Divas Las Vegas (35 page)

"Guess he didn't know that Bart is stupid enough to do
anything. The guy's a total psycho," I said. "And I guess
we're lucky that we switched rooms when we did, or we
wouldn't be here right now talking about it." I knew how
lucky we really were, but I felt such a huge pang of guilt for
those poor guys who had lost their lives over a mere thirty
thousand dollars.

"Exactly. And Ahmed said that Bart went berserk when
he couldn't find your suitcase. That's when our friend
Ahmed disappeared. He figured that his luck couldn't hold
out too much longer, and he didn't want you guys in any
more danger than you were already in, so he left. Probably
a good idea, all things considered."

"Thank goodness someone had the bright idea to leave,"
Justin grimaced.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, you guys just helped
solve a big case for us, and you saved Vegas a few million
dollars a year. Now, are you guys ready for the good news?"
Chris asked, a sly grin appearing on his adorable face.

"There's good news?" I asked.

"For you two, yes," he answered, handing us a piece of
paper.

"Holy shit," I screamed, jumping up off the incredibly
uncomfortable bench we had been sitting on.

"What? What is it?" Glenda asked, wondering why
Justin and I were doing a little jig around the otherwise
somber police station.

"We're rich!" we shouted, thrusting the paper into her
hands.

"Huh?" she said, reading the arrest warrant. It was for
dear old Bart, whose real name was Dwayne Burns. Dwayne
was wanted in connection with two other murders, several
robberies, and a whole list of misdemeanors that went back
over the last ten years. There was a fifty-thousand-dollar
reward for information leading to his arrest. Since Ahmed
was an accomplice, the money would go to us.

"Fuckin-A," was all Glenda could say, but it seemed
enough.

When we left the police station, it was completely dark out
and very late. We were starving, exhausted, and completely
worn out-and we wanted one thing and one thing only: to
get back to San Francisco.

"Now what?" I asked, though finally that question
wasn't out of desperation.

"Let me answer that one," Glenda offered as we all got
back into Earl's cab-we hoped for the last time. "Now we
go back to our rooms, pack, and go home. I'm over Vegas
in a big way."

"Amen to that," I said.

"Do you mind if I don't drive you guys to the airport?"
Earl asked. "I don't think my cab can take anymore."
No, we didn't mind. I was ready for our crazy California
taxi drivers and their smoke-free cabs. Besides, with our newfound wealth, we could afford a limo. Though Lord
only knew how long it would take the authorities to fork
over the dough.

Fifteen minutes later, Earl dropped Glenda off at the
Aladdin and then Justin, Bradley, and me off at Caesar's.

"Well, Earl, I can't say it's been fun, but thanks. Thanks
for everything," I said as we all shook his hand.

"Hey, that's what sisters are for," he said as he started to
drive away. I'm not sure we agreed with him, but we were
grateful nonetheless, even after we gave him our address in
San Francisco so he could send us his cab repair bill.

"Damn," Bradley said, "hasn't that man heard of car
deodorizers before?"

We giggled, and I said, "Why, did it smell in there?"

Bradley looked at us funny, and then we all broke out in
a much-needed and deserved laugh.

"Well, old and new friends, looks like here's where we
part. I've been missing from work all day, and I think I
should go and make up some cockamamie story before they
fire me," Bradley said, a frown appearing on his face.

"Hey, Bradley," I said, putting my hand on his beefy
shoulder, "the truth is stranger than fiction."

"Fuck that. No one would believe me if I told them that
story," he said. "Besides, I'm Caesar. They can kiss my royal
ass." We both smiled at his arrogance.

"Um, I'm sorry we have to leave so suddenly," Justin
said, his hand on Bradley's other shoulder.

"Hey, no sweat. I understand. But you still owe me that
date," he said, leaning in for a group hug.

"Can't wait for that," Justin replied, pecking him on the
cheek. I backed away so they could have a moment alone. It
was nice to see my best friend thinking about someone other
than himself for a change. And it seemed as if Bradley was
more than a match for Justin, which is saying an awful lot.
Maybe there are happy endings after all. (Maybe, maybe not. Remember, I am telling this story from a drafty old
church closet, you might recall.)

"Nice guy," I said as Justin and I bid our adieus to
Bradley and headed for the elevator.

"But am I ready for the responsibilities of palace life?"
he asked, jokingly.

"Honey, you are the queen, hands down. The question,
my love, is, are they ready for you?"

"Good point. Now let's get the hell out of here. This
desert heat is ruining my lovely complexion."

I agreed and we headed for our pool-stinking room one
last time. We packed lickety-split and called the airlines to
make a reservation for Glenda, Justin, and myself on the
very next plane. Then we called Glenda and told her to meet
us at the airport as soon as possible. She was only too happy
to oblige.

"Well, Em, case closed. Did we forget anything or
anyone?" Justin asked, looking around the room.

"No, I don't think-wait, what's that under the bed?" I
asked, spying a blue strap.

"Hmm, let's see." He walked over, bent down, and
retrieved Ahmed's long forgotten backpack.

My heart started to flutter. "Are you thinking what I'm
thinking?" I asked, sitting down on the bed as Justin started
to unzip the pack.

"Yuh-huh. Now, let's see," he said, poking his hand in
the bag. "Um, would this be your-"

"Grandma's vase!" I shouted. "Goddammotherfuck, it's
been sitting under the bed this whole time."

"Looks that way," Justin laughed, shaking his head in
disbelief. "Not a very pretty thing, is it?"

"Fucker."

"What? I'm just saying-"

"Never mind. Let's just get the hell out of here, okay?" I
said, repacking the vase and heading for the door.

"Fine by me," he said, flicking off the lights. "Besides,
all's well that ends well."

Not quite.

SAN FRANCISCO WAS LUXURIOUSLY CHILLY UPON OUR
return. No broiling sun. No blinding lights. And no overweight straight people in tank tops and short shorts. Just
fog, followed by crisp, blue skies. Noticeably missing also
were murderers (at least people trying to murder us), showgirls (we packed the outfits way in the back of the closet),
and slot machines (the one drawback to our homecoming).
In short (or is this medium-long now?), we were glad to be
home. Though returning to our "normal" lives was a bit
difficult at first. Your heart grows accustomed to all that
pounding and has a hard time reverting to the humdrum
of a merely average existence. (I'm sure Justin would take
offense at that, of course.) Not to mention that we still had
unfinished business back in Vegas, so it was tough sinking
completely back into our old routines.

Chris had seen us off at the airport in Las Vegas, and
informed us that we'd need to return in a couple weeks to
make our official statements and to testify against Bart and,
with luck, Zahir. We also needed to give evidence supporting Ahmed's story. Not fun, but it was something we had to do,
and we were resigned to doing it. Besides, Chris's farewell
kiss left me wanting more, and I could tell that Justin wasn't
nearly finished with Bradley just yet.

After two weeks of lounging around San Francisco-no
car chases, no gunfights, no muggings, kidnappings, or any
other assorted bits of foul play-we headed back to Sin
City. And no, we didn't stay at the Atlantis, the Aladdin,
or Caesar's. We opted, instead, for a hotel farther down
the Strip. One that wouldn't bring back any of those nasty
memories. One that didn't reek of chlorine. (At least not in
our own room.) And one with no showgirls. We checked
into the stunning Mandalay Bay.

Are you ready for one last bit of Vegas trivia? A sort of
final tour of the area, if you will? Okay, well, Mandalay
Bay is at the end of the row of hotels along the Strip. Past
the last cluster of casinos: New York-New York, the MGM,
Excalibur (warning again: massive family alert!), the Tropicana (yuck-o), and the Luxor. The Luxor, by the way, is way
cool. That whole Egyptian theme makes for an interesting
gambling experience.

But none of these is even remotely as stunning as
Mandalay Bay. Which is, naturally, why we chose it. Of
course, we were anticipating the fifty grand; otherwise we
couldn't have afforded it. (Well, Justin could have, but not
me.) The entire hotel and casino has a completely opulenttropical feel to it. It's exotic, lush, and very, er, wet. There's
water flowing practically everywhere: in the casino, through
the eleven-acre tropical sand beach, up the lazy river ride,
into the three gorgeous pools, and all the way to the incredible shark reef, with almost two million gallons of seawater.
There's also an events center not to be rivaled in all of Las
Vegas. Justin and I would be in heaven if we lived there, as
they manage to book every eighties band that's still around.
There's even a House of Blues and some of the best and most unusual restaurants you'll find anywhere along the
Strip. All in all, we were delighted to make this our final
hotel stay at the end of our grand adventure.

At least, while enduring the discomfort and dread of
reliving our misadventures with the police, we'd be able
to relax in a lovely, peaceful setting. Least that's what we
thought, nay, prayed. First thing we did, upon arriving, was
to go down to police headquarters to meet with Detective
Lombard and Chris, who would be representing the F.B.I. in
the investigation. That part was, thankfully, easy. We simply
told them everything we knew. No sweat. Chris told us that
basically we were corroborating Ahmed's story, thereby
making their case against Bart and Zahir an easy one.

The difficulty came at the end of our little tete-a-tete.

"Well, that was simple," I said to Chris, once he was
alone with Justin and myself.

"Um, ish," he replied, mumbling just a bit.

"Ish?" I asked, unsure of what couldn't have been easy
about it.

"Simple-ish," he restated. "We're not exactly where we
want to be with the case."

"Huh?" I huhed. "You've got the merchandise, the
evidence, and several witnesses. What could be missing?"
Justin stood beside me nodding his head up and down in
agreement.

"No Zahir. And, apparently, Zahir's got the names of
the entire ring of thieves. Your old friend Bart is willing to
testify against Zahir if we don't press for the death penalty
for his involvement with the murders, but he says that only
Zahir knows all the members of the ring. And we need that
to close the case," Chris explained. Justin's nod shifted from
up and down to side to side.

"But how could you have lost Zahir? He didn't even
know you were on to him, and last I saw him, he was passed
out," I said in disbelief.

"Bart called him from his cell phone before he went
looking for you guys in the casino. Seems Zahir was groggy
but lucid. He got out of his place in no time flat, taking
with him any paper trail or little black book or whatever we
would need to convict him of being the ringleader. And with
only Bart's testimony to say otherwise, we have no hard
evidence that Zahir is the high man on the totem pole."

"And Bart's testimony isn't exactly ideal in front of a jury.
What with him being a murderer, a thief, and a kidnapper,
right?" I interjected.

"Exactly," Chris replied. "But don't get too upset. At
least we've stopped the ring, for now. And we did catch
one of the bad guys. And I'm sure we'll find Zahir soon
enough." But we could tell that he wasn't exactly thrilled at
having lost him.

"And what if Zahir finds us first?" Justin asked the
obvious, sending those familiar chills down my spine.

"Don't worry. We have agents following you wherever
you go. If Zahir comes within fifty feet of you, we'll catch
him." I hoped, for our sakes, he was right.

"Well, make it a hundred and we have a deal," I said,
only half joking.

"Hey, enough of the worrying. Let's go get a drink and
celebrate. There's one less murderer on the streets now,
anyway," Chris said, conveniently changing the subject.
And far be it from me to argue against a celebratory drink.
Besides, I was glad to be back in his company. I'd missed
him the last couple of weeks, especially since he told me that
he'd been ordered by his superiors to stop our affair while
the investigation was on. This occurred just after our last
time together. Seems it's not a good idea to sleep with the
man you suddenly find yourself investigating. Catching me
with Zahir was a perfect excuse for him to walk away. He
apologized for being so underhanded, but I told him that I
understood. He also said that fate had been smiling down on him regarding this whole mess (though probably not on
us and certainly not on the dead guys), because he was in
town the week of our going-away party and ran into Justin.
Seeing as everyone thought he was a blackjack dealer, he
didn't want to blow his cover, so he agreed to work the
party. Talk about freakish timing. Without that encounter,
none of this would've happened.