrow tubing. Pain forced a cry as my shoulder took my weight. How I held on, I’ll never know.
Summoning more strength than I knew I had, I twisted until my other hand closed around the railing. Like aftershocks, the tremors of Molly running reverberated through the metal and down my arms.
Pulling, I tried to get a foot onto the catwalk. Strength failing, my arms shaking, I tried again. This time my foot found a purchase. Using my legs, I pulled myself back to safety.
Head down, adrenaline overriding fear, anger fueling my muscles, I found my footing and ran. The vibrations grew louder, more pronounced, as I bolted through the darkness. After finding all the exits guarded, Molly must’ve turned back.
Trying to quiet my ragged breathing, I stopped and listened. Yes, she headed this way.
Glancing over her shoulder, Molly didn’t see me until she was within no more than five or six strides. Skidding to a stop, her eyes wide, with fear or madness I couldn’t tell, she whirled. I ran after her. Closing the distance, I bided my time. Fifteen feet. Her breath coming in tortured gasps. Ten feet.
I leapt. Reaching.
Nothing but air.
I landed with a thud. My breath left me in a whoosh.
Seeing stars and gasping for air I rolled over in time to see Molly standing on top of the rectangular box suspended from cables. With a glance at me, and a self-satisfied grin lifting the corner of her mouth, she jumped, caught a ledge, then pulled herself through a trapdoor in the ceiling.
Still fighting for my wind, I looked at the full length and breadth of me. No friggin’ way would this body fit through that hole.
Damn!
“Help me out here, Jer,” I gasped into my push-to talk. Glancing down toward the floor, I said, “I’m over the orchestra section on the main entrance side, midway. She just disappeared through a trapdoor in the ceiling. I need to know where it goes and where she turns up.”
“You got it.”
***
Somehow, I had made it off the catwalk, reclaimed my shoes, and hit the main entrance to the Arena without killing myself—or taking any hostages—when Jerry’s voice came over the radio. “Lucky, your gal disappeared through an access port for the air-conditioning system.”
“Great. How far can she go?”
“Only ground floor. We’ve got the cameras positioned. When she reappears, my people will be all over it.”
***
By the time I fought my way to the casino, now filled with overflow revelers waiting to gain entrance to the Bondage Ball, I realized finding Molly Rain was going to be as difficult as finding the one burnt-out bulb that shorted out a whole tree of lights. Not only was the hotel as full as a Hong Kong ferry, almost everyone was in costume, their faces masked.
After getting an update on Jeremy, Marik, and Romeo—all had refused to go to the hospital and were treated and released by the paramedics—I wandered the ground floor of the hotel, waiting, hoping for Molly to reappear.
The festive atmosphere, and several hundred near-naked people did little to improve my mood. Usually I enjoyed the creativity people showed in fashioning a costume out of two scraps of cloth, elastic, a piece or two of fake fur, spray paint and various colors of plastic wrap, but not tonight. However, a bodybuilder painted red, with horns on his head, a forked tail, his privates nestled in a red banana bag, did turn my head.
As luck would have it, Dane caught me mid-oogle. Instantly my hormones hit high alert—an involuntary reaction—and one I immediately squelched. Right now I had way more trouble than I could handle. And one thing I knew for certain about Dane: The man was trouble with a capital T. Or maybe it was Temptation with a capital T? Who knew? Either way, my life was messy enough as it was.
“Enjoying the show?” he asked, his lips close to my ear, his breath warm on my cheek.
“Parts,” I replied, as I watched the devil’s perfect backside until the crowd swallowed it and its owner.
“We seem to have a lot of devil’s tonight.” Dane had followed my gaze and was now treating me to a delicious, wry grin.
“Aren’t we lucky?” Sometimes even I can’t resist.
“Molly hasn’t reappeared?” Dane grasped my elbow and gently steered me toward the lobby.
I eased my arm from his clutches. I really didn’t like being maneuvered, no matter how subtly. “Not yet.” I resisted the urge to check with Jerry one more time. “But she can’t live in there forever. And when she shows… ” I left the sentence hanging, the implication clear. However, truth be told, I had no idea what would happen when she left her hiding place, but my bravado sounded good, so I went with it.
Dane was wise to my shtick, but he let me get away with it anyway. I liked that about him. He checked his watch. “The Houdini Séance ought to be gearing up here in a minute. Are you going?”
“I’ve
got ringside seats.” I reversed course and headed back toward the Arena. “Care to join me?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
This time when he took my elbow, I went willingly.
***
In the Arena the seats were filling rapidly, eerie music wafted from the loudspeakers, and a curtain now formed a backdrop to the previously exposed stage. Like mortar between bricks, excitement filled the empty spaces, joining each of us as spectators to the spectacle to come. That was the magic of the theatre: the anticipation, the expectation of a remarkable show, of entertainment, of delight. And it was particularly true of magic shows. I’d seen more magic than any human should, but I was still enraptured and amazed. And, if things played out as I thought they might, tonight would be perhaps even more memorable…if I really was lucky.
Dane and I followed the other patrons as they filed down a set of stairs, tickets clutched tightly, looking for their seats. Instead of a ticket, my employee badge got us past the ticket-takers, but not without curious stares. I guess I did look a bit worse for the wear. Hastily, I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to get the knots out. Rubbing under my eyes, and pinching my cheeks, I knew wouldn’t help, but the familiar routine helped calm my nerves.
My clothes were filthy—I didn’t even bother brushing them down. My shirt was torn and stained with a dab of dried blood where the bullet that took a chunk out of Jeremy had grazed my shoulder. My shoes were now the color of the water in the storm drains, stained with God knew what. I closed my mind to the possibilities as a shiver of revulsion chased down my spine.
Who knew, when I chose my outfit today, brown would prove to be the perfect choice?
I clapped a hand over my mouth, swallowing the absurd giggle threatening to escape.
Dane shot me a worried glance as, shoulder to shoulder, we took the stairs two at a time.
“I’m held together with masking tape and baling twine, but I’ll get through it,” I assured him, hoping my words carried the conviction I didn’t feel.
A shiver chased down my spine as I glanced at the catwalk high above. I’d come so close. I could still taste the bile in my throat. Today had definitely been a hazardous duty day.
And it wasn’t over.
Reaching the floor, we joined the security personnel who formed a cordon around the stage. Shading my eyes against the bright lights and looking back up into the audience, I could just make out the security folks dotting the Arena—Jerry must have called in everyone on the staff, bless him. A killer was not going to kill again. Not in my hotel. Not if I had any say in it.
In addition to covering all the bases, Jerry had Mr. Mortimer under lock and key, which was good. But it bothered me that Security had not been able to locate Dr. Zewicki, Danilov, Crazy Carl, or Dr. Jenkins. Bart Griffin was on the air—at least he had been a little while ago—but that was little comfort, he could be transmitting from anywhere, or he could have recorded the show earlier.
As I scanned, hoping to find a familiar face or two, I was overcome with the feeling I was standing at the harmonic convergence, the epicenter, of something really bad. And I’d always wanted to be in the center of the action. What had I been thinking?
The lights dimmed and, with the exception of a few whistles and catcalls, the crowd quieted.
When the lights came back up, I turned my attention to the stage and realized, if the threat came from the audience, from the darkness beyond the lights, we were screwed. “Dane,” I whispered, leaning into him.
He bent his head down to mine, but said nothing.
“What do you think about heading up higher?”
His eyes lifted to the catwalk overhead. “Vantage point might be better.” With that, he melted into the darkness.
The crowd cheered as Marik, transformed in a clean black pirate’s shirt and tight pants, appeared, limping only a little. Without a word, he launched into his disappearing pachyderm routine. It wasn’t really appropriate for a séance, but I guessed it was the best he had ready, and I didn’t think the well-oiled crowd would mind. From the cheers and the ooohs and ahhhs, it seemed I was right.
My attention half on the crowd, the people I could see anyway, and half on the stage, I let my mind freewheel, hoping something would hit me, something wrong, something out of place. It was an old trick from my days wandering the casino floor looking for trouble.
After Marik completed the whole elephant routine to raucous applause, he cleared the stage, preparing for the séance. The lights dimmed. After a few moments of shadowed figures scurrying on the stage, the lights once again brightened, revealing nine candelabras, each holding a large, round candle, and ringing a large oval table in the center of the stage. A steaming cauldron sat in the center of the table—which I thought was a bit of overkill, but what did I know? A young woman dressed in a long black robe lit the candles one by one.
The stage now aglow in candlelight, the young woman disappeared and six cloaked figures filed onto the stage, hoods shrouding their faces. One stepped forward and lifted his hood, letting it fall down his back.
Marik.
“The lights are nine,” the magician said. “Three times three.”
The crowd was so quiet I almost believed they had disappeared.
“We are six, two times three,” Marik intoned, as he motioned for the others to reveal themselves and take their places at the table.
I closed my eyes and dropped my head. I could identify each of the five helpers—Zewicki, Danilov, Jenkins, Griffin…and Carl, under a sheen of sweat, a wildness to his eyes. Talk about hiding in plain sight. Why didn’t they just paint a target on the guy?
I felt like radioing Romeo, who I knew was nearby, to come arrest the lot of them. But for what? I’d be damned, but I couldn’t think of a law they’d broken…yet.
Crossing fingers and toes, I prayed the fools had an ace up their sleeve.
With a gesture, Marik silenced the murmurings of the crowd. “Tonight, on the anniversary of the Great Harry Houdini’s death, we will try to summon his spirit,” Marik said, raising his arms as if beseeching the complicity of the gods… or Houdini. Marik had a wild look about him, his dark eyes intense, his face unsmiling, his hair loose, falling in a dark cascade over his shoulders, accentuating his feral features.
“What about Dimitiri Fortunoff?” shouted a voice from the audience.
“Yeah, he’s supposed to return tonight,” another voice joined in.
One hand to his chest, the other arm hanging at his side, Marik bowed to the crowd. “You ask much from this humble servant. But, perhaps, the spirits will be willing.”
That shut everyone up. You could hear a pin drop. Heck, even I was riveted, caught up in whatever was going to happen, as unable to alter its course as I was to change the path of a tornado.
Standing over his seated accomplices, Marik took his place at the head of the table. Raising his arms, he gestured and the rectangular object tethered high above us, began to descend toward the stage. All eyes watched its slow decent. Halfway down, the black shroud over it was pulled away, revealing a large, bronze casket.
I jumped at Romeo’s voice in my ear. “That’s Houdini’s casket. It was his last escape.”
“Before or after he died?” I asked only half-kidding.
Romeo snorted as he appeared at my side but didn’t say anything. Apparently, he thought I was being cute. That’s me, too cute for words.
“This one I know is a replica,” Romeo whispered. “Houdini was buried in the real one.”
“Convenient.”
When the casket reached the stage, Marik positioned it on a stand in front of the table. Opening it, he released latches on the outside, dropping the sides. All of us could see the bronze box was empty. Then he relatched the sides and motioned for Carl to stand and move forward.
Apparently Carl had been at rehearsal, as he shed his cloak and climbed inside the casket box.
Tempting fate in my book, but nobody asked me.
&
nbsp; Marik secured the lid then, letting his arms drop to his sides, his head fall forward, he motioned for his tablemates to join hands. When they had complied, he said, “Our beloved Harry Houdini, we bring you gifts from life into death. Commune with us Harry Houdini and move among us.”
Another cloaked figure appeared on the stage and moved behind Marik. If he was surprised he didn’t show it.
Even though I was close enough to see the magician sweat, I moved to get a better angle on the newest addition. Shorter than Marik, hooded and cloaked, it had to be Molly. When Marik flipped off his mike, I was sure of it.
I saw the glint of metal in Molly’s hand. A knife.
“Lift that thing back up to the catwalk,” she hissed. “I want Carl and I mean to have him.”
At that moment, a rapping noise sounded. Three knocks. They sounded like they came from the casket.
For a moment, Molly’s attention shifted.
Marik seized the opportunity. Knocking her knife aside, he grabbed her wrist. From her weak-kneed response, I could tell he was hurting her. The knife clattered to the stage. Two security personnel jumped onstage, grabbed her, and whisked her away.
It was all over that fast. And I think it took the crowd by surprise. They rustled like a herd of cows unsure of the coyotes in the darkness, not knowing whether to run or stay, so they remained rooted where they were.
The knocking sounded again.
Marik, his composure firmly in place, turned back to the audience.
No one moved. And, if they were like me, they weren’t breathing either. I turned to comment to Romeo, but he had disappeared.
Marik walked around the casket, then standing next to it, opened it with a flourish. Reaching in he grabbed a hand, helping the cloaked figure inside to stand.
The figure turned toward the audience. Slowly he raised both hands to the hood obscuring his face. Then, with one motion, he threw the hood back, revealing himself.
Dimitri Fortunoff.
For a moment time stopped.
Then the crowd roared and pandemonium reigned.
So Damn Lucky (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Book 3) Page 33