Lucky Flash: A Lucky O'Toole Novella (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series) (8 page)

“Has Mother put her political ambitions on hold?”
 
I asked, thinking this a safe topic.
 
I was wrong.

My father’s face snapped into a glower.
 
“Not in the least.
 
Don’t let her poor-pitiful-me act fool you.
 
Under that tired façade lives a barracuda.
 
She’s running on a sympathy platform now—twins are such a burden, you know.
 
And if she can handle them and rise to perform her civic duty, well, that’s worthy of election to the County Commission.”

“I sort of agree with her.”

My father brightened a bit.
 
“I do, too.
 
She’s a human tornado, that woman, but she keeps life interesting.”

He was only beginning to understand the truth of that statement, but I didn’t think I should wise him up.
 
With time, Mona would do that herself.
 
I just hoped she brought him along gently.

“You’re here about Pismo, right?” my father asked.
 
“You’re not heading toward the bar, so it couldn’t be bad news.
 
Our ring is safe, right?”

“In a manner of speaking. Why don’t I cook you a proper breakfast as we talk about music, crooners, and memorabilia.”

He eyed me.

I knew that look.

He was trying to figure out why I was really in his apartment willing to put my paltry kitchen skills on display.
 
“Feeding me a feast before making me drink the poison.”

“The sentence must suit the crime.”
 
Regaling him with benign stories from the hotel trenches, I let him eat his crisp bacon, soft-scrambled eggs, and buttered toast in peace.

Pushing back from the table, he gave a satisfied sigh.
 
“Nectar of the Gods.”

“Compared to pulverized weeds, I should say so.”

“So what is it you want to know?”

“First, come clean about Teddie.”
 
Yes, I admit it, my personal life is more important than my professional life, and not nearly as under control.
 
My parents also feel it is their God-given right to meddle.
 
I was pretty sure their string pulling would amount to justification for homicide, but, since with my coloring, orange was not on my color wheel, I decided not to test the theory.

“He called me, wanted his old job back.
 
At first I told him no.
 
But then I figured he’d learned his lesson, paid the price, so maybe a second chance was in order.”

A thinly veiled ploy.
 

“Why do all man stick up for each other?”

“It’s our only chance to win.”

 
“In some games, winning is overrated.”

His face softened.
 
I could see the love in his eyes.
 
“True.”

“I thought we were a team, playing on the same side.”

“In business.
 
But in life, I’m your father.”

I didn’t hold a trump card.
 
“But you did all of this without checking with me.”

“You would’ve said no.”

“Damn straight.”

“But that would’ve been your head talking and not your heart.”

“Now you sound like Mother.”

“Honey, you just need to get it all straight.
 
Get him out of your system if that is what you want.
 
But that takes facing him.”
 
He mopped up the dregs of eggs with a corner of toast and popped it into his mouth.
 
“You mentioned music memorabilia.
 
Did you find Johnny Pismo?”

He had to mop the tears in his eyes when I got toward the end of last night’s adventures, but I’d saved the punch line.

“Yep.
 
And he told you the truth.
 
He really did have the real Liberace ring.
 
At least, I’m assuming her did.
 
We need to get it authenticated.”

That wiped the smile off his face.
 
“The ring downstairs, the one in the case.
 
I have already made a call to my guy to test the thing, but he hasn’t gotten to it.
 
I just talked to Pismo yesterday afternoon.”
 

“I can save you the trouble.
 
I’m pretty sure it’s a fake.”

“And that song and dance about a scavenger hunt?”
 
My father’s voice hit his lowest register, a threatening growl.

“He’s lying.”
 
I couldn’t prove it, but it made no sense.
 
What I couldn’t figure out was why.
 
Why did Johnny Pismo make up such a stupid story that would be so easy to check out?
 
Was he really trying to put us off his trail with a whole lot of stupid?

Or was he giving us a clue?

CHAPTER FIVE

F
LASH

Morning for me hit about noon at the earliest, but it came when it came.
 
I rolled over and stretched.
 
I had no idea what time it was, and I didn’t care.
 
Yesterday had been a twenty-hour day on the job, nothing unusual.
 
So, given my life, easing into the day was usually wise.

“Ah, you’re awake.”
 
An unexpected voice.
 
Male.
 
Friendly.
 
Familiar.

Dane?

I didn’t remember taking anyone to bed last night, but especially not him.
 
Surely I didn’t.
 
I couldn’t.
 
Could I?
 
I eased an eye open.

“Dane.”
 
I pushed myself up on an elbow and raked my hair out of my eyes.
   

Lounging in my doorway, fully clothed (which I was ambivalent about), he grinned.
 
His smile held a hint of insecurity I didn’t remember seeing there.
 
With good reason, too.
 
Maybe he’d found some smarts back in Texas.
 
Paxton Dane had cut a wide swath through town working security at the Babylon, then throwing his lot in with the Beautiful Jeremy Whitlock, forming the private investigative agency every woman in town salivated to hire.
 
When Teddie took a powder, Dane made a huge play for Lucky.
 
Then his wife none of us knew about had died, and he’d run off to lick his wounds back home amid the tumbleweeds and oil wells.
 
Despite his tall, broad, and beautiful outside, his inside had been a bit of a disappointment, and we were all glad to see him go.
 
Especially Lucky.

And now he was back.

In my bedroom.

Green eyes sparkled at me while he waited for me to get up to speed.

Processing this early in the morning was next to impossible without copious amounts of coffee.
 
“It really is you.”
 

“In the flesh.” A smile lifted the corner of his mouth.
 

I followed his eyes down. “I sleep in the nude, sue me.” I didn’t bother to cover myself.
 

“Legal action isn’t the kind that springs to mind.”

I glanced around just to make sure.
 
Yep, my room, my house.
 
“I don’t remember inviting you in.”

“You didn’t answer the bell.
 
Your keys were in the door.”
 
He waved my keys at me, the skull and crossbones hanging from the keychain winking in the morning light.

“It was a late night.”

“Must’ve been a doozy.”

I let him think what he wanted.
 
“Man, I’m hungry.
 
Is it time for breakfast yet?”

“Breakfast?
 
A bit late for that.”

“Lunch?”

“Late for that, too.”

“Champagne?”

“Always the right time for Champagne.”

“Then be a good boy and get me some while I try to pull myself together.
 
Then, when I’m ready, you can tell me why you’re really here.”

Seated at the counter in my kitchen, wrapped in Turkish terrycloth, my belly comfortably warm with Schramsberg Brut Rosé, I felt fortified enough to deal with the man leaning in the corner with his arms crossed, his legs one over the other, his butt on my counter and his eyes on me.

“So what’s your story, Tumbleweed?”

“I don’t belong in Texas anymore.”

“Another square peg.
 
Lucky tells me all the time that’s what we all are here, square pegs.
 
She also told me once you live in Vegas, you can leave, but you always come back.
 
It’s like some Indian legend or something.”
 
I squinted at him.
 
“You talked to Lucky?
 
She know you’re back in town?”

“No.”

“Chicken.”

“I’ve got some explaining to do.
 
To everybody.”

“Especially to her.
 
Even if she wasn’t going to give you a tumble, she always had your back.
 
Until you stuck a knife in hers.”

Some men are just so damn clueless there ought to be a charity to take them in and train them in the ways of women and the world.
 
A lot of women would love that, but I doubted anyone would be up to the training task—like roping sea lions or something.
 
Dane was a prime candidate, that arrogant yet lost look on his perfect face, hiding the hurt in his emerald green eyes.
 
If I was just a smidge less principled, I’d press that perfect face to my bosom, run my fingers through his thick wavy hair, and just plain make him feel better.

Damn principles.
 
“Well, Cowboy, I’m bettin’ you don’t have any idea where to take your Vegas reentry from here.”
 
His eyes shifted from mine.
 
“I knew it.
 
You pretty boys think just ’cause you show up the world will grovel at your feet, at least the slightly more than fifty percent who are female.”

“This is an unusual situation for me.”

“Ding. Ding.
 
You earn the prize for the biggest understatement of the year.
 
Give that man a stuffed bear.”

The superb sparkling wine lit an idea, probably not a good one, but, with alcohol coursing into my bloodstream rushed in on tiny bubbles of bliss, I didn’t care.
 
“Speakin’ of bears, if you’re planning on holing up in my cave, you gotta earn your keep.”
 
I tried not to cringe at the unintended innuendo.

Thankfully, Dane didn’t take the bait.
 
His eyes narrowed and his shoulders got all hunched.
 
“What’s that got to do with bears?”

“Nothing.
 
That was metaphorical.”
 
I waited to make sure he knew what the word meant.
 
With men, especially pretty ones, you never knew.
 
“I need to talk to Busta’ Blue, and to get his attention I need to bring my own muscle.
 
He got winged last night, then chased by a tiger.
 
Spent the rest of the evening sucking down bottles of Cristal like they were cheap pop at a primo table at Babel.” I glanced at the clock.
 
It read 4:00.
 
Another glance out the window—afternoon.
 
With my life I really needed a twenty-four-hour clock.
 
“Right now, I suspect he’s holed up like a bear in hibernation nursing one serious hangover.
 
And he’ll be about as mean and angry as a bear prodded from a long slumber.”

“Why would we do that?”

“Two reasons.
 
Lucky needs us to, and we need him at a disadvantage if we hope to live.”

Word had it that Busta’ Blue was hangin’ at Dig Me O’Dell’s place on the Strip—the top two floors of one of those glitzy condo buildings stuck in among the casinos.
 
I’m guessing Dig Me was pretty happy his place wasn’t one of the ones that had been constructed out of substandard materials and now sat empty awaiting the wrecking ball.
 
Scratch that.
 
I’m thinking the developer of one of the bad buildings was glad Dig Me wasn’t one of the clients he stiffed.
 
As much as Vegas gave the appearance of having left the old ways behind, scratch just under the surface and you’ll find the old game—new players, but the same rules.