Tortoise Soup (16 page)

“Hey, Rachel. I’m hoping you liked my present. Please don’t take offense; it’s only that I hate to think of you traveling alone on the roads. In the meantime, I’m hoping you haven’t gotten so attached to him that you can’t break away to have dinner with me. How’s tonight sound? Give me a call.”

My immediate reaction was a sense of exhilaration that I hadn’t felt in months. My second reaction was a pang of guilt as Santou’s image flashed across my mind.

“Get a grip, Rachel—the man’s only asked you to dinner. It’s not as if you’re jumping into bed.” I reached for the phone, my pulse racing a mile a minute.

My third reaction was panic as I wondered what to do with my hair. Five minutes later, I had agreed to meet Brian at the Golden Shaft at seven o’clock that evening. And my fourth reaction was,
I have nothing to wear
.

“What do you think
of this one, Rach?” Lizzie had pulled a skintight, strapless red leather dress out of her closet. “You’d look bitchin’ in this.”

What I’d look like was a tube of cheap lipstick. “Thanks, Lizzie. But I don’t think it’s me.”

My own wardrobe was so bare-bones that Lizzie had decided to outfit me. I was trying to figure out how a girl as tiny as Lizzie could possibly have anything I could wear.

“What? You want something more conservative? Jeez, Rach. Don’t you think it’s time you busted loose?”

Busting loose was one thing; I just didn’t want to bust out of the tube top that Lizzie next tried to foist on me. I’d have to break down and buy myself some new clothes one of these days. “Listen, Lizzie. I’m sure I’ve got something at home that will work just fine.”

But Lizzie was not to be deterred. Other than being a star, her second dream was to have been a fashion designer.

“All right! All right! There’s gotta be something in here you can wear.” Lizzie sighed as her fingers flew through the closet bursting with clothes.

Sequined tops were passed over in favor of a black Lycra unitard that could have been worn by Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman. Lizzie held it against her body as she twirled around, modeling its finer points for me before thrusting it into my hands. I firmly handed it back, refusing to even try it on. Leopard-print stretch pants and a matching top met the same fate.

“So what kind of date is this? With the Pope or something?” Lizzie stood with one hand on her hip, her dark curls bouncing in all directions, her toe tapping a mile a minute. “You know what your problem is, Rach? You’re not willing to try anything new. You’ve got to get some fashion sense—now, before it’s too late.”

I looked at the moppet in front of me and had a sudden desire to hug her and tell her to shut up at the same time. Living next to Lizzie was like never having left home. She had become family, with all the good and the bad that implied. I edged my way toward the door to make a quick escape, but Lizzie was too fast for me.

“Oh, no, you don’t! We’re not through yet. I’ve got at least a dozen more things for you to try on,” she said, grabbing me. The growing pile of clothes on the floor at her feet was beginning to resemble the Luxor pyramid.

Unlike me, Lizzie had taken the time to decorate her bungalow. It was a mixture of
A Chorus Line
and
La Cage aux Folles
. Brightly colored leotards were casually thrown over chairs like slipcovers, while a variety of feather boas lay artfully draped across a coatrack. Worn-out tap shoes formed a jumbled pattern on her closet floor. But the highlight of Lizzie’s bedroom was her collection of jeweled turbans sitting on hat forms, resembling a chorus line of decapitated heads.

I leaned against a wall that had been turned into a colorful mosaic of Broadway musical posters. All except for one, which was a picture of Marla Maples in workout gear. It struck me as odd and I asked Lizzie about it.

“She’s my idol, Rach. The woman knew what she wanted and went for it.”

“You mean her marriage to Donald Trump?” I queried.

“No! I mean getting a role on Broadway in
The Will Rogers Follies
. Okay, so she had to marry Donald at the time in order to do it. But the important thing is that she didn’t let anything stand in her way. There’s a lesson there. Personally, I think it’s also that double initial thing,” Lizzie explained.

I looked at her questioningly, not quite sure what she meant.

“You know, your name has to have the right ring to it if you’re going to be a star,” Lizzie elaborated. “Like Marilyn Monroe, Ricky Ricardo, and Loretta Lynn. The vibrations mix with electrical currents in the air, creating a sort of energy that people can’t ignore.”

“You mean like Betty Boop, Olive Oyl, and Lorenzo Lamas.” Maybe she was onto something. “So how’s Tamara Twayne working these days?”

Lizzie wrinkled her nose. “No action yet. It’s probably not quite the right vibrational ring. That’s why I’m trying Felicia Fargo next. I know you think I’m crazy, but what you don’t realize is that Las Vegas is the hot spot for a lot of electrical activity. Things can happen in this place that don’t happen anywhere else.”

With enough neon in Vegas to light up a thousand miles of desert, there was no doubt in my mind that the electrical activity in this town was a light-bulb manufacturer’s wet dream. And there was no question that plenty could happen here. I’d already experienced that first hand.

The idea of Las Vegas as a place where dreams can come true is a popular one. What few people talk about is the fact that Vegas can just as easily annihilate the dreamer. The town’s dark, seamy underbelly makes it the perfect spot in which to self-destruct. After all, where else can you develop an overnight addiction, get instantly married or divorced, and commit financial suicide all in the same weekend? It’s all here and it’s all for sale. I liked the idea of Las Vegas as a sort of Sodom and Gomorrah. It was tantalizing to walk down the Strip and feel its magnetic pull. The trick was to not get sucked in.

I carefully stepped over Pilot, who was preoccupied with tearing a chew toy to shreds, as Lizzie reviewed yet another outfit.

“Don’t take this personally, but this is from my fat period. Whaddaya think?” she asked, holding it up for approval.

I actually thought it looked pretty good. I tried on the sleeveless black dress and surveyed the result in her mirror. Lizzie’s fat period fit my five-foot-eight frame to a tee. The ribbed cotton dress ended just above my knees, which meant it must have been down to Lizzie’s ankles. Though form-fitting, it was still flattering. Enough so to make me nervous. My stomach was already in a mass of knots over having accepted a date.

“It’s perfect, Rach. You look terrific,” Lizzie announced. “Though the high neck does make you look a bit like a nun.”

Considering the way the dress fit, I felt certain no one would accidentally mistake me for one.

“You’re sure this isn’t too much?” I asked, examining my image closely.

“This is Vegas, Rach. Too much is wearing a chinchilla coat in the middle of summer or dressing in a feathered G-string for church on Christmas Eve. Otherwise, I’d say you’re pretty safe,” Lizzie advised. “Loosen up: in a few more years, you won’t be able to fit into a dress like this. So enjoy it while you can.”

That was a cheerful thought. As it was, I wondered if I was pushing the line now.

Lizzie picked up the pile of discarded clothes and threw them into her closet. “By the way, I should have something for you tomorrow on that guy at the Center. I finally located his file. Jeez, what a pain in the ass—you’d think he was CIA or something, the way it was buried inside the system. But now I just have to access it.”

I had a hard time reconciling the Lizzie before me, in her skintight, hot-pink pedal pushers, with the computer whiz she obviously was at work.

“Thanks for helping me pick out a dress, Lizzie,” I said, glancing at my reflection.

I was still unsure if I was actually going to wear it. I knew I’d feel more relaxed in something a bit more demure. Say, jeans and a tee shirt. But I figured I’d solve that problem when I got home without hurting Lizzie’s feelings.

“On the Holmes file, why don’t I pop over tomorrow around noon and pick it up? I’ll bring lunch,” I offered.

“I’ll need a lot of energy,” Lizzie informed me.

“Okay. I’ll throw in a couple of Ring Dings.” Pilot and I headed out the door, but I wasn’t about to shake Lizzie.

“Hey, wait for me. Who’s going to supervise those all-important final touches?” Lizzie asked, closing the door to her bungalow behind us.

Back home, I fiddled with the TV until I found a show that Pilot liked, while Lizzie rummaged through my shoes and jewelry. My plan to change into something else had been foiled. I took one last look in the mirror. I had actually managed to make my hair behave so that it hung in long, loose curls reaching down past my shoulders. I prayed it would stay that way, not frizzing up until dinner was over. I grabbed my shoulder bag and automatically stashed my 9mm inside.

“Hey, Rach. You’ve got to learn to be a little bit more optimistic about things. I mean, just how bad do you expect this date to be?” Lizzie asked wryly.

I realized it didn’t go with the outfit, but ever since finding Annie McCarthy’s bones in a tub, I’d become more cautious about traveling unarmed.

“You’d be amazed how much better a guy behaves once they know you’re packing,” I told Lizzie. I walked out the door and headed for the mine.

The roar of haul paks permeated the air long before I reached the Golden Shaft. When it came into view, I was surprised to see that the entrance to the main tunnel was lit up, as well as an area that looked like an improvised landing strip.

This time the security guard with his M-16 didn’t bother to ask if I was fed or state but nonchalantly let me through the gate. I’d assumed that office personnel would have gone home by now, so I was surprised to walk in and find the receptionist, Dee Salvano, still seated at her desk. The can of peanut brittle had been replaced by a glass jar of jelly beans, which Dee scooped into her mouth by the handful.

“Long time no see,” she commented as I entered the room. “Is that your mine-touring outfit you’re wearing tonight?”

She was the kind of gal I would have loved to elbow while pushing onto a subway. But since I was the proverbial stranger in a strange land, I held my breath and behaved.

“I’m here to see Brian Anderson,” I replied, uncomfortably aware of what I was wearing.

“Lucky you.” Digging through the jar, she located a purple jelly bean and popped it into her mouth. “He’s in a meeting, so you’ll have to wait.”

That was nothing new. I carefully sat on the vinyl couch, fighting to keep Lizzie’s dress from riding up my thighs. I noticed that the reading material hadn’t changed, so I amused myself by trying to guess the number of jelly beans in the jar—a challenge, considering the rate at which Dee was eating them.

She suddenly pushed away from the desk and announced, “I’m going to the can. If anyone else pops in all dolled up, tell them to stay put and wait.”

I sat alone in the deserted reception area, realizing that I had two options: either I could tip the jar over and cheat on the jelly bean count or I could follow Noah’s advice and play by NDOW’s and the mine’s rules—down and dirty. If I timed it right, this would be the perfect opportunity to check the mine’s freezer.

I looked down the empty hallway. Evidently any office personnel still around were tied up in the meeting. The only thing I had to worry about was Dee. There was no telling how soon she’d return.

Now or never
, I thought.

I quietly made my way down the hall, gingerly approaching the bathroom, certain that Dee would come barging out and find me—but all was quiet on the bathroom front. It’s hard to feel inconspicuous in a skintight black dress, but I did my best imitation of Nancy Drew, hugging the wall as I quickly tiptoed toward the freezer room. I tried the knob and let loose a sigh of relief. The door wasn’t locked. Slipping inside, I shut it behind me.

The stainless steel freezer cast a morguelike pall on the room. A shiver rippled through me and goose bumps popped out on my arms—not an attractive asset to flaunt in a sleeveless dress, but, it couldn’t be helped. Death gives me the jitters, be it human or animal.

I stood perfectly still and listened as hard as I could for any telltale signs, like the flushing of a toilet. But the building was ominously quiet. The sterile smell of rubbing alcohol pervaded the air, causing my eyes to water.

Great. There goes my makeup
.

I walked across the floor and grasped the cool steel handle of the freezer, hesitating for a moment as I reflected on the repercussions of what I was about to do. It was certainly against every rule and regulation in the state of Nevada. I also knew that getting caught could very well blow my career to smithereens. On the other hand, if I didn’t go through with it, I wouldn’t be doing my job as far as I was concerned. Besides, this would even the score.

The freezer door squeaked open, sounding like an ear-shattering blast in my brain. Then I spotted the contents. An array of dead migratory birds littered the freezer, from sandpipers to ibis to sparrows. But what was hidden away on the top shelf took the prize. Five flattened tortoises lay stacked one on top of the other, looking like a short-order cook’s version of hungry man flapjacks. I swiftly pulled all five of the torts out of the freezer and shoved their carcasses inside my bag.

I closed the freezer door, my goose bumps replaced by a sheen of cold sweat as I tried to figure out what to do next. I couldn’t very well go to dinner with five tortoise patties thawing inside my shoulder bag. I wasn’t even sure if I would make it down the hall unobserved, or if I’d be caught, tarred, and feathered on the spot. There were certainly enough dead birds stashed away with which to do it.

I looked down to see a reptilian leg sticking out of my bag and quickly shoved it back inside, then I opened the door a crack and peeked out. No one was in the hall. Scurrying through, I quickly made my way back to Reception, every nerve ending in my body on high alert. I expected to find Dee Salvano crouched in predatory expectation, her jar of jelly beans held high in her hand, waiting to konk me on the head. But the seat at her desk was still empty. I darted outside, hauling my booty with me.