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

by Deborah Coonts

  Hand in hand we strolled past the shops, the youngster gasping in delight at the riches in the window of the toy store. A beautiful little doll with long black hair and a lacy white dress caught her eye. Of course she was going home with it—my life had a shortage of little girls to spoil. I paid for our purchase and, when I presented the doll to her, she clutched it to her chest and gave me a million-watt smile. That smile was like an arrow to my heart—she totally had me.

  Feeling slightly guilty that my joy was coming at the expense of a placated, but probably still slightly frantic, parent I moved us along through the casino into the quiet of the Kasbah.

  Even through the solid wooden doors of Bungalow Seven, I could hear the raised voices of excited children. I started to ring the bell then decided that was pointless, so I knocked loudly.

  I heard several shouts back and forth then the door flew open.

  “Yes.” A petite woman, long dark hair and laughing dark eyes, clad in blue jeans and a halter-top, looked at me. When her eyes trickled down to the child, they widened in surprise. “Oh! You’ve brought Maria José!”

  I could see the woman’s anger building, overriding her concern as she gave her daughter one of those parental looks my mother was so fond of when I was that age.

  “Don’t be angry. My name is Lucky O’Toole; I work for the Babylon. Your daughter asked my assistance in helping her find her father. He was just finishing his press conference, so I brought her back here.”

  The woman pushed her dark hair out of her eyes, and sighed as she looked at the little girl. “It’s been quite a day,” she said, to no one in particular. Then she bent and gave her daughter a hug and a pretend swat on the butt.

  Straightening, she gave me a good look. “Thank you for bringing her back. My name is Carmen. Torti is my husband.” She opened the door wider, sweeping an arm to the interior as she did so. “And these are our children.”

  Clutching her doll, Maria José darted around her mother and threw her body into the fray. Children cascaded from every piece of furniture and seemed to cover every square foot of floor space. Through the French doors, several more were visible doing cannonballs into the pool, then scrambling out to try it again.

  Carmen had to shout to be heard as she grabbed my arm and dragged me inside. “Maria José is my Daddy’s girl. I thought I had all the doors and windows locked, but she must have found one.” Carmen shook her head then barked at a couple of the boys she thought were getting too rough.

  They snapped to attention.

  “I had put her down for a nap. She’s the baby, and it’s been a long, exciting day for her—a day of many firsts. Her first airplane ride, her first limo, her first time in Vegas. I love her dearly, but she has enough energy to light the Strip for a year! That girl will be the death of me. I turn my back and she disappears.”

  “So this is what fifteen children looks like?” I said, totally overwhelmed by the hurtling bodies and the cacophony of laughing voices.

  “Sixteen, actually. We just got another six weeks ago.” With a practiced dip, Carmen bent and grabbed a piece of discarded clothing from the floor. A quick command, and a sheepish boy, his head bowed, stopped his play. He took the garment from her outstretched hand, then disappeared toward the bedrooms to put it away as she had asked.

  “Sixteen children? And you just got a new one? I thought you said Maria Josè is the youngest? I stood in the middle of the pandemonium, young bodies darting like bees around me, voices raised in excitement.

  “Our children find us,” Carmen said as she watched them, her arms crossed, her eyes alight, a smile tugging at her lips. “They are magic, no?”

  Before I could answer, the front door opened with a bang, and another, larger body, added itself to the chaos. Tortilla Padilla, minus the gloves, but still dressed for the ring, shouted, “¡Hijos!’’ Kids!

  Heads swiveled, voices shouted, children launched through the air like living missiles, as they flung their bodies at their father. With feet spread, he absorbed each one, grabbing them to him. Grinning from ear to ear, he looked lit from within.

  Carmen watched it all, a bit misty-eyed. Finally, after Torti had hugged and spoken with each child, he turned toward his wife. The look he gave her... well, if a man looked at me like that, my life would be complete.

  Carmen gave a subtle nod to her husband, who turned in the direction she had indicated.

  A young boy, no more than eight, dripping wet from the pool, hobbled into the room, then stopped by the door. His foot was badly twisted underneath itself. Clutching the heavy drapes for support, he watched the other children. The young boy’s face was serious; doubt clouded his black eyes. Unsure and self-aware, he hung back even though he practically vibrated with need.

  Torti set the other children down. The man said nothing to the boy. Instead he knelt down in front of him, leaving a space between them, then opened his arms and waited.

  For a moment the room fell quiet, still.

  Then, with a smile that could soften even the most hardened heart, the boy fell into his father’s arms. Flinging his own reed-thin arms around his father’s neck, the boy clung to him like a survivor gripping a life raft tossed on the stormy seas of life.

  Torti clutched the small body to him and rose.

  Completely caught up, I’d been holding my breath. I let it out with a whoosh.

  “Tomás is our newest,” Carmen said. “We found him begging on the streets of Juarez. Starving, sick, regularly beaten by the other street kids or the drug traffickers, or the police, he would not have made it much longer. After we leave here, we are taking him to see a surgeon in L.A. who specializes in his sort of deformity.’’

  Pandemonium again reigned. The other children grasped for any handhold they could get on their father as he staggered over to his wife. Even fully festooned with children, he managed to give her the most incredible kiss I think I have ever seen.

  Then he gave me that trademark grin. “I see you have met my family, Ms. O’Toole. They are fabulous, don’t you think?”

  “Beyond words.’’

  Dancing around their father, the kids begged for a game of Hop on Pop. He shrugged at me, set Tomás down, then fell to the floor. Kids leapt on him until they had built a tower of love six kids high. Under it all, Tiny Tortilla Padilla laughed as he tickled the nearest tummy.

  “Tell me about the kids,” I said to Carmen, as we watched, both of us cringing when another kid landed on his father’s stomach.

  “Come, let’s have some tea and leave the children to their play.”

  We took refuge in the kitchen, where Carmen poured iced tea into tall glasses, a fresh sprig of mint in each. Setting a small plate of Mexican Wedding Cookies on the table, she motioned me to sit. “The children were abandoned for some reason or another. Some were deformed. Some were sick. Some just came at the wrong time for their families—a burden that could not be borne.”

  “And you go looking for them?” I took a sip of the tea—peach mango from Teavana—yummy. I resisted the siren song of the cookies.

  “Not really. We keep our hearts open and they find us.” Carmen’s face clouded. “That’s why my husband is fighting one more time... for the children. Not just for our family, but for the ones we can’t help—especially for them. We have a foundation, it is small, but we hope not for long. There are so many children, you see.”

  I saw it all very clearly. A guarantee of sixty-four million would go a long way... “You don’t want him to fight?”

  “He’s not so young anymore, for a fighter. It’s a risky business. You never know.”

  * * *

  THE noise in the casino, building toward evening, paled in comparison to sixteen children at full throttle. After saying good-bye to the Padillas, and getting a tight squeeze from Maria José, I hadn’t made it halfway to my office before a thought had me retracing my steps. This time, I rapped on the door of Bungalow Two.

  Arrianna, dressed in cutoffs and the top of a bi
kini, her feet bare, answered. Her eyes clear and bright, a smile split her face when she saw me. “Hey! Good to see you. I was getting lonely.”

  Brandy really was a wonder—I had no idea the shops in the Bazaar carried something as mundane as a pair of cutoffs.

  “A cage, even though gilded, is still a cage. What do you say I spring you?”

  “Sure!” Her grin grew wider, then faded. “What about the media? I’m not up for another circus.”

  “Me, neither.” I stepped aside as she pulled the door behind her. “We’re not going far.”

  * * *

  ANOTHER young man, tattooed and pierced, a studded collar around his neck, was perched on the corner of Brandy’s desk when I returned to my office. Dressed in dirty jeans, a faded black tee shirt with the arms and neck ripped out and the remnants of a stenciled skull and crossbones below the word poison still visible, he held a cigarette in his left hand, which dangled down beside his leg. Periodically, he would flick the ashes to the floor.

  Miss Patterson glowered at me, her shoulders hunched, her distaste evident.

  Brandy didn’t look happy, either.

  “You.” I pointed to the young man. “Are you a guest in this hotel?”

  He turned his head, giving me the once-over before his eyes met mine. “What’s it to you, lady?”

  I took that as a no. “Out!” I pointed to the door. “Now!”

  “Don’t have a hernia.” He stood then. His eyes never leaving mine, he dropped his cigarette on the carpet and ground it out with a booted foot.

  My anger spiked as he sauntered out. “Brandy. My office. Now!”

  A stricken look on her face, the girl jumped at my bark and followed me into my office.

  “Shut the door.”

  Brandy did as I asked then planted herself in front of my desk as I took my chair. “I’m really sorry...” At the look on my face, she trailed off.

  I let her stew as I counted to ten. Then to twenty. Finally, with my anger somewhat contained, I looked at my clueless young assistant. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you we are known by the company we keep?”

  The girl bowed her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You and I have already established that your personal life is your own and you do not want my input. However, this is my office and you are my assistant.” Placing my elbows on my desk, I steepled my fingers. “And we represent this hotel. Do you think your young friend there is consistent with the image we are expected to uphold?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Make better choices, okay?”

  She mustered the courage to glance at me. “Am I fired?”

  “Of course not.” I leaned back in my chair. “What would make you think that?”

  “I screwed up and embarrassed you.”

  “If you embarrassed anyone, it was yourself.” I let that sink in for a moment. “And I don’t think there’s a mistake you could make that I haven’t already made. Strange as it may seem, I was once your age.”

  “I promise I won’t let it happen again.” The girl, looking a bit less panicked and properly chastised, still wrung her hands.

  “I don’t expect perfection, but I want you to do me a favor,” I said.

  “Anything.”

  “I want you to take a good hard look at yourself. Are those guys really what you want? Or do you deserve better?”

  * * *

  AFTER Brandy left, I pushed around the papers on my desk and flipped through my phone messages, then buzzed Miss P. “Got a minute?”

  “Be right there.”

  When she appeared in the doorway, I motioned for her to shut the door.

  “You need to give Brandy some advice on men,” she said, as she took a seat across from me.

  “Me? That’s rare.” I gave her a dirty look. “Not only am I uniquely unqualified, but our Miss Alexander wouldn’t recognize a good thing if it bit her on the ass.”

  “She is only twenty-one,” Miss P stated, as if I needed reminding.

  “Youth, an impediment to discernment,” I said, taking a quick tour through my own memories. Had I ever been that young? I ran my fingers through my hair. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this beat—lack of sleep and lack of food, a killer combination. “Why don’t you take Brandy and check on the preparations at Babel, and anything else you think needs tending to?”

  “Good idea.”

  “Before you go could you call Romeo and get him over here. I know I should quit summoning him like a dog, but I’m practically nonfunctional.”

  “Late night?” she groused, not even attempting to mask her irritation at me.

  “Look, I know you want the skinny on Jordan Marsh, but there isn’t anything to tell. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

  “He is so dreamy. Is he everything he seems to be?”

  “And so much more.”

  * * *

  MISS Patterson left with Brandy in tow. My couch called my name—twenty winks sounded like a good use of the thirty minutes I had before Romeo said he’d be here.

  Prostrate, I was just falling asleep when I heard the outer office door open. Today was not my day.

  “Anybody here?” The Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock.

  “In here.” One forearm over my eyes, I didn’t bother to move. Whatever he had to say, he could darn well deliver it while I kept my current position.

  “Man, since you didn’t get a nibble with the couch alone, now you’re baiting the thing. I don’t mind telling you, that has a whiff of desperation.”

  “I’m getting there. Teddie’s in California.”

  “So I heard.” He grabbed my feet, lifted them, and slid in underneath. My feet in his lap, he shucked my shoes and started rubbing one foot.

  Removing my arm, I raised my head and looked at him.

  “Inappropriate, I know. But I’m good at this and you look totally knackered.”

  I didn’t have the energy to resist—and he was as advertised. I had to stifle a groan of absolute pleasure as he went to work.

  “I don’t mean anything by it. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? I’d pay you good money to never stop.” I relaxed back and again covered my eyes. A foot rub was the next best thing to a back rub and one of the top five most pleasurable things to do fully clothed. “Did you come by for Miss P or do you have anything else to report?”

  “I’ve been pressing a bloke I know at the FBI. Once Mary Makepeace died, the FBI terminated the protection. The kid wasn’t in danger and the mother was dead, so case closed.” Finished with one foot, Jeremy started on the other.

  “So we’ve reached a dead end there?”

  “Pretty much, but I did get a bit of interesting information. My friend checked the Makepeace kid’s birth date on her original birth certificate. The one in the sealed files before they issued her a new name and new papers.”

  “Oh god, right there. For some reason that foot hurts more than the other,” I said, momentarily distracted. “What about the birth date?”

  “It matches the one Numbers was using. I know that’s not definitive, but it seems to indicate we might be on to something.”

  “When folks enter into the Witness Protection Program, are they fingerprinted?”

  Jeremy was quiet for a moment as he worked his thumbs into the sole of my foot just below my toes. “Sure, but where are we going to get a copy of Ms. Neidermeyer’s fingerprints? As I recall, taking a set directly isn’t an option—no fingers, no prints.”

  “I bet Romeo can help us. I’m sure the police dusted her house and car. And, if we’re lucky, the Gaming Control Board might have a set on file. They keep gaming professionals on a pretty short leash.” I swung my feet to the floor and sat up. “Thanks, that was medicinal, just what the doctor ordered.”

  I had just plopped myself back into my desk chair, when the outer door again opened and Romeo rushed in.

  “Ask and ye shall receive,” I said, in response to Jeremy’s startled expression.
“Take a seat, Romeo, the party’s just getting started.

  They both sat in rapt attention as I regaled them with all I knew up to this point. Of course, I left out the part about someone trying to run me over. That was my problem and I’d handle it my own way.

  “So, you think the district attorney is in on this?” Romeo asked, his eyes wide.

  “It should be painfully obvious, and it bears emphasizing: I can’t prove anything!” I looked at both of them. “If you two can match fingerprints then we’d have Number’s identity nailed down.

  And a motive for revenge. After that, we can speculate, but any evidence we have now is purely circumstantial.”

  “I can get a set of fingerprints for you.” Romeo said.

  “I don’t need to tell you that you must keep all of this under your hat. The district attorney’s reach extends far and wide. He already knows I’m pushing, but let’s let him worry a bit, okay?”

  Romeo nodded. “Agreed.”

  “You two work the fingerprint angle,” I said, as I rose—a subtle sign the party was over. “I’ve got to see a man about some rock.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  WAITING for the valet to bring a car around, I stood just inside the front entrance watching people parade past. A river of humanity streamed through the doors, some with drinks, some without, all laughing, joking, pointing to the glass hummingbirds and butterflies covering the ceiling or the skiers testing their skills on our indoor mountain.

  The energy level in the lobby was almost palpable, a living, breathing beast that grabbed me in its jaws and shook me until all my worries fell away. Like a wave hitting the shoals, the race to the weekend was building, higher and higher, carrying me along.

  Paxton Dane grabbed me by the elbow. “Looking for something?”

  “Perspective.” I glanced at him—yup, still a hunk and a half. “And you?”

  ‘I’ve been watching the women,” he said, his face a picture of innocence.

  “Honesty! Completely unexpected.”