A.R. Winters - Tiffany Black 02 - Green Eyes in Las Vegas

by A. R. Winters

  I’d changed into my jammies and was contemplating brushing my teeth, when there was a knock at the door. I peered out carefully, half-expecting to see Mr. Beard or some other goon he’d hired, but it was just Ian.

  I opened the door.

  “I was thinking,” he told me. “This building isn’t very safe for private investigators. There’s no security downstairs, and anyone could just climb up the fire escape and get in through the veranda. And the doors are flimsy, and –”

  “Ian. I’m trying to get some sleep.”

  He blinked and seemed to notice my jammies for the first time. “Oh. Right. Well. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.”

  I sighed and shut the door behind him, and decided I deserved a piece of chocolate or a cupcake after that conversation. There were a few cupcakes left in the box Glenn had given me yesterday, and I was saving them for tomorrow’s breakfast, but maybe I should just have them now. I stared at the closed box, trying to decide if I should just go ahead, when there was another knock on my door.

  I went over, peered through the fisheye, and opened it again for Ian.

  “I know you said you were going to sleep,” he said. “But don’t you think it’s too dangerous to sleep here? You know, that guy could just break in when you’re sleeping. He’d just put a pillow over your head and you wouldn’t even notice.”

  “He wants to stab my neck,” I said icily.

  “Yeah, well. Same thing. He could just slip in through the window quietly–”

  “Ian. I need to sleep.”

  “Right. Right. Well, we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  I closed the door as he left and leaned my forehead against it. Probably better to have the cupcakes now, I thought. And come to think of it, maybe I should just stay up all night so Mr. Beard couldn’t stab me in my sleep.

  There was another knock, and I opened the door and glared at Ian. “What?”

  “Um, I was just thinking. Now that I’m going to be a private investigator and all… Are there any books I should read? Any websites that teach you all the cool tricks? You know, I want to get a headstart on learning all this pr– ”

  I tried to keep my voice steady. “Ian. Go. To sleep.” I slammed the door shut in his face.

  I heard Ian shuffle away back to his condo, and I groaned. He’d be back within ten minutes, max. Even without the threat of Mr. Beard breaking in and killing me in my sleep, there was no way I’d get any sleep here tonight.

  I changed, packed an overnight bag and stepped out of my condo. I was locking my door when Ian came up. I stifled my sigh.

  “Where are you going?” he said. “Do you have a safe house? Are you staying at your boyfriend’s place?” He walked with me to the elevator. “It’s a good thing you’re leaving. It’s probably good to lay low, once in a while.”

  He stepped into the elevator with me, and I wondered if I could choke him now while no-one was watching.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Checking into a casino.”

  “That’s cool. Maybe I should check in, too.”

  “No!” I said quickly. “You should stay here, keep an eye out in case Mr. Beard returns.”

  Ian tapped his temple. “Good thinking. That’s why you’re the lead detective. I can be the brawn.”

  Ian was more fat that brawn, but I kept that thought to myself as I stepped out into the foyer.

  “Are you walking to the casino?” Ian said. “I should escort you.”

  I was about to say no, but I paused. Driving up the Strip at this hour was an impossibility, given the number of tourists stopping to take photos of the lights. And walking by myself did seem a bit worrisome. If Ian was with me, I probably wouldn’t have to check over my shoulder every two seconds.

  “Ok,” I said.

  “Really?” His eyes shone and I was surprised he wasn’t jumping up and down in delight. “That’s great! This is my first case!” We’d reached the street by now, and Ian was walking beside me, looking from side to side every other second. “I’ll do a really good job protecting you, I promise. I’ve got a yellow belt in karate.”

  “From when you were five?”

  “Twelve, actually.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’d offer to carry your bag, but I’ve got to keep my hands free to beat up anyone who threatens you.”

  “That’s fine,” I told him. “My bag’s pretty light.”

  I had the day off work tomorrow, so I didn’t have to check into The Treasury, or any place within walking distance. But the last time I’d checked into a casino because I was scared for my life, it had been The Tremonte. I knew it was safe, they had a great breakfast buffet, and ok – maybe a little part of me was hoping that Jack would be there.

  We trudged down the street, and Ian said, “This is really exciting for me, you know. All my life, I’ve been trying to find the right thing to do. You know, your career should be something you love, not just something that makes you money.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “But it’s a little harder when you actually need money.”

  Ian shook his head. “Money is both a blessing and a curse,” he intoned, and I gave him a funny look. “Sometimes I wonder how things would’ve been if I hadn’t invested in that start-up. I might’ve finished college, maybe gotten a proper job.”

  “Hang on, I thought you had a trust fund.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I sold out my share of the company, and my parents made me put it all in a trust fund, and now I need to get my financial advisor’s approval to spend more than a certain amount.”

  “So, you’re telling me you founded a startup?”

  He shook his head. “Oh no, I just invested a couple of grand in this thing some friends started. And then it got big and did an IPO and I cashed out. And then afterwards the stock tanked.”

  He had a guilty look on his face, kind of like a puppy who’d been bad.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” I told him.

  “Yeah, but other investors lost money on the stock. It was the dot-com bubble, except we didn’t know it, back then.”

  We walked a few more paces and then he said, “But I’m happier with the money, of course. It’s not that much, but I can survive without a job, and now I can pursue my true passion.”

  “Which is…?”

  “I’m not sure.” We’d reached the Strip by now, and stopped to stare as a limo full of shrieking girls drove past us. “At first I thought I might be an actor. But then I didn’t get any work, and I realized I can sing and play the guitar, so I started a band. But nobody took me seriously with my orange hair, so I shaved it all off. And then people started wanting me to join their Neo-Nazi groups, so I got a big black wig. But then my parents didn’t let me wear the wig when I went to visit them, and besides, it was itchy, so I got rid of it and grew my hair out.”

  We were almost at The Tremonte when another limo drove past us. There were three girls standing up through the sunroof, whooping like crazy people, and one of them pulled up her top and flashed her boobs at us.

  Ian froze and stared at her until the limo drove out of sight. “Wow,” he said, once it was gone and he got his voice back. “I love Vegas.”

  I looked at him and rolled my eyes. He’d be terrible bodyguard – a girl could parade topless in front of him, and he wouldn’t even notice if I was bludgeoned to death right next to him. Still, it was a bit comforting to have him around. Now I could understand why people get themselves a small, friendly dog and claim it’s good for security.

  “So,” I said. “You moved to Vegas for the girls, huh?”

  “No, no.” Ian shook his head. “I thought I’d play professional poker. But then I lost some money – practice money, right? But my financial advisor wouldn’t let me take out more funds, so…”

  “Your advisor sounds like a tightass.”

  Ian tilted his head slightly. “I guess he is. But John’s just looking out for me. One time, I tried to get married, and he found out
that the girl had married some poor loser before me and taken half his cash in the divorce. And then when I showed her a pre-nup she broke it off.”

  I looked at him to see if seemed heartbroken, but he was pretty stoic about it. “When was this?” I asked.

  “Last week.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m so excited to be a private eye now. It’ll give me something to do.”

  We walked into The Tremonte, and the air conditioning hit me like a bucket of cold water. I breathed in deeply, letting my body get used to the chill.

  “This is a cool place,” Ian told me. “They’ve got a pretty good breakfast buffet. Maybe I should check in, too.”

  “No,” I told him. “Remember you’re meant to look out for Mr. Beard?”

  “Oh, right.”

  We walked up to the front desk, and I asked for a standard room.

  “You should let me pay,” Ian said, fishing out his credit card. It gleamed dark black in the light, and he handed it over to the receptionist.

  “No,” I said quickly. “We’re not partners yet.”

  The receptionist looked at me questioningly, and I shook my head at her, and gave her my plain low-rate card.

  “That’s ok,” Ian was saying. “I don’t mind paying.”

  “You shouldn’t let people take advantage of you.” The girl who didn’t sign the pre-nup flashed into my head, and I was outraged on Ian’s behalf.

  “I don’t mind paying sometimes,” Ian said. “Or all the time.”

  I signed the hotel paperwork, and told Ian to be careful on the walk back to the condo. I wasn’t really concerned about Mr. Beard or some mugger attacking him. I was more worried that some topless girl would charm the pants off him and go home with his black card.

  ***

  I dumped my bag on the floor of the room, and stood by the window, fantasizing about the big buffet breakfast I’d eat tomorrow morning, when the in-room phone rang.

  It wasn’t a noise I’d been expecting, so I stared at the phone suspiciously, half-expecting that the noise had come from the room next to mine. But it rang once again, so I walked over and peered down at the display, which said “Reception.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. I hadn’t even known I’d been holding my breath, but now that I knew the call was from Reception, I didn’t have to worry about Ian being in an emergency. I answered, hoping that it wasn’t Ian calling from Reception to remind me about something inane.

  “Please hold,” the male voice told me, and I wondered if I’d won some kind of sweepstakes just by checking in, and maybe I’d get free home delivery of a dozen cupcakes each week.

  My food lust returned with a vengeance, and I was lost in a mental debate between chocolate cupcakes vs vanilla, when a voice at the other end said, “Hi Tiffany. This is Jack Weber.”

  It was clear that I hadn’t won my cupcake sweepstakes, so I wasn’t as excited as I would’ve been normally. Still, my heart did a little flip, and I barely managed to stammer out a response.

  “I saw you check in,” he said. “Is everything ok?”

  I didn’t know who Jack really was, and I didn’t really know whether he was an art thief or not. So of course, there was no reason for me to hope that there would be anything between us at all. No reason, other than a tiny cavewoman part of my brain which hoped that Jack wasn’t calling for professional reasons.

  And that cavewoman part of me knew that a guy might get turned off if I said, “A maniacal thug’s trying to kill me, so I’m just hiding out here.”

  The cavewoman part prompted me to stammer a lot and say, “Uh. Um. Yeah. Uh. My condo. It’s being repainted. Um.”

  “Oh, ok. Was that your boyfriend dropping you off?”

  “Boyfriend?” I frowned and took a moment to process the word. No, the only person who’d been with me when I checked in was… Oh, right. “That was my neighbor.”

  “Seeing you off safely?”

  “Something like that.” I wondered if I detected a note of jealousy in his voice. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

  “I’m calling because I’m about to take a break from work,” Jack said. “And I wondered if you’d like to come and talk about Casino Kings and Crystal?”

  I glanced at the bed with regret. An early night, followed by an early and massive breakfast had been my plan, but it was almost ten and what was another hour?

  “Sure,” I said. “Are you taking your break now?”

  As soon as I said the words I frowned. The man claimed he was bored of business, but if he was at work so late at night, he had to be a workaholic – or maybe he just started his day late. Or maybe he was a vampire.

  Either way, we decided to meet in ten minutes at the café opposite the blackjack tables. I hung up, went to the bathroom and changed into a prettier top, realized he must’ve seen me walk in wearing a different top via the security cameras, changed back into my original clothes, and decided to pile on some mascara and lipstick instead.

  ***

  I tried to time my entrance carefully. I didn’t want to come to the café too early and look like a desperate loser, but I also didn’t want to be too late.

  I used the extra minute I had before our meeting to call Emily. I got her voicemail, and left a message telling her that it was Mr. Beard who’d been threatening me. Oh, and yeah, he’d tried to kill me.

  I hung up and headed down to the café, worried that I was still going to be early. Thankfully, when I got there, Jack was leaning back in an armchair opposite a low table, nursing a dark-looking drink in a white mug and reading something on his phone. He’d clearly come straight from his office – which I assumed was upstairs – and was wearing a perfectly-cut, dark gray suit, and a white shirt with no tie. Silver cufflinks peeked out from beneath his suit sleeves. He looked like something out of a glamorous movie, and a shiver of excitement ran down my spine before I could stop it. The man’s probably a criminal, I reminded myself, and he doesn’t seem quite normal.

  Jack looked up as I approached, his eyes glinting emerald in the dim café lighting, and I felt my heart thud loudly, my mental warnings forgotten.

  “You’re here,” he said, smiling as I settled myself into the chair opposite him. “I was just about to order myself a cupcake. Would you like one, too?”

  I stared at him in disbelief. How had he read my mind? But I was too nervous to trust myself around food now. I’d be unable to swallow a single bite, and I’d waste a whole cupcake. The guilt of that wasted cupcake would gnaw at me every day for the rest of my life.

  I shook my head, no and he waved a fawning waitress over. We placed our coffee orders, and Jack asked for a triple-chocolate cupcake as well. I tried to ignore my pang of regret.

  Our proximity was making my heart beat erratically, and I worried that pretty soon I’d start acting like a teenager with a silly crush. I wanted to seem professional. Calm and composed, not nervous or flustered, so I jumped straight into work.

  “This is a list of people who’re working on Casino Kings,” I said, showing Jack the list the cameraman, Tony, had given me.

  He ran his eyes down and nodded. “I don’t know most of them,” he said. “But I’ll try to answer your questions.”

  “Well, your co-producer, Ben. Do you know him?”

  Jack leaned back and looked at me carefully. “I do,” he said carefully. “He’s an interesting guy.”

  “How so?”

  Jack shrugged. “He’s always busy, loves showbiz. Some people think he’s a bit rude, and at times he drinks too much. He likes women. Maybe more than he should.”

  I frowned at that last bit. “Crystal claimed that someone on the movie set was pestering her with unwanted advances.”

  I felt a smidgen of stress that the someone might be Jack. But that wasn’t possible, I told myself – according to Minnie, Jack never went on set and he hadn’t even known Crystal.

  Our coffees arrived and Jack looked at his cupcake. “Are you sure yo
u don’t want something to eat?”

  I shook my head resolutely. “I’ve heard other people say that Ben liked his women. That he’d only sign them onto a movie after they’d paid him a few private visits.”

  Jack’s eyes were guarded. “I don’t want to get Ben in trouble. But the rumors were pretty spot on. He’s a nice enough guy, though.”

  “Other than forcing women to sleep with him.”

  “These girls think that sleeping with a producer’s going to help their careers. I’m not defending what he does, but his attitude is that it’s a give and take. Nobody forces anyone.”

  It was a morally ambiguous area and I made a face. Living in Vegas, you see a lot of “give and take” like that, and I let the topic slide. Instead, I said, “Do you know where he is, now?”

  Jack shrugged. “Probably in LA. He’s usually there during the week. He’s got business in Vegas, but when he comes here he usually stays at his cousin’s place, not that hotel address that’s written on your list.”

  “What cousin’s place?”

  “I don’t have the address on me. But it’s up north, just past Aliente.”

  The world went still for a moment. “Crystal’s body was found up north. Just past Aliente.”

  I stared into my coffee, trying to make sense of it. It could just be a coincidence, but in my experience, coincidences don’t happen very often. There were a number of reasons why Crystal might’ve gone up near where Ben was staying, and I didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

  “Ben’s coming into Vegas on Saturday,” Jack was saying. “I guess you’ll go talk to him then?”

  I nodded, still thinking about Crystal’s death.

  Jack said, “How’s the Van Gogh investigation going?”

  The question made me blink and stare at him carefully. Jack’s face was a study in polite interest, but I caught a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, as well as a hint of genuine curiosity.

  “Not bad,” I said, unwilling to admit that I wasn’t really investigating it. “Do you have any idea what might’ve happened?”

  Jack smiled, and I watched his eyes. They gave nothing away and he said lightly, “Jeremy tells me that someone switched off the central security circuit, picked the lock on his door, and took off with the painting.”