by Christa Wick
9-1-
"You're calling the police?" He scowls at me, sensing, but not quite understanding what I am up to.
I nod. "On myself."
He has been acting like he cares about me. If he does, it's my ace in the hole to save Rose. I play it. "I have a warrant, remember. And I'm ready to confess to cheating in the club--"
"Baby, that's not the deal we made."
He tries to rest his forehead against mine. I won't allow it. I shake my head. Fresh tears stream down my cheeks. "The deal was you would do everything in your power to help me save Rose. Rose -- not me."
"Love, please don't make me do this." His entire hand shaking, Luke places trembling fingertips against my cheek and presses a long, hard kiss against my mouth.
I am nearly done in. I want to stay here. I want to be held and cared for by this man. I want a fresh start, but there's no such thing. Closing my eyes, I memorize the kiss. When it is forever imprinted on my heart, I break free and look at him.
"I'm sorry -- I have to."
**********
A woman in her mid-sixties meets me at the Greyhound bus station with the contact lenses. Red-eyed and coughing, she looks every bit the junkie and I don't doubt for a second that one or more of Solandro's men are in the station to oversee the exchange. I duck into the bathroom, put the case from Solandro in my purse and retrieve a case Masters gave me.
Inside, two blue lenses float in a watery solution. Remembering the track marks on the old woman's arms, I soap my hands and rinse with hot water twice before I touch the lenses. Once they are in place, I leave the station and flag a cab discreetly waiting just for me. Climbing into the back seat, I hide my shock as I recognize the well-worn ball cap and denim jacket Luke wore for the last meeting.
I expected a familiar face, just not his.
For show, I tell him which casino and then I act like he doesn't exist. A manila envelope is on the seat and I open it. I drop Solandro's case inside and pull out a photograph. It is a headshot of a dealer from the Desert Crown Casino and Resort. I flatten the paper against my thighs and study his face.
From the call until this very second, Luke has worked to get the Desert Crown on board. The casino's owner, however, won't consent to my just walking in and using the lenses. Instead, he will have the dealer feed me wins, which Luke promises to cover. Everyone else at the table will be in on it and I must turn the lenses over to the FBI before I can play. They have eight hours to analyze them, then back I go to Solandro with a purse full of money.
Everything is moving too fast. In less than two days, I have moved from trusting only Tommy to being forced to trust many: Luke, his team at the casino, the FBI, the dealer at the Desert Crown and the casino's owner. That is more trust than I have and my heart is jackhammering inside my chest by the time Luke pulls to a stop in front of the Desert Crown. I pull a few bills from my purse for show and pass the money forward. Catching my hand, Luke's gaze holds mine in the rear view mirror.
"I'll have eyes on you the entire time."
Withdrawing my hand, I smile but my heart isn't in the gesture. I am too worried I will once again fail Rose.
Inside the casino, I spot the dealer after about ten minutes of wandering, but I walk around another ten, surreptitiously looking for anyone who might be working for Solandro. When I finally sit down, the hands start small -- at table minimum. Three hours later, I am pulling in thousand dollar wins.
Next to me, one of the players leaves. Like a real game, they rotate in and out, some set gesture signaling that another member of security is ready to slide into the seat as soon as it is vacated.
Not this time.
An outsider takes the seat next to me. Everyone at the table is a stranger to me, but I sense he is an outsider by the way the dealer tenses ever so slightly and how the man to my left coughs. Even though the wins and losses aren't real, the cough is his tell and he can't help himself. With no cards in play and catching the dealer's reaction, this is all I need to know the man on my right isn't part of the team.
Absolute certainty comes when he puts his hand on the table. He holds a locket, the chain wrapped around his fingers for good luck. I know the locket. It belonged to my mother and I gave it to Rose on her sixteenth birthday.
Sunglasses and a ball cap obscuring his face, the man tilts his head in my direction. "How about I buy you a drink at the bar?"
Luke briefed me on this scenario. I promised him I would stay in place.
I look at the man then back to the locket. "Sure, let me grab my chips."
The dealer reaches for my hand, his smile shaky. "You're not going to walk away when you're winning, are you?"
"Rule number 9 -- Lady Luck is a fickle bitch." Quoting my father, I laugh, the sound dull as I calculate whether the men at the table will let me leave. From the little I understand, these are the casino's men. The owner would not allow Luke's team on the casino floor. Luke is monitoring from somewhere else in the casino or outside it so I won't get burned by one of Solandro's men recognizing him as the owner of the last casino I used the lenses at.
With the new player already leaving the table, I follow him. No one protests. By the time we hit the casino's entrance, his hand is locked around my elbow. We walk out to the street and a passing car stops in front of us. Flinging the back door open, my escort pushes me inside. He jumps in, the doors locking immediately. As we speed away, Solandro's man takes off the sunglasses.
Artificially blue eyes stand out against the dark brown skin and I know I am as good as dead.
**********
Bloods drip from my chin to land on the silk skirt. Lifting my head, I glare at the woman who just backhanded me. She is blurry because the lenses I had in were forcibly removed before she entered the room. Blurry or not, I know the voice screaming hysterically at me.
"I can't believe you fucked me on this!"
More blood drips onto my skirt, the cut made by the small diamond ring she wears. The ring is new -- at least she did not have it when she disappeared a few weeks ago.
Another slap lands, this one open palmed. My hands are tied behind my back so I can't block her. Six years have passed since someone hit me, but my body remembers. I move with the blow, lessening the force as I brace for the next one.
Rose sits down, lights a cigarette then takes a quick drag. Exhaling, she examines the lit end then looks at my bloody cheek. "You've always been a fat, stupid traitor, b-b-big sister."
The stutter is the same fake one our father used in teasing me as a child. Knowing there is nothing I can say to appease my sister, I swallow my defense. I look down and the salt of my tears sting my eyes and the cut on my cheek.
"You betrayed daddy -- too many times to count." Rose leans closer. "Then you conned me into leaving with you because you knew you couldn't make it on your own."
Yeah, like she's been a big help.
She takes another drag on the cigarette, this one long and hard so that the tip glows a bright orange. Pushing her palm against my forehead, Rose brings the tip close enough to my cheek that I can feel the heat.
"A fat, jealous loser as long as I can remember." She runs the burning tip in circles near my skin, never making contact. "A jealous bitch because daddy loved me -- not you. Jealous that I'm not an oinky pig, that men want me...want my body."
Another drag and she touches the tip against a drop of my blood. The fluid hisses, absorbing the heat before Rose can burn me. She pulls it away, but the sadistic grin on her face promises another attempt. "Six fucking years I lived in nothing but shit holes because you lied."
"Troy almost killed Tommy--"
"Because Tommy couldn't get his shit together." She leans in, her spit flecking against my face as she screams. "He blew the biggest score daddy ever lined up!"
"Troy blew it. He was drunk and--"
Another backhand from Rose opens a fresh cut in my cheek. I draw a slow breath in. I need time. Luke promised to have eyes on me and somewhere in my purse, my phone
waits quietly, its software transmitting my GPS location.
Looking at Rose again, I feign admiration. "You set this up."
"Not exactly." She sneers, the expression as familiar as it is hated. "I figured Solandro could tell me where daddy is."
"Prison--" Seeing the hot tip of the cigarette zeroing in on my face again, I shut my mouth and pull my head back.
"Don't remind me." She takes a puff on the cigarette then stares for a long second at its tip. "I told Solandro about the last six years. He said it was a waste."
She snubs the cigarette out, her anger making her forget she wants to torture me with it. "A waste of you -- the wonderful and talented Queenie Lafayette."
Snorting, she flicks the butt away then reaches for a fresh smoke. "Like you're something special when we both know you're not."
A door at the far end of the warehouse crashes open. Solandro walks through it looking pissed and deadly. He stops next to Rose. She looks up at him, a sultry smile on her mouth. She licks her lips, like she is lubricating them for whatever he might offer.
Her hand snakes up his thigh. "I told you we couldn't trust her."
Solandro Ortiz is not a man who likes to hear I told you so. I'm sure he's killed people for lesser transgressions. For now, he satisfies his anger by slapping Rose so hard she falls to the floor. She stays down, cowering at his feet and it dawns on me that this is probably the first time anyone has hit her -- ever.
Grabbing the now empty chair, Solandro drags it until it is right beside me and then sits down. Reaching behind him, he pulls a pistol from his pants and places it across his lap. "You're gonna make this right, Queenie."
I nod, trying not to think about how much time has passed since I left the casino. Each minute is another minute Luke has failed to find me. I worry that maybe he isn't even looking. He has the lenses and the cards from his casino. He knows Solandro's network. The threat to his business is eliminated. He offered me an out earlier when he tried to keep me from the meeting. I rejected it, disobeyed him, turned away from the safety he offered me -- not once, but three times.
If I die tonight, it won't be Luke's fault. He can walk away with a clean conscience, so will he really care?
I look back to Solandro and try to find something inside me to hold onto, to keep my mind centered so I can avoid a midnight execution. Meeting his cold stare, I force a smile. "You have any ideas how I can do that?"
He looks me over, his gaze lingering in a way I never would have anticipated. I'm not sure, but I think Solandro Ortiz is actually ogling me.
Swiping at his face, he grins. "It's not me you have to fix this for, chica. So you better put that famous brain to work pronto."
"Killing her would fix it." Rose sits on the floor, her arms around her knees and a hateful fire burning in her green eyes.
"You're about the stupidest little bitch I ever met, Rose." His hand on his lap, Solandro pulls the hammer back on the pistol. Lifting it, he points the gun at Rose. Her gaze widens, the pupils rapidly dilating to crowd her irises.
"Please, don't." My hands still bound, I lightly brush a finger against Solandro's calf to draw his attention from Rose.
Lowering the gun, he laughs. "Even now, you still want to save this scrawny little cunt?"
I look at my sister. If possible, I think she hates me even more because I intervened. I turn back to Solandro and nod. "I just need a little time to think."
Squirming, I raise one brow in what I hope looks like extreme discomfort. "And pee."
Solandro laughs again, long and hard enough that his grip on the pistol loosens. Catching the gun before it can hit the floor, he waves it at one of his crew. "Pollo, take her to the bathroom. Make sure she doesn't escape."
Pollo extends his hands far beyond the width of my hips and snorts. "I don't think they make windows that big."
"Just fucking do what I say." Reaching behind me with a knife, Solandro cuts the rope binding my hands.
I rub at them, using every last second of my escort's approach before I stand and slowly follow him to the restroom. I look for any unguarded exits and potential weapons as we walk. The restroom is halfway down the middle of a long hall. There is a fire extinguisher at the same point and an exit at the end, but another man guards it.
I enter the bathroom and whatever hopes I have of being left alone are dashed as Pollo follows me inside and points at the first stall. I enter it, slide the lock and look at the toilet seat.
Uhm...no.
"I don't hear you peeing, blanca."
Snarling at the man, I pull toilet paper from the dispenser and use it as a makeshift cover. Lips peeling back in distaste, I sit down with the solid knowledge that -- if I make it through the night alive -- I will need to Lysol my private bits.
"I still don't hear--"
The sound of a thin stream of urine hitting the ceramic bowl stops his chatter. His feet, visible under the door, retreat and I marginally relax. Only marginally -- I still have no idea what I am going to do. At least Solandro considers me some kind of asset for the moment.
Maybe if he knew more about my deal with Luke--
I shake my head. Solandro's crew might consider ransoming me, but Luke has no reason to pay. Still, I don't dismiss the idea completely -- it might buy me enough time to figure out something else. It also will bring the FBI in deeper than the marked cards, which means another chance at being rescued.
"I don't hear you anymore--"
"Just give me a minute," I snap and reach for the toilet paper. Seeing his feet in front of the stall again, I press my free hand against the door. "Haven't you heard of wiping?"
He chuckles. "Bet you want to wash your hands, too."
The door shakes with a hard blow. For a second, I think Pollo hit it with his fist or something, trying to startle me for a laugh or to force the door open. Then he folds to the floor, eyes shut and slack jawed.
Adrenaline shoots through me, my pulse pounding so loud I almost miss the low hiss of Luke's voice. "Get her out, now!"
Shoving my skirt down, I open the stall door. Two sets of hands belonging to complete strangers reach in and lift me over the still unconscious Pollo. Another man waits at the restroom door, a big black shield facing toward the entrance.
Shoving me behind him, one of my rescuers turns toward the door and raises his shotgun. "Stay between us."
I look around, my gaze frantically searching for Luke. A hand lands firmly against the side of my head and forces my attention forward to the man in front of me. A rough command to focus resonates behind me.
I nod. My hand resting lightly on the back of the man in front of me, I move when he moves. The guard at the bathroom door steps into the hallway, shielding us as we sneak into the hall. The exit at its end is open and guarded by another member of the tactical team. Beyond him, I see a black van idling soundlessly.
We make it to the van. Arms reach from the blackness to roughly pull me deep into the interior as gunfire breaks out within the warehouse. My rear guard hits his hand against the side of the van and shouts.
"Move out!"
The door shuts. The van pulls away. From somewhere above us, I hear the low swoop of a helicopter's blades and I turn to the man holding my arm.
"Mr. Masters--"
"Inside."
I suck a ragged breath in. Luke is in there -- with the gun fire? I try to move toward the front of the van to plead with the driver to turn back, but my guard won't let me. He holds me, I struggle, but he's too strong. Feeling weak and useless I sag in his arms.
"Please." The gunshots still ringing in my ear, I begin to cry. "We have to go back."
"Don't worry." He locks his big arms around me, securing me as we drive further from the sound of shooting and the beam of the helicopter's search light.
"Luke's been through a hell of a lot worse."
**********
My rescuers plant me in the underground holding room at Luke's casino and leave. I have no idea what has transpired sinc
e we left the warehouse. In the van and during the long walk through the maze of cubicles, no one answers my questions. I don't know Masters' condition: whether he was in the warehouse during the gunfight or if he's injured. I receive no assurance he is even alive.
In the room, I turn on the television but it apparently is meant for security playback. I try the door, but it's locked. I sit, pace, wait, bury my face in my hands but refuse to cry. After an hour or so passes, a male I do not recognize escorts me from the basement to the penthouse.
"Wait here," he warns me right before he shuts the door.
Alone, I go straight to the television. Coverage of the Las Vegas Police Department raiding a warehouse on the north side of the city plays on the television. Only the reporter has it wrong -- it's Solandro's warehouse on screen and the police are merely cleaning up after the raid by Luke's security team. The perky redhead informs the audience that no police officers were injured. I'm glad, but that isn't the information I need to know.
A familiar reflection dances in the corner of the screen. Seeing the tall, muscular frame and dark crown of hair, I start to turn and the words spill from me before I face him.
"You're okay--"
Vincent glares at me.
Suppressing the urge to shrink away, I meet his gaze. "Where is Luke? Is he okay?"
"He's getting stitches." His mouth pinches down at the corners. "Solandro likes knives as much as guns."
Watching Vincent, I start to mangle a couch pillow. "But he'll be released tonight?"
Vincent lifts a brow. "Solandro?"
"No!" I want to toss the pillow at his face. Instead, I stuff it behind my back. Vincent isn't stupid. He is prodding me for a reaction -- studying my tells while I am stressed. For what reason, I can only guess.
Closing my eyes, I roll my lips for a few seconds, grinding down my frustration so that I can speak without yelling. "You know I mean Luke. Will the injury require he stay the night at the hospital?"
"Is it really Luke you're worried about?" Deceptively soft, his voice sinks deeper than any dagger. "Or what happens to you next?"