by AR Winters
I scarfed down the last bit of my cake. “Don’t you need to go with other people from your work?”
“I got my staff commercial flight tickets, so the two of us could have the whole jet to ourselves.”
I stared into my coffee. Jack was so nice to have thought out everything, and here I was, ruining it all. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t…”
“I know.”
We sipped our coffees awkwardly, and I wondered if I should offer to cancel my job with Stone. But this wasn’t my fault – Jack hadn’t told me about his plans. And I owed Stone. He’d saved my life, once.
“Maybe I could ask Stone if…”
Jack looked at me hopefully. “Could you work for him another day?”
I sighed. I hated to ruin Jack’s plans, but I couldn’t disappoint Stone. This was the first time he’d asked me for a favor. “I can’t,” I said finally. “I wish I could, but I can’t.”
“No, of course.”
“Haven’t you ever had a date cancel on you because she had work?”
Jack shook his head. “No, usually…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but I knew what the usual circumstances were. Usually, the girl was a loser who was happy to drop everything for him. Usually, his date was a model or starlet or d-list reality TV star who could just reschedule her life for a man. Jack’s normal dates were very different to me.
I took a deep breath. “When will I see you again?”
“As soon as this China situation gets sorted out. Maybe next week, maybe next month. I’ll fly into Vegas whenever I get a chance.”
Chapter Five
We finished our coffees, and afterward Jack rushed straight back to the airport.
As I drove home, I wondered what was wrong with us. Maybe, if we’d really been passionately in love, we’d have had a huge fight and flung our drinks at each other. And then we’d have made out on the coffee table, gotten kicked out of the café, and come back to my place. Was I too old for the crazy kind of love?
I went to bed unhappy about how things had turned out. I half wished I had a bottle or two of wine at home to drown my sorrows, but I don’t keep alcohol around for that very reason – I make a terrible drunk.
The next morning, at half-past six, I cruised past the Hilton in my battered Honda Accord. This area of Vegas was full of compact, modern-looking offices. A few minutes later, I made a U-turn and drove back the way I’d come and into the massive hotel parking lot.
I drove straight to the side of the carpark farthest from the entrance, angling the car so I could see anyone coming in and out of the hotel in my rearview mirror. There wasn’t much activity in the parking lot, but within a few minutes, a shuttle bus drove up to the front of the hotel, blocking my view of the entrance. Great.
I inched out of my parking spot and over to another side. This time I made sure that my view of the entrance couldn’t be blocked so easily.
It was a quarter to seven when I called Zac. I’ve met him about twice – a wiry, bespectacled British man who looked like he should be permanently installed in front of a computer.
“His plane’s on schedule,” Zac told me. “He’ll probably step out of the airport in forty-five minutes, and then I’ll tail him to the Hilton. I’ll give you a call if anything goes wrong.”
I thanked Zac and prepared to settle in. My car was stocked with energy bars, bottles of water, binoculars, my gun, my iPod, a couple of Terry Pratchett novels, and an emergency survival pack. I didn’t quite see the point of the survival pack, but after watching a couple of zombie movies, Ian insisted that I keep one with me – a large duffel bag packed with a change of clothes, a blanket, dried food, medicine, and a special packet of zombie-repellant powder that Ian had purchased off eBay.
Zac called after more than an hour. “He’s on the way.”
Five minutes later, Michael stepped off a hotel shuttle bus, dragging a small rolling suitcase behind him. He wore a dark suit and Ray Bans, and he looked suave and handsome, like something out of the pages of a magazine. I wondered why I found his almost generic good looks unsettling: maybe his wife had a reason to be suspicious of him? But then again, I’d never suspected Jack of cheating on me, despite all his wealth and obvious attractiveness to gold-diggers.
I waited in my parking spot until a couple of hotel employees out on their break gave me suspicious looks. Once they’d disappeared back inside, I drove to the convention center opposite. It had been more than an hour since Michael had entered the hotel, so I called reception and confirmed that someone named Michael Schuman had checked in. Sandy, the receptionist, put the call through to his room, and as I’d expected, the phone rang out with no answer.
Stone had told me that the seminar would go on till six o’clock, and I settled in for a long wait. The convention center parking lot was empty today, so I was able to hang out in the car. My back-up plan had been to check into the hotel as a guest and wait for Michael by the pool, but I was glad to not have to do that.
Surveillance was one of the most boring jobs ever, and around midday I popped into the hotel briefly to use their bathroom. The lobby looked tired and faded, and Sandy at reception turned out to be a tall, slender brunette, who pointed me towards the restrooms politely.
On my way out, I stopped to chat with her. “Is there some kind of seminar going on here?”
“Yep. Third time this week we’ve booked out the conference room.”
I wondered if there was any chance Michael could sneak out before six o’clock. “Do they get a lunch break?”
Sandy looked at me like I’d asked her if there were any Martians at the seminar. “I guess. They haven’t booked the dining room, so they’re probably getting lunch delivered. Did your office want to book the conference room or something?”
“Um, not quite.” I mumbled something about being curious how these seminars functioned and headed back out to my car.
I watched the hotel entrance till six o’clock, getting out of the car occasionally to stretch my legs. Every now and then, the tourist shuttle bus that ran from the Hilton to the Tropicana pulled up in front of the hotel entrance. It would be Michael’s most likely transport to the Strip, so each time the bus pulled up, I watched closely for any signs of a party-seeking Michael.
The hours rolled by until it was seven o’clock; still no sign of Michael. What was going on – had Michael managed to evade my eagle eyes? I called the hotel again. Sandy was still there, and this time, when she put my call through to his room, Michael answered. I hung up immediately, feeling like a teenager prank-calling her neighbor.
Ten minutes later, another shuttle bus pulled up, and this time, Michael stepped out of the hotel and onto the bus. Instantly, I regretted not having planned this out with Zac. I called Zac’s cellphone and got his voicemail. Maybe he was in a meeting, or maybe he was in the bathroom; either way, I didn’t have time to keep calling him, so I called Ian instead.
“Meet me near the Tropicana,” I said. “I’ll give you the keys to my car, you can drive it back home.”
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t have time to explain. I’ll be there in ten minutes, wait near the taxi rank. Run if you need to.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
As I hung up, I wondered if I should’ve told Ian about this job. He could be helpful, despite his enthusiasm. And though I haven’t quite signed off on it, Ian fancies himself a partner in my PI work.
I tailed the shuttle to the Tropicana, where Ian was thankfully waiting right behind the taxi stand. I stepped out of the car, and Ian stepped in almost seamlessly. He was smart enough to not waste time with chatter, and instead drove off after giving me a wide smile and an optimistic thumbs-up.
The shuttle bus stopped in the parking bay a few meters ahead of the taxi stand, and Michael stepped off, along with two other tourists. The tourists headed straight into the casino, seemingly intent on their gambling, but Michael stood staring at the Strip, slightly slack-jawed. He walked
up to the Boulevard and began taking a series of photos on his smartphone – the view of the Excalibur towers, the Statue of Liberty and the skyline buildings of New York New York.
As he strolled down the Strip, gawking at the neon lights and people around him, I took a moment to take off my cynical, employee-tinted glasses and appreciate the beauty of Las Vegas. The sun was setting, the casino lights were glittering, and the crowd was buzzing with palpable enthusiasm. This is a fun night, the city seemed to say, and you’re in the right place to enjoy it.
I followed Michael, keeping a couple of paces behind him and taking surreptitious photos on my smartphone. When he walked into the Riverbelle Casino, I stayed a table or two away as he lost a few hands of blackjack, had a minor win at the craps table, and then headed over to the buffet section, where he wolfed down his meal like he was practicing for a hot-dog eating competition.
Michael stepped back outside after his dinner and meandered over to a smoky, back-alley comedy club, where he watched two hours of bad stand-up, and drank two martinis and a gin-and-tonic. I was starting to wonder why his wife would ever suspect him of having an affair; he hadn’t strolled past any strip-clubs, nor had he even ogled any of the scantily-dressed tourists or cocktail waitresses.
After what felt like a lifetime’s worth of bad comedy, Michael headed outside. I followed him just in time, and as he stepped into a cab, I hailed one for myself. I put a call through to Ian, telling him to bring my car over to the Hilton near McCarran.
I watched Michael’s cab pull up to the Hilton and stopped mine just outside the carpark. If the cabbie was surprised he didn’t show it, and thankfully, Ian had already parked my car at the far end of the parking lot.
Twenty minutes later, I’d tailed Michael uneventfully to the domestic departures terminal at McCarran and watched him disappear inside.
Something about the whole shebang felt a little off, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.
Chapter Six
Four days later, Ian burst into my apartment all out of breath. It was just past lunch-time, and I’d been getting ready to do some vacuuming.
“Tiffany, you take her.”
He thrust Snowflake into my hands and sank dramatically onto my couch.
Snowflake and I looked at each other curiously. She opened her mouth wide, but no sound came out, so I made a face back at her. “What’s going on?”
Ian sunk his head onto his hands and groaned. “I have to give her up.”
“You found her owner?” I held Snowflake against my body and stroked her gently. Her fur was soft and silky, and she was so tiny and vulnerable.
“This lady put an ad on Craigslist, and it turned out to be for Snowflake. She wants her back!”
I couldn’t hide my disappointment but I knew we were doing the sensible thing by giving Snowflake back. “Of course she’s been looking for her, Snowflake’s adorable.” Ian looked at me beseechingly, and I passed Snowflake to him. “You did the right thing.”
“She’s coming here in ten minutes,” he said.
“You gave her my address?”
“I need moral support! Haven’t I always been there for you?”
Uh – not quite. Maybe. Sort of. I sighed. “Fine,” I said glumly. “Who is this woman?”
“I don’t know. A monster who lost Snowflake once. She doesn’t deserve little Snowie.”
“I still think you should call her Flake.”
“I’m not calling her anything.” Ian put her down on the carpet, and Snowflake began a heated game of Catch My Own Tail, twisting around in improbably fast and futile jumps. “I’m losing her forever.”
We stared at Snowflake until she stopped jumping and stared back at us curiously.
There was a knock on my door and Ian shot up, distraught. “I can’t do this.” He headed towards my bedroom. “You deal with the lady, I’m not here.”
He shut the door after himself, and I looked from the bedroom door to Snowflake, who was watching the bedroom door. “I guess this is it,” I said to Snowflake, and opened my front door.
The woman who stared back at me had one hand raised to knock again and was holding a pet carrier in the other.
She looked like the kind of model who’s always draped over a sports car: high cheekbones, long eyelashes and a perfect button nose. She flaunted her slender figure in tiny shorts, a tight tank top and strappy stilettos. Her long, blonde hair had been pushed back with a bejeweled headband, and her makeup was nude and understated. Her eyes were a bright blue, and she had a mole high on one cheek.
“You can’t be Ian,” she said. In addition to being beautiful, she wasn’t stupid.
“I’m Tiffany.” I forced my lips into a polite smile. “Come in.”
She took one mincing step forward, glancing around as though she expected to see roaches crawling along my walls, and then she inhaled sharply. “Lancelot!” She rushed forward and scooped up little Snowflake.
“Lancelot?”
“Silly name, right?”
“It’s quite clever,” I said, trying to be polite. “What’s your name?”
“Katrina Bronson.” She extended one perfectly French-manicured hand, and I shook mechanically.
I hated her. She’d lost Snowflake once – that had to be the height of irresponsibility. Besides, I knew she was surreptitiously judging me and my apartment. “I guess you really missed Sno—Lancelot.”
Katrina smiled enigmatically. “Thanks for taking care of her.” I caught her eyes trailing over my slouchy, second-hand sofa. “Good thing you guys saw my ad.”
She grabbed Snowflake by the neck and shoved her, not too gently, into the pet carrier. Snowflake looked out at me with big, sad eyes.
I stifled a sigh. “How’d you lose her, anyway?”
“She must’ve jumped out the window and walked over to the Strip.”
“How’d you know we found her at the Strip?”
For a split second, Katrina looked taken aback, but she recovered instantly. “Ian mentioned it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You know, you look familiar. Have I seen you somewhere?”
I couldn’t recall seeing Katrina before, but then again, beautiful blondes like her are quite common in Vegas, especially at the weekends when starlets fly in from LA. I shook my head, no. “You live here?”
“For the past couple of months. Hang on – I know where I’ve seen you! The charity gala for Alzheimer’s a few months ago! You were there with…”
She frowned, trying to remember, and I said, “Jack Weber.”
Katrina snapped her fingers. “Exactly! Sorry you guys broke up.”
“We didn’t break up.”
“Oh…” She glanced around my place and said, “Well, I’d expected…”
“Jack to be dating someone rich and famous?”
“No, no, I thought…uh…”
I stared at Katrina’s strappy stilettos so that she wouldn’t see the annoyance in my eyes. Sure, Jack wouldn’t normally be dating someone like me. But that was none of her business. Snowflake mewled softly inside the carrier and peered up at me with large, sad eyes. I knew what Snowflake was trying to say: “Please don’t let this horrible woman take me.”
I needed to say something before the silence got too awkward, so I blurted out, “I love your shoes!”
“Thanks!” Katrina tossed her hair back proudly. “They’re custom-designed by Hans Ouiger, have you heard of him?”
To me, the words sounded like the name of an Ikea dining table set. But I couldn’t sound like an unfashionable philistine, so I said, “I read about him in Vogue a few months back. Wow, you’re so lucky!”
“Thanks.” Katrina paused for a moment, and I saw her eyes slink over to my second-hand TV console. “We ladies should help each other out,” she said slowly, “So I’ll give you some good advice. Here’s the thing – you need to reel Jack in, or he’ll be gone. Where is he now?”
None of your business, I wanted to say. But b
efore I could reply, Katrina went on. “He’s always busy and travelling, right? There are other women out there. You need to be with him. Otherwise, before you know it, he’ll be gone for months, and you’ll be stuck in a dead-end relationship.”
“Uh-huh.” I stared at her, trying not to let my annoyance show. “But I’ve got a life here. And work.”
Katrina raised one eyebrow pointedly. “And I can see you’re doing so well. The right man can offer heaps more.”
“I’m not sure—”
“Here’s a secret,” she said. “I’m bursting to tell someone, but those prissy wives I know won’t understand. See, I love my boyfriend, but I’m allergic to cats. And I tried to tell Jeff, but he wouldn’t listen. I’m not getting younger, and I can’t break up with Jeff over my allergies. So I took Lancelot and I left her on the Strip. I knew some crazy cat-lady – no offense – would find her.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in. I snapped my mouth shut and glanced from Katrina to Lancelot, who was now lying quietly in the carrier, and then back at Katrina. “Why are you telling me all this?”
Katrina shrugged. “I wanted to share one of my secrets with someone. It’s hard to make women friends here.” She smiled what she clearly thought was a charming smile, but all I could see was a monster who’d gotten rid of Snowflake.
I said, “Then why’d you look for her?”
“Jeff was miserable. So I put up the ad on Craigslist just to show him I cared. I didn’t think someone would actually answer.”
“But now you’re stuck with the cat again.”
“I’ll figure it out later, I need things to work out with Jeff. Anyway, I should go.” She picked up the pet carrier and looked back at me. “We should have coffee sometime. You seem nice.”