As soon as I punched her number into my phone, Julia pasted another big smile on her face, wished us all another “Happy holidays,” and swept away on the arm of her tuxedoed escort. As they disappeared, I saw the guy was wearing white running shoes. They couldn’t have stood out more against his black suit if they’d been wired with Christmas lights. Just like the creep last night, I thought. What an odd coincidence.
:: :: ::
I mentioned my parents’ change of address to Daniel on our way back to the Golden Nugget.
“I’m sure that’s why Sierra was dressed like that,” I said. “She’s always tried to come across as the demure daughter-in-law, but now I think her attitude has pretty much changed to ‘Go to hell.’”
“I don’t think it’s Sierra’s housekeeping that made your folks move out,” Daniel said. “I think they’re splitting up.”
“Mom and Dad? Never. They still hold hands at the movies. They still pinch each other’s bottoms.”
“They’re staying in separate rooms.”
“No they aren’t!”
“You didn’t notice when we were leaving?”
“Notice what?”
“Your mom said, ‘Ted, I’ve got your reading glasses, in case you need them.’”
“So what?” I said. “She probably meant they were in her purse. She keeps a fully stocked drugstore in there, among other things.”
“Your dad said, ‘I’ll stop by later and get them.’”
“He said that?”
“Yup.”
“You must have misunderstood.”
But I can’t say I really believed that as we walked toward the hotel. My parents are sometimes clueless, but I’ve never known them to be rude. Was it possible they had moved to the Bellagio because they couldn’t handle sharing a double bed? The four-poster in Sierra’s guest room wasn’t even a queen. As we walked into the casino, my head was spinning at the thought of my parents ceasing to be a unit. It was as though someone had just told me that all the faces had fallen off Mount Rushmore or the Brooklyn Bridge had collapsed.
I looked at Daniel. His face was wearing a mesmerized half smile, and I suddenly realized that this was the first time we were walking through a casino together without pressure to get to the other side. Earlier, we’d checked in and made a beeline for our room. At the Bellagio, we’d steamed right past the slots and table games to get to the restaurant. But now, the glitz and ka-ching were working their magic on Daniel. As I watched him survey the scene, I tried to remember the first time I’d stepped into a Las Vegas casino. It hadn’t been all that long ago—less than a year—but it seemed like an eon. God! I was already a jaded old-timer.
“It’s still pretty early,” Daniel said tentatively when we reached the elevator. “Would you like another dirty martini?”
“Would you like to play poker?” I said.
“Maybe just for a few minutes,” Daniel said. “I’ve been practicing online.”
After assuring Daniel that it was perfectly fine with me if he played poker for a while, I went up to our room alone. I’m not sure it was perfectly fine, but it also wasn’t horrible. I should be glad he’ll be able to entertain himself while I’m at work, I told myself. Really, it’s a good thing.
I fell asleep watching Celebrity Dance Marathon, and I woke up when a naked man slipped in next to me and kissed me on the ear.
Chapter 17
Saturday, December 24
I had a hard time believing that tonight would be Christmas Eve. I had always spent the day before Christmas hanging around the house, wrapping presents, listening to Nat King Cole croon about chestnuts, and maybe watching A Christmas Story. The most strenuous activity was cooking dinner and then trying to stay awake until it was time to go to church for the midnight service.
This just wasn’t going to be an ordinary Christmas, although waking up in the arms of a good-looking guy in a friendly mood was a change I’d be happy to incorporate into future Yuletide celebrations. Only now I had to inform said guy that I’d promised to meet a retired prostitute for lunch. I’d been putting it off because I knew Daniel wouldn’t like the idea of going to a trailer park to chat with a working girl. Actually, he probably would have liked it if I hadn’t been the one to suggest it. I lay in bed wondering how to break the news to him while he went downstairs to buy us a quick breakfast.
When my cell phone rang, I thought it might be Daniel, explaining why it was taking so long to acquire a couple of lattes. But it wasn’t. It was Heather. Instead of meeting at her rig, she wanted to meet at a McDonald’s inside a Walmart down near where David Nussbaum lives. She said she was buying presents for “lost angels.” I wasn’t sure what “lost angels” were, but I had once seen a book about Wild West hookers called Soiled Doves. Maybe “soiled doves” were called “lost angels” at Christmastime. Anyway, now I not only had Heather to explain to Daniel, but also why we were going to join her for a Happy Meal.
:: :: ::
Daniel finally got back with our lattes and a couple of quite outstanding chocolate-filled croissants. I tried to slip my meeting with Heather into the conversation casually.
“I guess we better force ourselves to put on some clothes,” I said, my legs still entwined with Daniel’s under the covers.
“I already did that once this morning,” he said, locking his ankles around me. “What’s the rush?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Except—well—Las Vegas.”
“This is Vegas, baby,” Daniel said, sliding his arm around my neck and kissing me in a manner that proved once again that my lips and tongue have a high-speed connection with the bikini triangle.
“Mmmm,” I said. “You have a very good point.” I sneaked a look at the clock radio. 11:15. I let my hands start sliding, and the next time I caught a glimpse of the clock, it was after noon.
“Oh, my God!”
“What is it, babe?”
“I have an—appointment—at one!” I said. “I’m never going to make it!” I leapt out of bed. Daniel was right behind me.
“On Christmas Eve?” he said, grabbing me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. “I thought our only command performance was dinner at your brother’s house.”
“Well,” I said, “I forgot to tell you about Heather.”
“Heather?”
As I gave Daniel a brief rundown of my continued inquiries into Victoria’s death, the atmosphere in the room grew noticeably chillier.
“So—do you want to stay here or go with me?” I asked, honestly unsure what I hoped his answer might be.
“What choice do I have?” he said. “Somebody has to look out for you.”
:: :: ::
On the way down to Walmart, I realized that I had to fill Daniel in on some of the details of my life. He took things pretty well until I explained the scab on my jaw. He just sat there for a moment, staring through the windshield.
“You were knifed?” he finally said. “You were burglarized?”
I nodded.
“You went to a whorehouse?”
I almost laughed. He made it sound like my trip to the Beavertail was worse than getting mugged.
“It’s not like they’re all connected,” I said, but I don’t know how convincing I sounded. I was still bothered by the white sneakers Julia Saxon’s companion had been wearing at dinner. But I shrugged it off. It was hardly solid evidence.
“God, Copper,” Daniel said as we pulled off Eastern Avenue into the Walmart shopping center. “God damn.” He looked at me, and I think I’m reporting accurately when I say I saw genuine concern in his eyes. “This place isn’t good for you.”
“I like living here,” I said. “It’s not what I thought it would be.”
“It’s everything I thought it would be and worse,” Daniel said. “You’ve been injured, terrorized, robbed, and�
��I don’t know—you’re not the same. You’re—tough.”
Tough! I couldn’t help smiling. The adjective had never been applied to sweet little Copper Black before. Well, maybe back in second grade when I finally developed enough calluses to go on the monkey bars without getting blisters.
“I’m still me,” I said. “I’m just having significant life experiences. Just like you.”
“I can’t believe you’re trying to make a knife wound near your jugular sound like a botany field trip.”
“Look, I don’t want to fight,” I said, pulling into a parking place at least a mile from the store’s entrance. It seemed like every car in town was at Walmart. “I just want to have a Big Mac and find out what’s eating Heather. Are you coming?”
Daniel joined me in the crowd surging toward the entrance to Walmart, a dark look still clouding his face.
Heather was easy to spot. McDonald’s was almost as crowded as the parking lot, but she had managed to stake out a table for four near the entrance with three shopping carts piled high with a remarkable haul of dolls, stuffed animals, games, and toys. She was poring over a computer printout on the table and making checkmarks with a pencil when I said hello.
“Oh, good!” Heather said, without looking up. “I’m glad you’re here. Sit down.”
“I brought a friend,” I said. “This is Daniel.”
That got Heather’s full attention.
“Oh!” she said, standing up. “How nice to meet you!”
It wasn’t what she said that had the effect. It was how she said it and what her body was doing simultaneously. She shook her hair and shifted her shoulders so her breasts—which were barely encased in a tight, pale green turtleneck emerged from her leather jacket like a couple of honeydews. She took Daniel’s hand and looked straight into his eyes, which was easy because they were almost exactly the same height. She smiled a glossy fuchsia smile.
“Welcome to Las Vegas,” she said.
Really, men are so easy. Daniel melted faster than chocolate in August. He puddled into a chair directly across from Heather, and I took the one next to him.
“I’m not quite done with my shopping,” Heather said. “We have a bumper crop of lost angels this year.”
Lost angels, it turns out, aren’t fallen women. They are the Christmas dreams of orphans. Every year, children who otherwise would get no presents at all write their fondest wishes on little white the paper angels. The United Christian Charities of Southern Nevada sets up Christmas trees at malls and shopping centers around the valley, each one decorated with paper angels. Passing shoppers are invited to take an angel, buy the item noted on it, and turn it in at a table staffed by volunteers.
“The trouble is,” Heather explained, “some people take the angels and never bring back the gifts.”
She turned her computer printout around so Daniel and I could see how many names were on the list.
“Maybe they forget or decide they can’t afford the gift after all, but it’s real kids those thoughtless bastards are shafting,” she said. “This year more than ever before. I’ve bought fifty-eight gifts so far, and I’m only about two-thirds done. I thought I could get everything here at Walmart, but it looks like I’ll have to hit Toys-R-Us and maybe even Target to finish up.” She sighed. “The big challenge this year is Go-Go Godfrey. I’ve got eight, but I need eleven. Personally, I don’t see the appeal of a burping platypus, but that’s not the point.” Heather looked at her watch. “I’ll make this fast,” she said. “Do you need food?”
While Daniel was off acquiring burgers, fries, and Cokes, Heather opened her shoulder bag and pulled out a yellow envelope.
“Take a look at these,” she said, pulling out some snapshots. “I think you’ll understand why I’m concerned.”
She spread the pictures on the table in front of me. Two showed the filthiest kitchen I’ve ever seen, complete with spilled garbage and dirty dishes on the floor. Two more showed a living room that looked worse than my apartment right after it was ransacked.
“The McKimber residence,” Heather said.
“What happened?” I asked. I thought back to my own visit to Victoria’s house. I hadn’t gone inside, but it had certainly looked tidy on the exterior.
“Things are going downhill fast,” Heather continued. “Mostly because of Jason. He’s bipolar, and when he doesn’t take his meds, he turns into Freddy Krueger. I’m sure that’s why the house looks so bad. He was on a rampage when I showed up the other night. Richard got a pretty bad gash over his left eye before we managed to calm Jason down. I stopped the bleeding with a butterfly Band-Aid, but he probably could have used a few stitches. But a cut is the least of his problems. Richard’s a wreck without Victoria. He used to keep the house immaculate, but now it’s like he’s paralyzed.”
She paused and looked straight at me.
“So, here’s the deal. If things continue the way they are, somebody’s going to get hurt or arrested or both. Jason needs to go someplace. A school. A camp. A hospital. I don’t know. But he needs residential care, and it takes money. I’ve given Richard all I can. It really ought to be Bobby Marks who coughs up the cash, but that’s not happening, so that leaves American Beauty. Those bastards are benefiting from Victoria’s death too much to get off without paying a nickel. They owe her.”
Suddenly I remembered Victoria’s photographs, the ones from the film I’d had developed. I rummaged in my own shoulder bag and pulled them out.
“Do you know who these guys are?” I asked, showing her the picture of the two men in the dark restaurant.
Heather grabbed the whole stack of pictures out of my hand.
“This guy on the left is Rick Mack,” she said. “He works for American Beauty. I’ve never seen the chubby dude before.”
She flipped through the other pictures.
“Hey, I know who this is, too.” She turned one of the pictures around. It was one of the close-ups, the one showing teeth.
“I’d recognize that sneer anywhere. It’s Jason. He crashed his skateboard a year ago. Broke his arm badly enough to require surgery to set it. He also chipped a tooth, and he likes it. He thinks it looks like a vampire fang.” She handed the pictures back to me. “I bet he took that himself,” she said. “You know, a selfie.”
I looked at the picture again, noticing that Jason had been in a car when it was taken. The headrest and the back window were visible behind him.
“Is there anything we can do?” I asked.
“I’ve done what I can, Copper. I’m tapped out. It’s time for some deep pockets.”
I looked at her, wondering whether she had me confused with a cash cow.
“Julia Saxon can strong-arm the right people, but she won’t answer my calls. That’s why I called you. I need the power of the press.”
Daniel arrived back at the table just in time to hear that. As he set the tray of food down, he shot me a quizzical look that almost made me smile. Daniel knew what my job was, but I’m sure he had never thought of me as a member of “the press.”
“I guess I could give her a try,” I said, deciding not to mention that I had promised to call her anyway. “But I think the reason she’s been hard to reach is that she’s—well, she’s trying to close a big deal before the end of the year.”
“Of course she’s busy,” Heather said. “Everybody’s busy when you want to talk about a dead hooker.”
I looked at Daniel, but he didn’t return my glance. He was too entranced with Heather’s chest.
“But it’s not impossible to get her to cut the crap and do something,” Heather went on. “You just have to be a bigger pain in the ass than everybody else.” She took a sip of Coke. “Or maybe drop a hint that you’re working on a story about lawyers who drop their pro bono cases when the going gets tough.”
By the time we headed back to the Max, I had promised Hea
ther at least a dozen times that I would talk to Julia about putting the squeeze on American Beauty. It seemed unlikely that anything would happen anytime soon, though. It was the holidays, for Christ’s sake.
“It’s the holidays for Christ’s sake,” Daniel said as we inched out of the parking lot.
“What do you mean?”
“Can’t you take a few days off? I’m beginning to think I should’ve gone to Austin for Christmas. At least it would have made my mom happy.”
Daniel’s father is a geology professor at the University of Texas. He met Daniel’s mother when they were both doing research in South Africa. He’s originally from California, she’s originally from Scotland, and even though they’d lived in Austin for decades, neither one seemed very Texan. Neither did Daniel.
“Come on, Daniel,” I said. “This isn’t ordinary work. Victoria’s family is suffering.”
“People are suffering all over, Copper.”
“These are people I know.”
“So am I.”
I glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you, too,” Daniel said.
“So—what did you think of Heather?”
“Bad role model,” he said. “For you anyway. She’d be okay for someone training to be a ballbuster.”
“Heather’s okay,” I said. “You know why she’s doing all that shopping?”
I told Daniel about Hayley, her daughter who died of cancer.
“Look, Copper,” Daniel said when I had finished. “I think it’s wonderful that a—person like Heather loved her kid and does charitable works in her memory. I even think it’s fine that you want to write a story about Victoria. I’m sure it’ll be fascinating. What I don’t get is why you have to have a personal relationship with all of them—any of them. Really, I just don’t get that part.”
“Where are we going?” I said. When I said it, I thought I was asking about our immediate physical destination, but as it hung in the air, it seemed more like a question about our relationship.
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