Lucky Flash: A Lucky O'Toole Novella (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series) (12 page)

“You and me are on the same page.
 
I couldn’t find anyone who knew anything about it other than Ralph, who had heard a whisper.
 
The whisper came from Pismo himself, but then nothing.
 
Ralph thinks it’s bullshit, too.”

Lucky turned back to Romeo.
 
“Okay, I want to know where Pismo goes and who he’s with or who he sees.”

“I hope you have a couple of guys on him.
 
He’s a slippery dude,” I added, thinking Romeo and Lucky just might underestimate Johnny Pismo.
 
It was easy to do.
 
The guy cultivated an air of ineptitude, but in my experience he was far from it.

“Metro can handle it,” Romeo said, but he didn’t sound positive.

Lucky gave me an eye roll.

“Where are you going?” I asked her.

“To find Dig Me O’Dell.”
 
Her face settled into an expression I couldn’t read, her eyes cold.
 
“But first, you,” she nodded at me, “and Jeremy come by the office.
 
I have a bauble or two for you to have insured.”

Otis Pressman worked hard to cultivate the shyster vibe, and he succeeded, from the shiny suit with the pimp pinstripe to the gaudy cufflinks to the pink shirt and loud tie, the greased-back hair, and the insincere smile.
 
Of course, he was an insurance agent, one notch above an attorney on the lowest-life-form ladder.
   
Ignoring me, he motioned Jeremy to a chair.
 
“What can I do for you, Mr. Bartholomew?”

Jeremy motioned to me.
 
“This is Ms. Tate, a gemologist I keep in my employ.
 
She’s here as a second set of eyes, if you will.”

Pressman didn’t seem put off.
 
“I guarantee you don’t need a witness.
 
We employ the utmost discretion and care with the priceless artifacts entrusted to our care.”

Jeremy reached back for the velvet-lined valise I held.
 
One by one he unwrapped the items from their protective covering of cloth around a form mold.
 
He displayed each exquisite item, placing them on the edge of Mr. Pressman’s desk—some of Teddie’s personal collection Lucky had managed to convince him to part with for the moment.
 
Of course, the poor sucker would do anything for her at this point.
 

“I’m newly arrived from Australia, and, as you can see, I have some lovely things I’d like to insure.”
 
He lifted his eyes to Mr. Pressman’s.
 
“I’ve heard this country can be rather lawless.
 
I’d like to protect against that.”

Pressman practically had to wipe away the drool.
 
“These are lovely.
 
I’ve not seen anything like them come to market.
 
Quite unique.”

“Yes, two of those come from a three-part set owned by Liberace.” Jeremy pointed to gem-encrusted figurines.

“Where is the third?”

“In the Liberace Museum’s collection.
 
I’ve been trying to get them to sell it for years.
 
The three together would be worth many multiples of these two alone.
 
The museum is placing their collection as we speak in Liberace’s former mansion.
 
The complete set used to be in his boudoir.
 
The whole place has been totally restored by an Englishman—he wants to get it as close to the original as possible.
 
As if Liberace himself never left.
 
I’m thinking of putting my two on loan with them so the three may be together again.
 
A nice touch, don’t you think?”

Pressman nodded.
 
I could almost see dollar signs whirling in his eyes like cherries on a slot machine.

 
“The house opens tomorrow to limited groups, private parties.
 
The neighbors objected to the home being opened to the public.”

“Can’t say I blame them.”
 
Pressman held his hand over one of the figurines.
 
“May I?”

Jeremy nodded.
 
“Of course.”

Holding it up to the light, Pressman rotated the figurine.
 
Multicolored hues played like a rainbow on the wall as the gems fractured the light.
 
“Exquisite.” Pressman sighed as he carefully placed it back next to its mate.

“I bought them from a musician friend of mine who knew Liberace personally.
 
He was quite a fan.
 
Devastated when he passed.”

“We’ll need them valued so that we can insure them properly.
 
Surely you understand.”

“Of course.”
 
Jeremy gazed reverently at the items for a moment.
 
“They’ve never been out of my control.
 
I thought you might need to keep them for a bit, so I made photographs of them before I came.”
 
He lifted his eyes.
 
“Surely you understand?”

I stifled a snicker.
 
I had a hard time keeping quiet—not the best undercover operative, at least in this context.
 
Frankly, I was feeling a bit antsy, and guilty.
 
Leaving Dane standing on the curb hadn’t seemed right.
 
But, in a fight, I was always in Lucky’s corner, so Dane had come out on the short end.
 
But then it had never been his fight.
 
He was just the hired help.

“Of course.”
 
Pressman didn’t miss a beat.
 
The guy was good, very good.

“You yourself are bonded and insured as well as the valuation firm?” Jeremy asked.

“Memorabilia Rarities, yes, we both are.”

“Good then.”
 
Jeremy handed over the valise and watched without a hint of emotion as Pressman re-swathed each item and tucked them inside.

“Wonderful.” Pressman’s lust oozed out of him.
 
Of course, I was looking for it.
 
“Let me make you an inventory so you have a record of what you left with us, and we’ll get the process started.” He left the room.

“Are you comfortable with this?
 
Lucky—”

Jeremy shot me a warning look and then glanced up at the corners where cameras looked down on us, their red eyes blinking.

“Lucky Mr. Pressman seems to know his stuff, but I know how you hate to let these out of your sight.”

“I’m sure it will be fine, thank you.”

Pressman returned.
 
Jeremy and he did business while I tried to look inconsequential.

And when we departed, we left Teddie’s wonderful treasures with the shyster.

“I hope Lucky knows what she’s doing,” I whispered once we were in the car.

“Lucky always knows what she’s doing.”
 
But he looked slightly sick—like we’d tossed Teddie’s treasures from the top of the Stratosphere.

I knew how he felt.

CHAPTER EIGHT

L
UCKY

Teddie and Romeo sat across from me, Teddie looking tense, Romeo looking remarkably relaxed given that we’d just handed over a million dollars’ worth of music history to a guy we were almost certain would steal at least some of it.
 
My phone dinged a text.
 
“We’re good to go.
 
Pressman took the bait.”

Now it was Romeo’s turn.
 
He glanced down at the device he held in his hand.
 
“GPS is tracking.”

“All of them?”

“I count seven blips, all together.”

Teddie relaxed a little.

“Thank you,” I said.

He levered himself out of the chair.
 
“For a good cause.”

As he ambled out, I tried not to stare at his ass.

Romeo waited until Teddie had disappeared.
 
“You and him.
 
Totally sucks, huh?”

I glanced over to see him watching me.
 
“Lingering disappointment.
 
Folks can’t be who we think they should be.”

“Like I said, sucks, huh?”

That made me smile.
 
“You still got a team on Pismo?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you give me an update?”
 
My insides in a turmoil, my head spinning, I couldn’t sit still for another moment.
 
I rose and strode for the door.
 
“Text it to me.
 
I’ve got to see a friend about finding Dig Me O’Dell.”

Teddie was gone when I reached the hall.
 
But I knew where he’d go.
 
Sure enough, when I reached Delilah’s, he was perched on the bench at the white baby grand, his eyes closed.
 
Set on a raised platform, Delilah’s served as our main bar in the casino.
 
Stools fronted a long bar that was backed by bottles on the sides of a center waterfall.
 
Bougainvillea climbed trellises, giving the area a safe and secret vibe, cut off from the rowdiness of the main-floor gaming operations.
 
Club tables ringed by four chairs each clustered at the far end, the baby grand nestling opposite them.
 
When he’d been gone, every time I walked by I could picture him there.
 
And now that he was, I didn’t know how I felt about it.

As I climbed the stairs, Teddie started in on the first few bars of
Lucky For Me.
 
Ignoring the squeeze in my heart, I joined him on the piano bench.
 
“I couldn’t use anything in the Big Boss’s collection.
 
Too visible and well-known.
 
But you didn’t have to help me.”

He tilted his head as he played, losing himself to the music.
 
I’d always been jealous of his passion.
 
What would that be like, to have something so pleasurable, so consuming, that no matter what you could retreat there and regain yourself?

“Unfortunately I need your help with something else.”
 
I hadn’t asked him before because I didn’t want Romeo as a witness if Teddie made me grovel.

He smiled a soft smile as if he knew.

“Can you tell me where Dig Me O’Dell holes up when he’s pissed?”

Teddie’s eyes flew open.
 
“Why?”

“I need to find him,” I said, I thought unnecessarily.
 
“You know him well.
 
You are one of his recording stars.
 
I bet he’d take a call from you.”
 
I held out my phone.
 
“Get me a meeting.
 
Please.”

He took my phone and began dialing.
 
As he held it to his ear, his eyes found mine.
 
“How long are you planning on punishing me?”

“As long as it takes for the hurt to go away.”

O’Dell had said he’d meet me at Baker’s Blue Note, a hole-in-the-wall in an old stucco building near Atomic Liquors downtown.
 
In the heyday, this had been a happening place, but the mega-casinos sprouting on the south end of the Strip had sucked almost all the air out of the neighborhood.
 
The Blue Note, a haven for musicians longing for appreciation and camaraderie after nights spent toiling in a backup band, had kept the club not only afloat but thriving.
 
It had anchored a strip mall next to a motor lodge when I was young.
 
The club remained, but now everything else was gone.

The door lurked under so many layers of bright red paint it felt spongy as I pushed on it.
 
Stale cigarette smoke, aged whiskey, and the lonesome tones of a sax welcomed me into the dim interior.
 
A guy stood behind the bar, wiping glasses, his eyes on the stage.
 
In the beam of one overhead spot, propping himself on a three-legged stool, Dig Me O’Dell caressed the sax, coaxing the pure plaintive notes of
Body and Soul.