Lucky Bastard

by Deborah Coonts

  A grunt. The shooter fell back, blood on his shoulder. His shooting arm dropped.

  His buddy, the guy who had been hit in the leg, raised his hands, but stayed where he sat. “Don’t shoot, man. I got no gun.”

  Romeo stepped to him and pushed him face-first on the ground. “Hands behind your back. I got a feeling you know the drill.”

  As he cuffed him, Romeo gave me a half grin and a shake of the head. He didn’t have to say anything.

  As the dust settled, I caught sight of Watalsky on his chest, lying flat on the ground. My heart leaped. I rushed to his side. Kneeling down, my eyes scanned the room as I asked, “Are you hit?”

  “Hell, no.” As he pushed himself up, another set of arms and feet stuck out from under him. He’d been lying on someone. “Darn near took one in the ass trying to get this guy to the ground.” Watalsky rolled off the body underneath.

  Cole!

  Fury reddened the young man’s face as he pushed at Watalsky, who was twice his size and probably three times his weight. I reached down and grabbed Cole, bringing him to his feet with one jerk. “Brandy? Where is she?”

  Panic on his face, Cole scanned the room. My eyes followed his.

  Behind me Watalsky asked Romeo, “How many do you have?”

  Romeo paused as he got a good picture of his officers and their captives. “Six.”

  “There’s one more.”

  “I didn’t kill her.” The voice was low, angry, but it held a plea.

  All heads turned toward the sound as a figure stepped out into the light. I stepped back into the shadows.

  Kevin Slurry. The Hawk. The former owner of the Web site that seemed to be at the center of things, Aces Over Eights, a dead man’s hand. That went from being merely creepy to totally terrifying.

  He held Brandy, her back to his chest, like a human shield, the muzzle of his gun pressed to her temple.

  Romeo made a move toward him. Slurry re-aimed his gun at the detective’s chest. “Don’t be a hero.”

  Romeo froze. He raised his hands, his gun pointing at the ceiling.

  “I want all of you to put your guns on the ground, then kick them over to me.”

  Unsure, the officers glanced at Romeo. He slowly knelt and did as Slurry asked. The other officers followed. In the shadows, I stepped farther back, hiding myself in the darkness and hoping that the bright light over Slurry made it hard for him to see.

  “I didn’t kill Sylvie Dane.” Slurry’s voice shook. Under the harsh light of the exposed bulbs, it was easy to see he was nervous. Perspiration trickled down the side of his face. Raising his shoulder, he wiped it away, but the panic in his eyes remained as they darted around the room.

  “This is no way to get us to believe you,” Romeo said. “Put your gun down. Let the girl go. Then we’ll talk.”

  “They’re going to kill me, Slurry said as he once again pressed his gun to Brandy’s temple. “She’s my ticket outta here.”

  “Who’s going to kill you?” Romeo asked.

  “The same ones who killed Sylvie.” Slurry was starting to lose it now. I could see the wildness in his eyes as he gripped Brandy to him with an arm across her throat.

  “Who are they?” the young detective pushed.

  “Hell, if I knew that do you think I’d be here? I’m looking for answers the same as you.” Slurry motioned with his gun for the officers in front of him to move to the side. With a nod from Romeo, they did as he requested. “I was helping her.”

  “With what?” Romeo asked.

  I kept my eyes glued to Brandy. She didn’t struggle. Finally, her eyes locked with mine. Big and bright, they mirrored her fear and something else…resolve. I gave her a questioning look and pointed to the ground. She gave me a half smile.

  We’d get one shot at this. I didn’t smile—lately puns had been losing their luster. Half hidden from view behind Romeo, I pulled back the slide on my gun, then curled both hands around the grip, one finger resting lightly on the trigger.

  As Romeo kept Slurry’s attention, I gave a quick nod to Brandy.

  I raised my gun. She sagged in his arms, fighting against his hold. Caught by surprise, Slurry’s grip loosened. Brandy shrugged him off and dropped to the ground.

  To me, everything happened in slow motion. I stroked the trigger and the gun jerked in my hand. Kevin staggered back. A red stain ballooned on his chest.

  Romeo pivoted, looking at me, his eyes as big as saucers.

  For a moment time stopped.

  ***

  “I’ve never shot a man before,” I said, apropos of nothing, really. Huddled in a blanket, sitting on the fender of an ambulance, I tried to control my shaking. Cops and paramedics rushed in and out of the light cast by the headlights of the vehicles clustered around the ambulances. They’d circled Brandy and Cole before I’d had a chance to shoot them myself. The Flight for Life helicopter carrying Slurry lifted off. Quickly, its landing light dimmed as the night swallowed it. A couple of the other players, including the one I had winged, were being treated, then transported to UMC at more sedate pace, their injuries deemed non–life threatening.

  Holding a cup of coffee by the rim, Romeo handed it to me. Cupping my hands around the Styrofoam, I sought comfort from the warmth steaming from the liquid. I tried to raise the cup to my lips, but my hands shook so badly I was worried about scalding myself. Of course, then I might be able to sue for a huge sum, like that lady who sued McDonald’s, and retire to some obscure island in the South Pacific. But, with my luck, I’d probably just get a burn, a scar, and bad publicity so I contented myself with absorbing the warmth rather than ingesting it.

  If Romeo noticed my struggle, he kept it to himself. “The first time is the hardest, but it never gets easier. That guy had it coming for sure, but he’s someone’s child or brother, or something.”

  “If you’re trying to make me feel better, please stop. You suck at it.”

  “So, I’ve been told.” He scooted me over then squeezed one cheek onto my fender, propping himself there. “I’m just saying we all feel the same way. But, look at it this way, if you hadn’t shot that guy in the leg, I might not be sitting here.”

  “Working so hard to improve my mood.”

  Romeo nudged me with his shoulder and grinned. “You did the right thing. Even though you shot him before he could tell us what he was helping Sylvie Dane with.”

  “As you said, I had one shot at saving Brandy, so I took it.”

  “And a good thing you did, too.”

  “Do you think he’s going to make it?” My voice came out all hushed.

  “Slurry? I don’t know.” Romeo snaked an arm around my shoulders, pulling me tight. Somehow he must’ve sensed that offering platitudes would just ring hollow, so he stayed quiet.

  I’d finally managed to negotiate a sip or two of coffee without scalding myself or decorating my front, when Watalsky appeared, trailed by two officers. “Detective, you gotta tell your goons I’m one of the good guys.”

  “Really?” Romeo let go of my shoulders, but he didn’t move from his perch. “Convince me.”

  “Me and Jerry over at the Babylon have been trying to get a bead on the cheating that was going on the other night. Those two, Slurry and Sylvie Dane had to be in cahoots, I just can’t figure out why.”

  I pulled the blanket tighter around me—for some reason I couldn’t get warm. “Did Jerry know you were here?”

  Watalsky looked at the ground as he scuffed his toes in the gravel. “Not really.”

  “Didn’t think so.”

  “We’re going to take the lot of you to the station. You’ll be there until we get the truth out of you.” Romeo motioned to the officers, who had each taken one of Watalsky’s arms, bracketing him. They didn’t need him to spell it out. Without a word, they led Watalsky away.

  “You’re in for a long night.”

  Romeo looked resigned. “Yeah, well, you know how it is.” With the excitement over, the adrenaline waning, the kid look
ed like he could use a month of good shut-eye. His hair slicked to his head, his face haggard, a stubble scratching his cheeks, a decade had been added to his appearance since the last time I’d seen him—and he hadn’t looked so hot then. The clothes were different. A new suit, but the same wilted white shirt, noosed by a tie loosely knotted and covered by his same tan overcoat—he looked like Clark Kent in need of a phone booth. With a casual glance, he assessed the area. “Things are under control here.”

  “Saying those kinds of things does nothing but tempt fate,” I groused, thinking my emotions were far from under control—they still spiked and dove, twisted and flipped, a dizzying roller-coaster ride.

  As Romeo started to say something, Brandy appeared out of the darkness and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. Romeo grabbed her with both arms and held tight. Cole, hanging back in the shadows, didn’t look too pleased. Finally, out of patience, he strode into the light and tapped Brandy on the back. When she turned, he signed something to her.

  “Right.” Her brows crinkled in worry as she glanced between Romeo and me. “Is the other girl okay?”

  “What other girl?” we said in unison.

  “The girl with the necklace.”

  I dropped my coffee as I leaped to my feet. “She was here? Where?”

  “She was in the game. She used the necklace to buy in.”

  “Really?” Romeo was openly skeptical. “Why would anyone bring a red-hot piece of ice like that here?”

  Cole rolled his eyes, his fingers flying.

  “Where better?” Brandy interpreted. “Here nobody cares who you are, or where you got it. No records and it disappears into a melting pot at some local chop shop.”

  “Can’t argue with the logic,” I said to Romeo.

  Romeo turned to Cole. “You wouldn’t have any idea where she went, would you?”

  “When the shooting started, she rabbited.” Brandy appeared to be picking up some interesting lingo hanging with the poker crowd. “God knows where.”

  “And the necklace?” I asked out of curiosity.

  Cole reached into his pocket. Then he grabbed Romeo’s hand, turned it palm up, and dropped Sylvie Dane’s pocket watch into his open hand.

  ***

  “Well, we have the watch,” I said to my audience clustered in my office as I held it by the chain and watched as it twirled, fracturing the light like a disco ball. Romeo had dusted it in vain—any meaningful prints had long been obscured. “A pretty bauble. But no girl.”

  Miss P and the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock sat molded together, Jeremy underneath, like a human stacking game. Entwined, they looked tired, but happy.

  “Fuckin’ A!” Newton, never one to be ignored, trotted out the epithet with abandon. “Asshole! Asshole! Asshole!” He ducked and shimmied from one side of his cage to the other.

  “What’s with the bird?” Miss P asked.

  “A shiny bauble and an audience—bird heaven.”

  “Gimme, gimme, gimme.” Newton’s vocabulary was clearly growing. The worst part of it was his word choices seemed to be appropriate, well, if four-letter words were ever appropriate.

  Dropping the watch on the corner of Miss P’s desk, I reached for the cover to the birdcage. “Time for you to go to sleep, kiddo.”

  “Bitch,” Newton murmured, making everyone laugh as I wrapped him in darkness.

  “Where are the kids?” Jeremy asked, as he snaked out a hand to grab Sylvie’s watch. He turned it over in his hand then popped the cover. “Sweet.”

  “Brandy and Cole went to the station with Romeo,” I explained as I plopped into my desk chair, kicked off my shoes, then put my feet on my desk. “He’s got Watalsky on the hot seat and wanted to use the kids’ stories to keep him honest.”

  “Gotcha.” Jeremy grinned as Miss P nuzzled his ear. “Honey, that’s really distracting.”

  “Go get a room, you two. I hear we have a few that are pretty nice.” I watched wishing for an ear of my own to nibble…perhaps one with a French flair. “As I was saying, Romeo is going to get everyone’s story straight, then he’s going to bust Dane’s ass with it.”

  “Assuming that happens, what’s going to happen to Dane?” Jeremy asked. I wasn’t sure whether anger pinched his face or another emotion.

  “Once Metro finds him…if they find him…he’ll be escorted through the criminal justice system, to much media fanfare, unless we can conjure up a killer.” Wiggling my toes, I pretended to be interested in them for a moment while the room fell silent, each of us lost in our own memories, our fears. “I hear a grand jury will be convened on Monday. It’s my guess they have enough evidence, albeit circumstantial, to indict.”

  “I’m chasing some interesting money trails for your dead Poker Room manager, Johnstone.” Jeremy shook his head as he ducked away from Miss P. “It’s pretty convoluted, highly sophisticated. But it’s looking like he had his hand in a pretty large cookie jar.”

  “Any offshore connections?” I asked. Sometimes a shot in the dark actually hits something.

  “Why would you think that?” Jeremy’s eyes narrowed, his interest piqued.

  “Kevin Slurry seems to be at the vortex of this hurricane. And he owned an offshore poker site. Money flows through there like shit though a goose, but comes out clean as a whistle on the other side.”

  “Really?” He boosted Miss P off his lap. He set the watch back on my desk. “You might want to check the inside of the cover there.” He pointed to a section of the metal that was less shiny than the rest. “It looks like something’s been removed. Some initials or something, I can’t tell without a magnifying glass.” As I bent to look where he pointed, he grabbed his cell and started dialing, then disappeared through the office door.

  Miss P brushed down her skirt, then pulled her shoulders back, stretching. Taking a deep breath, she leveled her gaze at me. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything you need?”

  “Any info on that sign in front of the dealership?”

  “Maintenance is looking for the work order, but you know how they are.”

  “Organization is not their strength.”

  Jeremy had finished his call and poked his head back in the office. “I’ve got some preliminary news on Sylvie Dane’s phone. It was a burn phone, untraceable to any source, not that I expected to find any. And she didn’t make any outgoing calls, except to one number.”

  “What was the number? Could you trace it?”

  Jeremy nodded. “Don’t get all excited. The number is registered to a local charity that hands out phones to homeless kids.”

  “Homeless?” That was a turn in the road I didn’t see coming.

  “Don’t ask,” Jeremy shut my questions down. “I haven’t tied any of this together—still working on it.”

  “Gotcha. Maybe you’ll know more when I meet you for breakfast tomorrow. Jamm’s, right?”

  “Eight o‘clock.”

  I turned my attention to Miss P. “Take your Aussie boy home. We’ve done enough for today.”

  She didn’t argue. Miss P hooked her arm through her honey’s and they fell into easy conversation. She grabbed her purse off Brandy’s desk as she went by, then both of them stepped through the hole in the wall, my future office door. Quiet descended as their voices retreated down the hallway.

  Alone with myself, I picked up the watch and held it to the light. The stones shattered the weak light into colorful sparkles. Flipping open the cover, I held it so it caught what light there was. On my second pass, I noticed a scuffed patch of metal on the inside as if something had been removed. The initials Jerry had mentioned. Why remove them? Whatever the reason, the deed had been done fairly recently from the looks of it.

  I had no idea what it meant or if it was relevant at all. Like a blanket thrown over a smoldering fire, the quiet semidarkness pressed around me as I contemplated all the pieces to the puzzle. Despite my best efforts, my brain flipped to shutdown mode. Too little sleep, too many murders, too many
elusive connections… and too little life. Not to mention I’d shot someone today. Okay, two someones.

  Caught in the daily current of chaos, it was easy to avoid myself. Perhaps that’s why I sought the craziness—no time for introspection. But, according to the experts, sanity is based on a balance between life at full tilt and reflective time. God knew I had a tentative hold on reality as it was, so I relinquished myself to the silence and let my world turn inward. And, like horses galloping to the barn, when I let my thoughts run unbridled, they ran straight to my most personal problem—Teddie.

  Someday I’d have to face him, I knew that. But, with multiple time zones between us, I’d been avoiding the inevitable. The searing heat of his betrayal still burned at the touch of a memory. Yes, Miss P was right, Teddie used to love me; he probably still did. He just loved himself more. And, if the best I could do was a distant second, I wasn’t entering the race, thank you very much.

  In need of moral courage, I wandered into the kitchenette—Miss P kept an emergency ration of medicinal Wild Turkey 101 in the top cabinet, way in the back. Dropping one cube of ice in the double old-fashioned glass, I filled it with the golden elixir—nothing like Kentucky mash to dull the pain.

  Dousing the lights, leaving the light filtering in from the lobby below as the only illumination, I sagged into Miss P’s chair. Pulling out the bottom drawer with the toe of my left foot, I rested both feet on it and tilted myself back. History had taught me, the first sip of whiskey is always the worst, leaving a trail of fire all the way down until it explodes in a ball of warmth. As I braced for the pain then relished the comfort, an inner voice sounded a warning that went unheeded.

  I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to feel.

  So, I did what any sane person would do: I hit the replay button on the message machine, then leaned back, bracing for the hit.

  Like a sucker punch, Teddie’s voice hit me hard, leaving me gasping for air.