"Not nearly as sorry as I am." I tapped the counter as I let my eyes wander over the crowd's reflection in the large mirrors behind the desk. "Thanks anyway."
"By the way, I love your song." Sergio clasped his hands, his eyes bright. "So romantic."
My eyes snapped back to his. "What?"
"
Lucky for Me
. Teddie is so talented—I never knew." My employee gave me a warm look. "And he must love you so. You are a lucky woman, Ms. O'Toole."
"How do you know about that song?"
Sergio looked at me like I'd crawled out from under a rock, which apparently wasn't far from the truth. "Honey, everybody knows about that song. Teddie's been on every talk show in the Western Hemisphere. The world does love a love story.That tune is riding up the charts with a bullet."
A bullet. I could think of one tight-assed little songbird I'd like to shoot with that bullet.
Sergio's smile faded when his eyes met mine. "This song is not a good thing?"
"Nothing I hate more than a private drama on a public stage."
***
Flash's call caught me standing in the middle of the lobby unsure who to kill first. "I hope you got something."
"Hell, I wouldn't be calling if I didn't." Flash didn't sound all that happy. "But don't get all woozie on me, I'm still just tickling leads. I've got a bunch of rumors, but nothing solid…yet."
"Give me what you got." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, squelching homicidal urges. Sticking one finger in my open ear, I pressed the phone tightly to the other, focusing on her voice. The noise of the lobby faded away. Too bad the silence amplified the hurt in my heart. And the noise in my head.
"Well, I went back through all the police reports surrounding the first bombing at Jimmy G's."
"How'd you get those?"
"One of the detectives I used to hook up with back when I was young and stupid. I knew some stuff, so I did what I always do—blackmail."
"Nice."
"Some guys just got it comin'. Know what I mean?"
My eyes flew open. "
You
were the one bangin' Crayfish Crider!" My voice was louder than I intended. When I saw some people look my direction, I tried to modulate myself, but I lack a revulsion-squelch knob. "Why didn't you tell me he was into cock stuffing? What the hell is that, anyway?" Now I had the attention of most of the folks in the lobby. I headed toward the casino, seeking privacy under the cover of noise.
Flash didn't say anything for a moment. "How'd you know about that?" She actually sounded pained—a first.
"Serendipity. It's not common knowledge, so don't go Googling hara-kiri."
"Hell, I wouldn't go sticking a blade in
my
stomach. But if Crider is crowing about private matters, I'd be more than happy to start carvin' off some of his parts." There wasn't even a hint of shame in her voice.
I needed some of that moxie. "More on that later. Don't think I'm letting you off without getting the whole story. But back to the police reports, you were going to tell me something?"
"Right." She picked up steam again. "Anyway, two interesting tidbits. All the way to the slammer, Boogie claimed he was setup, that he didn't place that bomb."
"The timing was a bit off, really." I thought back. "The stuff between the Union and the holdouts had sorted itself out by then."
"Exactly," Flash agreed. "And if you think about it, with his rep, Boogie was the perfect scapegoat."
I ducked into a far corner of the casino, hopefully away from eavesdroppers. "Convicted because everyone knew he was guilty of something—maybe not the bombing at hand. Okay, assuming that's true, who planted the original bomb?"
"That's where the trail goes cold. Boogie turned into a clam. Just from reading the reports, I got the feeling he was taking the fall for someone."
"Who?"
Silence.
"Okay." I filed it away as something to hit the Big Boss over the head with. Either him or Jimmy—one of them had to know. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, it's about your father and it supports Boogie's position."
"Really? How so?"
"Your father told the police he got a call as he was on his way to the restaurant to meet you and your mother. Someone claiming they worked at the hotel—he didn't say which property, but I can get that for you—called and said he was needed, that there was an emergency. He said he knew the person who called by name but would not have recognized her voice."
"So he was deliberately called off?" To be honest, I was glad to hear that. It was far better than being left with the thought he stood us up. I don't know why it mattered after all this time, but it did.
"That's what he told the police."
"Was there really an emergency?"
"Not one that hit the papers."
"And it was a woman who called him?"
"Ah, you
were
listening." Flash laughed, her voice returning to her normal bantering tone. "What do you think?"
"I think it's time to have a father–daughter chat."
***
My mood was heading south. The wound in my forehead starting to throb when the private elevator deposited me in the middle of the Big Boss's living room. A huge expanse of hardwood floors, leather-covered walls, hand-knotted silk rugs, and furniture fashioned with exotic woods and the hides of African animals, this apartment had been the closest thing I had to a place I called home—except for a whorehouse in Pahrump called Mona's, which really didn't count. The Big Boss and I had broken bread countless times, with me none the wiser at the secret he kept—he hadn't told me he was my father until recently…when he thought he might die. Apparently the man was pretty adept at harboring secrets.
With the overhead lights off, the only light to hold back the darkness shone from the pinpoint lights illuminating the artwork on the walls—lesser works by the Grand Masters—and the lights of the Strip filtering in through the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows.
A figure silhouetted against the window turned as I strode further into the room. Not the Big Boss.
Mona.
"Lucky!" Worry nagged at the edges of her voice. "Just the person I wanted to see."
I hurried toward her, propelled by the worry in her tone. "Mother. Are you okay?"
She motioned to a small side table. "I'm trying to read this note. I need your help."
I leaned over it and squinted in the half-light. "This has been burned."
"I
know
that." Mona sighed as if barely able to shoulder the burden of having a stupid child. "That's why I'm having trouble reading it."
"Where did you get it?" I kept my voice even—Mona was
not
going to get under my skin. Not today, anyway. I needed to focus.
"I found it smoldering in that moveable fire pit thing your father has." When she looked at me, her eyes had that deer-caught-in-the-headlight look to them. "I think it's the note he got the other day."
"Really?" This time I looked at it more closely. The sheet was almost intact—only one corner was missing. "Bring me a spray bottle, some water, and some glycerin."
"Glycerin?" Mona tried to frown, but her brows wouldn't move.
"Check the medicine cabinet. A lot of treatments for constipation use glycerin. Maybe we'll get lucky."
Without a further question, she charged off across the room.
"If the Big Boss gets wind of this, our collective asses are grapes," I called after her, knowing she'd ignore my feeble attempt at humor. At least I amused myself.
"I'm not really worried about that right now," Mona said as she disappeared into the hallway leading to the private rooms. "Besides, that man is putty in my hands." She tossed off the line with bravado that had a hollow ring to it.
Mother never did have a firm grip on reality, but now was not the time to point it out. Besides, she'd just argue. I tried to make out the writing as I waited, but it just looked like dark squiggles, tightly woven on the crinkled paper.
Amazingly, Mona was back in a flash and with the items I'd requested. "What are you going to do with this stuff?"
I busied myself combining the water and glycerin in the spray bottle, then tightening the cap. As I shook it to combine the contents, at least briefly—water and oil weren't known to stick together long—I glanced at her. "You know all those notes from admirers you used to burn in that barrel behind the house?"
Mona gave me a narrow-eyed look. "You didn't."
"It was Miranda's idea, actually." Miranda, once my closest friend, had gone on to a stellar porn career and now made boatloads by producing the trash. Just thinking about it made me sad. "We were just kids. It was something she saw on that TV show,
MacGyver
. We tried it. It worked."
Mona stepped back as I began spraying the paper with the mixture. "And you've been using it ever since."
"I'm a woman of many talents." After wetting the ashes, I carefully tried to smooth out the paper. In theory, the water made it easier to flatten and the oil held it together. "Turn on that lamp." I nodded my head toward a reading lamp bending over the back of the couch.
Mona scurried to do as I asked, then stepped out of the way. Carefully, I eased the now flat paper off the table, holding it up. Amazingly, it stayed together. Holding it up to the light, I worked to make out the writing. The ink or pencil lead, whichever, was not soluble, so it would stay dark.
Unfortunately, I could only make out a few words. "It looks like a name," I said, thinking out loud.
"What is it?"
Chewing my lip, I narrowed my eyes and concentrated through the headache pain. "Eugenia, I think." I rested my eyes then looked again. "Yes, Eugenia. Eugenia Somebody. I can't read the last name. And something about a… " I lowered the paper and looked at Mona.
She paled and sank to the couch, a hand clutched to her chest. "Oh my."
Alarmed, I paused in my reading—it took a direct hit to rock Mona back on her heels. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, then appeared to regain composure. "Keep reading. Something about a what?"
"A child."
"A child," Mona whispered, her face ashen as she sunk further into the couch.
I lowered the paper and sat next to her. "What is it?" I grabbed her hand. It was cold and clammy.
With a trembling hand, she brushed at a tendril of hair that had escaped and now tickled her eyes. "I need to talk to your father."
"Okay." Unable to think of anything that would help, I patted her hand. "Where is he?"
When she looked at me, she didn't try to hide the fear in her eyes. "That's the problem. Your father has disappeared."
Chapter Five
Back in my office, I rallied the troops. Miss P, Romeo, Flash, Brandy, and Dane perched expectantly on the meager furnishings, all of us gathered around Mona. Jimmy G leaned against the wall in the corner.
"Where's Jeremy?" I directed the question at Miss P.
"On his way. He said he had to pick up a package first."
The question quieted the group.
Jerry, our head of security, poked his head in through the makeshift doorway, then stepped inside. He took the other arm on the chair holding Dane. At my glance, he shook his head. "The Big Boss is not on the property."
"His cars?"
"He took Matilda." Matilda was his beloved fire-engine red Bentley.
I started to tell Romeo to put out an all-points bulletin, but the kid was a step ahead, speaking quietly into his phone.
I glanced around the group. Everyone waited expectantly. Even Mona sat quietly, looking as worried as I felt. "Okay." Pressing my palms to the top of the desk, I leaned forward. "Mother, the floor is yours. Give us everything you know."
She worried with the end of a peach scarf tied jauntily around her neck. "Your father…" Her eyes held mine, seeking comfort. I gave her a warm smile. "He hasn't been himself since he got that letter. It dredged up a lot of very old memories. All the way back to when he was a young man on the town, before he met me."
"Who was Eugenia?"
A gasp of surprise escaped Jimmy, and Mona gave him a look I couldn't quite read. "Eugenia Campos?" he whispered like he was summoning a ghost.
Mona gave him a curt nod that had 'shut up' as the subtext—even I caught that.
"Eugenia
Campos
?" I asked anyway. "That last name sure rings a bell."
"Let me continue," Mona said, not even trying to hide her exasperation. "She was a cigarette girl at the International," Mona explained. "Young, beautiful, the 'complete package' the men used to say. And she had a nose for money."
"And a knack for extortion," Jimmy G added, his voice flat and hard.
"You knew her?" I asked him.
"We all passed her around." His eyes skittered from mine. He looked uneasy as he stared at the floor.
"Passed her around?" My voice was as cold as the meat locker in the basement.
Finally, he took a deep breath. When his eyes met mine, they held. "Yeah, we each took our turn with her, until she met your father."
I leaned back. Surveying the group, I couldn't shake the feeling I was about to learn something I didn't want to know. "And then…?"
"They coupled up pretty good." Jimmy glanced at Mona.
She delivered the punch line. "Until he met me."
"You broke them up?" I asked.
Mona looked uncomfortable. Jimmy came to her rescue. "It wasn't like that. Your mother didn't really know. But once Albert caught sight of Mona, he was done. There hasn't been anyone else for him since."
"How did Eugenia take all of this?"
"Not well," Mona said, eliciting a whistle from Jimmy G.
"That's an understatement. She threw a holy shit fit." Jimmy ignored Mona's pleading look and forged ahead. "Threatened all kinds of things. Made your father pretty hot under the collar, I can tell you that. He was just a punk starting out. She coulda derailed him big time."