Lucky Bastard (26 page)

Nobody died from a broken heart, right?

When he released me, I blinked a few times trying to get my bearings. Way too difficult with him this close. My legs went all wobbly so I let him ease me back into my chair, then he took the one to my left, between my father and me. He captured my hand in his, squeezing. When he turned to greet my parents, he didn’t let go. Romeo, his face red, glanced away when my eyes caught his. Everyone else looked at me with bemused expressions.

My father raised his flute of Champagne. “To love.”

“And mind-blowing sex,” Mona added as she raised her glass of soda water.

My father shook his head and chuckled, “That, too, my dear.”

We all clinked glasses.

***

As usual, my father let Omer and Roham make the selections for the evening, with one caveat—the salad must be my favorite. Who knew goat cheese, pine nuts, pears, and avocado, all nestled on a bed of baby spinach and drizzled with balsamic vinaigrette, could be so decadent?

Conversation flowed freely, almost as freely as the Champagne and wine as the courses came and went. Even Jean-Charles seemed impressed as Roham and his staff removed the last of the plates. “Superb,” he said to my father. “My compliments to the chef. And to you, sir.”

“I have very little to do with what transpires here at the Babylon. Lucky’s a big part of that, as are others. We have a good team,” my father said as he reached for another bottle of wine. Leaning, he refilled Jean-Charles’s glass. At my father’s questioning look, I shook my head. Roham took the bottle from him and took care of the youngsters—Mona’s delicate condition kept her on the wagon. I was impressed. “But,” the Big Boss continued, “we are only as good as the members of our corporate family.”

“Employees,” I whispered in Jean-Charles’s ear in translation.

He nodded and squeezed my knee. I don’t think he’d stopped touching me since he arrived, not that I was complaining. “The longer a team is together, the more fluidly it works.”

“Precisely.” My father raised his glass in salute.

“This is why I bring my own staff for the restaurants here,” Jean-Charles said.

“They are family.” My father and Jean-Charles said in unison. Then both of them laughed.

“And I understand you are preparing for a competition soon?” Mona directed her question at Jean-Charles.

“Yes, there will be much publicity. I hope to represent the Babylon well.”

“I’m sure our reputation is in good hands.” Mona smoothed her napkin on the table, sounding for all the world like a co-owner of the hotel. “But where will you prepare your dishes? I’m sure the grill at the Burger Palais is insufficient and your new kitchen is far from ready, or so Lucky tells me.” She cast a quick glance my direction, burying the knife in my back with a sweet smile.

“Lucky, she is taking care of this problem.” Jean-Charles squeezed my hand.

“Then you are in good hands,” my father added, effectively shutting down that line of conversation.

“Sir, if I may?” Romeo stepped into the easy silence. “I’d like to offer my condolences. I understand Shady Slim was a good friend.”

My father’s face clouded but he didn’t lose his smile. “We knew each other since Benny Binion invited six of his friends to a friendly game at the Horseshoe and started the whole thing rolling. Guess we both grew up with Vegas.”

“Lotsa changes.” Romeo nodded sagely.

I resisted scoffing. What could he know? He was so young he sparkled like a new penny.

“Slim lived pretty large, so I guess he had it coming.” My father poured himself another glass of wine. “The timing was bad though, not that there’s ever a good time to meet your Maker.”

My father being so forthcoming raised every red flag I had. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was reeling the kid in. But why? Looking for answers I decided to play along. “Why was now any worse than any other?”

“The long hours of professional poker drove him out of the game—they practically play around the clock now—and it was get out or develop an amphetamine addiction. Without an outlet for those competitive juices, he’d been a bit lost.” My father glanced around the table, his eyes coming to rest on me. “Recently, he’d found a way back in.”

“What was that?” The rest of the table fell silent as I warmed to the role of straight man.

“The Internet. He was all gung-ho about offshore poker sites. To hear him tell it, owning one was like printing money.”

“He owned one?” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Romeo ease his pad and pencil from his inside pocket. Flipping the pad open, he held the pencil poised.

“Part of one. A small consortium of his friends invited him in to buy a site from that amateur player Lucky perforated last night.” My father chewed on his lip as he thought a moment. “What’s his name?”

The words caught in my throat.

Romeo jumped to my rescue. “Kevin Slurry.”

Brandy looked at me—her eyes had gone all slitty at the mention of his name. “I’m here tonight because of Lucky.”

“Yes,” my father said as he gave me a knowing look. “Slurry, he was a pretty good player. He won a WSOP bracelet a few years back. I think that’s where he crossed paths with Slim. Anyway, the kid had been after Slim for a while. He said having a legend’s name attached to the site would really grow the brand. I told Slim he should wait until we got some legislation passed that would bring Internet gaming back to this country. Of course, that would raise the price.”

“He didn’t listen.”

“No, he wanted in while the price was low.” My father’s emotions filtered through as his voice caught. “They offered me a stake, but I didn’t want it—at least not right now.”

“How’d Slim take that?”

“No hard feelings. Besides, I left the door open.”

“How?”

“We were working on a plan to bring it onshore, grow the site, offer in-room play to the guests. It’s the wave of the future, why fight it?”

“But isn’t that illegal?” Romeo always had a nose for nuance.

“Technically it’s illegal for the banks and other monetary institutions to process payments from U.S. players to gambling sites. The actual site isn’t illegal, but the result is the same.” My father pushed his glass away and leaned back in his chair. Idly he stroked Mother’s hand as it rested on his thigh. “It’s just a matter of time before the legislation is overturned. You’d think our lawmakers would understand it’s more effective to tax vice than it is to try to eradicate it. But, then again, those guys aren’t known for playing with a full deck.”

“Who got in with Slim?” Romeo asked, keeping his tone conversational.

I hid my grin—it would take far more than an easy manner, probably handcuffs and a stun gun, to lead that old dog down a path he didn’t want to go. Romeo’s naïveté was charming.

Unruffled, my father continued letting out the line, baiting the hook. “DeLuca and Watalsky. Those were the main two. There were others, but they didn’t have much of a stake.”

“Watalsky? River Watalsky?” Now it was my turn to be surprised. “Last I heard he didn’t have two nickels to rub together.”

“As you know, sweetheart,” my father glanced at me. “All it takes is one hot streak and you’re back in the game.”

“An interesting group.” I thought for a moment as the table fell silent. The good Mr. Watalsky had been a bit circumspect the last time we talked. Time to nail him down, literally, if that’s what it took. Come to think of it, DeLuca had a lot of explaining to do as well, but that would be a bit touchier. “And Marvin Johnstone?”

“I haven’t added that piece to the puzzle…yet.” My father’s eyes hardened. “All I know is there was a lot of smack involved. And where there’s smack…”

“There’s murder,” I said, finishing his thought as if it were my own.

“Are you two suggesting someone killed Shady Slim?” Romeo couldn’t hide his skepticism. If the Big Boss wasn’t here I’m sure the kid would be a little more sarcastic…I could hear him saying, “You can’t be serious? You’re pulling this out of thin air!” or something to that effect. Instead he calmly finished with, “We have no reason to believe foul play was involved, sir.”

The “sir’ was a bit much, if you ask me, but my father took the bait. “Look more closely, Detective. Money brings out the worst in people.”

An awkward silence descended over the group, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

“You don’t have to tell me that!” Mona jumped into the fray. “The more money they flashed at the house, the more I worried about the girls.” From gambling and murder to hookers. Apparently we were going to hit all the Vegas high points.

Brandy nodded at my mother and seized the opening. “I know what you mean. When the guys started stuffing Franklins through the bars of my cage, I knew it was going to get bad.” Cage dancing had paid her tuition at UNLV.

“The men were not gentlemen?” Jean-Charles asked, sounding somewhat appalled. Poor man, he had a lot to learn about Vegas.

Brandy and Mother both looked at him for a moment as if trying to understand the concept of “gentlemen” in the world they both had worked in.

Finally Brandy shook her head. “No, the men were, well…men. Men are pretty simple, you know—you get what you expect, most of the time. But the other girls! Once they picked up the scent of easy money, they were like a pack of rabid coyotes eating their own.”

***

Holding up a wall in the corner of the kitchen at Tigris, I worked my ankle trying to increase the range of motion as I watched Jean-Charles and Omer, the urbane Frenchman and the rotund little Turk, their heads together as they traded culinary war stories. The rest of the dinner had passed in easy camaraderie, although I thought Mona and I might come to blows over the last of the vanilla crème brûlée.

After thanking the staff, we’d said our good-byes. Romeo and Brandy headed to Babel to dance for a bit. Mother wanted a warm bath and a foot rub. Father knew the bit part he would play and he’d looked thrilled at the prospect when he’d let his wife lead him toward home. Jean-Charles insisted he couldn’t leave the restaurant without complimenting the chef. I agreed, so here we were.

Letting the chefs’ conversation fade into the background, I marveled at how Brandy had gotten away with the “men are so simple” line at dinner. If I’d made that pronouncement, I would’ve been skewered and slow-roasted over an open pit.

Beauty and youth…an advantage and an excuse. If I knew where to shop, I’d buy me some of both.

“Hey, I’m glad I caught you.” Romeo’s voice jerked me back to the present.

At his hand on my arm, I turned to stare into the bright eyes of the young detective.

“I forgot what I had to tell you, what with dinner and…everything,” he threw a furtive glance toward the front of the restaurant where, I assumed, Brandy waited for him. “I like your even numbers theory. Thank you, by the way.”

“I’m a sucker for love.”

His shy smile crept out of hiding. I bet he’d be shocked at the number of hearts he’d unwittingly broken with that grin. “Forgot to tell you. I ran the phone numbers from the plane’s satellite phone.”

“And?” My body had apparently gone into max-conserve mode. The flutter of hope in my chest didn’t even come close to tripping a faster heartbeat.

“Somebody on that plane called Washington.”

“Technically, you can’t call Washington—it’s a city, assuming we’re talking D.C. Washington State presents a similar problem though.” I wiped a hand across my face, then leaned my head back against the wall and closed my peepers. This was a dream, wasn’t it? Sort of like that whole “Bobby Ewing died” thing. “Just for kicks, kid, when you call Washington, who answers the phone?”

“A wee bit pissy, are we?” Romeo said with a grin—I could hear it in his voice so I didn’t waste the energy to look.

“One of my many charms.”

“Shady Slim called two folks. One of them works for the DOJ. The other just got paroled out of Leavenworth.”

“Why are there always two jokers in every deck?” I raised a hand. “Rhetorical. I already know the answer: The powers that be have serious issues with me. And I have a feeling you’re just dangling the bait.”

“The felon, he had a tie-in with Dane. Apparently our cowboy was the acting MP who busted the guy’s ass on a charge of laundering money.”

“Any specifics?”

“The guy gave me the run-around, so I requested the files from the Army, but you know how that goes.”

We’d get stonewalled, that’s how every game was played inside the Beltway. “And the DOJ?”

“Not returning my calls.”

“And we’re all shocked, right? If the Beltway bozos can’t share info in an effort to keep terrorists from our shores, why would they would throw crumbs our way?” I blew at a strand of hair I felt tickling my eyelid. “Dane could clear all of this up, I have a feeling. Sure would be nice to find him and throw him on a rack or, even better, a Judas Cradle.” The thought of Dane being stretched or slowly impaled was somewhat appealing, which did sorta bother me…just a little.

“A Judas what?”

“Never mind. It’s too late for torture. I’m thinking dismemberment.”

“You scare me.” The smile still warmed the kid’s voice. He had way more confidence in me than I did.

“Heck, I scare myself. Any other glad tidings?”

“I wasn’t going to tell you this, but…”

Opening one eye, I raised an eyebrow at him. “Withholding information? So unlike you.”

“It’s nothing like that. It’s just…” He looked sort of stricken.

“Romeo, you’re starting to scare me for real. Give it up.”

“In running trace on the Coke spill in the doorway of Cole Weston’s room, we found cyanide.”

“That’s not even a tiny surprise.”

“And we found blood.”

“Blood?” That got both my eyes open. “Whose?”

Romeo shrugged. “But, if it’s any consolation, we found it outside the room.”

“None inside?”

“No.”

Again, I blew at that annoying strand of hair. “Do you think we’ll ever start coming up with answers instead of more questions?”

“Eventually.” He sounded resolute. I took momentary comfort even though I didn’t believe him for a nanosecond. I felt myself tumbling into the morass of cynicism—the first sign of the apocalypse.