Lucky Bastard

by Deborah Coonts

  Frank’s face showed concern when I opened my eyes and looked at him, really looked at him. He looked angry.

  “Slim didn’t call you to meet him at the plane, did he?”

  “No, it was Miss Becky-Sue.” Frank rubbed the heavy five-o’clock shadow he carefully groomed. “Come to think of it, Slim did seem sorta surprised to see me. Relieved. He didn’t really want to go to the party. He said his heart had been acting up.”

  “Anything weird happen with your little pecker-power stash while you were there?”

  Frank rolled his eyes. “Just like with you. I pulled out my phone, and the bag came with it. Becky-Sue grabbed it, was razzing me. When I grabbed it back, she didn’t let go. The thing ripped and pills went flying. Embarrassing.”

  “And fatal.” Miss Becky-Sue…funny, could she actually be the viper I though she was. “Tell me about the offshore poker site you guys are all into. Somehow it’s the key. I know it.”

  “Yeah, it was going to be my ticket back to the big time. Get several ex-wives off my back. Carmen scares me.” He stopped and shook his head. “Anyway, to answer your question. It was looking pretty good until Sylvie came to us.”

  “Kevin Slurry kept a backdoor in the algorithm.”

  If Frank was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Yeah, said she had a source who was going to go public.”

  “The source goes public and overnight your investment would be worth zip-point-doodle.” I gave an appreciative whistle. “Did you know who her source was?”

  “None of us did, as far as I know.”

  “And Slim,” I held up my hand, stopping him, “he wanted it public, didn’t he?”

  “Yeah, the sanctity of the game and all of that. Preserving not only the rep of the game but his own as well.”

  “So who stood to gain by silencing him?”

  “All of us, I guess. If we kept him from spilling the beans, our investment value would hold up.”

  “If you also took out Sylvie Dane and her snitch.” Hands on my hips I glared at him. “Two down, one to go.”

  Frank looked at me. For the first time I saw just a wee bit of give-up. “I didn’t kill him, Lucky. You know I couldn’t. I didn’t kill the girl either—that’s not my style, you know that.”

  “In this town it’d be like signing your own death warrant.” I chewed on my lip for a minute. “The thing I don’t get is Marvin Johnstone. Did he have any connection to the Aces Over Eights Web site?”

  “Not on a bet.” Frank snorted. “Can’t say I’m sad he’s gone. How’d they do it?”

  “Cyanide.”

  “You’re shitting me?” The look on my face strangled his laugh and his eyes went from slits to saucers. “Really?”

  “Afraid so.”

  “Where the hell would you get your hands on something like that?”

  I watched his face carefully. If he was lying, then I was in way over my head. I sidestepped his question with a noncommittal shrug. “Carmen said you got some investors for her store. You guys still close?”

  “Hell, I’m way behind on her alimony. Had a bad run of luck lately.” He smiled at the irony. “I asked some friends to stake her, keep the dagger out of my back while I wined and dined Lady Luck. Self-preservation. Last time I saw her was in court when we split the blanket. A few phone calls since then. A hate letter or two from her mongrel with a Bar card—that guy gives lawyers a bad name, if that’s possible.”

  “Miss Becky-Sue’s name wouldn’t be on that list of investors, would it?” The look on his face told me all I needed to know. “And Carmen has cyanide on hand.”

  “She tell you that?” Frank looked like he’s been sucker punched.

  “Indirectly.” I nodded at the disbelief I saw in his eyes. “Who stood to inherit Slim’s stake with him out of the way?” I asked even though I was pretty sure I knew the answer. Turning the knob, I pulled open the door and ran. My ankle screamed but adrenaline dulled the pain. The rest, I ignored.

  Frank followed me. “Why would Becky-Sue…” He forced the words through labored breathing as he struggled to keep up.

  “He was a heart attack waiting to happen, everybody knew it. You guys sunk a pile into the poker site.”

  “Slim bought the biggest slice.”

  “I bet.” I ignored a couple of reporters standing outside the Press Room who fell in behind us.

  “And if he blew the whistle…” That was all Frank could manage as he wheezed after me.

  People jammed the escalators, so I had to stop and take my turn. Lacking oxygen myself, I took advantage and filled my lungs.

  “What about Sylvie’s source?”

  “A loose end. And, if my hunch is right, Miss Becky-Sue went for him yesterday, but got me instead.”

  Hitting the ground floor, I sidestepped the guests in front of me and took off.

  Miss Becky-Sue was planning a going-away party in the Garden Arena.

  I’d always wanted to rain on someone’s parade.

  ***

  The Garden Arena hosted rock concerts, title fights, Broadway shows, and now, a Celebration of Life for poker’s biggest star. The Babylon’s largest venue, the arena had tiered seating for thirty thousand or more, depending on the configuration. The security guy standing guard at one set of main doors jumped to when I approached.

  I slowed only slightly as I barked orders. “Stop the folks behind me. Call Metro, Detective Romeo. Get him down here, stat.” Then I threw my weight against the doors and kept motoring, letting my momentum carry me down the stairs toward the arena floor.

  The lights hanging from the catwalks high above trained their beams on the center of the arena where seats had been retracted to increase the floor size. Huge pieces of scenery dangled on wires at various heights above the floor, the winches above them whining in protest. A hand of playing cards caught my eye—aces and eights. Whether it was by design or someone’s sick joke, I wasn’t amused. A huge poker chip emblazoned with the Babylon’s logo drifted slowly toward the ground where workmen waited, their gloved hands outstretched, ready to maneuver the piece into place. A single beam illuminated a gleaming white baby grand on a raised platform to the left—presumably for the band. On hands and knees in the middle of the floor, several workers snapped sections of wooden flooring into place—perfect for dancing—which seemed out of place. In fact, it all seemed in bad taste for a funeral, but what do I know?

  The crew had opened a huge trapdoor in the floor on the far side of the arena and installed a movable elevator to bring all the required party staples up from the underground storage areas below. The set pieces that would fit, cases of liquor, mixers, and condiments, food from the banquet kitchens, linens from the laundry, tables from storage—all of it trundled up the elevator to be dispersed to the proper location.

  I scanned the area for the floor manger in charge of directing traffic. I smiled when I caught sight of Moony Ridgeway, in her boots and overalls, barking orders. My smile fled and my eyes narrowed dangerously when I spied my target, Miss Becky-Sue, glued to Moony like a suckerfish on a shark. Both of them leaned over the railing around the elevator shaft peering down through the hole in the floor. If they’d just keep that position for thirty seconds. Then I’d be within striking distance. If luck was with me…

  “Hey!” Frank shouted from above me, his voice carrying across the vast expanse, cutting through the noise, turning heads. “Hey, Lucky! Wait.”

  Miss Becky-Sue stood and looked in my direction.

  My foot hit the last step hard almost buckling my ankle. I staggered, gasping in pain. When unsure, the guilty usually run. Miss Becky-Sue was no exception. With two hands on the top railing, she vaulted over. Pretty good for a bimbo in a long skirt and boots.

  “Stop her,” I shouted, but I was too late.

  Miss Becky-Sue had vanished.

  Thundering footsteps sounded behind me as I darted toward the opening. Pointing at Moony, who stepped out of my way, I said, “Tell Security to get busy securing al
l the exits from the basement floors. That’s their first priority. If they have any manpower left over, they can help me—but not until we’ve sealed off all escapes. Got it?”

  I caught her quick nod, then I levered myself over the railing and fell.

  Bending my knees, I braced for the fall. My feet hit solid wood sending a jolt through me, jarring every bone I had. My ankle screamed. Tears leaked into my eyes, as the breath left me in a whoosh. Jolts of adrenaline spiked through me. Pain…and anger…snapped across my synapses.

  Miss Becky-Sue had a head start. Glancing around, my eyes locked on to those of a workman, opened in shocked surprise. At my questioning glance, he pointed around a corner. I sneaked through the lower railings. The workman offered me his gloved hand, which I gladly used to take the weight off my bum ankle. Only a moment, but it was enough.

  Turning, I ran in the direction he had pointed.

  Three underground floors formed a labyrinth beneath the Babylon. We’d landed on the first level, which left two below us. Miss Becky-Sue might make it to the next one down, but she’d be shot on sight on the third level down. That one was the money floor, which housed the counting room and various vaults. Heavily guarded, it was penetrable only by those with the highest clearance. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I had enough stroke to wander down there.

  On the two accessible floors, I had the advantage. The place was a maze—endless, wide hallways best traversed in golf carts. Of course, it was a bit like Oz with different colored center stripes painted on the floor and pointing the way to various corporate divisions. Human Resources, Payroll, Accounting, they were all stuck down here—beehives of activity caged by windowless walls. At this time of night, the corporate offices were down to a skeleton staff. In Vegas, the open sign remained lit 24/7.

  While the corporate staff would be downsized, with the work slowing during the waning hours, the laundry, receiving dock and freight storage, along with the employee grub hall, where employees could dine before their shifts started, would be working at full capacity.

  Miss Becky-Sue would be like a fox in a rabbit warren. I knew my way. All I had to do was keep her running blind, until I had her cornered. A daunting thought—nothing like being empty-handed when facing a cornered animal. Right now, I’d sell my mother for a stun gun—top dollar for Mona.

  At the next intersecting hallway, a guy barreled into my periphery in a golf cart. Flashing my executive badge, I commandeered his ride and motored off. My ankle wouldn’t take much more pounding. Hopefully, Miss Becky-Sue was in as wretched a state as I was. Surely she’d have to be slowing down soon.

  With the various department doors closed and locked, I followed the only path open to her. Silently I glided past the motor pool where all the Babylon’s vehicles were cleaned, serviced, spit, and polished. Being addicted to internal combustion, my heart soared at the sound of compressed air impact wrenches. I wheeled in next to a mechanic busy removing lug nuts. “You see a woman running by here?”

  “Cowboy-lookin’ chick?” He had wavy black hair, blue eyes, and big muscles…and a way with cars.

  I swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  “She took a left at the next corner.”

  Pressing the accelerator, I glided away, in hot pursuit. She’d turned left, toward the banquet kitchens, which provided food for everything from gala events to the staff mess hall. No golf carts allowed. I parked as close as I could, and hoofed it through the double doors.

  Sound and energy slammed me. From the quiet of the deserted hallways to the hustle and heat of commercial kitchens at full throttle, I paused to get my bearings. Preparing for a shift change, the chefs barked orders to their staffs. Sous chefs and other minions leaped to the task. Wonderful aromas hung in the air. Steam rose like cool-morning fog off a warm lake. At the far end, food was plated then passed through to the waitstaff on the other side. They then stacked covered plates on trays and disappeared through double doors into the mess hall.

  I let my gaze sweep over the gleaming stainless counters, past the huge gas stoves, through the white-clad staff seemingly moving to a silent shared song in a perfectly choreographed dance. Where was the person out of step? I restarted my scan.

  There! Just easing past the cold prep area. A flash of fringe, and she was gone.

  “Someone stop her!” I shouted as I pointed, but not one head turned in my direction. Mine wasn’t the voice their ears were listening for. Trying not to disrupt the flow too much I pushed my way through. Hurrying, a sense of urgency prodding me, like a pin left in my shirt, I made it to the far end without mishap. Bolting for the double doors, I met a waiter coming the other way.

  As we collided, his tray went flying. Thankfully the dishes were empty—wasted food was almost as egregious a sin as wasted alcohol. “I’m so sorry.” I didn’t stop to help, I couldn’t.

  One quick scan and I spied Miss Becky-Sue. Afloat in the sea of uniformed staff, she stuck out like a clothed gawker in a nudist colony. Sauntering between rows of long tables where the staff ate communal-style, she was trying not to attract attention.

  “Someone grab that friggin’ woman!” I shouted as I pointed.

  This time heads turned, cutlery hit plates with a tinny clang. For a moment, motion slowed as heads swiveled my direction, then followed my finger. Two big guys dressed in valet uniforms, rose from their benches. Miss Becky-Sue hiked up her skirt, stepped on a bench, then up on one of the tables. Her skirt still in her hands, she turned and ran. Employees grabbed their plates and leaned back out of the way of flying glassware and serving pieces kicked by Becky-Sue as she ran past.

  One look at the table, and I ruled out following her. With my bulk and bum ankle, it wouldn’t be pretty. Instead, I stayed on the low road—I’d been traveling there a lot lately—and monitored her progress as a few more liveried bellmen joined the chase. So nice to have reinforcements.

  A huge fish tank formed the center portion of the wall at the far end of the hall. Fish to be served at the high-end restaurants swam lazily, unaware of their impending fate. Lobsters crawled across the gravel bottom. I avoided meeting their eye. Staring at my dinner face-to-face was a bit cold-blooded for my taste.

  My pace slowed as Miss-Becky-Sue hit the end of the table at the fish tank. The men closed in on either side. Trapped with nowhere to go, she cast frantically around the room looking for an escape. Nothing.

  One of the men reached for her. Tugging her skirt out of his reach, she turned and leaped. Grabbing the edge of the tank with both hands, she worked one foot up, then a leg, followed by the rest of her.

  Her eyes caught mine as she disappeared.

  I waited. It couldn’t have been much more than a fraction of a second. Then I heard it. The splash as Miss Becky-Sue, in all her fringed leather finery, landed in the fish tank. If she could get to the other side, she might have a chance of continuing the race. But I wasn’t too worried—Michael Phelps himself couldn’t make it.

  Not in leather. Not in boots.

  She sank like a stone.

  I took a deep breath as I pushed through the gathering crowd. Nose to nose with only the glass between us, Miss Becky-Sue and I stared at each other. Her anger apparent even as terror crept in around the edges, Miss Becky-Sue glared at me.

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” I motioned to two to the valets, “get her out of there before she kills the fish.”

  ***

  After calling off Security and telling everyone the chase was over, the quarry caught, I settled in a chair at one of the banquet tables and perused the selections on the employee menu while I waited. I wasn’t really hungry, but I had nothing better to do while the valets secured Miss Becky-Sue and brought her to me. Above the din of the dining room returning to normal, I heard occasional wails and shrieks, much like the sounds made by a cornered feline. Feigning disinterest, I smiled to myself. Better the men dealt with it than me.

  Finally, the odd little trio presented itself in front of m
e. The two hulking, water-drenched valets bracketed a tiny Miss Becky-Sue who, arms at her sides, was wrapped tightly in a tablecloth and cinched with a rope. One of the valets sported fresh scratches on his cheek. The other had a red welt on his arm that looked suspiciously like a bite mark. Both wore angry expressions. Miss Becky-Sure looked ready to rip my throat out.

  “You,” she spat. Not particularly eloquent, but the message was clear.

  I stood, slowly pushing myself to my full height. Stepping close, I looked down at her, checking surreptitiously that her arms were indeed tethered to her sides and the two men had her firmly pinned between them. Apparently Miss Becky-Sue was the exception to the old adage that one’s bark is worse than their bite.

  I reared back and slapped her across the face…hard, surprising us both. “That’s for Slim.”

  She staggered back. The two men kept her from falling.

  Pulling herself together, she looked at me with venomous eyes. “I didn’t kill him.”

  The doors opened behind me and I glanced over my shoulder in time to see Frank huff into the room, red faced. He lumbered through the crowd, shouldering in next to me.

  Miss Becky-Sue’s face brightened. She nodded toward him. “He did it. Not me.”

  “You bitch,” he roared.

  A man standing near Frank grabbed him as he coiled to launch himself at Miss Becky-Sue. “Hold on there,” he growled. Amazingly, Frank did as he asked.

  I turned back to Miss Becky-Sue. “Oh, you set him up pretty good. Except for one thing.”

  She tossed her head. Her eyes held a challenge. “What?”

  “There was a witness.”

  A flicker of surprise crossed her face, but her smile stayed in place. “A witness?”

  “Mmmm, to Sylvie’s murder. I’ll get to Slim in a minute.” Time to see how my poker face would hold up. Lying isn’t one of my best things. “A young woman. She saw everything.”

  That took a bit of the starch out of the bitch. I bit down on a gloat—that would ruin everything—as I dangled the bait. This was like trying to catch crabs—you put a chicken neck on the line then lowered it into the water in front of them. They’d snatch it. Then you’d ever so slowly pull them up to within net reach. They were too focused on the prize to realize the danger. My fingers were crossed that Miss Becky-Sue was a crab. My heart beat so fast I thought it’d leap out of my chest at any moment. Trying to maintain my composure gave me a newfound appreciation for Perry Mason.