Taming Vegas (4 page)

“I don’t understand why we can’t come to an agreement, Yatzi.”
Oh, I know. I said I’d never make a deal with this man, and I’m not. I’m making
an
agreement
.

“Alex, my boy, we cannot come to an agreement because you
are not offering me anything I really want.” I know what he wants, but I’m not
forking over half my profits just so this guy will leave me alone for a few
months. I know him; he’ll be back before I can even say ‘Yatzi’ and he’ll want
more money.

“Look, it’s not my problem that your associate, Hector,
cannot run a nightclub properly. It’s dank. It smells sour, and he sucks at
management. Just because I’m a better businessman, does not mean that I should
have to pay.” I lean back in my chair and stare out the glass windows to my
left as I listen to the silence on the other end. Then the chuckle begins that
turns into laughter, and I wonder if Yatzi is truly insane, or just one hell of
a greedy son of a bitch.

“Everyone has to pay, Alex. Consider me like the government.
I’m collecting my taxes while I allow you to run a club in my turf.” I wish he
sounded more like the Godfather. If he did, this would all be much more amusing.

“You’re not the government. I don’t have to pay your taxes. And
if I ever catch one of your scumbags in my club again, they’ll land their asses
in jail. I’ll start with them, and I’ll end with
you
.” My voice remains
the same level of calm that I’ve been holding this entire conversation, but the
last word comes out more like a hiss. I hear the man on the other end about to
say something after he inhales, and I serenely pull the phone away from my ear
and press the end call button.

I may have just signed my death certificate.

The man pushed me to the brink last night by sending five
men into my club to stir up trouble. Two of them sold some heavy drugs that
killed a few patrons, and the others started raucous fights that landed them
and several others in jail. The police were called three times last night, and
now I have to deal with a mound of paperwork and inquiries. If I don’t pass,
I’ll be shut down for good.

I glance at the clock on my laptop screen and close my eyes
for just a minute, but the world doesn’t want to let up on Alexander Pope
today. The phone rings again, obnoxiously, and I reach down to pick it up. As
soon as I see that it’s the extension from the nightclub floor, my heart skips
a beat. They’re already at it again?

“How many?” I answer the phone with, which seems to throw
the other person off guard. Anna finally responds.

“None, well, just a woman. She’s here with some official
looking documents and bags. Alex, this looks
real
.” I wonder if she’s
holding the documents up to the light, and I also wonder what kind of documents
a woman would be carrying around meant for me.

“I’ll be down in a second.” I’m about to hang up the phone
when Anna tells me to wait. “What?”

“I think you’ll want to do this in private, Alex.” The tone
of her voice has my eyes narrowing involuntarily and then I hang up the phone.
I’m not going to start a new tradition where women get to come into my office.
This is my private space. Yet the elevator is already on its way up, and I make
a note to check the cameras to see who the idiot that gave this stranger the
passcode was.

The first person I see when the doors open is Sean. His
hulking frame is standing in front of someone is small in stature, but I can
see the heels behind him before he steps out of her way. Sometimes there is
this moment when a person looks at another human being, and there is this
charge between them in the air. Neither one of them can help the feelings
jolting through their veins because it would be like trying to stop breathing
for an hour.

Honestly, I can barely remember how we met, and I’m fuzzy on
the details of the night we spent together, but there is just something about
her that I can’t seem to shake. It scares the living daylights out of me, and I
want her to ride back down to the first floor and waltz right out the front
doors. Seeing her brings up something primal in me that I don’t like because
I’m a business man, and we’re not irrational.

“Alexander Pope?” My name on her lips shakes me from my
reverie, and I nod once as Sean looks at me accusingly. Is it written all over
my face how much just her presence subjects me to whimsical thoughts?

“It’s alright, Sean. I can take it from here.” I doubt she
would hurt me, although her voice is tremulous. Maybe she’s afraid of heights?

“You don’t want me to wait?” I watch his eyebrow quirk
pompously and wonder what it is he knows about this woman. Yet I shake my head
without a second thought and wait for him to leave. After all these years, I
still cannot remember her name. I sure do remember the way she said mine,
though.

“You’ve really made a name for yourself here.” She’s still
standing just off to the side of the elevator doors with a manila envelope in
her hands, and a rather large purse swung over her shoulder. I eyeball the
stilettos and wonder just how short she is without them, and then I find my
gaze running up the length of her legs to the hem of her dress.

“I’m sorry. Why don’t you have a seat?” When I see the blush
on her cheeks I realize that I’ve embarrassed her by letting my eyes roam, but
I’m a guy. I let my eyes roam all the time, and most women enjoy the attention.

She’s fidgeting with a ring on one finger, a finger that’s
extremely important. I furrow my brows as I stare at it because it’s not the
one that I remember. So the girl isn’t as much of an innocent as I first
thought, I guess. When she sees me staring at the ring, she stops her fidgeting
and places the manila envelope on her side of the wide desk. I wait patiently
for her to explain.

“You probably don’t remember me much, but we spent a night
together here, in Vegas, about two years ago.” I steeple my fingers in front of
me as I lean forward and stare at her intently, waiting for her to continue.
The woman clears her throat once, but I’m acutely unaware of the fact that I’m making
her nervous.

“I remember.” Oh, how I remember the blush that crept over
her cheeks that morning, and the way it’s creeping over her cheeks right now. I
feel the same way I did that morning when I woke up to see her shining, black
hair.

“Well, it turns out we did more than just spend a night
together.” My stomach clenches as I wonder if she’s going to tell me I have a
kid, and that’s what’s in the manila envelope. She wants me to take a paternity
test or maybe she wants me to pay child support.

“I’m sorry. Why don’t you just tell me what this is about? You’re
killing me here with the suspense.” I try to make a joke out of it, but my
voice trembles just like hers did only moments before.

“We got married, Mr. Pope.” After the word married, my brain
seems to drift along on autopilot as I try to digest what she’s just said. I’ve
spent numerous nights with women in my bed, and none of them have come at me
with an outrageous scam such as this! I’m just wondering how she’s gotten the
paperwork forged, but I suppose it wouldn’t be that difficult with a few
friends.

“How much do you want?” I’m all business now, and I’m almost
able to forget about the way her legs look in that dress.

“Excuse me?” I inwardly cringe at the insidious tone of her
voice; however, my outward appearance remains calm and I even plaster a smile
on my face.

“Look, we both know that there is a price for all of this to
go away. I’m not signing anything, Miss-” I wait patiently and her lips press
into a thin line as her eyes narrow. If I squint just the right away, I’m
pretty sure that I can see moisture building up in her eyes.

“It’s Melanie Ingles Pope.” I think she’s added Pope on the
end just to make me show some sort of remorse or make me feel like a fool, but
it’s not working.

“Right, Miss
Ingles
, I do not just marry women I meet
at a club or a bar, or wherever we met.” Is that a quiver on her chin? If she
starts crying, I’m going to put her right back on that elevator and send her on
her way. Yet Miss Ingles gathers herself up by squaring her shoulders and
sitting higher in her chair. It’s not high enough to be looking down on me, but
she might as well be.

“We
met
at a wedding, Mr. Pope. I’m very sorry that you
don’t remember what happened, but the fact of the matter is that we got married
in some crazy, Vegas fashion. Now, I am engaged to a very wealthy, successful
man
,”
I don’t miss the fact that she’s emphasized the word man, “and I need a
divorce!” Her hand comes down hard on the documents as she’s leaning forward,
and for a split second I actually contemplate looking down her dress. I don’t.

Neither one of us look away as we stare at one another. That
is until the elevator dings and the door opens. Miss Ingles recovers first. She
runs a shaking hand down her dress and fluffs out the bottom half around her
legs to make herself look presentable. I try to unlock my jaw so that my teeth
stop grinding together, but it’s extremely difficult. The person who dared
interrupt us is Anna, and she looks none-too-pleased about something.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but we have trouble.” Anna’s
violet eyes shoot in Melanie’s direction, and I see a flash of jealousy. Now that’s
curious.

“Please excuse me, Miss Ingles. I believe we’ll have to
continue this conversation another time.” I slide my chair back, but she doesn’t
budge from hers.

“Do you think I’m that stupid? I’ll wait here while you take
care of your business, and then you’ll be taking care of
this
business.”
Her jaw is set much like my own, and I see the fierceness of a determined woman
staring at me. Anna makes a move to dispose of my nuisance, but I give her a
minute shake of the head and make my way to the elevator.

“Right, Miss Ingles. Either wait here or find your way down
to the ground floor. The first floor is not safe.” For a millisecond, her fear
shows through, but she nods once as she turns away from me and back to the
paperwork on the desk.

As soon as the elevator door closes, Anna jumps all over me
with questions in between a
remarkably
sparse explanation as to what I’m
walking into downstairs.

“Whoa, wait a second! One thing at a time, alright? Who’s
downstairs at the bar?” Her face goes pale as her eyes start to bug, and I want
to tell her not to do that again. Her contacts might pop out and then she’ll be
in trouble.

“Yatzi.” That’s all she has to say to make my skin go cold.
Apparently the old man was not appreciative of the way I spoke to him on the
phone.

“Did you call the police?” Anna bites her bottom lip. It’s
then that I realize what must have happened.

“Is anyone hurt?” She shakes her head.

“He made everyone leave but me, and then he sent me up the
elevator. I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t recognize him at first.” I pull her under
my arm in a rare show of affection for a female employee.

“I’m going to step out of the elevator, Anna, and you’re
going to take it down to the parking garage. I want you to get in your car and
drive home. Don’t come back here until I tell you it’s safe to return. Call
everyone else and tell them that their shifts for tonight are canceled. The
club will be closed.” She’s nodding along as if she hears my instructions, but
I don’t think she truly is. So when the elevator finally reaches the first
floor, I shove her off to the side so that she cannot be seen and I press the
button for the garage level.

Then I step out and wonder how many fingers I’m going to
lose for insulting a mob boss.

He’s everything a person would expect from a criminal in
appearance from the expensive suit and flashy rings all the way down to the
perfectly shaved face. He’s also in his fifties or sixties, but I’m pretty sure
he’s suffering from liver failure by the looks of his skin and his eyes. Yatzi,
that’s the only name anyone ever knows him by, is standing by my bar with a
cigar hanging from his lips and one hand in his trouser pockets.

I, being the nervous smart-ass that I am, open my mouth to
speak. “Would you like a drink?”

“Sit down, Alex.” I take that as a negative, and sit down at
the bar with one stool between me and Yatzi. I don’t want to get too close in
case he has a venomous bite or something.

There is a moment where the prey always knows he’s being
hunted. It’s that moment when the one being hunted looks at the hunter in the
eyes and hears, as well as sees, the stillness around him. He knows that if he
looks away, his life will end, but if he doesn’t look away, he risks
challenging the predator.

Right now, I’m challenging the predator with my eyes but
telling him that he is in no danger with my body language. It must be a human
instinct ground into us from the moment we’re conceived. Yatzi, being the
psychopath that he must to survive, doesn’t care whether or not I am
challenging him. I insulted him by hanging up the phone, and I’m going to pay
for that insult.

He insulted me, and I let him.

My fingers trail over the paperwork as I rest my cheek on a
hand and stare out the glass windows. That woman who came up to fetch him
during the middle of our incongruous conversation looked terrified, but I
cannot imagine why. It must have been a ruse so he could get away from me and
soon someone will come up in that elevator to escort me from the premises.

It really is beautiful up here.
I no sooner think
that than see a bird streaking past the window.

As time ticks by and there is no sign of Alexander or anyone
else coming back to retrieve me, I stand from my chair and creep to one of the
glass windows. This is not the tallest building in Vegas, but it’s high enough
to make my stomach flip flop when I stare below me at the streets. The people
look like little ants, and I’m not brave enough to put my hands on the glass so
I can look down even more vertical.

My cellphone buzzes incessantly in my purse hung off the
back of the leather chair I was occupying moments before, and I almost trip in
my heels as I wobble towards it. I should have worn something more practical,
but I guess I wanted to show this man what he’s missing. That might seem petty,
but it’s also rude to marry a girl and not even give her a phone call.

“Hello?” I no sooner get that one word greeting out when
Kyle starts.

“I need to know where the cat food is, the litter, and
please
tell me that is
not
diarrhea on the carpet!” The last part of his
sentence doesn’t seem to be directed at me considering his voice becomes far
off. I cringe and wonder what Aphrodite got into this time. Every time I leave,
she ends up eating something she shouldn’t and there is always a mess for the
cat sitter to clean up. Or a mess that the cat sitter refuses to touch and I
have to call a professional carpet cleaning company to get it out of my large,
living room rug.

“The food is under the sink. I moved it. The litter is in
the bathroom closet on the bottom, and if you want to call Oliver to clean up
the mess I can give you his number.” I’m about to recite the number when the
weirdest thing happens.

“Oh, I’ve got it.” I try to remember back to when I
introduced Kyle and Oliver, and I can’t remember a time. “I mean, he’s here
right now.” There is something odd in Kyle’s voice, but I chalk it off to the
fact that there is a mess in front of him. “He stopped by to see if you were
home and I let him in. He seems like a really great guy, Melanie.”

“Thanks, I’ll catch you later.” I don’t wait for him to say
goodbye because the elevator door has just dinged, and I’m prepared to defend
myself from being drug out of the building or for another barrage of insulting
words.

What I’m not prepared for is the fact that no one actually
steps off the elevator when it finally comes back.

“Hello?” The answering groan has me taking an involuntary
step back, but my butt hits the glass of the window and I immediately jump
forward. My heel catches in the rug, again, and I make an embarrassing stumble
forward as I inch closer to the elevator. It’s a large room, so it takes me a
while to get over there. By the time I do, the door is about to close.

My eyes fall on the cut above his brow, and I immediately
jerk forward into action. Just before the door can close I shove my arm through
and it reopens. He’s too heavy for me to pull out on my own, but with some
prodding and shoving from me, he crawls through the doors and lies down on the
carpet of the room. He flinches as I put a finger to a bruise developing at his
temple, and I glance at the elevator.

I’m almost one hundred percent sure that if someone were
going to come up with him, they would have. But I don’t want to take any
chances. I grab a chair, and stuff it right where the elevator door opens to
stop it from closing and ignore the dinging noise that it makes in protest.
Before I even ask him what happened, I’m grabbing my phone to call the police.

“No cops!” It comes out jumbled and raspy, but I understand
the words clearly.

“Why on earth not?” He doesn’t respond to me due to a
coughing fit, and then he rolls over onto his side and begins to dry heave. I
step out of the way and turn around in case he vomits because I cannot handle
watching or hearing someone actually upchuck.

“Could you help me into the bathroom?” When I turn around he’s
trying to struggle to his feet, and I see that his pant leg is ripped. It looks
like someone got in a good slash to his calf, and he needs some stitches. My
gorge rises as I shake my head and put a hand to my mouth.

“Why should I?” I ask behind the hand as I narrow my eyes.
My cellphone is still in my other hand, and I have the nine with the one
dialed, just one more number and the call button. Then I’ll be on my way.

“You’re my fucking wife, aren’t you? If you want me to sign
your documents, help me to the bathroom, so I don’t bleed to death!” I have
never once claimed to be levelheaded around the sight of blood, but his
vicious, loud words cut through me and spur me into action.

He struggles to stand and wraps an arm around my shoulders,
and I gingerly kick off my heels. He has to be at least a foot and a half taller
than me, so he’s stooped low as I huff and grunt to the only door that could be
attached to a bathroom. I’m wrong.

When the door swings open, I’m assaulted with a light green
room harboring antique looking furniture. It’s nothing like the starkness of
his office. He points to the door off to the right of the room, and I hobble us
both towards it. As soon as the door comes open and he’s sitting on the toilet
with a first aid kit on the sink counter, I bolt.

Fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door opens, and his
ashen face appears in the opening.

“Can I call the police now?” I can’t keep the scorn out of
my tone, and he leans against the doorframe as he tries to breathe deeply.

“No, you can’t.” The bed creaks as I stand up and head for
the door to the bedroom. “Where are you going?” I turn around with a scowl on
my face and my hand on the doorknob.

“I’m going to call a doctor. Then you’re going to sign our
divorce papers, and I’m on the next flight out of this wretched city.” With
those words flung from my mouth, I open up the door and stomp out. He doesn’t
have enough energy to come after me, so I grab my cellphone off his desk and
glare at the elevator door that is still open.

It takes all of a minute to find a doctor on my phone that
will actually come to the building, and, so I pull the door out of the
elevator. I step back as it closes and wait another minute before I head back
to the room. He’s lying on the bed with a pinched look on his face, but it
seems the cut over his eyebrow has stopped bleeding.

“Why can’t I call the police? Are you involved in something
illegal?” His eyes don’t flutter open, but I can tell by his breathing that
he’s not sleeping. To keep myself busy, I grab a wet rag from the bathroom and
start to pat at the wound on his forehead and put the cool rag on the bruise
developing on his jaw.

“No, it’s not that. Well, it’s close to that. Some of the
cops are crooked and working for Yatzi.” I scrunch up my face when he says the
man’s name.

“You mean like the game?” This all seems a little
farfetched, but I guess anything can happen in Vegas. I lean back as he starts
to struggle into a sitting position.

“The game is fun. This guy isn’t. The passcode to the
elevator is 0221. Did you tell the doctor?” I feel like a fool for forgetting
and shake my head as he pulls some pillows behind him. “Then I guess you’d
better go get him. Yatzi and his crew should be gone. There’s a gun in the
filing cabinet of the desk that you can take down with you just in case.”

“I’m not touching a gun!” He manages to peek open an eye to
look at me and I get off the bed as soon as I can. I’m still, not in any shoes
when I walk out to his desk. The door to the room is closed, but I glance at it
just in case he might be watching. Then I slowly open up the filing cabinet
door and deftly move through the hanging folders.

Almost all the way at the back is a pistol that looks as if
it could be used by a toddler, but I have a feeling it’s just as deadly as any
other gun at close range. My fingers shake as I pick up the gun and hold it out
from my person at arm’s length. I’ve never touched a gun in my life, and the
cold metal makes me feel like I’m in the middle of Antarctica.

“I have
got
to go home.” I whisper to myself as I
step into the elevator and press the button for the first floor. It’s only a
few minutes, but it feels like a lifetime before the elevator stops. The door
opens, and I step out into the dark nightclub scene.

When they’re empty, and not a single soul is around,
nightclubs are creepy. I find myself involuntarily swallowing when I see the
blood by the bar stool and immediately start looking elsewhere. When the front
door swings open I immediately point the gun at the silhouette in the doorway,
and the man’s hands fly up into the air.

“I-I’m Dr. Wilson, you m-must be Miss Ingles?” It comes out
like a question and I feel sorry for pointing the gun at him. As soon as it’s
lowered he closes the door.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Wilson, but I’m sure you can understand why
I’m so jumpy.” He looks around the wrecked establishment and nods his head
once. Once the light from the outside is gone from behind him, I can make out
that he’s a man in his late thirties to early forties with hair beginning to
gray already. He has a bag in one hand that looks very official.

When he gets closer to me, I start tiptoeing my way back to
the elevator and try to remember the passcode that Alexander gave me for his
office. The doctor and I both get onto the elevator, and he glances down at the
gun in my hand nervously. My hand is shaking like a leaf, and I just want to
put it down on the ground. The icy tang of adrenaline is still in my mouth from
having to point it at an actual human being.

“Next time you need to turn the safety off, darling.” Dr.
Wilson holds out his free hand politely, and I hand the gun over to him with
curiosity. I’ve heard of a safety, but I didn’t even think of it while I was
heading downstairs. He pulls a little lever, and it releases. Then he shows me
how to put it back.

“Thank you. Although, I hope I never have to do that again.”
I try for a wobbly grin, and in return I get a smile.

“Can you tell me what happened here?” It doesn’t sound like
professional curiosity, but the usual human nature kind. I keep my lips tight
as I shake my head and watch each floor light up as we’re moving past them.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I wasn’t there, and he’s not
talking much.” Dr. Wilson gives me a pitying look, and I realize that he must
think that I’m Alexander’s girlfriend or wife. I feel a flip in my stomach when
I realize that I can’t correct him because I am the man’s wife. That’s only
until he signs the document upstairs.

The elevator door finally dings, and we exit into the office
flat. I immediately grab my shoes off the floor and understand what this all
must look like. With embarrassment flooding my cheeks and threatening to turn
my ears a bright shade of fuchsia, I lead the doctor back to Alexander in the
bedroom. He’s right where I left him, but the bruising looks a little worse. I
assume it’s only going to look worse tomorrow.

“Mr. Pope?” Dr. Wilson seems shocked and turns to look at me
as if he needs confirmation. I nod once and motion towards Alexander with an
expectant look on my face. The middle-aged man begins to pull all manner of
instruments from his bag and props himself on the bed as he listens to
Alexander’s pulse and examines his injuries.

“Wilson?” Alexander asks with a raspy voice. I realize that
the two must know each other, and quietly step out of the room. The pistol is
sitting on the desk, so I pick it up and make sure that the safety is cocked. I
squeal as I almost drop the gun and hurriedly put it back in its place. Sitting
down in the same chair I sat in a few hours before, I stare at the paperwork on
the glass desktop.

The ring is currently in my purse, and I have every
intention of returning it. I have no idea if it’s some type of family heirloom
or if it came out of a pawn shop. A few months before I met Oliver, I had the
ring appraised, and I do know that it’s worth quite a sum of money. It wouldn’t
be fair of me to keep it, considering this was not a real marriage.

I wish I knew why that thought brings a twinge to my chest.
Is it because I didn’t get to marry Oliver first, or is it because I’m a little
bit afraid to go through with all of this?