Lucky Flash: A Lucky O'Toole Novella (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series) (15 page)

Another silenced shot.
 
This time closer.
 
I felt the trickle of something warm on my cheek where a shard of stone had hit me.
 
This time I jumped.

Another shot.
 
Closer still.
 
Several pinpricks of pain on exposed skin.
 
The next one would get me.

I hefted the stone in my hand.
 
Not much against a gun.

Where the hell was Romeo?

F
LASH

When I came to, I was lying flat on my back in a puddle of something gag-worthy.
 
My head thumped; I couldn’t see out of my right eye—something had gummed it up good.
 
I was alone.
 
Pressman and Pismo had disappeared.
 
I tried pushing myself up, but my right hand wouldn’t move.

Blinking, I lay back for a moment, gathering myself, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
 
Finally, things settled.
 
I pulled on my right hand.

Handcuffed.
 
To the railing on the staircase.

Seriously?

I pulled out one of the pins holding my hair.
 
Ten seconds, maybe less, I was free.
 
Gingerly, I rolled over onto my knees.
 
The world stayed level.
 
Using the railing I got my legs under me.
 
Wobbly, but they held.
 
With the back of my hand, I swiped at my right eye to clear it.
 
Blood.
 
Gingerly I felt my temple—a goose egg, the hair matted with sticky goo.
 

One of the loading bay doors shrieked open.
 
I tucked myself into the shadow between the stairs and the wall and waited.
 

“Put those two idiots in the Suburban.”
 
A voice, mean, ugly.
 
Busta’ Blue.
 
“We don’t have time to get rid of them and the other one.”

The other one?
 
They must be referring to Livermore—I remember something about him trailing Pressman.

“And the stuff?”
 
That voice fired every homicidal tendency I had.
 
Pressman.
 
He held his gun at his side.

“We gotta move it tonight.
 
Freddy Mac is waiting.”

I peeked around the corner, keeping low.
 
Jeremy, nursing his own bloody face, and Pismo, with a big wet splotch on the front of his pants, waited, cuffed together.
 
I could see Jeremy’s wheels turning but his options were few.

So were mine.
 
I tucked back against the wall.
 
What should I do?
 
There were at least three bad guys and my knights were shackled.
 
They were carting boxes, putting everything in the back of the SUV.
 
Moving shop.

“And the bitch?” Pressman asked.

“Take care of her.”
 
Busta’ seemed fine with everyone else doing his killing for him.
 
Swell guy.

As steps approached, I cast about for something, anything I could use as a weapon.
 
A two-foot section of a two-by-four supporting one of the stairs.

Perfect.

L
UCKY

Making myself as small as I could, I cringed against the next shot.
 
Romeo was somewhere behind the two thugs.
 
My finger found the trigger of my Glock, but I wouldn’t risk putting the kid in the line of fire.
 

Romeo had to make the first move.
 
I had to know where he was exactly before I risked a shot.

I curled in on myself, squinting one eye, anticipating the pain.

But it didn’t come.

Silence.

Then a meaty thunk.
 
A grunt.
 
The second guy, the one in back, fell.

The first guy turned, gun at the ready.
 
He steadied his gun, pointing into the darkness.
 
A silhouetted figure moved behind him.
 
Romeo.

Holding my breath, I steadied my aim.
 
I squeezed the trigger.

A bang loud enough to shatter glass reverberated around the small room.
 
No silencer for this gal.
 
When I shot somebody, I wanted the world to know it.

With a shout of surprise, the thug clutched his left butt cheek.
 
His leg folded.

Romeo swung the obelisk, landing a bone-crushing blow to the guy’s head.

I cringed.
 
The guy’s body went limp.
 
He dropped to his knees, the gun slipping from his grip.
 
Frozen for a moment, he then toppled over on his face at Romeo’s feet.

Romeo raised his eyebrows at me as he kicked the guy’s gun out of reach, then shook his head once, as he spoke rapidly into his mic.
 
Sirens split the silence, so close they could’ve been in the back yard.
 
Lights knifed through the darkness outside, painting across the walls.

“Two down,” I said with more bravado than I felt, although adrenaline made me fearless.
 
“Let’s see how Flash and Jeremy are faring.”

I stepped over the two inert forms and then stayed out of the way as Romeo and his men tidied up.
 

Miss P answered on the first ring.
 
“Jeremy doesn’t answer his phone.
 
And the GPS trackers have been disabled.”

The thrill of victory evaporated.
 
“And Flash?”

“Can’t reach her either.”
 
While her voice was matter-of-fact, panic frayed the edges.
 
“Should the police be alerted?
 
They’re waiting close by.”

“Romeo can make that call. We’re five minutes away.”

I grabbed the kid and filled him in on the way.
 
I was wrong—in the Ferrari we were only three minutes away.

I eased down the street.
 
At the corner I killed the engine—nothing subtle about 500 horses ready to run.
 
Jeremy had done the same thing—I noticed his Hummer pulled off the road into a darker spot by a dumpster.
 
A square of light lit the pavement in front of an open loading bay door.
 
No movement.
 
No cars.
 
I didn’t like it.

Guns drawn, the kid and I approached on foot.
 
Everything was quiet… too quiet…as if abandoned in a hurry.
 
With me taking the lead, we were just approaching the front of the building, using the shadows to hide, when a figure jumped out in front of me brandishing a bat.

I skidded to a stop and leveled my gun.

At the same time recognition dawned on both of us.
 
Flash.

I lowered my gun.
 
“Shit.
 
You scared the hell out of me.
 
You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”
 

“
You
are lucky you didn’t shoot me.”
 
She didn’t smile.
 
“They’ve taken Jeremy and Pismo.
 
I know where they’ve gone.”
 

I finally got a good look at her.
 
“Are you okay?”

“I’ll be better after I shoot Johnny Pismo.”

She was fine.

Three in a Ferrari is a very tight squeeze, and under other circumstances I would’ve taken delight at Romeo’s discomfort with Flash in his lap.

“Head downtown.
 
They’re headed to a pawnshop.
 
Someone named Freddy Mac is waiting.”

“I know where to go.”
 
The Ferrari leapt forward.

Flash didn’t try to hold on—there wasn’t anything to grab—so she let Romeo handle her weight and centrifugal force.
 
“Oh, Romeo, tell your guys when they go in and search the place, I left them a present handcuffed to the metal railing on the stairs to the side door. And Livermore should be somewhere inside.
 
I didn’t have a chance to find him.”

Romeo, hidden underneath her, tried to throw me a look, but then his face contorted as he took the weight of a two-G turn.
 
“I can see why you’re friends,” he managed when he once again could breathe.
 
Then he relayed the information to someone one the other end of his radio.

Five hundred horses made short work of the fifteen; then we barreled off the freeway onto the five-fifteen and then dropped quickly down into downtown.
 
The lights of the Fremont Street Experience danced in exploding colors like electric fireworks a few blocks in front of us.
 
I made a hard left before I got there, and then angled the car into a space reserved for Metro.
 

“We go the rest of the way on foot.”
 
Leading the way I plowed through the crowds, opening a lane for Romeo and Flash behind me.
 
I still hadn’t gotten used to the new downtown.
 
With Zappos and Tony Hsieh moving in, bringing boatloads of money and a hipster vibe, the neighborhoods had been transformed practically overnight.
 
The down-and-out, the has-beens, the faded glory was long gone, replaced by new buildings, lofts, refurbished hotels and casinos with a young and trendy vibe.
 
I liked it and I didn’t.

I carved a path toward the east edge of cool.
 
Freddy Mac’s shop was the only tenant in a ramshackle strip center still waiting for gentrification or at least refurbishment.
 
We parked off to the side so we could see the front and the back. The storefronts were all dark, but a soft glow leaked from the backroom at Downtown Pawn, a large space on the end of the building.

Flash tugged on my shirt.
 
“The black SUV in back.
 
Looks like the one they all left in.”

“How many are there?”

“Four is all I saw.
 
But, while I was dealing with Pressman, they loaded the car and headed out.
 
What I can’t figure is Pismo’s role in all of this.
 
He acted like he was going to help me, then Pressman showed up and cracked my head open.”

“Pismo is one of the bottom-feeders,” I said.
 
“They’ve got finely honed survival skills.
 
I’m betting he can change teams mid-game.”

“So you’re thinking he got caught in the middle?”

“Maybe.
 
Pismo’s a small fish, always has been.
 
Maybe he’s gotten eaten by someone higher up the food chain.”
 
I thought about Dig Me O’Dell and Busta’ Blue.
 
“Might be interesting to know what’s the bad blood between Busta’ Blue and his recording label.”
 
I looked at the other two.
 
“We’ve got two guns and three badasses to their four or more.
 
They don’t stand a chance.”

“How about you take the back door?” Romeo asked me.
 
“Flash and I can go in the front.
 
I don’t know what game Pismo is playing, but I have a feeling once we get inside, he’s going to grab the loot and make a break for it.”

Flash nodded.
 
“Pismo’s a runner, for sure.”

“Okay.
 
But, Flash, you hang back.
 
If Pismo runs, you stop him, but nothing else.
 
You got it?”

“Sure.”
 
She gave me her best go-to-hell look.

Why I ever pretended to be in control was beyond me.
 
That woman would risk life and limb to get a good story, and this one looked to be a doozy.
 
“Just be careful.
 
And aim first.
 
Jeremy’s in there.”
 
That reminder was for Romeo.