Sin City Goddess

by Annino, Barbra

  Stacy leaned in to me. “I have a message for you from Bill.”

  “Hickok?” Odd. Once a shade was rested, Hades rarely allowed them to travel ethereally. I supposed perhaps they knew the portals had been destroyed.

  She blew out a sigh, ran her fingers through her hair. “That would explain a few things, so, yes, let’s go with Hickok.” She pulled out a piece of paper. “He says to tell you all hell broke loose, but they’re handling it. They’re on lockdown now, no gods in or out, but the head honchos are trying to find a way to bring you home.”

  “Lockdown.” I shot a glance to Rumour. She raised an eyebrow.

  Stacy continued, “He said—and I quote—‘the funny filly told them everything, and the big guy is well guarded.’ I’m taking a stab in the dark that you know what that means.”

  The funny filly must be Thalia, the big guy, Hades.

  “Did he mention the name Charon?”

  Something flickered in Stacy’s eyes, like a key twisting in a lock. She gave me the oddest look for a moment. Then she shook her head. “He said don’t worry. Keep checking your messages for instructions.” She glanced back at her note. “Oh, he also said it looks like everyone is accounted for.”

  Everyone is accounted for. He must have meant the shades. The mortals. That was good news. A mortal soul escaped from Tartarus could well become a demon.

  “He also said ‘be aware’ or ‘beware’ of dead man’s hand. I’m not sure which.”

  I smiled at that. Our little joke.

  Stacy stood up. “I hope I helped.”

  “You did. Thank you, Stacy Justice.”

  She nodded and rushed off toward the man I had seen her with earlier.

  The table had filled up by then, so Rumour and I didn’t discuss anything that Bill had said. It would have to wait until later.

  After an hour and a half, I was up in winnings, but Rumour was on fire. Either she was incredibly lucky or she was bluffing her ass off. It was fascinating to watch. She treated every player at the table like her personal pawn. She sucked on a straw for one young man wearing a sports jersey, smiled innocently at the elderly gentleman smoking a cigar, stared down the woman drinking a beer, and relayed a face of stone to me whenever I was up against her. It was as if she could read all of her opponents’ personal fears, confidences, and insecurities at once. Not only that, but whenever a hand finished, she would tell these elaborate tales about where she was from (New York), what she did for a living (casting director), and how many children she had (three: Bobby, Joe, and Sarah). None of this, of course, was true.

  This was not just watching a good poker player learning her opponent’s tells. (A tell in poker is an unconscious tic that leaks information from one player to another.) This was a shark feeding on a feeble, lesser species and showing no mercy.

  This was her art form. Lying, it seemed, was Rumour’s gift.

  Fifteen minutes later, it was down to the two of us. I was short-stacked. She had a mound of chips.

  The dealer passed out the cards. I was holding a pair of tens.

  Rumour bet twice the blind. I called. The dealer flopped the cards: 6-8-9, off suit. I had an inside straight draw, needing only a seven. Rumour was the first to act, which put me at an advantage. Depending on the size of her bet, I could venture a guess as to whether she had flopped a straight or not. She could be holding a 7-10 or a 5-7. Or she could be holding a pair of deuces. There was no way to know.

  “All in,” she said, straight-faced.

  The dealer ushered in her chips.

  I lit the fire in my eyes, just to unnerve her. She sat back and glanced away, and I was certain she was bluffing.

  “I call.”

  The dealer scooped my chips toward him.

  We both flipped our cards over. When I saw what she was holding, I looked at Rumour, shocked.

  She had flopped a straight. Her cards were 7-10.

  The turn came, a jack, which gave her an even higher straight. The river was another six.

  I sat there staring at her with my mouth open. The dealer congratulated her, and she tipped him.

  “Don’t look so shocked, Tisi. I don’t always bluff.”

  I was so certain she had.

  “You don’t even know how to play poker,” I grumbled.

  “Oh, please, what’s to know? I can count, can’t I? If the cards are in order, then that means I win.” She stacked her chips into a tray.

  “What? No, that’s not at all how it works.” My fury twinged. How could I have lost to this ninny? How?

  We left the table and headed for the cashier’s window to exchange Rumour’s winnings for currency.

  “By the way, what did you tell the dealer to make him allow Stacy to sit down?” I asked while she was counting the paper bills.

  She folded up her winnings and put them in her pocket. “I told him she was off her medication and that you were her doctor. That you were keeping an eye on her until she came down from a manic state, and that if he didn’t want a scene, he should just let her speak with you a moment.”

  “That’s reprehensible,” I said.

  “It worked.”

  I couldn’t argue with that, so I didn’t bother trying. We discussed what Stacy had told me, what Hickok had told her.

  Rumour chewed her lip. “So, they are coming for us?”

  “Of course they are.” I gave her my portable telephone so that she could input her number into it. She did the same with her phone for my number.

  “Do you think they’ll make it in time? Before the eclipse? Before whatever is going to happen happens?”

  “Yes. I have faith in our gods.”

  Rumour sighed. “Okay. Keep me posted. I’m going to get some rest.” She told me her room number, and I gave her mine. She started off, and I spun around toward the Shadow Bar.

  “Tisi,” my cousin called.

  I turned back.

  “Just remember what I said, okay? Whatever it is, bluff. If you believe it, he will too.”

  I nodded. Rumour spun around to head toward the elevator.

  Chapter 47

  A cruiser was parked in the pothole-ridden lot of the complex. Normally he would be polite to the cops, ask them inside for a drink, invite them to dinner. He was smarter than they were, and he loved to screw with them. Loved the game of outwitting them. But he couldn’t risk that now. There was too much at stake.

  He saw the cops pounding on doors, although he doubted they would think to go to the basement apartment. It wasn’t even legal to rent; it was supposed to be a storage area. Jason had assured him he was living there off the books. He doubted the manager would risk his tax-free income over a busted-up statue.

  Still, he didn’t like the fact that they knew his borrowed identity and possibly even what his face looked like.

  Best to get the disguise now. Best to hurry things along.

  He turned on his heel and walked toward town. This time he did hail a cab, asking the driver to deposit him on the Strip.

  It didn’t take long to find what he was looking for, and he still had the money from the wallet he had found in Jason’s apartment. He tossed the ID card in a trash can just outside the shop. He selected his purchases quickly, careful not to look the clerk in the eye, paid for them, and left.

  He took his shopping bags and slipped into a bathroom at the nearest casino. He dressed with care, then shoved Jason’s clothes into one of the empty bags. After that, he pulled out the makeup kit and carefully applied the thick paint to Jason’s face until he was satisfied with the outcome. He adjusted the wig, took one last look in the mirror, and left the place, tossing the rest of the bag of Jason’s clothes, along with the empty bags in the garbage.

  He felt confident and comfortable as he walked the Strip. He even posed for a few pictures—free of charge, of course, just like the old days.

  Children rushed up to hug him, and he thought it was criminal that they were out so late and not in bed, dreaming of good things to c
ome. He obliged the little ones, of course, while cursing their parents under his breath.

  He continued on, toward his destination.

  Caesars Palace was abuzz with activity. He was happy to see the statue of the three broads roped off. He marched right up to the concierge desk and asked for an envelope and a piece of paper. He helped himself to a pen.

  He wasn’t worried about being spotted by the cops or anyone in his new disguise. It was perfect. He blended into the crowd easily, just another performer walking around Las Vegas.

  He saw her approaching a poker table. She was with another woman. One of them? He wasn’t sure. She didn’t look familiar. She was thin, with blond hair cut in a sharp line. They sat down and handed the dealer some money. He found a slot machine that provided the perfect camouflage while still allowing him to watch her. He put some bills into the machine and played for about an hour. Then, when it looked like her table was winding down, he wrote a note, licked the envelope, and sealed it.

  He wove his way over to the Shadow Bar and delivered the note.

  If he could play with the cops, he could certainly play with her.

  Chapter 48

  The Shadow Bar was vibrant by the time I made my way over there. The music was pumping, the dancers writhing behind the screens, as hues of blue, pink, and green flashed across the stage. Sam and another bartender were busy pouring drinks, flirting with patrons, and putting on a flamboyant show of tossing bottles back and forth to each other.

  I had to admit, it was entertaining.

  I finally managed to catch Sam’s eye after ten minutes.

  “Hi, Sam. Any news for me?”

  “Actually, yes.” He turned to reach beneath the cash machine. He pulled out a long white envelope. It was addressed to me. The envelope was sealed.

  “Is this from our friend?” I asked.

  Sam scratched his head. “I don’t think so.”

  I cocked an eyebrow at him. “What do you mean, you don’t think so? Was it him or not?”

  “I didn’t take the note. Bret did.” He pointed to the other bartender, who was busy pouring drinks.

  I guessed I would find out soon enough.

  Sam wandered over to say something to Bret, and I spun around to leave, tapping the note against my hand. The handwriting was scratchy, my name spelled out in block letters.

  A moment later, Sam chased me into the casino. “Tisi!”

  I turned.

  “Bret said the guy was dressed like a clown.”

  Chapter 49

  He couldn’t help himself—he had to watch. From a safe distance, of course. He wasn’t a complete lunatic. He circled around the far side of the bar, down Cleopatra’s Way, and back over to the area where people placed bets on horses and sporting events. Jason had given him the layout of the place, and he knew it like the back of his hand. He waited for her to duck into the bar, knew she couldn’t resist checking to see if he would show up. As soon as she slipped inside, he positioned himself near the escalator that led to the Strip.

  When the show began, it was like slow motion.

  Her leaving with the envelope in her hand. The bartender rushing after her a moment later. The look of stunned realization on her face when he told her who had delivered the letter.

  And then those beautiful eyes filled with fury when she scanned the casino floor, darting this way and that, looking for him.

  Until finally she lifted up her head and spotted him.

  He couldn’t help but chuckle.

  Chapter 50

  “Gacy!” I shouted.

  He was on the escalator that carried people up to the Strip, and I was yards away, but my fury pumped through my legs and I ran faster than I ever had before, shoving the letter into my back pocket. I had to dodge cocktail waitresses, drunken patrons, gamblers carrying around notebooks, and the occasional chair-confined human. I knew my wings could get me to him faster, but I doubted the width of the escalator could accommodate them. He was just reaching the top when I made it there.

  I took the moving stairs two at a time, but he had a head start on me and was faster than he had been as a mortal.

  He was still in my sight when I reached the moving pathway. I ran, pumping my legs as hard as I could. He ran too, knocking people down along the way.

  I heard shouts of “Hey!” and “Watch it!” and “Stop him!”

  That last one was me.

  He made it out of the tunnel before I did. The crowd was thick, as if the city was just waking up. I looked left, then right. I saw a rainbow-colored wig like the one he was wearing bobbing along in the sea of humans and took off after it, launching my wings.

  Except they didn’t open.

  Oh no. No! Had I used too much power already today? Why weren’t they functioning?

  I ran faster, dodging this way and that, careening left and right, narrowly missing a trash can, a chair-bound human, and a furry human in a cat costume.

  Minutes later, I spotted him again. I took a running leap and tackled him to the pavement. People gasped all around me, jumping out of the way.

  “I’ve got you now, you son of a demon’s spawn!”

  I flipped him over, clutching his shirt in my hands, my fury engorged, my eyes still illuminated. I stared at his big red nose, daring him to say something that would make me want to end him.

  But he didn’t say anything. He just lay there shivering, his blue eyes filled with fright.

  Blue eyes.

  Mortals who had been to Tartarus never had anything but black eyes after they entered. It was their mark. Even if he had somehow changed his appearance, these eyes were filled with light, with hope, and love.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” said the man. His voice trembled.

  I let go.

  Someone pulled me off the man as people stared at me with disgust.

  It was Archer. “Hey, I told you there was no practice tonight,” he said to me, a strained smile on his face.

  He extended his hand to the tearful man and said, “Sorry, pal. She had you mistaken for me.”

  I scanned the crowd. Was Gacy still here? If he was, I couldn’t spot him.

  The man accepted Archer’s assistance and scrambled to his feet.

  “My deepest apologies. Is there anything I can do?” I said.

  The man inched away, straightening out his costume. “I’m fine. Simple mistake.” His voice was still shaky.

  I stepped forward. “I feel terrible. May I offer you some currency?”

  “No, no, I’ll just be going.” He turned and ran.

  After a few frustrating moments of not seeing Gacy anywhere and feeling like a complete jackass, I heard Archer say, “I’m not crazy about clowns either, but maybe it’s best we don’t tackle them just for looking creepy.”

  I pulled him off to the side. “You don’t understand. It’s him. It’s been him this whole time.” I kicked a garbage can and it toppled over, spilling out half-eaten food, some foul-smelling clothes, beer bottles, and plastic cups.

  Heat was rising off my body in steamy waves.

  “Who?” Archer asked.

  I said through gritted teeth, “Gacy.”

  Archer looked behind him as if the serial killer would be standing right there at the mention of his name. He swung his head back to me. “John Wayne Gacy?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I flamed my eyes.

  Archer raised his hands. “Okay, okay. You need to calm down.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down. I put that heartless snail sludge away years ago. And now he’s back!” I was angry. I wanted to tear something apart.

  My wings fluttered then. They were working. Why hadn’t they worked moments ago? The thought of Gacy? Had he somehow paralyzed my flight?

  Archer said, “You really need to work on your use of profanity. It may help ease your temper.”

  I glared at him and pivoted. I had to find him. I had a trail and I couldn’t lose it.
But which way?

  There was a clanking sound behind me. Archer had picked up the trash can. I knelt down to assist him.

  We tossed bottles and paper bags back into the bin. Archer reached for the clothes, then jumped back, wrinkling his nose. “Oh, that’s nasty-smelling.” He put his arm in front of his nose and mouth.

  He was right. The clothes smelled foul. I leaned in to sniff.

  “Ick. What are you doing?” He gagged.

  I knew that odor. “Lamia. He’s the one working with Lamia. These were his clothes before he changed. He must have found the costume nearby.” I sifted through the trash with a pencil someone had tossed in the can. There was a bag with the name COSTUME CENTRAL printed on it. I stood up, saw the name of the store just two doors down.

  “Archer, he purchased the clown suit right there.” I pointed to the small building. The shop windows held three caped costumes, and one black-and-white, giant, furry animal costume. “Should we talk to the clerk? Maybe she’d remember something that could help.”

  Archer wasn’t listening to me. He picked something up off the cement. Some small card. “That son of a bitch has my wallet.” He frowned.

  “Archer,” I hissed.

  “Huh? I’m sorry.”

  I tossed the remaining trash in the can. “Well, let’s go talk to the clerk.”

  Archer said, “I have a better idea. Let’s go get Helm and Gacy.”

  “How?”

  “I got his address.” Archer smiled, waving a little piece of paper in front of me.

  “Let’s go get the son of a bitch.”

  “That’s my goddess.”

  Chapter 51

  As a partner and an assistant, Lamia proved to be useless. Besides stinking up the joint, she had gotten herself injured and was moving quite slowly. She was asleep now, so at least he didn’t have to listen to that god-awful voice. As if it weren’t bad enough that he had to arrange practically everything himself, from dressing up the girls to their transport, since Lamia had no legs, he also had to put up with her constant bitching about being hungry. Her only redeeming quality was her penchant for potions. He decided he would have to kill her soon.