“Since they have no names, we’ve come up with our own solution. Your mother doesn’t like it. On the other hand, I think it amuses your father.” His face clouded. “How is Mr. Rothstein?”
“He’ll be fine. Thank you.” Some hidden instinct made me start rocking and bouncing my baby bundle.
Jean-Charles, his arms extended, took who I assumed was Thing Two from the other nurse, a harried, whippet-thin older woman with a soft expression and a halo of weariness that she wore with a smile. The baby instantly stopped crying. Of course, she did. She was female and in the arms of a very charming Frenchman. Clearly, the girl was no fool.
The older lady took a rest on a stool; raising first one foot then the other, she stretched and worked her ankles and her feet. “Those babies. Always active, they don’t sleep much. I think they’re missing their momma.”
“A family trait,” I said, hoping I sounded sympathetic. “Well, not the missing their momma part.”
The male nurse whistled as he stepped to the stove, stirring a pot. “And they can eat!”
“Unfortunately, also a family trait,” I admitted, making Jean-Charles smile.
While their formula simmered, and the nurses enjoyed two pairs of helping hands, I watched Jean-Charles with Thing Two. He gazed down at his little bundle enraptured, love lighting his face, softening the worry he tried to hide from me. Yesterday, heck the last few months, had taken their toll. When he caught me looking at him, I saw pure joy.
“Children. They find their way into your heart and they stay. You worry, you fret, you fear for them, and yet you love them to the very core of your soul. They become a part of you.”
I felt those stirrings, but I wasn’t ready to admit them. The whole parent thing scared the heck out of me. I wasn’t sure I’d finished being a child. Besides, what did I know about how the world worked, about raising a decent human when I had such a hard time making my own way and meeting my own rather low expectations? Perhaps a conversation for another time, when I felt braver.
“Have you ever thought about having your own?” Jean-Charles asked, cutting right through my internal prevaricating as if he knew my heart.
“What?”
“Children? Any thoughts?”
We’d danced around the issue, of course. Jean-Charles had said he didn’t have to have more, but he thought I should have at least one of my own. I know he wasn’t pressing as much as he was curious if I’d given the topic any more consideration.
The nurses fell mute, watching our little drama play out.
I forced a steady voice. “With these two, Mona has done the deed for me.” A dodge. Even I knew it was weak.
“It is not the same. The rope that binds you to them, not as strong.” His eyes turned dark and deep.
Even though I wanted to avoid them, I couldn’t.
“I would die before losing my son, or you.” The words were strong, yet simple, forthright, like my Frenchman.
The female nurse gasped and clutched a hand to her chest as she gave me one of those awwww looks.
And for the first time I knew I felt the same. I stepped to him and gave him the best kiss I could, given the circumstances. Thing Two immediately started to wail. I stared down into the tiny face, scrunched in anger. “He’s mine. Deal with it.”
Miss Minnie’s Magical Massage Parlor hunkered in a nondescript strip mall buried in the middle of Koreatown … Chinatown apparently being too upscale for the likes of Miss Minnie. Blackened windows hid the small storefront. Most people would’ve sailed right by thinking nothing was there, except for the neon lights. Huge, pink flashing neon screamed, “Miss Minnie’s. Let Us Rub YOU the Right Way.” Since I’d last had reason to darken her doorway, she’d added a halo of white lights, in case anybody missed the neon. Subtlety was not one of Minnie’s strong suits.
I’d left my Frenchman to go home alone so I could go slumming. Something was seriously wrong with my life.
The parking lot was packed, so I drove through neighboring lots, searching for a proper place for the Ferrari. At the far end, hidden in the shadows, I was surprised to see Jeremy’s black Hummer and the moon of his face staring at me as I eased by.
This was his stakeout?
A parking space opened up further down the aisle. After ditching the Ferrari and making notations of the neighboring car’s license plate number on the off chance of damage when I returned, I ambled back toward the Hummer, keeping to the shadows. Of course, I had no idea who I was hiding from.
Jeremy leaned across and popped the passenger-side door for me. He'd killed the interior lights, so I was feeling my way as my eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by a few distant streetlights. He scraped a mound of sacks and other fast-food detritus out of the seat onto the floor, then brushed any remaining crumbs away.
I slid in, trying not to think about grease on my silk slacks. “If I ask you why you’re here, would I be prying?”
Jeremy rubbed his eyes. He looked like he’d been run over and left for dead. “Got a hit on your Irv Gittings. Rumor put him here, but I haven’t laid eyes on the bloke. Lots of other comings and goings I wish I hadn’t seen.” He blew right past the innuendo that probably leaked over into reality. According to the small neon sign in the window, tonight’s special consisted of a happy ending for everybody. Like I said, Minnie liked to hit you right in the face. Okay, that one turned my stomach. I shut myself down.
“He could’ve come in the back.”
Jeremy shot me a disgusted look. “I’m a bit distracted, but even in my diminished state, I can hang onto that kind of detail. Got a colleague watching.”
As if she knew we were talking about her, Flash’s voice crackled through Jeremy’s radio. “All clear. Still no sign of him.”
Jeremy didn’t look at me. “I asked her to report on the hour, even if she had nothing.”
“Flash? You put a woman in the back alley behind Miss Minnie’s, the sketchiest massage parlor in Vegas, and all that that implies, which is saying a lot.”
“What? She’s the second scariest female in town.” Jeremy didn’t sound defensive, so either I had slipped from the top spot on that list or he was beyond caring. “She’s damn good in a fight.”
“No argument from me. I was just momentarily caught off-guard.” Once again, I unfolded the photo of Sam or whatever his name was. “You seen this guy or a bright yellow Lambo with a black dragon on the front quarter panel?”
“That sounds like a sweet ride, but no, haven’t seen it.” Jeremy held the photo down between his knees, and used a penlight in red, so as not to interfere with his night vision. “Didn’t see the car, but I may have seen this guy. Hard to say. That photo the best you got?”
Considering the magnitude of Sam’s apparent skill, I was glad we had this much. “Yeah. But you saw a guy who looks like him?”
“He came in the back.” Jeremy raised his hand. “I’m assuming. He didn’t go in through the front, but he appeared at the desk, seemed to want to talk to Miss Minnie. The conversation got pretty heated.”
I grabbed Jeremy’s radio and pushed the talk button. “Flash. You seen an Asian guy in a yellow Lambo?”
“Sweet ride. Yeah, I’ve seen him. He was here about an hour ago, didn’t stay long. Guess he was already primed.”
“How long did he stay?”
“Five minutes, maybe ten, but no more than that.” Curiosity pulsed through the connection, but she didn’t ask. We were on an open connection; anyone could tap in.
“Did he leave alone?”
“Yep.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“You are going to tell me, aren’t you?”
“Later.” I handed the radio back to Jeremy. “Have you seen a young Asian woman?” I described Kimberly Cho as best I could.
“That girl, or one who could be her twin, I’ve seen. She went in several hours ago, late afternoon. Looked liked the Devil himself chased her.”
“Run home to Mama, just as I thought. Am I good or wh
at?”
“No, just lucky.”
I didn’t laugh. He knew better. “I’m going to go in and find her. She’s got some explaining to do.”
“Her mother is there?” Jeremy didn’t sound surprised as much as quizzical. Vegas had already altered his reality.
“Kimberly and I have a similar upbringing; let’s leave it at that.”
“I can’t even imagine what you two talk about.”
“Kim doesn’t know I know, but I make it my job to know as much as I can about those we rely on. She has a big job back in Macau. Wall Street is just catching up to the fact that Far East operations are adding more to the bottom lines of Vegas holding companies than the local properties.”
“Perception versus reality. It’s a bitch.”
I couldn’t interpret Jeremy’s tone and didn’t really want to. Problems I couldn’t fix made me twitchy. “If I don’t come back in thirty minutes—”
“I’ll summon Romeo.”
“What a Galahad you are.” I almost said, I don’t know what Miss P sees in you, but, wonder of wonders, my brain kicked in and overruled my mouth. First time ever. I squashed a cup with my foot as I shifted to get a better look at him. “How long have you been here?”
“Not long enough.”
Subtext usually did a fly-by with me. Not this time. “Have you and Miss P hashed this out yet?”
He waffled a bit, shifting a load of guilt. “No, I sort of panicked and bolted. To be honest, I don’t know what to say.”
“Want to practice on me? It’s easy,” I lied. “Say what you feel.” None of my business, but I had to try.
He stared out the windshield, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. “That would seem like cheating or something. But here’s the deal—I love her so much, I want her to be happy.” The strain, the emotion, stretched his voice tight. “I just want a fair suck.”
I must’ve looked like a pinched-neck cat.
“What?”
“Fair suck? Interpretation, please, before my mind goes on walkabout and I get a visual I can’t unsee.”
Exaggerated patience leaked into his tone. “I want her to hear me out, listen with an open mind.”
Apparently my attempt to lighten the mood wasn’t appreciated. My vision started to swim, then I remembered to breathe. Awkward situations tend to override my autonomic nervous system. “Gotcha. And, then?”
“I want her to be happy.”
“Even if that means she’s not with you?”
“Of course. Not the outcome I’m hoping for. Would take some time for those wounds to heal. But why would I want her to be anywhere other than where she is happiest?”
I paused, closed my eyes, and offered a silent prayer. Dear God in Heaven and Rulers of the Universe, can you please clone this man? Womankind would exalt your name thorough the eons. Then, I said “Amen” out loud.
“What?” Jeremy glanced at me, looking as confused as a fourth-grader in chemistry class.
“Just agreeing with you.” I put my hand on his. His skin felt feverish. “I haven’t talked to her. You know how the past can come out of nowhere and knock you on your ass. Takes time to clear your head. She loves you more than you can imagine. You two are great together. Have faith in her.”
“Easy to say, hard to do.”
Man, I knew that song and could sing it myself. “Right. Hang in. Let me know if I can help.”
“Your dance card seems a bit full.” Jeremy hadn’t asked about my father. He probably didn’t know.
I didn’t feel the need to add to the boulder he was already shouldering. “What else is new?” I grabbed the door handle and eased the door open. “Wish me luck.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MISS MINNIE must’ve seen me coming. She met me at the door, barricading the entrance with her tiny body. Tonight she wore a silk kimono and enough jewelry to have every cutpurse salivating. Her face, clownish with makeup, her dark hair swirled and lacquered on top of her head, even in five-inch platforms she didn’t make my shoulder. Still, she wasn’t one to be underestimated. Even though a small package, she packed a big punch.
“You not wanted here. Go away.” Her voice could cut glass.
“I need to talk to Kim.”
Her face turned to stone. “No know Kim. She not here.”
I adopted a posture of exaggerated patience, which really wasn’t all that exaggerated, my well bone dry. “Minnie, I know, okay. I know. You want to leave me out here to air your dirty laundry, or are you going to invite me in to talk with your daughter? If she’s in some kind of trouble, I need to know. I can help. And I can also cause trouble; I think you know that as well.”
Minnie made her bank on not attracting unwanted attention from Vice. To have survived and not ended up on the front page of the RJ being carted to jail spoke volumes about her savvy and cunning, two things I was counting on. She’d also been around long enough to have the dirt on well over half the players in the state, from high government officials to casino bosses.
“You be quiet.” She stepped aside, allowing me past, but she didn’t look happy about it. Still, I thought I caught a hint of relief; although, with all the pancake, it was hard to tell. “Men don’t like big bossy woman.”
“Unless they have a whip and are wearing leather,” I muttered.
She gave me a haughty look. “What kind of place you think this is?”
“I know what kind of place this is. It’s a Vegas kind of place. Everything is negotiable.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You think you so smart.”
“Far from it. But I’ve been around long enough to know how to play the game, just like you.”
Miss Minnie caved. Things must really be bad. “She in the back.”
Kimberly was curled up on a cot in the storage room in the far end of a hall that had doors to smaller rooms down each side. She bolted to a seated position, her legs bent in front of her, her arms encircling them. A defensive posture. She eyed me as I grabbed the back of a chair and spun it around to face her.
Minnie looked between us for a moment. “She help. You listen,” she said to her daughter, then bowed and shut the door.
“How did you know I’d be here?” Kimberly’s voice shook with fear or fatigue, I wasn’t sure which. Probably both.
“I’ve been a part of Vegas for a very long time. Even though almost two million people live here, it’s still a small town.”
She didn’t look surprised—she’d parlayed the same kind of access and info into a six-figure income and, she’d sat at the feet of her mother. “Macau, it is that way.”
“Even more so. Much like Vegas in the past, a high-stakes game with no rules and no oversight. Money talks, and when somebody doesn’t listen, bad things happen. Am I right?”
She brushed her hair back with a shaking hand. “The rules of the street are still more trusted than the rules of the law.”
“So, you want to tell me how you ended up between an assassin and a Chinese diplomat?”
Her eyes dipped. “My father, he is old school.”
“The diplomat who won’t talk to me, the guy who’s in town on the QT? He’s your father?” I knew he was a player in Macau; and with the last name Cho, it would’ve been easy to jump to conclusions, although Cho was as common a name in China as Smith in this country. I’d considered the possibility, so I wasn’t surprised as much as amused. Miss Minnie and a diplomat, the stuff Hollywood or at least those tawdry tell-all shows would salivate over. This could be good, or really, really bad … like international incident bad.
“Yes, and he is not happy. I have shamed him.”
Shame. Keeping face. Esoteric concepts for us Americans who tend to cover ourselves with ignominy to feed the insatiable appetites of reality television. But for the Asian cultures, appearance really was everything. “Can you give me a hint?”
Her face colored, her eyes sought the floor. “I have been very stupid. And with a married man.”
“You’r
e pregnant?”
Still staring at the floor, she nodded. “It is worse.”
And I had an oh-shit moment. “And Holt Box is the father.”
More nodding. She seemed to shrink away from me, as if I was beating her with a cane or whatever horrible thing it was they did to “sullied” women in the Dark Ages and still in the not-so-Dark-Ages in far horrid corners of the universe. “That’s why Holt left Macau and broke his contract?”
“My father threatened to kill him.”
I eyed her. She was scared. “How did he know any of this?”
“I don’t know.” Crossing her arms, she tried to keep eye contact but couldn’t. “I didn’t even know he was my father until a few years ago. My mother, she worries.”
“Is that why your father is here? To kill Holt Box?”
Tears leaked down Kim’s face. “It is possible. My father has diplomatic protection.”
“But Sam, or whatever his name is, does not.” I bolted to my feet and began pacing. Three strides across the small room, pivot, three strides back. As I tried to think, I made several circuits.
Kimberly remained a mute statue, but she couldn’t muffle totally her quiet sobs.
I paused in front of her. “Why is your father still here, and why does he want my father dead, assuming he does? Is signing Holt Box really enough to warrant death?”
“You do not know my father.”
I resumed my pacing. “I’d really like to know the shooter’s real name. I’ve been told he worked for Holt Box.”
She raised her head, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. A tissue was in desperate order, but I was fresh out. Scanning the shelves, I found a fresh box amid the bottles of antiseptic and sanitizer, boxes of condoms, latex gloves, and cases of massage oil and handed it to her.
“His name is Sam, Sam Wu.” She dabbed her eyes as they followed me back and forth across the small room. Who told you he worked for Holt?” Her voice hiccoughed.
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