Lucky Stiff (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Book 2)

by Deborah Coonts

  I nodded, encouraging him to continue.

  “But she did know—a whole lot. That’s why I remember her. Here was a flat-chested little scrap of a girl who knew the fight game. Only one I ever met who did.”

  “It sounds like Numbers Neidermeyer, all right.”

  “But it wasn’t.” Like a lion surveying the herd for his next meal, Crash swung his head slowly from side to side as his eyes shifted to focus on something over my shoulder. “Her name, I mean. Not back then. Not Numbers. Not Neidermeyer.”

  “No?” My pulse quickened. Oh God, he’d already given me more than I thought he would, but now, let him give me something really good.

  “Naw, the kid went by Shelly-Lynne Makepeace.”

  “You sure?” I tried to keep my voice even, my emotions under control.

  He made a rude sound. “Like I said, the kid sorta stuck in your memory, know what I mean?”

  I threw my arms around the big man’s neck, surprising both of us. Self-control was never one of my stronger suits. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” Throwing caution to the wind, I kissed him on the cheek. Then I turned on my heel, leaving both men staring after me.

  * * *

  WHISTLING a jaunty tune I couldn’t name—where was Teddie with his encyclopedic mastery of all things musical? I strode out of the Kasbah and once again immersed myself in the horde packing the casino. As this Wednesday afternoon marched resolutely toward evening, and our guests toward a big weekend, the energy would ratchet up one notch at a time until, like a spring wound too tightly, it would threaten to erupt at any minute.

  Pausing for a moment, I closed my eyes and listened. While close to a fevered pitch, the throng had yet to reach the combustible stage. This was the calm before the storm. Add a few more minor luminaries, a bit more money wagered on the fight, and a few more gallons of liquid accelerant, and we’d be there.

  Taking a deep breath, I opened my eyes. Surveying the crowd, I grabbed my phone from its perch on my hip, flipped it open, and dialed. My eyes wandered, looking for trouble in the making.

  Jeremy answered before I even heard it ring. “Don’t even ask. I’ve got zero, nothing, nada. It’s like that woman materialized out of thin air.” From his tone, I could picture him running a hand through that wonderful wavy hair of his, exasperation clouding those gold-flecked eyes. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the hint of worry out of his voice.

  “Having a good day, are we?” I asked, as a couple of guys barreled into me from behind. One of them reached out to steady me as I staggered. Neither of them said they were sorry. “I might be able to make you feel better.”

  “You’ve got something?” In an instant, his voice sounded recharged.

  “A name. Try Shelly-Lynne Makepeace. See if you can pick up a trail around Atlantic City, say fifteen to twenty years ago. Let me know what you find out.”

  “For sure.”

  I started to close the phone, but Jeremy’s voice stopped me. “Lucky?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Atlantic City. That’s New Jersey, right?”

  “Right.”

  I had survived the casino and just entered the lobby when my phone rang again. With a practiced motion, I flipped it open with one hand. “O’Toole.”

  “Lucky?”

  I recognized Jimmy G’s distinctive voice.

  He cleared his throat. “We gotta talk.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  SOMETHING was wrong—something big. And just when things had been going so swimmingly. Flat and lifeless, riding on an undercurrent of anger, the tone in Jimmy G’s voice gave me a really bad feeling. He hadn’t wanted to talk—not over the phone, anyway. I’d agreed to meet him at the Peppermill in thirty minutes. That gave me time to stop by the office as well as work myself into a lather waiting for the proverbial other shoe to fall.

  On autopilot, I launched myself across the casino toward the lobby. Only half-aware, I dodged patrons with an ingrained ease as my thoughts tumbled. With a dread I tried to deny, I knew what had made Jimmy’s voice brittle and hard, as if one blow would break it into a thousand daggers. Only one thing got to the old guard like that. Numbers Neidermeyer was no longer merely an interesting study in homicide.

  Now it was personal.

  I had no idea how or to whom, although I figured I was about to find out. And I so did not want to know. Genetically, I was only 50 percent old guard, but apparently that was enough to carry the taint—and the burden. One of us hurt, all of us felt the pain—and the responsibility to fix the problem.

  Narrowing my eyes, I stopped mid-stride, turned around, and surveyed the path I had taken through the casino. Something had hit my muddled brain, bringing me back. What was it? With the practiced eye of experience, I scanned the crowd. Lost in thought, I jumped at the sound of a voice at my elbow.

  “Looking for a good time?” The rich timber and subtle Texas drawl of Paxton Dane, our in-house rep from the Gaming Control Board.

  Wavy brown hair worn a trifle long, piercing green eyes the color of Brazilian emeralds, a strong jaw, a warm smile, and broad in all the right places, Dane could have moonlighted as a cover model for bodice-ripper romance novels. For a nanosecond I let my mind wander there, picturing the open, flowing shirt, the tight pants—this was one of the times my whole visual thing was entertaining.

  “Private joke?” Stepping in beside me, his eyes briefly met mine. A wry smile lifted the corner of his mouth, then he, too, cast his eyes over the crowd.

  “What?” In addition to animal magnetism, was clairvoyance one of his gifts? I certainly hoped not. A flush warmed my cheeks.

  “You had this weird grin. Sorta sexy, I might add.” He clasped his hands behind his back, but didn’t look at me.

  Adopting a similar stance, I again turned my eyes back to the crowd, but I was having trouble making my mind follow. Not long ago, Dane had made a play for me, and I’d turned him down. We were still trying to find our way back to comfortable, neutral ground.

  Teddie had stolen my heart, but I couldn’t deny there was something between Dane and me. Something we’d have to deal with—eventually. I stuffed that thought, and the feelings niggling at the edge of my consciousness, deep down into what I hoped was an inaccessible place. A simple girl, I didn’t need complications.

  “What did you ask me?” I said, trying to refocus.

  “I believe I asked if you were looking for a good time?” This time he gave me the full power of his megawatt grin as he glanced down at me.

  “Is that what passes for a pickup line in West Texas?” I felt a little off-kilter, I didn’t know exactly why. Of course I had a lot to be hot and bothered about: Teddie in L.A., Jimmy G and God knows what... Dane looking at me like that. Why did I seem to have a handle on everything, except my libido? Okay, maybe not everything—I was delusional—but even the illusion of control made me feel a bit better.

  “I got a smile, didn’t I?” Still Dane didn’t look at me. “If you’re not looking for a good time, what then?”

  “Something that’s not right, not normal.”

  Dane made a rude sound. “There ain’t much about that crowd a boy from Lubbock would consider ‘normal.’”

  One more pass over the crowd and I had it.

  “This one’s easy.” I nodded toward the far side of the casino. “When have you ever seen a queue to get into the men’s restroom at a casino?”

  A flicker of interest lit his voice. “Can’t say I’ve ever waited in line to take a whizz.”

  “My point. Come with me. I may need your help.” I started back across the casino.

  “My help?” He was right on my heels. “With what?”

  “A coming attraction.”

  I didn’t even pause at the entrance to the men’s room. Shouldering men aside, I worked my way up the line. One gallant young man, guilt reddening his features, even held the door open for me.

  Dane grabbed my elbow from behind. “What are you doing? You can’t go in there.” />
  Pulling my arm from his grasp, I forged ahead. Explanations took time, and time was one of the things I didn’t have much of. The other thing I found in short supply at the moment was control over my temper.

  The absence of anyone standing at the long row of urinals, and the crowd of guys circling the last stall confirmed my hunch. A glance at me, and, like a flushed covey of quail, men scattered, then flew out the door. The few who had yet to register my presence, shifted anxiously from foot to foot in front of the closed door to the last stall. Eyes wide, they, too, drifted away as I pushed to the head of the line and into their consciousness, which I presumed was preoccupied with our coming attraction.

  Stopping in front of the last stall, I fisted my hand, and knocked sharply. “Open the door.” My voice didn’t betray my anger—as my mother said, one can catch more bees with honey.

  “Yeah, yeah. I paid for the whole enchilada,” a man said, sounding clearly agitated. “Some of us take longer than others.” The latch grated as someone pushed it aside.

  I didn’t wait until he opened the door. Instead, I shoved it with my shoulder.

  “Hey!” growled the same male voice.

  Once inside the tiny space, I found myself face-to-face with a man with dark hair graying at the temples, and angry eyes, busily stuffing himself back into his designer jeans. A woman, her eyes wide, her expression guarded, sat on the closed lid of the toilet.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the man growled. As if he knew he couldn’t hide the guilt in his eyes, his gaze drifted from mine as he focused on pulling up his fly. “My lady and I were just having some harmless fun. And, as far as I know, it’s not illegal to have sex in here.”

  “Zip it,” I said. That didn’t come out quite the way I had planned, but I refused to smile. “It’s illegal if you’re paying for it. I’m sure a solicitation charge would make interesting reading in the paper back home.”

  For a moment I watched him war with himself, letting him stew in his own juices, then I said, “If I could offer you a piece of advice?”

  This time, when his eyes met mine, the fight was gone, replaced by a look I knew well—self-preservation, one of the strongest primal emotions.

  “Don’t come looking for love in my hotel again.” I stepped aside, and Dane followed my lead, clearing a path for retreat.

  “You’re going to let me go?” Surprise and disbelief washed across the John’s face.

  “You’ve just been given a get-out-of-jail-free card.” I jerked my head toward the door. “Now, beat it, and don’t let me catch you procuring sex in my hotel again. And, just to be clear, even though Bill Clinton doesn’t think so, blow jobs are sex—in my book and in the Nevada Statutes.”

  His dignity carefully secured, the man glanced at the woman, gave her a rueful shrug, then bolted.

  The woman rose from her throne, not a hint of embarrassment on her face. With blond hair, the dark roots showing, pasty skin, and cheap jewelry, she wore a nice suit, silk camisole, expensive-looking shoes, and a weary expression—the look of an out-of-towner. She’d probably bought her costume at a thrift shop as she hit town. Reaching around me, she gathered her purse from the hook on the back of the door—last season’s Prada.

  “I’ve made enough already. All you had to do was ask, and I’d have given you my gig,” she said. Her voice held a hint of the Deep South in it. Pulling herself to her full height, which, even in heels was still a couple inches shy of mine, she moved to shoulder past me.

  “I work for this hotel,” I said, my voice flat as I let her move by me. She wasn’t going far—Dane blocked her exit.

  His eyes telegraphed his feelings, making it perfectly clear he thought I was an idiot for already letting one of them off with no consequences. At least Dane had the decency to keep his mouth shut and let me handle it my way—more than most men would do, so he got points for that. I gave him a curt nod then shifted my gaze back to the woman now trapped between us.

  “You work for this hotel?” she whined, her voice heavy with defeat. “Aw geez, wouldn’t you know it?”

  She rooted around in her bag then came up with a wadded-up tissue. In the metal surface of the stall, she checked her reflection, then dabbed at her lipstick where it had smeared around the edges. Rubbing her lips together, she took one last look. Apparently satisfied, she shifted her attention to me, giving me the once-over.

  “I shoulda known,” she continued, as if we were really interested. “You see, I had this gypsy lady read my fortune last week.” The woman glanced at me, her eyes the palest shade of blue. “Something about her didn’t seem right—other than her being a gypsy and all—but I gave her the twenty bucks she charged, anyway. Now I know it was a waste—she said my luck was about to turn. Since it hadn’t been so hot, you know, I figured she meant it would get better.”

  I gave Dane a wink over the woman’s shoulder. “So what makes you think today isn’t going your way? Your purse looks pretty fat. I don’t know how long you’ve been in here, but if you were about to quit . . .”

  “Yeah, it was goin’ really good.” The whine left the woman’s voice as she relaxed a little. “But, when the guys start lining up like that, I learned they sorta attract attention—the wrong kind of attention.”

  “My kind of attention?”

  “Yeah.” She pulled a little box of Tic Tacs out of her purse, shook a couple into her hand, then popped them in her mouth as she nodded. “I’m real sorry you made me. This is a class joint; you got classy men here. But I’m not going to waste all my jack on a high-priced room, know what I mean?”

  I nodded and thought about telling her that just because a guy had money for a good pipe cleaning didn’t mean he was classy, but in her world it probably did. In my world, classy guys didn’t pay for sex, but as my mother always told me, I’m way too picky.

  “You going to give me up?” The woman tried to look disinterested, but her eyes darting between Dane and me betrayed her nervousness.

  “Not this time. But, if you come back to this hotel to ply your trade, I’ll have to.” I smiled at the relief that washed over her face. “Let Mr. Dane escort you to the door.”

  Dane shot me a quizzical look as he extended his arm to her in a chivalrous gesture, and stepped aside. “Ma’am, would you allow me?”

  Gazing up at him, her eyes wide with innocence, she grabbed his arm. “Why, Sir, I’d be delighted,” she said, her voice dripping with enough honey to make a true Southern belle proud.

  They left me there—alone in the men’s room.

  A stickler for manners, Jimmy G would be early. Not wanting to leave him waiting, I needed to hurry. Even though I didn’t have it to spare, I had taken five minutes to swing by the office. Miss Patterson always liked me to transfer the reins of power personally when I was leaving the property.

  Dane caught me as I burst out of the stairwell doors into the lobby. “I was coming to find you. You know, your remark about a ‘coming attraction’ was pretty clever.”

  “Clever killed the cat.” I shouldered around him and kept moving toward the front entrance. I hoped he got the hint.

  No such luck; he fell into step beside me. “No, curiosity killed the cat.”

  “Whatever.” I pushed through the outer doors and headed down the drive. Thankfully, the Peppermill was only a short hike. “Look, I’m late for a meeting. Can this wait?”

  “I just want to know one thing,” he said, matching me stride for stride. “Then I won’t bother you again... today.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” I turned north when I hit the Strip, and slowed. I was already bumping up against my thirty minutes—a couple more wouldn’t kill Jimmy G. And, to be honest, a few more minutes of blissful ignorance wouldn’t kill me, either. “What do you want to know so all-fired bad that you have to chase me halfway to downtown?”

  “Downtown?” He raised one eyebrow at me. “Isn’t that where we are?”

  “Downtown.” I pointed to
the small mound of shorter buildings to the north. “This section of the Strip is the Center of the Universe.”

  “Weird. Back in Texas, the tallest buildings are in downtown.”

  “It’s a common mistake.” I turned to go. “Is that really what you wanted to ask me?”

  “No.” He put a hand on my arm, holding me there. “I want to know why you didn’t have me turn that girl over to the police?”

  I could feel the heat of his hand through the thin fabric of my sweater. Carefully, I removed my arm from his grasp. As the traffic snaked along the Strip behind Dane, and the swarm of people parted to move around us, I gave him the short course on what I’d learned growing up in a whorehouse and working in Vegas.

  “Cowboy, folks come here from all over, for a million different reasons. Sometimes they do stuff I can’t begin to understand.” I squinted my eyes against the sun setting behind him, and shadowing his features. “I don’t know anything about that girl—where she came from, why she’s here. For all I know, her old man dumped her, leaving her with three kids at home, and she’s trying to provide for them with no help and a high-school education.”

  “I see.” His eyes, intense emerald lights piercing the shadow, captured me.

  “Do you?” I ran my hand through my hair and tried to break his gaze, but couldn’t.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice heavy with an emotion I couldn’t read. “Life’s messy.”

  What do you know? He really did get it.

  * * *

  AS he had said he would, Dane left me, so I continued to the Peppermill alone. He hadn’t even asked where I was going and what I would be doing there—so unlike him. This aberration might have worried me had I not already filled my quota of worries for the day.

  A Vegas institution since the dawn of life as we know it, the Peppermill clung resolutely to what had been a prime Strip location just south of the Riviera Hotel and Casino, once the beating heart of the action. Now, with the growth of the megaresorts to the south, the little restaurant found itself barely clinging to the ragged edge of the excitement.