Lucky Bastard

by Deborah Coonts

  I glanced around before answering. “Under wraps,” I whispered as I eased my arm from his grasp. “Did Miss P tell you about Shooter and the kid?”

  “Yeah, Lovey told me. I’ve been ringing them both, but no answer.” Jeremy glanced around, probably a habit, then lowered his voice. “Does our boy have any news that might be helpful?”

  “Sure,” I scoffed. “Why he keeps acting like we are on opposite teams in this game, I’d like to know.”

  “Curious, I’ll admit.”

  In my limited understanding, that statement was tantamount to treason in the Male Code of Ethics, which didn’t give me a warm fuzzy. Friends were usually the last to bail.

  I grabbed Jeremy’s elbow. “I’m chasing a connection and I could use your help.”

  He matched my stride. “Where’re we going?”

  “Remember the storm drains?”

  A maze of storm sewers crisscrossed under Las Vegas. Some said there were three hundred miles of the concrete pipes, most of them large enough to stand in. A rare storm in the summer could dump so much rain in the mountains to the west, that flash flooding became a huge problem as the city grew. The storm drains were part of the elaborate system designed to keep the rampaging water off the streets and out of the casinos.

  The other elements not wanted in the casinos—the homeless, the crazy, and the criminal—all took refuge in the drains when the water wasn’t an issue. They built cities down there, hovels, kitchens, workspaces, all of it.

  Absentmindedly, Jeremy rubbed the left side of his torso. “The pipes, man I hope I never go back there.”

  Couldn’t say I blamed him—the last time I’d sent him down there, Crazy Carl had creased his side with a .30-30 bullet. Technically it wasn’t my fault, but I blamed myself.

  Jeremy gave me a sideways glance, narrowing his eyes. “Why?” He stretched the word out giving me the impression he knew why, but didn’t want to hear it.

  “Hope you still have your gun and that Maglite.”

  He looked down at his nice slacks and leather loafers. “Bugger.”

  “This is really important, and time is not on our side.” I fisted my hand in his shirt to get his attention. “Where’s your truck?”

  “Valet. It won’t fit in the garage.”

  “Let’s go.” I turned on my heel and headed toward the lobby. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  Shoulder to shoulder Jeremy and I hurried, propelled by the sense that we were woefully behind.

  ***

  Lightning flashed in the western sky, jagged bright slashes ripping the dark fabric of the night. Great. Just what we needed. “I hope to hell it doesn’t rain.” Riding high, tucked comfortably into the passenger seat of Jeremy’s Hummer, I felt invincible—a fleeting, foolish feeling, but I held on to it. To be honest, the storm drains scared the heck out of me. And rain made them death traps.

  Jeremy shot me a glance, then refocused on the road, both hands clutching the steering wheel, his shoulders hunched in concentration. “I’ve been here a couple of years and it hasn’t rained at all. They say we’re in a drought. How would you know—we live in a desert? Anyway, I wouldn’t worry.”

  The first fat drop hit the windshield like a bullet. Other droplets followed, peppering the truck like shrapnel hurled from each violent explosion of thunder.

  “Silly of me to worry.” I had to raise my voice to be heard above the staccato beat of the rain, growing in intensity now until the windshield wipers could barely keep up. I had to squint to see. “Nice to see my luck is holding. You can see better than me, I hope.”

  Jeremy, his brow gathered in concentration, grunted. I didn’t know whether that was a yes or a no, but decided I’d rather be left in the dark. We fell quiet, beaten into silence by the steady drumming. Puddles formed quickly, throwing sheets of spray as we splashed through. Rivulets of water raced down the sides of the streets, growing in speed and depth. Water in the desert—both life giving and destructive. Too little or too much, both had devastating consequences.

  “I hope we beat the police.” I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud until Jeremy responded.

  “The police? You called them?”

  “No. On a night like tonight, raining as hard as it is, I’m sure a wash call went out.”

  “Wash call?”

  “When the water runs like this, every unit is scrambled to try to get folks out of the storm drains. A couple inches of flowing water can take your feet right out from under you. People die in the drains every time it rains.”

  A streetlight illuminated Jeremy’s wide-eyed glance as we passed underneath, then darkness engulfed his face once again as we drove on. “I’d prefer not to be one of them.”

  That made two of us.

  He left the lights on as he pulled off Decatur and parked the car. Our breath fogged the windows as we took a moment to assess. It always amazed me how a good thunderstorm could drop the temperature thirty degrees. With the soft pad of my fist I cleared a spot on the glass in front of me and squinted into the darkness, timing the lightning strikes.

  Water accumulated in the retention basin—it was filling fast. We didn’t have much time before the torrent reached the storm drain at the far end. There, the relatively small opening of the pipes themselves would act as a Venturi. Forced through the pipes, the water would become a roiling, deadly surge that would scour the drainage system like a giant Roto-Rooter, spitting the limp, lifeless forms of previously living things out the other side.

  Once trapped, you were as good as dead.

  With a glance at Jeremy, I tugged on the door handle and eased the door open. “We’d better hurry.”

  “Wait.” Before my feet hit the ground, his hand fisted in my sweatshirt, pulling me back inside. “Who’s that?”

  I swiped at a trickle of rain and focused. A dark figure sprinted across the basin toward the drain. I knew that long thin, slice of a man—Dane. I grabbed my phone and punched a now-familiar button. “Jerry.”

  “I know. I know. Fuck.” Homicide lurked in the depths of his tone. The guy would have to stand in line. “I just tried my team, but neither one answered. I’m heading to your place now, but I’d bet my left ball Dane is gone.”

  “Are your people okay?”

  “If they aren’t…” Jerry didn’t finish the threat; he didn’t have to.

  I dropped my phone on the floorboard, leaped into the rain, and ran. My ankle be damned—fear and anger, the perfect antidotes to pain. Even with my loping stride, Jeremy was twenty feet ahead of me.

  Shoulder-to-shoulder we ducked through the drain opening. Being out of the rain was nice, but it did little to offset my fear at the ominous black hole leading away from us. Why hadn’t I brought that gun? Because I’d left it somewhere in my apartment…with Dane. Fuck.

  Jeremy clicked on the Maglite—the cone of light barely held back the Stygian darkness. Instead it pressed around us, lurking like a demon, just out of sight, waiting for a sign of weakness.

  My hand lightly on his back, I followed him into the darkness. Water sloshed around our feet, seeping into my shoes. It was rising fast. “Carl’s place.” The water muffled the usual echo.

  “Right.” Jeremy’s voice came back solid, strong.

  While I was delighted to have him there, I was conflicted. He’d almost died once down here already. “Bugger.” I hurled his word into the darkness because I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Half running, we sloshed on in silence. I thought I heard the sound of someone running in front of us, but I wasn’t sure.

  “Here’s the turn.” I pulled Jeremy up short. Apparently Carl didn’t want company—he’d erected a wooden fence across the opening.

  “No wonder I didn’t see it.” Jeremy attacked the makeshift barrier. Three kicks splintered it and we squeezed through.

  A few feet farther then the pipes opened at a juncture point creating a large open room—Carl’s home. A weak glow from a dying fire glowed in the hibachi, w
hich Carl had set on top of a crate to protect it from the rising water. “Carl?”

  No answer.

  Then I heard them: angry, animal sounds, unintelligible shouts. “Great, Carl’s off his meds.” I tossed the words over my shoulder as I moved toward the sounds. After briefly considering using Jeremy as a shield, I abandoned that idea as bad form. Instead, summoning a false courage, I strode into the center of the room.

  “Carl?” I checked his bed. No one. Jeremy cast the thin beam of light around, but it couldn’t penetrate the corners. The noise seemed to be coming from the exit pipe on the far side of the room. I grabbed Carl’s rifle lying across the foot of his bed and motioned to Jeremy. “Come on.” I didn’t bother to check to see if the old Browning .30-30 was loaded. Carl was a member of the what’s-the-use-of-an-empty-gun school of thought—something I was grateful for at the moment.

  Jeremy and I hadn’t made it twenty feet into the pipe when a huge figure emerged from the darkness in front of us. “Carl?”

  His matted dark hair was glued to his forehead. His beard, long and unkempt, hid the lower half of his face. Catching what little light there was, his eyes glowed like those of a wild animal stalking the periphery of sight. “Carl, it’s Lucky.”

  “Lucky?” Confusion replaced the anger. “It’s not safe down here. We need to go.” He lumbered into the light.

  Under one arm he held a squirming, fighting bunch of irate female. Her eyes wide with fear, her dark hair whipping like writhing snakes, she fought and pushed at the huge arm holding her. “Let me go.” She kicked and hit, with no effect—she couldn’t even get Carl’s attention.

  I moved closer. When she caught sight of me she stopped fighting. Her eyes widened in recognition.

  “You.” The girl and I said in unison. “From the casino.”

  I wanted to throw my arms around the big man. “Carl, you are my hero.”

  He beamed, even though he hadn’t a clue. “This here feline,” he half lifted the girl still caught in the vise of his arm, “was stealing my hotdogs. She even took a gallon of milk out of the ice chest. Brand new, too. Caught her red-handed.”

  Bending around Carl’s elbow, the young woman stared at me. I saw fear, no, terror in her eyes. “My daughter,” she whispered, her voice choked with the effort.

  “Daughter? Where?” I put my hand on Carl’s arm. “Let her go, Carl. Please.”

  He nodded, setting her down easy. Steadying herself on her feet, she pulled air deep into her lungs, then she grabbed my arm, tugging me. “Please. Help me. She is so small.”

  I looked at the water swirling around my ankles. Gaining speed, it made walking a struggle.

  “It’s not far,” the woman pleaded, her panic boiling to the surface. “I left her while I went to get us food. She was so hungry, but never complained.”

  Even Carl seemed to understand. “Show us.”

  The young woman disappeared into the pipe. I followed with Carl behind me and Jeremy bringing up the rear.

  We hadn’t gone far when an angry snarl sounded behind us.

  I whirled, a split second behind Jeremy who arced the flashlight toward the sound. Dane sprang into the light. His face twisted. His teeth bared. His eyes glued to the figure over my shoulder.

  “You killed her!” Dane charged, a beast wild with bloodlust.

  The girl screamed and shrank back.

  Jeremy flicked the bright light, pointing it into Dane’s eyes.

  Momentarily blinded, he threw his arm up, shielding his eyes. Jeremy tensed, his muscles bunched. Then he unfurled them, like a homerun hitter swinging for the fence. The beam of light arced.

  A meaty thunk. Then the world plunged into darkness.

  “Not so fast, Cowboy.” Jeremy’s voice. I didn’t hear another.

  “Jeremy?”

  “I got the bugger. He’s out cold, but he’ll live. Unfortunately, I can’t say as much for the light. Sorry.”

  The black void pulled at me, tugging me different directions, making my head spin. Without a purchase, a handhold, I felt my balance slipping. Panic clenched my stomach.

  A huge hand closed around my arm, steadying me. “Lucky, I’m here. Don’t worry.” Carl’s voice was calm, reassuring—an interesting turnabout if I’d had time to think about it.

  “And the girl?”

  “Gone, but I know where she goes. I can find her.”

  “I’m coming, too.” Carl knew me well enough not to argue.

  “Jeremy, can you get yourself and Dane out? He’ll drown in here if we leave him.” The prospect didn’t sound all that unsavory, to be honest.

  “No worries.” I guess he knew me well enough not to argue either. I heard him grunt, then move away. And it was a good thing, too—another moment of reflection and I might have changed my mind and held Dane’s face under the water myself.

  ***

  Dizzy in the near-darkness, my eyes unable to find even a pinpoint of light as a balance point, I squeezed them shut and clung to Carl’s shirt. One hand trailing along the wall, he moved quickly. I stumbled to keep up.

  “Lucky, hurry.” His breathing was labored. “Too much water.”

  Energy would be wasted on a response, so I concentrated on matching my pace to his. The water was around our knees now, and starting to move more quickly. Even with Carl breaking the way, each step was a struggle. The air conspiring with the water, I struggled to pull oxygen into my lungs as I labored against the current.

  “It’s not far now.” Carl’s voice was a low, clear growl.

  Focusing on the battle, my head bowed with the effort, I lost touch with anything around me. One foot. Shift my weight. Lean heavily on the front foot. Carefully lift the back foot. Fight the current. Lift my foot out of the water. Bring it forward. Step forcefully into the moving water. Then do the whole sequence again.

  Without warning, Carl moved to the left. I lost my balance. The force of the water hit my leg. I fell. Instinctively, I shoved my hands out, bracing. Anchorless, I fought as the current pulled at me.

  As my head went under, my hands scraped the floor—two feet, no more. But I was powerless—flotsam on a wild river. Shoving against the concrete, I got my head above the surface. Dragging air into my lungs, I fought panic.

  As the water closed over my head, I felt a hand grab the back of my sweatshirt and pull. My foot found brief purchase and I pushed with all the energy I had left. Twisting as I surfaced, I grabbed Carl’s arm.

  “Pull, Lucky. Quickly. You can do this.” Carl’s voice. Calm. The illumination of hope. “I’ve got hold of a ladder. Can you find it?”

  Like a demon dragging me to Hell, the current pulled at my legs. Hand-over-hand I pulled my way up Carl’s arm and across his chest. Finally my hand closed over metal. My teeth chattered—from fear or cold, or both—stealing my strength. I worked my other hand to the metal. Then a foot. Then the other. “I’ve got it.”

  “Stay here.”

  Two words, then he was gone.

  ***

  The water sucked and pulled draining my strength. Clinging to the last vestiges of hope, I fought back. With my butt wedged between two rungs of the ladder, my hands fisted around one of the uprights, my toes curled around a lower rung, I held on. The water had risen—it was up over my feet now. Shrouded in darkness, I moved up one rung, repositioning myself. Numbness replaced the shivering. Calmness replaced fear.

  Time passed. With no reference, I had no idea how many minutes filled what felt like an eternity. A dim glow above filtered into the gloom—pinpoints of light. The ladder led upward to a manhole. To safety.

  But I wasn’t leaving without Carl.

  My head rested on my arms. My eyes shut. My breath came in shallow gasps. My strength trickled away, like sand in an hourglass, leaving me weak, my muscles slow to respond. The water swirled close to my knees now. Then I heard it—a faint noise altering the rush of the water.

  Raising my head, I concentrated. There it was again.

  “Carl?”
I shouted.

  Nothing. Was my mind playing tricks? I held my breath. The noise again. I was sure of it.

  “Carl?” Extending one leg into the water, I shouted again. “Carl?” The water whipped my leg downstream pulling me from my perch. I fought. Summoning strength I didn’t know I had, I pulled myself back to safety.

  “Lucky.” Carl’s voice. Weak. But close.

  I strained into the darkness. I thought I saw a figure, but I wasn’t sure. “Carl, I’m here.

  The seconds ticked by, measured by the pounding of my heart.

  Then I saw him. Keeping myself above the water, I extended my body. Reaching, my hand hit cloth, a body. Carl’s hand found mine. I pulled. One step. Two. Closer. I could hear his ragged gasps.

  Shifting his hand from mine to the ladder, he nudged me with something. “Here.”

  Taking the bundle in one arm, I moved up the ladder. One rung. Two. I felt the metal take Carl’s weight.

  The bundle shifted in my arm.

  “Is the baby breathing?” Carl asked from below.

  “Christ!” Without a hand to spare, I used my chin to work the blanket back. Cool skin under my lips. No movement. My heart stopped. Then a whimper. Energy flowed through me. “Barely. We need to hurry.”

  Hand up one rung, feet following, I worked my way up. The metal shook as Carl followed.

  Pinpoints of light pulled me. Finally, my hand hit metal—the manhole cover. My arm already shook with the effort of climbing. Stepping up two rungs, I leaned my head to the side. Crouching, bundling the energy I had left into my legs, I pressed my shoulder to the metal. A deep breath. Hold it. Push.

  The cover moved. Inches. Not enough.

  Two deep breaths. Oh, the fresh air tasted good. Another push.

  This time, I could squeeze through. With just enough rational thought left, I stuck my head up to make sure I wasn’t climbing into the middle of Las Vegas Boulevard or something—I had no desire to get all this way only to have my head taken off by a taxi.

  Luck held. This manhole was in the sidewalk. I didn’t recognize the neighborhood and I didn’t care. Squirming as fast as I dared, I worked my body through and onto firm ground. Laying the baby in a safe place next to me, I pushed the manhole cover completely out of the way and reached in.