Lucky Break (9 page)

“Been better, thanks.”
 
I reached for my version of worry beads, a paperweight on the corner of my desk.
 
Lucite encasing a golden cockroach, it had been a gift from the hotel staff after I’d dealt with a particularly odious guest intent on loosing thousands of the bugs.
 

“What can I do to help?”
 
Jeremy eased his legs around, putting his feet on the floor as he levered himself to a seated position, then speared me with those eyes as he flashed his dimples.
 
His wavy hair mussed from the impromptu nap begged to have fingers run through it.

Good thing I was genetically hard-wired to not go play in someone else’s sandbox, but I had no idea how he fended off the hordes of less-principled women.
 

I motioned him closer, then I remembered I needed my phone.
 
I buzzed Miss P.

“On my way with your phone.”

I’d quit asking her long ago how she could anticipate my every need, but it still creeped me out a bit.
 
Breezing through the doorway, a cloud of chiffon and a fresh floral scent, she stopped next to the desk.
 
“Here you go.”
 
She held out my phone.
 
“Twenty messages from your mother.
 
I assume by now she is either dead or has found someone else to shoot.
 
Several from a few of the reporters who have your personal number.
 
And an odd one.”

“Odd?
 
How so?” I took my phone, not so sure I wanted it.

“A strange sort of chuckle, then a hang-up.”

“Male or female?”

“Male.
 
I left the message on there.
 
Maybe you can recognize the voice.”

Jeremy and Miss P huddled closer as I pressed play.

Short, low, with a hint of madness, the chuckle was worthy of a Halloween spook house, giving me goose bumps.
 

“You recognize him?”
 
Miss P asked, angling a look at me over the top of her cheaters.

“Can’t be sure.
 
But did you know Irv Gittings was released from prison a few days ago?”

Shocked looks from both of them answered that question.
 

“Pretty light sentence for murder,” Jeremy said.
 

“Apparently, he got out on a technicality.
 
And something about a judge on the take.
 
I plan to take it all up with the D.A.”

“Wish I could be a fly on that wall,” Miss P mumbled, as she tore the top sticky note off the stack on my desk.
 
I handed her a pen.
 
“You’ll want to see him first thing?”
 
She didn’t even pretend she expected an answer as she made a note to herself.

“Don’t bother.
 
Tomorrow is Sunday.
 
I know where to find him.”

She tore off the sheet of paper she’d been scribbling on, wadded it up, and launched it across the room at the trashcan.
 
A swish.

I focused on Jeremy.
 
“Find him.
 
Find Irv Gittings.”

“Anything to go on?”

“Start with the phone number from the message.”
 
I scribbled it on a notepad, tore off the sheet, and handed it to him.
 
I stared into the paperweight, as if looking into a crystal ball, hoping to divine answers.
 
No such luck.
 
“His trail went cold when he became a ward of the state.
 
My bet would be to start with known associates, that sort of thing, but you’re the pro.”
 

“I’ll run the number, but I’d be willing to bet that’s a burner phone, a dead-end.
 
But forward me a copy of the message.
 
I’ll see if I can pull anything that might help from the tape.
 
I’ll try the facial recognition software, too.
 
Any security tapes from Cielo tonight?”

I grimaced; my stomach hurt.
 
High-octane Scotch on raw flesh with no food to protect it.
 
“Security is minimal there right now.
 
We’re not open yet.
 
Still working out the kinks in the system, but ask Jerry what he has.”
 
The Head of Security at the Babylon, Jerry had been helping me refine the security system at Cielo.
 
With no gaming on the premises, Cielo’s security wasn’t as sophisticated or refined as the system at the Babylon, but maybe he had something that might help.
 
“Maybe you could get a bead on Kimberly Cho as well.”
 
I gave him the skinny of our disappearing P.R. agent.

Jeremy stood.
 
Stepping behind his chair, he held the back in both hands. “What about the prison?
 
Maybe he said something to a cellmate.”

“I’ll take care of that.
 
I am at the top of Ol’ Irv’s hit list.
 
Maybe somebody might like to tell me how much he hated me and what he planned to do about it.”

Saturday night, the energy level at the Babylon at full-throttle, I decided to swing by Security to see if I could catch Jerry.
 
The man worked almost as much as I did, so the odds were good.
 
I fielded a couple of texts from Jean-Charles.
 
Having someone check on me was a new thing—I think I liked it.
 
No, I did like it; it just took some getting used to.
 
We’d meet back at his restaurant when I’d finished with Jerry, if I found him.

Jerry kept the main room in Security dark, so after stepping inside, I needed a moment for my eyes to adjust.
 
Monitors tic-tac-toed the far wall, each showing different views of the gaming tables: the players, the dealers, and a bird’s-eye view where experts could watch the hands dealt and the player’s movements, looking for a card drawn from the bottom or one pulled from a sleeve and all the more subtle tricks I didn’t want to know about or think of.
 
Other clusters of monitors huddled in groupings around the large room, each showing different parts of the hotel and each monitored by one staff member.
 
Safety, not only for the house’s money but also for those who donated to the cause, was a top priority.
 

My luck held.
 
Jerry, his back to me, his hands clasped behind him, his feet spread, watched the ever-changing landscapes in front of him.
 
He tossed me a sideways glance as I stepped in beside him.
 
“Man, bad stuff tonight.”
 
The stale smell of cigarettes clung to him, which always intrigued me, given the Big Boss had turned every square inch of the hotel into a non-smoking environment.
 
Scratch that—the great State of Nevada, with local assistance, had pulled off that bit of illogic.
 
Like hotdogs and mustard, gambling without smoking just wasn’t the full experience.
 
The men groused, but the ladies in their Dolce and Chanel No. 5 on the way to a fancy evening loved the new, perfumed Vegas.
 
I still straddled the fence.
 

Jerry and I had worked together so long we were family.
 
When I’d had problems with the Big Boss, I’d turned to Jerry.
 
When Teddie had taken a powder, Jerry had been the one to help me put my pieces back together.
 
Tall and thin with dark skin, a bald pate that he shaved and waxed, a bright, infrequent smile and tired written all over him, Jerry still wore yesterday’s suit and today’s problems.
 
He ran a hand over his head—a habit ingrained long before the hair had departed.
 

“They ever let you go home?” I nudged him with a shoulder.

“No reason to; wife’s out of town.”

“And you decided to wallow in a vice or two while she’s gone?”
 

“That bad?”

“Eau de Ashtray.
 
Not sure you want to go hang with my mother.
 
She’ll make you wish those cancer sticks had already killed you.”
 
I didn’t understand, in light of all we knew, why people kept smoking.
 
Of course, I often overindulged my affinity for Wild Turkey, so crawling up on a soapbox would subject me to the same scrutiny.
 
Not a good plan, considering my collection of vices was as big as my backside.

Jerry took the last pull on the cigarette he’d been holding at his side, then mashed it out in his hand.
 
“I avoid your mother at all costs.”

I cringed.
 
“Wise man.
 
Doesn’t that hurt?”

He gave me a look.
 
“What? Avoiding your mother?”

People and their habits—he really didn’t know.
 
“Never mind.”
 
I watched the flickering images on the array of screens.
 
Even on a Saturday night inching toward Sunday morning, folks were drinking and letting their bets ride.
 
“Did Romeo find you?”

“Oh, yeah.
 
He’s been calling me every ten minutes or so.”
 
As if on cue, Jerry’s phone at his hip rang.
 
He tilted it up, looked at the number, then showed it to me before directing the call to voicemail.
 
“See?”

“It’s Teddie’s ass on the line.” A hard thought to swallow, even harder to say.
 
“Sorta ups the ante.”

“Yeah.”
 
Jerry switched to all business.
 
“I had a few cameras working at Cielo.
 
We’re going through the tapes now.
 
Got a hit on the guy in the white dinner jacket with a red bow tie and gold buttons.
 
A short clip in the lobby.
 
You want to see it?”

My heart tripped, then raced.
 
“Seriously?”

“Veronica,” he called.
 
One of his techs looked up, her face painted an interesting cascade of colors by the screen in front of her.
 
“Cue up the feed and roll it to my office.”

A small cubicle defined by walls of glass on three sides, so Jerry could have privacy and still monitor his fiefdom, Jerry’s office was barely large enough for both of us and his desk, too.
 
He turned the monitor around so we both could see.
 
I leaned against the wall, my feet thankful for the easing of their load.
 
My job took its toll.
 
If I didn’t change my ways, I’d work myself into a motorized scooter and a permanent ticket to rehab.

A few blinks and sputters, then the screen leapt to life.
 
The lobby of Cielo, people milling.

“There.”
 
Jerry pointed to a white splotch.
 
A man, half-hidden by a potted palm.
 
He was watching someone.
 
I followed the direction of his gaze.

He was watching me.
 
“Shit.”

He took a phone call, standing there a minute longer.
 
The other people in the frame moved, greeting friends, collecting for the interview I’d given, or filtering toward the elevators.
 
Everyone looked happy, normal.
 
Except one.

Kimberly Cho.

She stared at the man in the white jacket and looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

The man terminated his call, then looked up at the camera with a chilling smile, keeping half of his face hidden.
 
The feed ended, capturing him in freeze-frame.
 

I stared at the image.
 
An Asian version of Irv Gittings, especially dressed as Irv always had.
 
I could see why I thought he might have been that nightmare from the past when I first glimpsed him.
 
Dark hair slicked back.
 
A simian brow, small eyes and a mean mouth above a weak chin.
 
“What about the cameras in the service area?”

Jerry gave a hacking, phlegmy cough.

“You’re killing yourself.”

He doubled over for a moment, fighting for breath.
 
The spasms passed.
 
His eyes teared as he looked at me.
 
“I know.”

I wondered what I could say that would make him hear.
 
At a loss, I gave up.
 
“The service area cameras?”

“Not working.
 
That feed went down just as the crowd was gathering.
 
Still not sure what happened.”

I pointed to the image now frozen on the screen.
 
“He happened.”

“You want a shot of him, I’m guessing.” Jerry fingered a pack of cigarettes, then flicked them aside.
 
“It’s pretty blurry and only a half-face shot.
 
Not going to be much help.”