Lucky Break (49 page)

“So that means there’s someone else wandering around with a gun looking for you.”
 
I moved up a couple of steps and scanned the crowd, my hand shading my eyes from the brightening morning sun. “Is the construction guy okay?”
 

“Yeah, just a little cold.
 
The dude stole his costume.”

 
“Who was he dressed as?”

“Santa.
 
The full outfit, except for shoes.”

“Got it. I’ll be on the lookout.”
 
Of course, there were thousands of Santas, but he knew that.
 
Finding one with work boots on?
 
What were the odds?

“We need to cancel the race.”
 
Romeo said.

“Ms. O’Toole?”
 
The race director tapped my arm.
 
“We’re about ready.”

“Too late.”
 
I sucked in a deep breath.
 
“He’s gunning for me.
 
With that Sharp’s he could knock bug off my nose.
 
Nobody else will be close to me.”

“Lucky …”

“Get him, Romeo.
 
He’ll be up high.”
 
I rang off.

Six SWAT Team members filtered out of the crowd and surrounded the dais, their presence and their weapons both comforting and alarming.
 
Apparently only to me, though—nobody else really paid much attention.
 
One of the SWAT addressed me.
 
“We have snipers placed on the rooftops.
 
Lookouts all around.
 
With the crowd, we’ve got to be super careful, but we’ve got you covered.”

“As long as no one else is at risk.”

“Yes, ma’am.”
 
He cleared the dais, then escorted me up.
 
“The bomb squad cleared the dais before you got there, so no bombs.”

“Good to know.”

Teddie.

Right now I was standing a good four feet above the crowd—a lightning rod.
 
Talk about feeling exposed.
 
I grabbed Mr. SWAT.
 
“You get the asshole, you hear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t ma’am me, just do it.”
 
I tried not to scan the crowd, leaving that to the police.
 
I had to put my life in the hands of my most-vilified Metro.
 
Talk about ironic.

The crowd quieted as the race director started into her spiel over the loudspeaker.
 
I only half-listened.
 
Then it was my turn.
 
I gave my usual rah-rah Vegas rally cries, added a bit of Christmas cheer and thanked everyone for coming.

The crowd roared, clapping and cheering.
 
I felt like the city’s mascot or something.

Someone pressed a gun into my hand.
 
I must’ve recoiled.

“Starter pistol.” a cute kid in an official race T-shirt said.
 
“Just point it up and pull the trigger when the countdown gets to zero.”

The gun felt light, cold and lethal.
 
“What’s it loaded with?”

“A whole lot of bang powder, meant to make an impression.”

“That’s a technical term, is it?”
 
I weighed it, turning it from side to side.
 
It looked real, felt real, and was real except the barrel had been obstructed with an internal cross piece that prevented a projectile from leaving but allowed the gases to escape.
 
It would be just like Irv to substitute a real gun, have me shoot it and have the projectile drop on somebody, killing them, leaving me to deal with that.
 
Not today, Ol’ Irv.
 
Not today.

“If I knew the real name of the stuff, I’d tell you.”
 
The kid grinned, easy in his ignorance.

“Gunpowder,” I provided, thinking people were too comfortable not knowing.
 

“Seriously?
 
Like the real stuff?” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“The real stuff.
 
Just no bullet.”

I glanced at the cop standing next to me. “It’s loaded for a big bang. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He whispered into his mic.

Everyone quieted.
 
The countdown began.
 
“Ten.”
 
I scanned the rooftops.
 
“Nine.”
 
Then the crowd. Still nothing stood out in the sea of thousands of elves and Santas. “Eight.”
 
The fast runners toed the line, bending, poised.
 
“Seven.”
 

The cop’s radio crackled.
 
“Rooftop. Southwest, one hundred yards.”

“Six.”

“Raise your gun, Ms. O’Toole,” The race director directed.

“Five.”

I did as she directed, my other arm creeping protectively around my stomach, my hand finding the butt of the Glock under my sweatshirt.

“Four.”
 
I found myself looking at feet.
 
Lots of Nikes, some Adidas, Reeboks.
 
And one pair of steel-toed construction boots, in the back, shifting.
 
“There.” I pointed, alerting the cop next to me.

“Three.”

Sam Wu.
 
Standing slightly apart from the runners, he looked up, staring right at me.
 

The SWAT guy pointed and spoke into his mic.
 
“Man on the roof.
 
Westside parking garage.”

Sam swiveled and stared at the rooftop.
 

Metal glinted in the sun.
 
The man on the rooftop had a gun!
 
I squinted trying to make out who was on the rooftop.
 
It had to be Irv.
 
“Shoot him,” I barked at the cop.

“Two.”

 
“Do you have a clear shot?”
 
The cop asked into his mic.

“Negative,” came the reply.

The man on the rooftop sighted on the crowd.

“Everybody down,” I shouted.
 
A few complied, not many.
 
Most simply stood there, looking around like lost sheep.

Exposed, Sam Wu raised his gun, pointing at the rooftop shooter.
 
A pistol, he’d never make that shot.
 
Why would he even try?
 
I assumed he was here to shoot me.
 

“One.”
 
Instinctively, I pulled the trigger.
 
A loud boom.
 
The pistol jerked in my hand.

I flinched.

Sam Wu fell.

Irv was covering his tracks.

The first wave of runners launched.

Screams.
 
The middle of the crowd stopped, then moved back, ringing the fallen man.
 
Some looked at me.

I scanned the rooftops.

The gunman was still there.
 
Now I knew it was Irv.
 
I could feel his evil.
 
He paused, looking at me, then he shouldered the rifle, sighting on me.
 
Anger short-circuited thought and rooted me where I stood.
 
Take your best shot, asshole.

Where the hell was SWAT?

Hiding, shielding myself wasn’t an option—that would put me closer to innocent bystanders.
 
Up here, I was by myself and no one else would be hurt.
 

I couldn’t tear my gaze from Irv, the gun.
 
I could imagine his finger tightening on the trigger as he held his breath.
 
Irv lifted his head once, then refocused his aim.
 
Games.
 
Ego games that I prayed would get him killed.

“Somebody shoot him,” I growled through clenched teeth.

The SWAT guy was resituating his people for a clear shot.
 
Time we didn’t have.

As I narrowed my eyes waiting for the pain, a body hurtled from the side, tackling Irv. I squinted.
 
Could it be?
 
The cops pulled me off the dais, and I lost sight of the struggle.

The race went on—the cops thought it the best way to disperse the crowd.
 
With the rooftop cleared, I wandered over to Sam Wu.
 
I motioned to one of the cops standing there.
 
“Give me a look?”

“It isn’t pretty.”

“It never is.”

I stood over the body as he knelt and peeled back a corner, lifting it so only I had a clear view.

Irv was a good shot.
 
He’d hit Sam mid-forehead.
 
A small hole in the front, but I’m sure the back of his head had been blown wide open.
 
I didn’t ask to see that part.
 

Death.
 
I’d always thought it stole our humanity.
 
In Sam’s case, a look of peace had settled over him, the twisted evil no longer present.
 
Perhaps we all really were restored when our journey was over.
 
A nice thought.

But he’d been my best hope of clearing Teddie.

Teddie.

That had been him I saw on the roof, tackling Irv.
 
I’d know Teddie anywhere.
 
All I had to do was close my eyes and I could remember his every curve and angle, all his expressions.
 
I was trying to save Teddie and he’d saved me.

Funny how life works.
 
Good things from bad situations.

I nodded at the cop and he once again covered Sam.

At a loss as to how to help or what to do, I wandered.
 
I thought about calling Romeo, but he probably had his hands full with Irv and Teddie.

Romeo found me sitting on the edge of the fountains at the Bellagio, dangling my toes in the water.
 
Totally against the rules, but the cops had larger problems.
 
“Hey,” he said as he stood over me.

“What are you doing here?
 
I thought you’d be busy with photo-ops and all after catching the shooters that have the city on edge.”

He sat next to me.
 
He didn’t look happy.
 
“You like breaking the rules, don’t you?”

“Don’t we all?”
 
I knew what his no-so-happy look meant.
 
“You didn’t get them, did you?
 
Irv and Teddie?”

Despite the chill, he shucked his shoes and stuck his toes in.
 
“It’s warmer than I thought.”

“I’m sure physics could give you the reason why.”
 

“No.
 
They were gone when my guys got there.”

“You just confirmed my low-regard for Metro, present company excepted, of course.”

“I have no idea how they got away.”

“Irv is good at pulling a disappearing act.”

My words finally registered with the young detective.
 
“Teddie?
 
How’d you know?”

“I’d know him anywhere.”
 

Romeo pulled Teddie’s ankle bracelet out of his pocket.
 
“You were right.
 
We found this on the roof.”

I stared over the water at the Bellagio, one of my favorite hotels in Vegas—next to mine, of course.
 
“He saved my life.”
 
I wondered if that would balance the scales of justice.
 
“I couldn’t save his.”

“Not yet,” Romeo said.

“So you didn’t get either of them?”

“No.”

“Not, yet,” I said, taking my turn at the encouragement game.
 
Irv was still on the loose and he had Teddie.
 
And I had no idea what to do about it.
 
I felt like scouring the alleys myself, but that wouldn’t do any good. “You’ve got to find them, Romeo.
 
Find them now, before something bad happens to Teddie.”

Numb, I didn’t even flinch when the fountains shot their first salvo.

“Wow.” Romeo flinched back.
 
“We’re doing all we can.”

Considering it was Metro we were talking about, that didn’t make me feel any better.

Mist rained down on us as we hugged our knees and watched the show.
 

The music died, the water quit dancing, and reality returned.
 

“Teddie’s gone.”
 
The reality stole a bit of me.

Romeo pushed to his feet then extended a hand.
 
“Let me walk you home.”