Death On the Flop (6 page)

“
Five thousand dollars!” I gasped. Several people at
the bar lifted their glasses in a toast, no doubt assuming I was talking to Frank about some sort of gaming win. I lowered my voice and mused, “What is Ben thinking? Surely he can’t hope to win that back.”

“He could win that and more. Last year’s World Poker Tour Main Event gave out fifty-two million dollars in prize money. I know the Lanai has put up a bunch of prize money on top of the pool, so the winnings would be up there. But with a couple thousand playing in the tournament, odds are low that he will bring in any big money unless he’s a pro.”

Frank had drained another glass. I was beginning to wonder when he was going to fall off the stool, although he didn’t seem drunk. He was getting that faraway look more often, however, which made me wonder why he’d drink to avoid his ghosts if it just seemed to bring them back to him. Ah, perhaps I was being too psychoanalytic. Maybe he was just drinking at the bar to pick up women, biding his time while his wife was feeding slots or drinking up the courage to hit his own gaming table.

“You seem to know a lot about it, do you play Texas Hold ’Em, Frank?”

Faraway look accompanied by a headshake. More secrets. “I used to play Hold ’Em,” he murmured. “Now, when I play at all, I stick to blackjack.”

“Why is that?”

“Poker is a game of thirty percent luck and seventy percent skill. I went through a time where Lady Luck wasn’t shining on me in any part in my life, so I decided to go with a game where I could have more control over my wins. You play it right, and blackjack is just about ninety percent skill.”

The waitress, who obviously knew Frank, walked past and raised her eyebrows. Hmm. I had a feeling Frank was telling me more than he probably would have if he’d stopped a few whiskeys ago. I was intrigued. There was something vulnerable behind this guy’s rather hard exterior, something that made me want to draw it out, but it was obvious there would be thorns to go through along the way. He definitely had more dimension than Toby, which might not necessarily be a good thing. Toby was a simple creature for the most part, predictable and easy to have a relationship with. Of course he was also simply a cheating scum. Perhaps I should look for complicated in a relationship partner this time. I looked at Frank again. Hmm. He was damned sexy, even if he was a little morose. Unaware of my musings, he stared into the bottom of his glass.

I sighed. Another time I might want to take up the Frank challenge. Not tonight. Not this trip. Keeping Ben out of hock was challenge enough for me right now. There’d be another Frank in my future. Of course, I might be using a walker and Depends by then.

“Thanks so much for the education,” I said, sliding off the seat as I felt in my purse for cash to pay for my glass of wine. Frank signaled the waitress with some obscure finger wiggle; she nodded and called out, “Frank’s taken care of your tab, miss.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” I argued, turning to Frank.

“It’s been my pleasure,” he said, flashing a warm grin. For an instant that too often used platitude seemed completely sincere. It was a good thing I was taking off, because the Pinot Grigio had loosened my inhibitions enough to get me in trouble with Frank Gilbert. “Wish your brother good luck, sharp skill and an extra dose of sportsmanship for the tournament.”

“Thank you, as long as he doesn’t go into debt or lose his mind over this, I’ll be happy, and as long as he can get close to beating some guy named Steely Stan, he’ll be happy.”

Frank frowned and snapped, “What do you know about Steely Stan?”

His tone was so ominous, I took a step back into my stool. “I don’t know anything about him, except that my brother seems to dislike him. Ben thinks he’s a bad sport, bad ambassador for the game. I guess he’s the best player and the guy to beat. It sounds like overblown competitive male egos if you ask me.”

“I hope it’s just that,” Frank said seriously, laying a hand on my forearm. “Just tell your brother to be careful. Stan Trident is a powerful guy.”

“Oh.” I leaned in, whispering, “Like Ben shouldn’t rock the boat because these tournaments are fixed?”

“No.” Frank shook his head decisively. “This one isn’t fixed, I can guarantee that. Just tell Ben to play his game, but not to get on the wrong side of Stan
outside
the tables.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “Sounds a little over-dramatic to me.”

Frank glowered. “This is serious stuff. Where are you two staying?”

I shrugged. “Ben failed to tell me before he ran off to lose money.”

Standing, Frank reached into the back pocket of his well worn Levi’s, stretching the old denim impressively over his hips. I forced my gaze back up. Bad girl. He grabbed my right hand and put a business card in it. Uh-oh. Not another Cyrano.

He met my gaze with his dark-eyed one that bored into my core. Frank was nothing if not intense. I resisted the shiver that tickled at the base of my spine. “Listen, if you need anything while you are here, call me,” he whispered quietly but not softly. “That has my cell phone on the front and my room number at the Lanai is on the back. Call me if you have any questions or need any help. Okay?”

Great, I hadn’t been in Vegas an hour and I already had two men force their phone numbers on me. I guess I wasn’t totally over the hill yet. Of course, I don’t think either one wanted to sleep with me. One wanted to watch me sleep with someone else and the other just wanted to protect my brother. Here we go again. Life was all about other people. I sighed. “Thanks, Frank.”

Turning his back to me, he reached into his pocket again and I resisted the urge to be jealous of his hand. He threw a wad of bills on the bar, knocked on it and pointed at the waitress, another secret signal, no doubt. She waved him off with concern in her eyes. Frank spared me one more deep glance carrying a meaning I couldn’t interpret and strode off toward the front door of the casino. He was taller than he’d seemed slumped on the bar stool, about six-one, and his long strides consumed the floor so confidently I wouldn’t have believed he’d had as much to drink as I’d seen. Maybe his whisky had been watered down. I picked up his empty glass and sniffed. Nope.

When he was out of sight, I opened my fingers to read the card in my hand.

 
FRANK GILBERT
Security

 
Security? A Bruce Willis commando type or polyester uniform security guard type? What or who was he securing anyway? I turned the card over. In a bold, heavy script he’d written
Rm 2521
. Did he have this handy to pass out to every available woman he encountered?

And if he was a Las Vegas local, why was he staying in a casino hotel?

“Don’t hurt yourself,” the bartender, whose name tag read “Spring,” warned as she collected Frank’s glass.

“What?”

She laughed, deep and throaty. “Smoke’s coming out your ears, girl.” She shook her head at me. “Let me give you a piece of advice. Don’t try to make things make sense in Vegas, just take things as they come. And don’t try to figure out Frank Gilbert. There’s a reason he lives in Vegas, and the reason is he wants to keep his secrets. Here, we let him.”

“So, Frank’s your friend?” I asked.

“I know Frank. I see him around here a couple of times a week. I wouldn’t call him my friend. Friends are few and far between here. Too many of us just pass through. It’s best to keep things friendly but not make friends.”

I thought about Shana and how much mileage in life we’d shared and how much that helped when I just needed an ear to listen or a word of advice. Sometimes knowing that she was there was enough. “That seems lonely,” I finally told Spring.

She shrugged and turned away to help a man hailing her from the other end of the bar.

I sighed and grabbed the handle of the suitcase, rolling it behind me out of the bar. Of course, I had no idea where I was going. I needed to find the poker tables. At the slot machines, I passed a seventy-something blue-haired woman in a caftan who wore a heavy looking baby sling over her chest. I assumed her grandchildren had left her with babysitting duty. “Sumbitch,” she hissed when the rollers came to rest. Quaint. Maybe it would be Junior’s first word. She reached into the sling, pulled out a handful of quarters and fed another into the machine in front of her. That’s when I realized Junior was a couple hundred dollars in change.

Okay. I
was
in the Twilight Zone.

A couple of rows of slots later, I decided to ask someone where they played poker in this casino. I leaned down to a clean cut young man in a Nebraska Cornhuskers T-shirt. Poised to crank another chance, he looked at me and said, “Yes!”

I looked behind me. Nobody stood there. I looked at the machine to make sure he hadn’t just won. Two cherries and an orange. I looked back at his eager face. “I, uh, didn’t say anything.”

“I know, but you are my lucky charm. I haven’t gotten two of any fruit all night. You come up and I got two fruits. Three are bound to be next.” He fed the machine and punched the button. Two apples and a banana. He looked at me desperately as he fed the slot again. “Soon.”

“I’m looking for the poker tables,” I began.

The Cornhusker grabbed my wrist. “Please, not yet, I gotta pay off my student loans. I’m gonna hit it. Just stand there for a minute. Please?”

Feeling extremely stupid, but sorry for the kid, I nodded hastily. He fed the slots, muttering under his breath, for another few minutes. No jackpot. Good. Maybe my lucky charm had worn off and I could go find Ben.

Just as I was about to melt away, the machine dinged and quarters cascaded out in a roar. Cornhusker grabbed my shoulders, jumping up and down with glee. Then he snatched his backpack off the floor, counting to himself as he swept the money into the pocket.

“How much did you win?” I asked.

“Three hundred dollars.”

“Not bad, how many quarters did you have to put in?”

“Five hundred . . .”

Not a bad return on his money, I computed as he continued. “. . . dollars.”

Ack. He’d lost two hundred dollars and was excited? What was wrong with this picture? He was about to win himself broke feeding that slot. “Good luck,” I said, ignoring his impassioned pleas for me to stay. I stomped off, having to drag the suitcase behind me, no doubt compromising the effect of my elder statesman disgust. I’d have to find the poker tables myself, because I was afraid to get near any more strangers. I wandered past the roulette tables, craps players and dealers whipping up blackjack. I watched them play for a moment and thought of Frank. Intriguing guy, mostly because he was the only male I’d encountered since I’d been in Las Vegas who hadn’t propositioned me. Maybe he was gay. I whacked myself on the head with the heel of my hand. I was as bad as the rest of these freaks.

“Are you okay?” a male voice behind me asked. Uh-oh. Loaded question. I spun around. A guy about my age in an Armani suit with the body of a gorilla stood there.

I jammed my hands on my hips. “I’m not interested in getting naked, videos, or strip poker with someone who’s not old enough to drink a margarita.”

“Are you a hooker?”

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“Listen, only the tourists do all those crazy things. The hookers are much pickier.”

He cracked a smile, and only then I noticed that he was wearing an earpiece. “Aren’t you kind of young to be wearing a hearing aid?” I couldn’t believe I said that. This place was getting to me.

He pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows. “You look lost.”

“That’s an understatement.”

The corners of his mouth turned up despite himself. “Can I help you find your room?”

“I wish. I don’t know where I am staying.”

His eyebrows shot up again just briefly before adjusting themselves back to a perfect corporate look of interest. “Well, the casino prefers that you don’t wander around with your baggage on the floor. Can I have the porters at the front desk hold it for you? Miss . . .”

“Cooley. Belinda Cooley.” I shook his proffered hand. “You don’t understand. I lost my brother. This vacation nightmare was his idea. Mr. . . . ?”

He didn’t respond to my question. I guess casino security was tighter than the Secret Service. “Give Vegas time. It grows on you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

The edges of his mouth twitched again. “Miss Cooley, can I help you get to your room?”

“Sure, you can, if you can figure out which hotel is holding our reservation.”

“I see. Do you have any idea where your brother might have wandered?”

“Here in the casino to play Hold ’Em.”

Mr. Casino Bouncer asked Ben’s name and what he was wearing, guided me to a side chair, ordered me nicely to sit and wait while he turned away to whisper into his lapel. A few minutes later, I saw some of my gorilla friend’s lookalikes making their way through tables. It wasn’t long before I saw one of them haul a man sitting at a table in the center of the room to his feet. Ben was halfway across the room, flanked by two suits, before his perplexed look turned to one of frustrated fury when he caught sight of me.