The bellhop, who could likely see the whisperer, drew his eyebrows together and shrugged. The elevator doors shut just as the man whined, “Pleeese.”
Those long ee’s certainly sounded familiar. I looked at the bellhop’s name tag. “Ahmad? Did you happen to see that guy?”
He nodded.
“What did he look like?”
Ahmad drew his eyebrows together again.
“Was he a white guy, short, fat with a balding head, wearing a bad suit?”
Ahmad nodded.
“Was he talking to another guy, tall, handsome, black hair, blue eyes, good suit?”
Ahmad narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Uh-huh. He spoke English as well as understood it. I might have asked a little too intensely—it might have been slightly unnerving. He’d probably be reporting me to the security goons as soon as we hit the lobby. I had to go for the Oscar. I jammed my hands on my hips. “Come on, Ahmad, tell me, please. The fat guy’s my husband, see, and I know he’s having an affair with that man.” I paused to sob. Ahmad looked sick. I grabbed his arm just as the elevator came to rest at the first floor. “Please, tell me the truth and I’ll let you go.”
Shaking his head madly, Ahmad was trying to flop his arm loose of my grip and roll the cart out at the same time. I jumped on the cart and let him roll me out of the elevator. He looked panicked. “I no see other man. Fat man talked to someone behind corner.”
Damn. It might have been Conner, it might not. It had definitely been his fat friend, Pete, though. The more I heard that whine in my mind, the more I was sure of it. I jumped off the bell cart and spun around to press the up button. I can’t say I didn’t consider going to find Frank and tell him, but I didn’t do it long. I knew if I had any chance of seeing who Pudgy Pete was talking to, it had to be now.
The elevator slid open and I had to resist the temptation to push a trio of elderly women out of the way. They tottered into the elevator and took so long, the doors started to close. I threw my arm out, and when that didn’t stop the doors, I jammed my torso through. The doors bounced off my right boob. I jumped in before they snapped shut.
“Oh, dear, are you alright?” One of the nice old gals asked. I felt bad for breathing down the grannies’ necks when they were so considerate of me.
“You’ve got to be careful,” another added. “You’d better take care of a chest like that, right, girls?”
Huh? I looked down at that part of my anatomy, and noticed the whole group had already beaten me to it. Four gray heads nodded in agreement. I was speechless.
“Are you a dancer, dear?” the third granny asked.
“Uh, no, ma’am.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“Nothing right now.”
They all tsked. “You might look into dancing then. We were dancers here in Vegas in the boom in the fifties. Vegas was living high off the craze for the atomic bomb. Remember those wigs that were shaped like mushroom clouds, we wore with our bikinis, girls?”
They all nodded and started reminiscing. I was still dumbstruck. Finally, the one pushing the “door open” button remembered I was standing there. She took her arthritic finger with its three inch crimson nails off the button. “What floor did you want, dear?” I pressed the second floor button as we started to move.
“We’re here for a reunion and just went to see that new show ‘Women of Wall Street.’ What a blast. Talk about a surprise ending!”
I forced a smile. I’d changed my mind about Vegas.
The Twilight Zone had nothing on this place. Nothing at all.
The second floor looked deserted when I walked off the elevator. The black iridescent carpet decorated with sparkles emulating stars started to waver as I looked left and right. Was it a special effect? No. I realized I felt light-headed and let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. I was going to have to stop that if I wanted to stay conscious.
I didn’t hear anything except my blood roaring in my ears. That was when I understood that it had been stupid to come up here alone. I tiptoed unsteadily to the right where a narrow hallway lead to what I assumed were conference rooms. I peeked around the corner, then I backtracked and went left where the ceiling opened up to a large area that could’ve been lifted from the set of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. I peered at a space pod hanging from the ceiling and wondered if it was really moving or if I was holding my breath again.
A hand snaked around my waist from behind. I screamed. Another hand clamped down on my mouth. I bit the hand and snapped my heel up to kick at the body.
“Oof.” The hands freed me. I spun around to see Frank sinking to the floor with his hands on his groin.
I fell to my knees and touched Frank on the shoulders. His eyes were closed. I slid my hand to his face, and he moaned again.
“I am so sorry. I didn’t know it was you!”
“I was stupid. You did what you should,” Frank grunted, opening his eyes. “I’m just glad you didn’t have those damned high-heeled boots on.”
“I hope I didn’t permanently damage you,” I said.
Frank looked down at his crotch and gingerly turned his left hand over. My incisors had left a bloody brand on the inside of his middle finger. Ouch. The bigger ouch was still being cradled by his right hand.
“I’m not so worried about you being alone anymore. You are your own weapon. Killer Bee after all.” Frank smiled ruefully. “I saw you waiting for the elevator downstairs, but didn’t get there before the doors closed. Then I saw you’d stopped at the second floor. I came up the stairwell. I guess I surprised you.”
“Yeah, I thought you were Pudgy Pete.”
“Thanks. I’ve been called a lot of things, but those descriptions are new.”
“No, Frank, I mean the guy Conner threatened in the stairwell at the Lanai.”
“What made you think he would be here?”
“I thought I heard him when the elevator stopped on this floor. The bellboy described him, so I came looking for him.”
“And what were you going to do if you found him?” Frank asked, his eyes darkening to black. I gave him a weighty look at his crotch. He narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t a joke anymore, Bee. If you thought you heard him, you should’ve come to me first.”
“Don’t start talking to me like I’m a stupid child,” I warned.
“Why not? You’re acting like one.”
I stomped off, angrier at him than I ever remember being. I wanted to pull my hair out and scream. I wanted to give him another swift kick, on purpose this time. I nearly ran across the star-studded carpet, around the corner and down a hallway full of small convention rooms. I heard him behind me, but I’d had the advantage of having already been on my feet and not having throbbing private parts.
I skidded around another corner, wishing my decorative shoes had more grip. This investigating business was going to force me to resort to practical footwear if I expected to outrun bad guys and my own bossy accomplices. I saw the stairwell door marked “Employees Only, Service Access,” and despite vowing never to step foot in one again, I flung myself through the door and down the stairwell. I heard the door slap shut and slam open behind me, and I knew I only had about ten seconds on Frank. I jumped the stairs two at a time, promising myself once I’d reach the open air, I could hail a cab and disappear. That would show him.
At the ground, I yanked the door and raced through. Uh-oh. Instead of putting me out on the street, the stairs dumped me at the loading dock. Unless I hailed a passing laundry truck I was going to have to hoof it a bit longer to stay free of Frank. I was beginning to wheeze. I paused behind the dumpster, leaned my hands on my knees to catch my breath. I felt something brush my hair and looked up. I was staring at a hand protruding from the trash heap.
Now, most girls would have screamed like frightened ninnies, but not me. I’d seen enough of those stupid wax figures inside to know one when I saw one. I touched a finger. It felt like Neil Armstrong’s, e
xcept a little chubbier. William Shatner-like maybe. So, their wax Captain Kirk was kaput—maybe his real hair had started to fall out or something.
I heard footfalls. It was too late to run, and I was tired anyway. Frank came around the corner of the dumpster, stopped in his tracks and pointed, open mouthed.
“Oh, Frank, chill out. It’s just a wax figure.” I reached up and grabbed the hand and pulled.
Out came a disembodied arm, bloody and very human.
Fourteen
“Bee, we have to get going. Bee, I’ll carry you if I have to, but it won’t be pretty. Your skirt will be up over your head. Everyone will see your panties. I hope you wore your best today.”
I was wearing my ugliest boy cut undies that made my butt look big. “No, don’t carry me,” I heard myself say. I felt like I was coming out of a fog. I blinked at Frank and tried to remember where I was. “What happened?”
Frank took my face in his hands. “Are you okay now?”
I looked down. I was standing. On dirty concrete. I noticed I’d been sloppy painting my toenails because I had red spots on the skin on my toes. I looked at Frank. “Did I pass out or something?”
“No, you just went into shock. You were mentally out of it. It was fascinating, actually, I don’t know that many women who can do that and stay standing.”
“Why did I go into shock?”
“You found a dead body.”
It was coming back to me, along with the croissant for breakfast. I swallowed carefully before correcting him, “I didn’t find a body, just found an arm.”
“The rest of Pudgy Pete is in here,” Frank tapped the dumpster with his knuckles. “In pieces.”
“How do you know?”
“I took a peek. I wanted to make sure the live one with the carving knife wasn’t in there with him.”
“I guess he’s not or you wouldn’t have given me an option about flashing my panties, huh?”
Frank shot me a wry grin. “I think you’re good to travel now, so let’s book it.”
I put a quelling hand on his arm. “Wait, shouldn’t we call the police?”
“You are such a good citizen. Please resist the urge here. I will tell you what I’ve learned about Conner later, but suffice it to say he’s badder than we think and his bosses think he’s better than he is. Deadly combination, as Pudgy here found out.”
“But we don’t have a choice but to report it somehow. The security cameras will see us.”
“I might be wrong. Pudgy Pete could have coincidentally taken the wrong exit out of the casino and met a random killer who favors dismemberment. But I bet I’m right and Conner or his cronies had something to do with this, and if they did, the security cameras have been disabled so they couldn’t record the crime.”
“Oh.” I felt stupid.
“So, let’s just go through the parking garage around to the right and out to the street. Act normal.”
“It’s hard to act normal with blood on my toes,” I grumbled as we ambled, a little too slowly for my taste, through the parking garage. I felt edgy—I saw Conner every time I saw a shadow. I grabbed Frank’s arm at the first three people we encountered. We were just alongside a row of cars, about to reach the alleyway between the hotel and the street when a man came out one of the side doors to the casino and headed down the alleyway. He wore a good Armani suit like Conner wore; he had close-cut dark hair like Conner’s; he was about Conner’s height. Paranoia? Nope. He turned to look our way and in a flash, I pulled Frank to me, smashing his lips into mine.
“Conner,” I mumbled against his mouth.
“Again?” That right eyebrow arched. His eyes twinkled. Crow’s feet crinkled.
“It’s the real thing,” I whispered furiously.
“I’ll say,” Frank murmured as he kissed me and kissed me and kissed me so long and so thoroughly forty Daniel Conners could’ve walked by and I wouldn’t have seen any of them.
I finally pulled back for some air and Frank said, “So that was Daniel Conner. Doesn’t look like his ID badge photo.”
That’s all he could say? “So while you were kissing me senseless and putting your hands . . .” I paused to shove said hands off where they still rested on my hips and batted them back into his territory, “. . . where they have no business being, you were really just watching Conner walk by and comparing him to his cop picture?”
Frank’s eyebrows drew together, confusion obvious. “A guy can’t do two things at once?”
Men! I stomped back toward The Strip. Frank pulled me to slow me down, but I shook loose. He leaned in. “Not so fast. Watch where Conner goes and let him get farther in front of us.”
We could see his black hair gleaming almost blue in the sun. He got a lot of second glances from women; he deserved them. He was good looking, but also projected that irresistible arrogance typical of people in power positions. Toby had the same thing in spades. The similarity suddenly bothered me. “I want to wring his neck and make him tell me what he’s done with Ben.”
“Cool it, Killer Bee. You’ll get your chance,” Frank promised as we inched along.
“I just hope it isn’t too late,” I murmured.
Once Conner had disappeared back into the Lanai, and we were back in Frank’s room, Frank made me call Mom (Gladys in the crochet club had to have a colonoscopy, Dad left his chainsaw out in the rain, she hadn’t heard from Ben again, how was my new beau and when was the wedding?). I wanted to go downstairs and get some dirt on Stan, but Frank suggested I not go out until I would be protected by the tournament.
I despised being told what to do, but I could see his logic. Besides, I had to wash the blood off my feet and get the smell of his musk morphed Dove out of my nose anyway.
I walked out of my room, having decided on an ultra flashy gold lamé halter top, cubic zirconia chandelier earrings that went to my shoulders, black satin slacks and jeweled four-inch Manolos for my debut at the poker table. I’d put my chestnut curls half up and half down. It took forever, but was worth the suffering. Frank whistled appreciatively from his seat at the desk. “You look great, but maybe you’d better save that for the championship night.”
“I thought I’d make a splash now since I might not make it to the final round, or even beyond tonight.” I offered. “Besides, I thought the more people notice me tonight, the less likely Conner is to do anything to compromise me.”
“Smart girl.” Frank bowed his head in approval. “That hadn’t occurred to me.”
“You’re not caught in his crosshairs either. That tends to sharpen your senses.”
Frank nodded grimly.
“So, are you going to tell me why Conner is even worse than we thought?”
“He’s a busy guy, donates to the right politicians, does favors for the right bosses. He actually hasn’t been on the Clark County force all that long, but has risen in the ranks quickly due to his high case-closure rate. He was an investigator with the Border Patrol but left that job right before a still-ongoing internal investigation into smuggling within the ranks was begun.”
“We already knew he was bad, now he’s worse.” I swallowed and tried not to think of Ben in this guy’s clutches. He didn’t have much of a chance. Pete certainly didn’t. Don’t think that way, I told myself. “I wonder who they were trying to warn by cutting Pete up in little pieces?”
Frank met my gaze with surprise. “Most law abiding people wouldn’t have realized that was a warning.”
“It’s kind of obvious.” It takes more time to hack him up than just stab him and fling him in the big box. “Maybe they took photos and showed them to the suspicious driver?”
Frank raised both eyebrows and nodded. “Keep using that criminal mind of yours and we might have this thing solved by daybreak.”
I nodded toward his computer. “Any luck finding proof of a Fresh Foods sponsorship?”
“Yes, I’ve found a handful of media references that make the connection. But if they are sponsoring him to get free plug
s, they aren’t making the most of it. Out of a hundred stories I only came up with four references.”
“Maybe Fresh Foods has a poor PR department.”
“Maybe they didn’t fork over the money to get media attention.”
“Why then?” I asked.
“Two possibilities I can think of,” Frank said. “One, Stan knows something he shouldn’t and they are paying him to keep quiet about it.”
“It doesn’t make sense, the publicity would be opposite of what they would be looking for. Plus, he’s independently wealthy now with all his poker winnings, so he has less incentive to keep quiet, other than he might be afraid for his life.”
“Right,” Frank agreed. “Holes in that plan. It’s still workable but not perfect. The other possibility is Stan is helping the company do something it shouldn’t, and that is why they ‘sponsor’ him. Maybe they’ve taken a page out of your mother’s book and are ‘hiding in plain sight.’
Hmm. “But what would a produce company be doing illegal?”
“Smuggling: drugs, people, or if we believe Deidre, porn.”
“But what do plums have to do with poker, have to do with some dirty cop who kills, have to do with a spacey casino, have to do with an arrogant Hold ’Em champion, have to do with a dead pudgy guy who couldn’t ‘handle the operation,’ have to do with my brother?”
Frank shrugged. “Is your brother into drugs?”
I shook my head, offended. “No! He’s a pharmaceutical salesman.”
Frank cocked his head as I realized the irony of my statement. He continued, “Is he in any financial straits which would force him do something he might not ordinarily do?”
“Uh . . .” I paused. “He owes some money for a failed business deal a while back, but he’s paying that off, legally.”
“Would he tell you if he were cutting corners?”
I laughed. “Are you kidding? Ben is not one to suffer silently. If he were bad off, he would come beg me to double mortgage my condo or lend him my savings to get him out of debt. It would be a lot easier than messing around with bad guys. Ben always takes the easy way, trust me.”
Death On the Flop Page 14