The Dead Don't Speak (11 page)

"Damn kid," he muttered.

Simon checked the clock. It said 2:56 PM. He'd slept in late after his long night. Upon waking, the previous night's events felt like a dream. Or, more accurately, something that had happened to a stranger. Simon hadn't done those things. He was a beloved Vegas showman, not a murderer. This is what he told himself.

But this kid, this little weasel, had made him look like a fool. You don't walk into a man's show and start heckling him, that's not something that's done. Not in Las Vegas. And
not
to Simon Simmons.

"Little fuck," he sneered.

Simon could find him. He knew people around town. And, unless a reporter just happened to be sitting in the audience, someone had planted that story in the Herald to make him look like a fool.

Probably the kid did it. He has to be staying in town.

Simon went to the nightstand in his bedroom and picked up his phone. He called Chris. The phone rang... and rang... and rang. Simon hung up.

Where was Chris? The performer needed his manager; there was a problem to be solved.

As Simon fretted over his friend's inaccessibility there was a knock at the door. Simon's blood chilled and his mouth went dry. He crept to the door and placed his eye to the peephole. Chris was waiting in the hallway.

Simon pulled the door open and yanked him inside.

"I tried to call you," Simon said.

"I know. I ignored it since I was coming to see you anyway."

Simon didn't say anything. His eyes were glassy. He looked to be in a daze.

"You read the Herald piece?" Chris asked. He saw the paper lying open on Simon's kitchen counter.

"Yeah. Like to strangle that little shit."

"I thought you might. That's why I'm here. After what happened last night the best thing you can do is lay low. Continue your show. They won't cancel you over one little heckler. We'll probably never hear from the kid again."

"All right," Simon collapsed on his couch with a sigh. A little reassurance made a big difference.

"The reason I came to see you is that I received some interesting news this morning," Chris said.

"What news?" Simon asked, his eyes closed tight.

"Sarah Carter is alive. She's at Spring Valley Hospital, in the ICU."

Simon groaned but didn't say anything.

"She looked right at us, man. My face isn't recognizable but yours is. And she was helping Cassandra with her little scheme, I bet. So she damn sure knows you, Simon."

"She talk yet?"

Chris smiled now, "She can't. It took some calling around but I found she's still unconscious, in a coma."

"A coma?" Simon asked, the words having not penetrated his mind.

"Yeah, you know, where she won't wake up."

"But people do wake up," Simon said.

"Sometimes, sure. More often they don't and the family pulls the life-support." Chris brushed invisible dirt from his hands and said, "And that's that."

"What should we do?" Simon asked.

"I think wait and see. The odds are in our favor and in this town that's a rare thing."

Simon nodded, his face was still blank.

"Just in case though, how much cash you have available?"

"Have to check. I keep it in a safe deposit box."

"Better not go just yet. It'll look bad if she wakes up, you visiting your safe deposit box. It'll look like you're thinking of running. Got an estimate?"

"Half a million, maybe," Simon said.

"Not bad, I've got about half that myself." Chris thought aloud, "Three quarter million. We could comfortably disappear."

*****

Daphne Carter called her office to check in.

"Daphne Carter's office, Shelly speaking."

"Hey, Shel, Daphne here. How's it been?"

"It's been fine. Only odd one was a man named Chris, who manages Simon Simmons, called. I referred him to Dylan Tovak."

"Good girl. Same thing I would have done."

"How's Sarah?" Shelly asked.

"Nothing yet, still hasn't woken up. The doctors are trying to stay positive to keep Tim and me positive."

"Oh, Daphne," Shelly said. It wasn't fair, the Carter's were good people. They didn't deserve to have something like this happen to them. "If you need anything..."

"I need you right where you are. If you can, try to feel out Tovak's position on signing Simmons."

"I can do that. I suppose you didn't see the piece in this morning's Herald?"

"What piece?"

"Some kid showed up at Simmons' show last night. Called him a fake, then upstaged him."

"Upstaged how?" Daphne asked.

"Knew an audience member was pregnant."

"Sounds set up, like someone planned it. All the same, maybe go speak to Tovak ASAP. I don't want this deal with Simmons torpedoed."

"Sure thing."

"Thank you, Shelly."

Daphne hung up.

Shelly hung up. She picked the receiver up again and dialed Dylan Tovak's extension.

"Dylan Tovak," he answered.

"Mr. Tovak, Shelly, Daphne Carter's assistant here. Daphne just checked in, wanted me to ask you about the Simon Simmons deal."

"Well Shelly, I tell ya, I'm not thrilled with the idea. I've been asking around and the guy's reputation is less than stellar. There's the piece that was in the Herald this morning, but that doesn't amount to much more than some creative heckling. I'm not a hundred percent sold on the idea. At the same time I'm not a hundred percent against it."

"So..." Shelly said, not happy at getting such a vague response.

"So I am considering it and that's where we're at."

"All right, I'll let Daphne know," Shelly said.

Shelly knew a man in Tovak's position, a midlevel director, couldn't afford to be wrong. Instead he gave vague answers that danced around the truth.

Daphne didn't recognize the man who entered Sarah's hospital room. She hadn't slept more than twenty minutes at a time in the last forty-eight hours and was hoping to get a little rest now that the nurse had been in to record her daughter's vitals. Daphne rubbed her gritty eyes in an attempt to coax some moisture from them. Her hand found the handle of the reclining chair and pushed it down, tucking the footrest back in its place.

"Can I help you?" Daphne asked.

"I'm Detective Leon Pushkin, Las Vegas Metro."

Daphne rose. The two shook hands.

"You're Sarah's mother?"

"That's right."

"Getting any sleep?"

"Not much." Tim was asleep in the chair beside her. "Better take this to the hall," Daphne said.

They left the room to talk.

"What do you know?" Daphne asked.

"We have tire marks. Looks like the bastards stopped then continued on."

"Security footage?" Daphne asked.

Pushkin shook his head, "Nothing yet. Something went wrong with the cameras that night. Camelot's head of security is working on it."

"Lenny Murdock?" Daphne asked.

"Yes. You know him?"

"Good guy. Worked with him years ago at Stardust."

"That right?"

Daphne nodded. A strand of hair landed on her forehead. She brushed it back into place.

"You know why Sarah would have been at Camelot?" Pushkin asked.

"Not sure. She called me just before it happened. Her phone dropped the call, I think. She was very upset about something. Kept saying 'he took her, he took her,' not making sense."

"Any specifics?"

Daphne shook her head, "Not that I recall. My brain feels like mashed potatoes right now."

"I understand. If it'd been my daughter I'd be in worse condition than you," Pushkin said and immediately regretted it. "I'm waiting on our lab to come back with results on the tire marks. I'll be combing through the security footage Camelot does have, see who was coming and going. If I find anything out of the ordinary, I'll let you know. I need to pick up Sarah's clothes from hospital security."

"Thanks," Daphne said.

Pushkin handed her a business card, "In case you remember anything. Get some rest."

"Right," Daphne said. Her voice didn't sound the same in her ears and seemed somehow far away, like the voice of a stranger.

She returned to the hospital room and went into the bathroom. Daphne looked in the mirror. She grimaced. The woman looking back at her was a train wreck. Her eyes looked like two raspberries, they were so bloodshot from tears and exhaustion. She needed a solid night's sleep. Daphne tentatively touched her hair. It was so dry she expected it to crumble beneath her fingertips.

Tim was sitting up in his chair when Daphne left the bathroom.

"Daph, you need to rest. You look like hell," he said.

She did a fake curtsy and said, "Such a charmer."

Tim didn't smile. "Really. You need to sleep. Go home and get some rest. I'll stay with Sarah. After all the time I spent in the hospital with my legs, it feels like a second home to me."

*****

Zach and Cayte lay on the beds in their hotel room recovering from a large room service meal. Neither had seen their parents since just after arriving at the hotel.

The wedding had been a simple affair. Zach and Cayte were both too young to act as witnesses, but the couple who was next in line were kind enough to sign the form. The man who officiated said some words, they kissed, and it was over.

The four had ridden to Versailles in a taxi. Walter whistled upon seeing the mock-up of the French palace. They strode through the entrance and the deserted lobby, VIPs for the first time in their lives. The front desk clerks, dressed in old French peasant costumes, were engaged in conversation. Apparently one of them, a guy named Julian, had just been promoted. Zach heard the name "Tovak" multiple times. Walter got them checked in, and then Margaret and Walter disappeared to their suite.

The person at the front desk had told Zach and Cayte that everything was free, so they could order whatever they wanted. Zach chose a flat iron steak and smashed baby red potatoes, Cayte picked spaghetti and meatballs, and they split a chocolate soufflé. The food arrived twenty minutes after their call to the front desk, still steaming. The meal was worlds better than the fair food they loathed, and the two chatted excitedly about what they should do next.

"I think we should walk around the hotel and casino," Zach said.

"We can't get into the casino. You have to be twenty-one."

"We can still see the hotel, though. It's really pretty."

"I guess we could," Cayte said.

There was a knock at the door. Zach and Cayte shared a puzzled look. Cayte got up and walked to the door. She looked to see who was on the other side. There was a young man, dark-skinned, in a button-down shirt.

"Who is it?" Cayte called.

"My name's Julian. I work for Mr. Tovak. I was hoping I could show Zach and Cayte around," he said. Then he held an ID badge up to the peephole for Cayte to inspect. Julian added, "The front desk should have warned you I would be stopping by when you checked in."

"They didn't," Cayte called. Having been around less than honorable men most of her life, Cayte had experienced many close calls.

"No problem. I will have the front desk call your parents. Then your parents can call you."

Cayte watched Julian take out a phone and have a quiet, two-minute conversation.

Julian looked back to the door and said, "Give it a minute," and smiled. Then he added, "You're smart to be so cautious."

Zach remembered the name from the conversation the front desk clerks were having when they'd arrived. He walked up behind Cayte and closed his eyes for effect.

"Let him in," Zach said.

Cayte jumped at hearing his voice right behind her. She turned to see the blond boy standing ramrod straight.

"You sure?" she said.

"Yes."

"How do you know it's safe?" Cayte asked.

"I listened for him."

"You shouldn't do that without someone's permission," Cayte said.

Zach opened his eyes. "I know."

Cayte unlocked the door and pulled it open. As she did so, the phone began to ring. Zach ran to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Let the man in," Walter Hepson barked and hung up.

Julian stood in the doorway, looking at Cayte. Tovak's words echoed in his mind. "Keep your hands off the girl." Tovak hadn't meant for Julian to keep his hands off Molly the receptionist; Tovak meant this girl. So maybe that meant Molly was fair game?

Julian saw Cayte catch him staring and he smiled, "I'm sorry, miss. I didn't expect someone who looked quite so good to answer the door."

Cayte rolled her eyes and smirked. A girl too used to compliments, Julian thought.

"I suppose you have met Dylan Tovak, our director of entertainment?" Julian asked.

"Last night," Zach said.

"Okay, good. He sent me to play tour guide for you and make sure you have a good time."

"We were just talking about exploring the hotel," Zach said.

"If you're ready, I'm ready."

"Give me a minute, please," Cayte said and went into the bathroom.

Julian said to Zach, "How about you and I wait outside. Give a lady her privacy."

Zach followed him through the door.

In the bathroom Cayte whispered, "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," excitedly to herself in the mirror. She wore an enormous smile on her face. This guy Julian was, hands down, the hottest black man she'd ever seen. Then her smile changed to something more vengeful; Margaret would hate that she found a black man attractive.

Standing with Zach in the hallway, Julian asked, "So where you from?"

"Pennsylvania. You?"

"Oakland originally. My parents moved us out here about ten years ago, when I was in eighth grade."

Oakland, that's a dangerous city. No place for children.

"Was it because of what happened when you were a boy?" Zach asked.

Julian's face turned ashen. His jaw clenched. Tabitha was eight years old when she'd been killed, gunned down when Julian's house was mistaken for a Crip den. How could this little kid know that? How did he know that lady was pregnant? The question was at the back of Julian's throat when he swallowed it back down. He recalled that showing Zach and Cayte around was his path into Tovak's good graces and a much better job. Julian let the questions go, for now. He smiled his well-practiced smile, "That's right, little man."

Cayte came out of the room, clutch bag in hand. Julian noted that she had changed her hair a little and he was thankful she'd kept the cutoffs on.

Julian showed them the gardens first. They were modeled after the gardens of the actual Versailles but scaled down and enclosed for zoning and climate reasons. The walkways had the same looping, spiraling design. Small trees lined the edges and there was a large fountain located in the center.

"It's beautiful," Cayte said.

"It is," Julian agreed. "I hope to see the real thing one day."

"That would be somethin'," Cayte said, nodding.

The two stood alone while Zach roamed the paths. Cayte could feel her cheeks redden being so close to Julian. Her mind reeled for something more to say.

"It's beautiful," she said again, and then frowned inwardly.

"We should keep going. There's a lot to see," Julian guided her toward the entrance with his hand lightly on her back. "Hey, Zach," Julian shouted, "try to keep up, man."

Zach sprinted toward them.

"Must be hard for him," Julian said.

"What?" Cayte asked.

"Being a performer at his age. Doesn't get a real childhood, you know?"

She nodded. Cayte knew all too well.

They were walking through the Peristyle, complete with pillars and black and white marble floor. The marble tile melted into a black and white zigzag pattern, designed to mimic the courtyard, with three walls tailored to resemble the mid-17th century French palace's facade. It was also what the guests called, "the lobby".

"Do you know the history of the Palace at Versailles," Julian asked his companions.

Neither did.

"It started as a hunting lodge built by the King of France, Louis XIII. He loved the location and eventually bought the grounds, too. Then he expanded the lodge, still using it for hunting, until his death."

"He built a cabin into a palace?" Zach asked.

Julian chuckled, "Story's not over. Louis's son, Louis XIV, inherited it. He didn't have any use for it at first because he wasn't much of a hunter. Louis XIV was a young King and he'd also inherited a number of his father's ministers. One of them was a man named Nicolas Fouquet, the Minister of Finance.

"Old Nicolas had money and he liked to show it off. To stay in the King's good graces, Nicolas, who had just completed construction of a beautiful chateau, decided to throw a party. He thought he'd honor the King by presenting him with wonder after wonder, the centerpiece of which would be Fouquet's new home, Vaux-le-Vicomte.

"The night came and the King, along with many other notable guests, attended. Fouquet pulled out all the stops and everyone left agreeing it was the finest thing they'd ever seen. The next day King Louis had Fouquet arrested on embezzlement charges. The King thought Fouquet was insulting him, showing everyone how he could upstage a king.

"After that mess, Louis commissioned the chateau at Versailles to be made into a palace. He used the same craftsmen and designers as Fouquet. He even used the same gardener."

"Wow," Zach said.

"Yeah. Wow," Julian replied. "Don't get more popular than the boss."

Zach liked Julian.

*****

Humberto Hernandez sat looking at the cordless phone in his left hand. He hadn't seen Cassandra in two days. While this wasn't entirely unusual, she normally called to check in. Cassandra was all he had left after his wife, Eva, passed away. Humberto let his daughter have her freedom, not wanting to drive her away. He worried, as any father would, but she'd always come home before.

Then, a couple weeks ago, his Cassandra came home with bruises on her face. Now he hadn't heard from her. Humberto's ulcer burned hotter at the thought. Could he trust the police? They hadn't done much to find Eva's killer, after she'd been shot in a mugging.

Humberto studied the piece of paper in his right hand, he had jotted down the phone number for the Clark County Sheriff's office. He dialed and waited.

The phone call took three minutes. The Sheriff’s staff would keep an eye out for Cassandra, but if he was willing to let his daughter run wild in Vegas there wasn't much they could do. The man on the phone offered a couple gut-wrenching suggestions. Maybe she had shacked up with someone? Maybe she'd decided to split town? She was a high school student and truancy would become an issue. That is, if the high school reported it.