Lucky Break

by Deborah Coonts

  “No, not really. And the gait thing didn’t line up. It wasn’t her helping the bomber at your place.”

  “That leaves Kimberly Cho.”

  Romeo shot me a surprised look.

  “Something’s been bothering me, and I just couldn’t put my finger on it. But it dawned on me: that whole thing with the shooter and my father getting shot. It’s like he was waiting until I showed up.”

  “How’d he know you’d be there?”

  “Kimberly came to get me.”

  Romeo took a moment. “What’s in it for her?”

  “Maybe she got a bit tired of a working stiff’s salary and wanted a piece of her father’s pie? I don’t know. I’ve never really understood what motivates the bad to do what they do. That’d just be way too much trouble for me.”

  “You’d suck at it,” Romeo nodded in agreement.

  I was only slightly miffed. I punched my phone to life as I tucked my Glock away. I dialed the main number at the Babylon. “Front desk manager,” I said, when the operator answered.

  “Sergio Fabiano.”

  I cringed. Anyone who sounded that bright after a night shift, and a holiday night as well, should be shot at dawn, or promoted. I’d consider it—if Sergio would just be a bit less unctuous. “Sergio, Lucky O’Toole. Has Mr. Cho’s delegation checked out?” He was supposed to stay for the whale party, but I had a sinking feeling.

  “No. His party is booked through the holiday.”

  “Thanks.” I stuffed my phone back in my pocket, careful to disconnect the call or Sergio was going to be listening to my stomach churn. “Mr. Cho seems to have dug in.”

  “You don’t think he had anything to do with this?” Romeo seemed a bit skeptical.

  “He’s the one everyone wants us to believe is behind it. His reputation precedes him, and everyone makes snap judgments. The Big Boss gets it all the time. I think he got wind of his daughter pulling a few fast ones and he came to get her, and perhaps get Sam if he could.”

  “A nice theory.”

  “True. But I’ve got a couple of folks working on some things.” Romeo started to ask. “You don’t want to know.”

  He clammed up.

  “And then there’s a couple of other things that have been bugging me. If Irv was supposedly paying Sam for all this dirty work, where’d he get the money? He was totally tapped out when we sent him up. Mr. Cho wouldn’t be quite that stupid, I don’t think, but I could be wrong.”

  “So, you think Kimberly—your Kimberly—is working with Irv.”

  “I’m willing to bet she thinks she’s pulling the strings. But, messing with Irv is like holding a viper by the tail.” My phone vibrated. “O’Toole,” I said, as I pressed it to my ear.

  “Hey, you awake?” The Southern strains of River Watalsky.

  “I’m talking to you.” I bit down on a grin, I don’t know why. This whole thing was serious business.

  “Right.”

  “Whatcha got? Any sightings?” I shut my eyes and crossed my fingers. Tired, but wired, my brain stuck in overdrive, long on problems, short on answers, I could really use a little bit of help.

  And I got it. “No, no sightings, but something one guy said struck me as odd. He said he had a pickup at your new place at like two in the morning. A gal, young.”

  “Asian?”

  “How’d you … never mind. Anyway, when he said it, it got me to thinking. Your joint isn’t open yet. So what business would she have there at that time of night?”

  “What business indeed?” During the day, Cielo was busy as a beehive with the buzz of last-minute prep and training. But at night… I thanked him, and told him to come by the hotel tomorrow.

  “On Christmas?”

  “We all need a little Christmas, don’t you think?” I grinned at Romeo; I couldn’t help myself.

  “Kimberly Cho has been hanging out around here at odd hours of the very early morning.” I started to pocket my phone, but it vibrated again.

  This time, Jeremy. “We’ve been rooting through digital documents half the night. Hope you’re happy.”

  “Only if you got something.” I paused. I heard him take a breath. “Wait. Kimberly Cho, right?”

  “Yep. I don’t even want to know how you know. It’s just not fair.”

  “Nobody promised fair, only that you had a spot in the race. Thanks. Thanks a lot, Jeremy.”

  He got the sincerity. “You got it. Anytime.”

  This time I got my phone back in my pocket.

  Romeo shook his head. “What made you finger Kimberly Cho?”

  “The white dinner jacket.” At his big eyes, I kept going. “It’s stupid, really, and a total gut call. But why put the dinner jacket in Bungalow Seven, Mrs. Box’s bungalow? If Mrs. Box had anything to do with all this mess she wouldn’t have stashed it there. She isn’t that that stupid.”

  “Neither is Sam.” Romeo joined the discussion, nodding his head but still looking like he was on a long leash.

  “So, who would put it there? Irv? He wouldn’t be caught dead in the Babylon—that’s aggressive even for him.”

  “Process of elimination?”

  “No. Planting that jacket … that would link Dani Jo Box to a bunch of bad shit. Knowing the publicity shit-storm, that was just plain mean. It has hate written all over it.” I grabbed Romeo’s shoulder. “And that, my friend, is exactly something a scorned woman would do.”

  “Your father said Holt wanted to fix things with his family, right?”

  “Leaving Ms. Cho out in the cold.”

  Romeo looked a bit stricken.

  A worker stuck his head in through the broken door. “Excuse me, can we come in and get to work?”

  “Wait until the police clear the building; then the police will check you in.” I looked to Romeo for confirmation. “Then you can do what you need to do, but make sure you’re out of here by noon and home to your families. Family comes first.” Parroting my father—this apple didn’t fall far. A thought hit out of the blue. “What time is it?” I asked Romeo.

  He glanced at his phone. “Six-twenty.”

  “I gotta go.” A text chimed in. Miss P reminding me of the race. I typed back a hurried response telling her I was on my way.

  Romeo squeezed my arm tighter, as if he could hold me there through physical force. “You can’t go. This is redundant, but they’re gunning for you.”

  “Your guys are chasing the shooter. Irv’s not getting his hands dirty in all of this, so I’m not worried he’d actually find the balls to shoot at me. Have the bomb squad check the dais and surrounding areas if that’ll make you feel better. But, I think that bit of business is over. I winged him; you’ll catch him. Life as we know it has been restored.” I threw an arm around his shoulder. “Now, my valiant Galahad, let’s go find some Christmas spirit.”

  A large crowd had gathered for the Elf Run; this year’s turnout looked to be a record. It seemed all of Vegas had donned elf costumes or the occasional Santa outfit and packed in to the south end of the Strip for the start of the run, which would take them past all the big hotels, through Naked City, then finishing under the lighted canopy at the Fremont Street Experience.

  Thankfully, the start was close to Cielo, so a short jog had me in the thick of the crowd. As I elbowed my way through, I did my best to straighten my hair and pinch some color into my cheeks. In my jeans and torn sweatshirt, I wasn’t exactly the well-turned-out corporate executive, but given the last couple of days I thought perhaps I might get a sympathy reprieve from scrutiny.

  As I approached the dais, I kept my head on a swivel, looking for an out-of-place construction guy. The organizer, a thin nervous young woman wearing no makeup and a Santa outfit, clutched a clipboard as she barked into a microphone arcing from her ear. When she caught sight of me, she staggered, as if ready to crumple with relief. I paused at the bottom of the steps. She motioned me up. I scanned the crowd, then waved her down to join me.

  She paused on the last step, whic
h put us eye-to-eye. As I gave her the short-and-sweet, her eyes grew wider and wider until she did a perfect Marty Feldman imitation. I stifled a giggle—it would be impossible to explain and most likely misinterpreted.

  “But we’re counting on you,” she whispered. “You’re like a rock star.”

  “Hardly. I’m sure there is no real danger, but I want to be on the safe side. I’ll still be the starter, but you must clear the dais.” The words sounded removed, the reality distant. I really didn’t think Irv would show himself. Oh sure, he’d let his presence be known right before he tried to blow me into the next adventure, but that carried a small risk of detection. After all, I was virtually dead, by his way of thinking anyway. My phone vibrated in my back pocket. Romeo. I pressed it to my ear, putting a finger in the other so I could hear over the buzz of the crowd. “You got him?”

  “No.” His voice crackled with worry. “What we got is a runner who was mugged by an Asian guy in construction gear.”

  “Shit.”

  “It gets worse. You know anything about a gun in a gun rack in the suite you said someone had been using?”

  My heart stopped. “Yeah.”

  “It’s gone.”

  “And the shooter wasn’t using it to shoot at me,” I said, thinking out loud.

  “So that means there’s someone else wandering around with a gun looking for you.” I moved up a couple of steps and scanned the crowd, my hand shading my eyes from the brightening morning sun. “Is the construction guy okay?”

  “Yeah, just a little cold. The dude stole his costume.”

  “Who was he dressed as?”

  “Santa. The full outfit, except for shoes.”

  “Got it. I’ll be on the lookout.” Of course, there were thousands of Santas, but he knew that. Finding one with work boots on? What were the odds?

  “We need to cancel the race.” Romeo said.

  “Ms. O’Toole?” The race director tapped my arm. “We’re about ready.”

  “Too late.” I sucked in a deep breath. “He’s gunning for me. With that Sharp’s he could knock bug off my nose. Nobody else will be close to me.”

  “Lucky …”

  “Get him, Romeo. He’ll be up high.” I rang off.

  Six SWAT Team members filtered out of the crowd and surrounded the dais, their presence and their weapons both comforting and alarming. Apparently only to me, though—nobody else really paid much attention. One of the SWAT addressed me. “We have snipers placed on the rooftops. Lookouts all around. With the crowd, we’ve got to be super careful, but we’ve got you covered.”

  “As long as no one else is at risk.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He cleared the dais, then escorted me up. “The bomb squad cleared the dais before you got there, so no bombs.”

  “Good to know.”

  Teddie.

  Right now I was standing a good four feet above the crowd—a lightning rod. Talk about feeling exposed. I grabbed Mr. SWAT. “You get the asshole, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t ma’am me, just do it.” I tried not to scan the crowd, leaving that to the police. I had to put my life in the hands of my most-vilified Metro. Talk about ironic.

  The crowd quieted as the race director started into her spiel over the loudspeaker. I only half-listened. Then it was my turn. I gave my usual rah-rah Vegas rally cries, added a bit of Christmas cheer and thanked everyone for coming.

  The crowd roared, clapping and cheering. I felt like the city’s mascot or something.

  Someone pressed a gun into my hand. I must’ve recoiled.

  “Starter pistol.” a cute kid in an official race T-shirt said. “Just point it up and pull the trigger when the countdown gets to zero.”

  The gun felt light, cold and lethal. “What’s it loaded with?”

  “A whole lot of bang powder, meant to make an impression.”

  “That’s a technical term, is it?” I weighed it, turning it from side to side. It looked real, felt real, and was real except the barrel had been obstructed with an internal cross piece that prevented a projectile from leaving but allowed the gases to escape. It would be just like Irv to substitute a real gun, have me shoot it and have the projectile drop on somebody, killing them, leaving me to deal with that. Not today, Ol’ Irv. Not today.

  “If I knew the real name of the stuff, I’d tell you.” The kid grinned, easy in his ignorance.

  “Gunpowder,” I provided, thinking people were too comfortable not knowing.

  “Seriously? Like the real stuff?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

  “The real stuff. Just no bullet.”

  I glanced at the cop standing next to me. “It’s loaded for a big bang. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  He whispered into his mic.

  Everyone quieted. The countdown began. “Ten.” I scanned the rooftops. “Nine.” Then the crowd. Still nothing stood out in the sea of thousands of elves and Santas. “Eight.” The fast runners toed the line, bending, poised. “Seven.”

  The cop’s radio crackled. “Rooftop. Southwest, one hundred yards.”

  “Six.”

  “Raise your gun, Ms. O’Toole,” The race director directed.

  “Five.”

  I did as she directed, my other arm creeping protectively around my stomach, my hand finding the butt of the Glock under my sweatshirt.

  “Four.” I found myself looking at feet. Lots of Nikes, some Adidas, Reeboks. And one pair of steel-toed construction boots, in the back, shifting. “There.” I pointed, alerting the cop next to me.

  “Three.”

  Sam Wu. Standing slightly apart from the runners, he looked up, staring right at me.

  The SWAT guy pointed and spoke into his mic. “Man on the roof. Westside parking garage.”

  Sam swiveled and stared at the rooftop.

  Metal glinted in the sun. The man on the rooftop had a gun! I squinted trying to make out who was on the rooftop. It had to be Irv. “Shoot him,” I barked at the cop.

  “Two.”

  “Do you have a clear shot?” The cop asked into his mic.

  “Negative,” came the reply.

  The man on the rooftop sighted on the crowd.

  “Everybody down,” I shouted. A few complied, not many. Most simply stood there, looking around like lost sheep.

  Exposed, Sam Wu raised his gun, pointing at the rooftop shooter. A pistol, he’d never make that shot. Why would he even try? I assumed he was here to shoot me.

  “One.” Instinctively, I pulled the trigger. A loud boom. The pistol jerked in my hand.

  I flinched.

  Sam Wu fell.

  Irv was covering his tracks.

  The first wave of runners launched.

  Screams. The middle of the crowd stopped, then moved back, ringing the fallen man. Some looked at me.

  I scanned the rooftops.

  The gunman was still there. Now I knew it was Irv. I could feel his evil. He paused, looking at me, then he shouldered the rifle, sighting on me. Anger short-circuited thought and rooted me where I stood. Take your best shot, asshole.

  Where the hell was SWAT?

  Hiding, shielding myself wasn’t an option—that would put me closer to innocent bystanders. Up here, I was by myself and no one else would be hurt.

  I couldn’t tear my gaze from Irv, the gun. I could imagine his finger tightening on the trigger as he held his breath. Irv lifted his head once, then refocused his aim. Games. Ego games that I prayed would get him killed.

  “Somebody shoot him,” I growled through clenched teeth.

  The SWAT guy was resituating his people for a clear shot. Time we didn’t have.

  As I narrowed my eyes waiting for the pain, a body hurtled from the side, tackling Irv. I squinted. Could it be? The cops pulled me off the dais, and I lost sight of the struggle.

  The race went on—the cops thought it the best way to disperse the crowd. With the rooftop cleared, I wandered over to Sam Wu. I motioned to o
ne of the cops standing there. “Give me a look?”

  “It isn’t pretty.”

  “It never is.”

  I stood over the body as he knelt and peeled back a corner, lifting it so only I had a clear view.

  Irv was a good shot. He’d hit Sam mid-forehead. A small hole in the front, but I’m sure the back of his head had been blown wide open. I didn’t ask to see that part.

  Death. I’d always thought it stole our humanity. In Sam’s case, a look of peace had settled over him, the twisted evil no longer present. Perhaps we all really were restored when our journey was over. A nice thought.

  But he’d been my best hope of clearing Teddie.

  Teddie.

  That had been him I saw on the roof, tackling Irv. I’d know Teddie anywhere. All I had to do was close my eyes and I could remember his every curve and angle, all his expressions. I was trying to save Teddie and he’d saved me.

  Funny how life works. Good things from bad situations.

  I nodded at the cop and he once again covered Sam.

  At a loss as to how to help or what to do, I wandered. I thought about calling Romeo, but he probably had his hands full with Irv and Teddie.

  Romeo found me sitting on the edge of the fountains at the Bellagio, dangling my toes in the water. Totally against the rules, but the cops had larger problems. “Hey,” he said as he stood over me.

  “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be busy with photo-ops and all after catching the shooters that have the city on edge.”

  He sat next to me. He didn’t look happy. “You like breaking the rules, don’t you?”

  “Don’t we all?” I knew what his no-so-happy look meant. “You didn’t get them, did you? Irv and Teddie?”

  Despite the chill, he shucked his shoes and stuck his toes in. “It’s warmer than I thought.”

  “I’m sure physics could give you the reason why.”

  “No. They were gone when my guys got there.”

  “You just confirmed my low-regard for Metro, present company excepted, of course.”

  “I have no idea how they got away.”

  “Irv is good at pulling a disappearing act.”