One of our VIPs, an unlit cigar in his mouth, shouted at the fighters from just below their feet. “You get that Ruskie SOB!” He grabbed the cigar from his teeth and punctuated the air in emphasis.
As a battle cry, it didn’t quite have the rousing effects of “Remember the Alamo” but I gave him an A for enthusiasm.
Both fighters lowered their heads and fought in earnest now. Some punches landed, other glanced off. Sweat beaded and trickled in rivulets down the lean bodies. Torti landed a hook to the European’s jaw. His head snapped around, flinging sweat over the crowd. Dr. Demolition faltered.
Torti dropped his left hand slightly and somehow, like a mountain lion after a fawn, the champion jumped through the opening. His wicked uppercut caught Torti in the jaw. Sweat flew. The crowd hushed. Torti staggered back.
The bell rang.
I almost fainted.
Torti wobbled to his corner and plopped on his stool. He tried to focus as Crash broke an ammonia tube under his nose. A couple of whiffs and the fighter’s eyes opened wide.
“Damn it, Mex,” Crash growled at his fighter in a voice loud enough for half the VIPs to hear. “You cocky son of a bitch. You been dropping that glove since you was fifteen. Don’t you learn nuthin’?”
Torti flashed him a broad grin, which was brilliant, even with the mouthpiece.
I could see the red welt on his jaw where the punch had landed. My jaw hurt for him.
Glinda Lovato sashayed around the ring carrying a large sign over her head signaling Round Two. The crowd whistled and jeered as she preened for them, drinking in their adulation.
My father, still at my side, took a sip of his drink as he watched the spectacle with hooded eyes. “Our fella got lucky there,” he said, displaying his flair for the obvious.
Too nervous to speak, I grunted in reply as Round Two got underway.
That uppercut apparently got Torti’s attention. This round he was a different fighter. Gone was the tentativeness. From the bell, he attacked his opponent. Stepping in, a flurry of punches, then backing out. Waiting, testing, then another attack—keeping Dr. Demolition off guard and flat-footed.
The general consensus in our group was a decisive victory in Round Two for Torti—so each fighter had won a round.
Great, only ten more to go.
This time, when Torti returned to his corner, Crash gave him a nod, then squirted water into his mouth, but said nothing.
I watched as Glinda’s counterpart took her turn around the ring announcing Round Three.
Curious as to where the evil Ms. Lovato had gone, I eased to the corner of the ring and poked my head around. Glinda had stepped off the stage and was rooting in her purse. She pulled her cell from the bag, stared at it, her brows creased in an unreadable expression. When she caught me looking, she glared at me and stuffed the phone back into her satchel.
The bell sounded, jangling my already frayed nerves. Round Three was under way. Torti again came out wailing away, but this time, the Champion was a bit more prepared. He blocked some of the punches, and landed a few of his own. By the end of the round, I was woozy from holding my breath. Torti had bloodied the European’s nose and Dr. Demolition had repaid him with a shot to his right eye, which was beginning to swell.
The crowd chanted, “Torti, Torti, Torti.”
Their fighter responded by raising his hands and doing a few air jabs as he pranced back to his corner. Crash slapped an ice pack over Torti’s eye as he whispered in his ear.
From her elevated perch, Glinda glowered down at me as she waited her turn to do the number thing.
I was matching her stare-for-stare when my phone rang, scaring me into breaking eye contact. With a practiced motion, I glanced at the number then flipped the thing open with one hand, pressing my other hand over my ear. “Hey, Jeremy.”
“I found our man.” he said. At least that’s what I thought he said.
“What?” I shouted over the noise. “You’re going to have to speak up.” With a nod to my father, I moved toward the stairs. “You found him?” I bounded up the stairs two at a time. The noise grew a little bit less the higher I went.
“We found him at a fleabag out on the Boulder Highway—the Nurse-A-Nickel, or something like that.” Jeremy couldn’t hide the excitement and relief in his voice. “They had him trussed up like a sheep during shearing season. But they only left one guy to guard him.”
I didn’t want to know what Jeremy had done to the hapless guard, so I didn’t ask. “Who took him there,” I asked with my last breath, as I hit the top of the stairs.
“His daughter, if you believe that shit.” Glinda Lovato!
In the entranceway to the Arena, I whirled to gaze down at the ring.
Glinda was gone.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I SCANNED the crowd—no sign of a tall muscular woman in a bikini, nor the kind of attention she would garner if she were nearby. Damn!
“Jeremy, I’ve got to go.” I shouted into the phone. “Bring Jimmy G here; I want to talk to him. This whole mess stinks like week-old fish.” I didn’t wait for Jeremy’s reply. I pressed the push-to-talk button. “Jerry, we got a problem.”
“I’m all ears.” From the background noise it sounded like our Head of Security was still inside the Arena.
“Do you see the Round Card Girl in the orange bikini—the older one with all the muscles?”
After a moment he replied, “No, only the younger one.”
I turned and began striding toward Security. If I could get to the monitors, maybe I could draw a bead on Ms. Lovato. “Find her.” I barked. “Now! Don’t let her off the property.”
Repocketing the phone, I continued scanning the crowd as I dodged patrons and headed for the elevators. In front of me, I caught a head of black hair, slicked straight back, bobbing and weaving as someone made their way toward me—in a hurry. Peering side to side, I finally found an opening and got a good look.
Daniel Lovato.
And he looked pissed.
His head down as he charged forward, he hadn’t seen me... yet. I ducked into a side corridor. Peeking around the corner, I watched as he strode in my direction.
Suddenly, his head snapped up. Fury colored his face. His eyes, dark and menacing, glared from under the shelf of his brows. His mouth pulled into a sinister line.
I turned to see who he was looking at.
Glinda Lovato.
Again I pushed to talk. “Jerry, Ms. Lovato is in the Arena corridor just outside the casino. Get your people on her. I don’t want to lose her.”
“Wilco,” Jerry said.
I left the channel open so I could hear the staccato chatter between the security personnel. Holding my breath, I watched as Daniel closed in on his unsuspecting wife.
Glinda didn’t see him—she was busy scanning the crowd as if she’d lost something... or somebody. A chill raced down my spine when I realized that somebody could be me. She’d been behind me... Had she been following me?
At the last minute Glinda saw her husband and tried to turn and run. But, quick as a snake, Daniel grabbed her arm, whipping her around to face him.
I saw his mouth move, but I couldn’t hear what he said.
Glinda whirled on him, reared back, cocked her fist, then let it fly. Throwing her weight behind the punch, she caught her husband off guard. His arm in front of his face was too little, too late.
He staggered back, stunned, then fell to his knees clutching his nose. Blood oozed between his fingers.
Jumping from my hiding place, I propelled myself toward them. I roared, “Glinda! Stop!”
Her eyes narrowed when she saw me. With a kick to her husband’s ribs, she bolted into the casino, disappearing into the crowd.
“Security, she’s headed into the casino.” I shouted into my phone as I rushed toward Daniel.
Still on his knees, blood dripping from his nose, he forced himself to his feet.
I skidded to a stop beside him. “Are you okay?”
“Daniel... “ I resisted.
“We’ve got to get that bitch,” he snarled, his voice stronger now, his grip like a vise on my arm. “When we do, you’ll have your answers. Okay?”
He knew just what button to push.
“Okay.” I nodded, ignoring my gut feeling that I had just crossed the line between bravery and terminal stupidity. “Security,” I barked into my phone. “Where’s the woman now?”
“She just cold-cocked one of our personnel and stole his elevator pass.”
“Where’s she going?”
“She jumped into the number five service elevator,” replied an unidentified security guard. “We’re watching, but it hasn’t stopped yet. It looks like she’s headed for the roof.”
“This way.” I steered Daniel through the casino, then through a set of spring-loaded double doors into the service area. The door to the other service elevator was just closing. “Hold that elevator!”
A hand shot out, keeping the doors from closing, then forced them open again. I pushed Daniel through the narrow opening, then darted in myself.
Right into the solid chest of Paxton Dane. I was never so glad to see anyone in my whole life. “What are you doing here?” I managed.
He grinned down at me as the doors closed and the elevator began its laborious ascent. “I was monitoring the action on the fight in the Sports Book when I heard all your chatter on the security channel. I saw the woman in the bikini and lit off after her.”
“You know, in Texas, a guy could probably get arrested for that.” I tried to smile, but only managed a grimace. “Apparently she’s going all the way... to the roof, I mean.”
“She had that loose look about her. Anyway, we’re right behind her and there’s not too many places she can run up there unless she can fly that helicopter.”
We both looked at Daniel. He shook his head.
“So she can’t get far, which is good news,” Dane said, then his smile evaporated. “However, I do have a bit of bad news.”
“Go ahead, ruin this wonderful evening,” I muttered, as I swiped at a few dots of Daniel’s blood soaking into my silk pants.
“She has a gun.”
“A gun?” My blood ran cold. I had a cell phone, a tube of lipstick in the wrong color, and my keys—so I had jack and Glinda had a gun. Terrific. “She got past Security packing a piece?” Heads were going to roll . . .
“No, she took it off the guard at the same time she took his elevator pass.”
Almost as bad—inept was only one step above incompetent—and tonight, both were probably lethal. Holding my phone to my lips, I interrupted the chatter over the Security channel. “The woman in service elevator five is armed. Repeat, she has a handgun. Three of us are in pursuit.”
“We’re right behind you,” Jerry replied. “But we have to wait for an elevator. You got the last of the two.”
“For the record, your mugged guard’s ass is a grape,” I added as I silenced the phone and stuffed it back into my pocket. “That gun sorta tilts the playing field in her favor, don’t you think?” I asked the two men riding with me. “Stuck in this box and lit up like Macy’s at Christmas, we’ll be like fish in a barrel.”
“Agreed,” Dane said as he pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket and extended it toward Daniel. “Here, you look like you could use this.”
Without thanks, Daniel grabbed it and pressed it to his nose. “I’m going after my wife,” he said, his anger barely contained. “You two stay here. If she shoots anybody, it should be me.”
“And that would be so helpful,” I snorted. “But if you’re angling to get shot, no need to worry—I’ll do the deed myself if you had anything to do with any of this mess.”
Dane’s eyes danced as he gave me a quick lopsided grin.
“However, first,” I continued. “If we can find Glinda, maybe you, Daniel, can keep her occupied while Dane and I flank her?”
As I knew he would, Dane opened his mouth to object.
I held up my hand. “Don’t start with me. I’m the highest ranking member of the cowboy club here tonight.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, but he looked like he didn’t like it. “Let’s kill these lights.”
“Better them than one of us,” I said, pretending to be brave.
Dane opened the breaker box and doused the lights, plunging us into darkness. As the doors opened, we flattened ourselves against the sides of the elevator, protecting ourselves behind the small section of wall on either side of the opening. First Dane darted out. Crouching, he zigzagged, then threw himself behind one of the multitude of equipment enclosures dotting the rooftop. Daniel went next, with me following closely behind.
Following Dane and Daniel’s lead, I crouched on my haunches. Dane turned to me. “Can you ditch that top? The sequins are catching the lights from the Strip—you glow in the dark.”
I skinned the thing over my head and dropped it. The wind raised goose bumps on my exposed flesh.
“Ready?” Dane asked. At our murmurs of assent, he pushed off. Like a giant, amorphous monster, the night swallowed him whole.
Daniel followed.
I waited a few moments, taking in my surroundings. Glinda, hiding under the blanket of darkness, could be anywhere, watching, waiting, her gun at the ready. Why did she pick here for a confrontation? Sure, Security was closing in on her when she darted into the service area, but why not stop before the roof? She could’ve led us on a merry chase—if getting away was her goal, her odds would ve been better below. What game was she playing? And was her husband part of it? And where would she pick for the final confrontation?
To my left, perching on the far wing of the hotel, I could just make out the hulking outline of the helicopter, its blades drooping like saplings under a heavy, wet snow. To my right, the darkness deepened toward the edge of the building. Large square shapes, patches of black against a starry sky, formed a maze of air-conditioning condensers, electrical junction boxes, and communications repeaters. A restricted area, guests were not allowed on this part of the roof—it was for service personnel, window washers, and the like. So far, I had precious little to rejoice about, so I reveled in the fact that if Glinda started shooting, she wouldn’t accidently perforate an innocent bystander.
I didn’t follow the men, choosing instead to angle behind their path. A few steps into the darkness I banged my shin on a protruding pipe. Stifling an expletive, I stepped over, then worked my way more carefully.
In front of me and to my right, Dane and Daniel were just moving shadows in the deepening darkness. A moment of panic seized me. I could hear my mother’s voice: “Stay together. There’s safety in numbers.” Someday I was going to have to start listening to her.
Abandoning my solo mission, I moved to rejoin the men.
A sharp prod in my side and an arm around my neck brought me up short. I stiffened.
I’ve been waiting for you,” Glinda hissed in my ear. She poked me with the barrel of the gun. “I’ll use this if I have to.”
She tightened her hold around my neck, pressing, cutting off my air.
I bent backward, away from the pressure as the gun jabbed into my flesh. “You’re just making this worse,” I managed to whisper.
“Shut up,” Glinda ordered. “You’ve really fucked up my day. All I need is one more little excuse to shoot you. I’d really like to shoot you.”
I couldn’t breathe. My focus telescoped down into pinpricks of twilight.
“You think you’re so important—always sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Glinda growled in my ear, her voice breathless.
She loosened her hold around my neck slightly, and I sucked in deep lungfuls of air. “Fucked u
p your day?” I spat, when my head stopped swimming. To hell with the gun—going out in a blaze of glory, fueled by fury, was more my style.
“You had to go looking for my father. You must’ve found him. My guy doesn’t answer his phone.” Glinda jabbed me angrily. “So, you’re my father’s replacement. Seems sorta fitting, doesn’t it?”
“What part am I supposed to play?” I asked, trying to keep her talking. Eventually, I hoped, the two guys would figure out I wasn’t behind them and come looking.
“Just shut up.” Glinda jerked me backward. Step by step, my body held tightly to hers, her arm around my neck and the gun in my side, we eased back into the darkness. She pulled me up the last step.
I angled my head and looked down and behind me.
Oh God! My heart leapt into my throat. We were balanced on the raised ledge that formed the edge of the building!
“Daniel,” Glinda called into the darkness, her voice tinged with panic. “We’re over here.”
Both men, now just shapes that mingled with the others, whirled at her voice. They bolted toward us.
When Glinda had them where she wanted them, she shouted, “That’s close enough.”
Both men stopped, thank heavens. Dane had a damn-the-torpedoes, full-speed-ahead look on his face. If he did that, we’d all go over the edge.
With Glinda focused on the two men, I squirmed, testing her grasp.
“Don’t.” Glinda prodded me closer to the edge with the gun.
“Your beef isn’t with Lucky. Let her go,” Daniel said. “You hurt her, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Damn straight, I thought.
“Tell them, Daniel, tell them what you did.” Glinda’s imperious voice rang in my ear. “Tell them!” she shouted.
She jerked me. My foot slipped. I fell to one knee. The other leg dangled over the edge. Bile rushed into my throat. The world swam. I could see people walking below—they looked so small. An insane notion gripped me: If I let myself go I could fly.
A cold wind slapped me in the face.
Dane bolted forward.
“Don’t,” barked Glinda. “I’ll let her go.” She loosened her grip, and I slipped further over the edge.
Lucky Stiff (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Book 2) Page 32