Innocent in Las Vegas (8 page)

I parked near the club and called Sophia. “I’m about to enter the Peacock Bar,” I said, “Do you know anyone I can talk to?”

“I’ll call Dan and tell him to help you. He’s the DJ.”

We hung up, and I walked slowly to the entrance. I hoped Dan would know something, because if he didn’t, I was at a dead end.

The Peacock Bar was a little west of the Strip and had a large, street-facing façade. But the main entrance was in a side-alley: all the better for the patrons’ privacy. The darkness took a few seconds to get used to when I stepped inside, but the pulsing music and laid-back vibe made me feel welcome. There were a few lingerie-clad girls on stage, moving their bodies lazily and a few others were wandering around the men sitting alone at tables. This was a slow time for the club, but even at its busiest, it would never get as crazy as some of the really big Vegas clubs. The Peacock Bar prided itself on being more ‘classy,’ but that was really just a euphemism to say that they were more expensive and wanted richer patrons.

I got a few curious glances from some of the girls as I headed over to the DJ booth. As I neared, the DJ looked up with a friendly smile. Dan was a big-boned guy with a crew-cut and he looked like a suburban dad who’d cheer for his kids at their soccer game.

He took off his headphones and pressed a button to make the music keep going. “You must be Tiffany,” he said and I smiled.

After polite introductions and small talk, I got down to brass tacks. “I heard Ethan Becker used to come here quite frequently.”

Dan nodded. “The man would bring clients, business associates, investors – he thought the club brought him good luck.”

“Any particular girl he liked to see?”

Dan thought for a while and shook his head. “Hard for me to tell, I’m usually concentrating on the music.”

I wondered how he could ever do that with all the eye candy wandering around half-naked.

He caught the eye of a nearby girl and she wandered over with the grace of a dancer. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she really was a dancer – a lot of the Los Angeles starlets and dream-chasers became Vegas strippers when they needed extra cash.

“Tiffany, this is Milli,” Dan said. I smiled at her.

Milli was tall - even without her six-inch heels - with long, wavy brown hair and big doe eyes. She was curvaceous and poised, with a magnetic aura that made me think she’d do well on stage. I introduced myself and told her I was a private investigator looking into Ethan Becker’s death.

“Do you think he might’ve been having an affair with anyone here?” I asked.

Milli shook her head. “If he’d been seeing someone, he wouldn’t have come in so often. They’d just hang out somewhere else.”

I nodded. “Did you know him?”

“Yeah, I gave him a few private dances. The guy didn’t talk much, but he told me was married and had a special mistress.”

“What does that mean, special mistress?”

She shrugged. “He seemed to think she was a big deal. But it wasn’t anyone here.”

“Did he talk about anything else? Work, any hobbies?”

“He didn’t seem to have any hobbies apart from women. And he brought in people he worked with, but they never talked business.”

“Right.” I tried not to look disappointed. “Well, thanks. You guys’ve been a big help.”

We said our goodbyes and I left, my heart sinking with each step. Nothing was going how I’d expected – but what had I really expected? That Neil Durant or someone else would just confess to killing Ethan and then I’d be able to wrap up my case neatly?

I headed over to a nearby café and sat in a quiet corner with my notebook. I replayed my conversations with everyone and began making notes, hoping that things would come together at some point. I jotted down who said what and made a few notes about Mr. Beard and Beady Eyes.

When I’d finished, I knew no more than I had when I’d first started the investigation. It was late afternoon when I put my things away with a sigh and drove back home.

I stepped out the elevator and walked right up to my door before I noticed that something was wrong. The door was open just a crack. I’d definitely locked up before I left this morning.

My heart began thudding loudly and I pushed the door open. Standing out in the corridor, I called out. “Hellooo? Anyone there?”

There was no response.

A chill ran down my spine and I tried to take deep breaths and calm down. I needed to think logically, I needed to figure out what to do. Maybe I’d just left the door open by mistake. Or maybe there was someone inside, waiting for me to step in. My hands felt like ice and I could feel the blood freeze in my veins.

I took one cautious step inside. Things seemed to be normal. And then I turned around. The wall above my couch was freshly graffitied with red paint, and it spelled out:
Die, bitch.

I screamed and ran out of my apartment.

I ran all the way to the elevator, took it down to the lobby, stepped out and just stood there. I was too scared to step outside and I was terrified of going back to my apartment. I was doomed to spend the rest of my life in the lobby.

And then I remembered Stone. I fished his card out of my purse and called him.

He answered after the first ring. “Yo.”

“This is Tiffany,” I said, “Could you come over to my place please?”

There was a pause. “You ok?”

“Yes, but my apartment isn’t.”

He didn’t say anything to that, so I gave him my address and he hung up.

I stood in the lobby for what seemed an hour. Just when I thought I’d start introducing myself to the other residents and opening the door for them, Stone walked in. He was wearing a white shirt and jeans again, but when he stepped closer I could tell that his clothes were crisp and nice-smelling and definitely not the same ones he’d worn yesterday. But they looked exactly the same and I wondered if he had a wardrobe stacked with the same shirts and jeans.

It was tempting to throw myself at him and indulge in a soothing hug. But Stone was clearly not the hugging type, so I kept my distance. He nodded at me and as we walked towards the elevator, I glanced down at his feet – black dress shoes and black socks. Wasn’t that what he’d worn yesterday? For all I knew, he was probably wearing the same style of underwear, too. Not that I was thinking about his underwear.

“Thanks for getting here so fast,” I said, but the sarcasm missed him and he merely nodded.

As we stepped out into the hallway, he noticed my wide-open door, and said, “You left it like that?”

“Yeah. I figured anyone who walks into an apartment with ‘Die Bitch’ painted on the wall is welcome.”

“Know everyone who lives here?”

“Hardly. Tenants keep changing each week. A lot of the condo owners bought right before the crash and then became desperate to relocate.”

“Wait here.”

Stone left me standing in the hallway and walked into my place. He had his gun drawn and I could see now how it might be useful to have some firearm training. I heard him move about, opening doors and windows, probably checking under my bed. I thought back to whether I had any dirty underwear lying around or not and decided I didn’t. It was the usual mess that a single person makes, but I didn’t think it was too bad.

“All clear,” he called, and I walked in and locked the door behind me.

Stone was standing in the middle of the room, looking around. “They trashed the whole place,” he said, “But I’ve seen worse.”

My face turned red and I scowled. “The living room’s fine. It’s always like this.”

He looked at me in surprise. “But you look so neat.” His eyes drifted from my head to my toes and then back up again. “Clean clothes and all.”

“A few dirty dishes and scattered cushions don’t make a mess.”

He shrugged. “But they were looking for something. The bedroom’s definitely been trashed. All the stuff in your drawers is pushed to one side.”

“You looked through my drawers?”

“It’s my job.”

I stared at him, aghast, and then went into my bedroom and looked around. The laptop was lying on the floor, the screen smashed and wires sticking out from behind the keyboard. Stone had closed my dresser and nightstand drawers, and I opened them. He was right. Everything was pushed to one side. Several things had been tossed on the floor.

My knees suddenly felt like they were made of jelly, and I sat down on the bed. Stone watched me from the bedroom doorway and I said, “You’re right. The place
was
trashed. Just not the living room.”

“My faith in your sanity has been restored.”

His voice was dry and I cracked a smile. “Was that a joke?”

“I don’t make jokes.”

But the corner of his lips had curled up a little and he came and sat beside me on the bed. I tried very hard not to fall back in exhaustion. All I wanted to do was to huddle into a ball and quit this stupid case, but apparently if I did that, Sophia would be doomed. Just yesterday, I’d made up my mind to be a successful PI who solved her cases, not some loser who gave up when things got tough. More importantly, giving up at this stage wouldn’t deter whoever had been painting in my living room.

The thought flashed through my mind that Sophia might be behind all this. Maybe this was all an elaborate ruse to make her look good during her trial. I got off the bed and picked up my laptop. It was a slow old thing and there were times when it frustrated me and made me want to throw it on the floor, but now someone else had taken that fantasy away from me.

I sighed. “How well do you know Sophia?”

A few long seconds passed and I thought maybe Stone hadn’t heard me. But then he answered. “I worked for Ethan when he got a few death threats. He seemed to think Sophia was beautiful and smart. That’s all I know of her.”

“Who sent him the death threats?”

“Some crazy dude who thought Ethan was causing his bad luck in Vegas. Few months later, he was arrested for stalking a movie star. He’s in an LA prison now.”

I found an empty shoebox and stashed the laptop in it as best as I could. I’d drop it off tomorrow at Electronics Zone and they could send it to their battery recycling program.

Stone stood up. “Did you go to the Krav Maga class?”

“I didn’t have time.”

“What’re your plans for tomorrow?”

“Uh…”

“I know Carla’s free in the morning. I’ll make an appointment for you at eight.”

“Eight?! That’s not when people should be up i– ”

“And then we’ll go get your gun license.”

I shook my head. “I’m not doing any of that.”

“Sophia’s paying me to keep you alive and I intend to make my life easier. What are you doing for the rest of the night?”

I frowned and then remembered. “I’m having dinner at my parents’.”

“Great. I’m coming with.”

I took a step back in horror. “No way! If you want to help, you can stay here and put things back in the drawers.”

“I don’t know where they go.” He looked at me disapprovingly, as though if only he knew, he could help me stop being such a slob.

I sighed. “Do you have to stick with me?”

“Don’t you want me around in case they pull your car over and shoot you? Or make you drive to the desert?”

The prospect of either of those two things was almost better than the prospect of having to introduce Stone to my parents and Nanna. Almost.

“Fine.” I rolled my eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. “But you’re not going to say anything.”

“I don’t intend to.”

“Good.” I glared at him ineffectually. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take a bath and clean up after my slobbish ways.”

Stone moved into the living room and looked at the writing on the wall. “Don’t open the door. Keep your windows locked. Call me when you want to leave.”

He walked out and I rushed to lock the door behind him.

Now that Stone was gone, I actually missed his presence. Maybe the man did have a point – maybe I did want him around. For my safety, of course.

I made sure all my windows were locked and even opened my closet and checked under the bed. I tried to tell myself to calm down but it didn’t work.

I started to draw a bath, but strange noises kept making me jump up. First, it was the upstairs neighbor hammering something. Then, it was a car backfiring. I’m sure a lot of the noises were also in my head but, either way, I couldn’t imagine getting naked and having a bath. I removed the plug after a few minutes and the water chortled away. When I thought about having a shower, scenes from
Psycho
began to play through my mind and I cursed myself for being a Hitchcock fan.

Finally, I contented myself with tidying up. I put things back in my drawers, and arranged them the way they used to be - neatly. Ok, maybe a bit more neatly than they used to be. I even fluffed up the cushions on the sofa and collected all the garbage, empty Chinese containers and packets of cookies that were lying around. Damn Stone and his impossibly high standards of tidiness. I didn’t even know the man and he was already getting on my nerves.

I packed a bag and called Stone.

He answered before the first ring finished. “Yo.”

“I’m heading downstairs. Will you meet me in the lobby?”

“Yep.”

He hung up abruptly. The man wasn’t a talker, but that would probably be a good thing when he met my parents.

Stone was standing in the lobby, watching an elderly couple as they headed towards the elevator. I smiled at them and they nodded back.

Stone gave me a quizzical look. “Know them?”

I shook my head. “No, but they seemed nice. People come and go in this building. Mostly old people though. There’s something about this building that attracts the old-fashioned.”

Stone grabbed my arm and frog-marched me out of the building and across the street. “Ow!” I said, “That hurts! You don’t have to drag me.”

He didn’t say anything, but he pulled out a remote key and unlocked a nearby silver Camry.

“Exciting car,” I said sarcastically. Of course, I wasn’t one to judge, given that I drove an ancient Honda, but I’d half been expecting Stone to drive a flashy convertible.

“It fits in,” Stone said. “Where to?

I gave him the North Las Vegas address and he programmed it into his GPS. The car slid out of its parking spot and Stone took the ramp onto the I-15, heading north. After a few minutes on the freeway, he suddenly took an exit and merged onto the expressway, heading west toward Summerlin. I was still thinking about how I’d introduce Stone to my parents and by the time I realized we were heading west instead of north, Stone was already merging onto Summerlin Parkway.

I frowned. “Where are we going?”

Stone kept looking straight ahead and abruptly took the Ansari Drive exit. If it hadn’t been for his GPS, I wouldn’t have known where we were. It struck me that I didn’t know who Stone was or where we were heading.

Just when I was about to panic, Stone took a sharp right onto Trailwood Drive. He drove to the roundabout, and got onto the Parkway again.

“You’re being followed,” he said, in the tone of voice I’d expect him to use if he were complimenting my hair. “This is how you throw them off.”

I frowned and looked back, as though I could see anything now. “How do you know?”

“I know.”

“Hmm.” I chewed my lip a bit. “How do you throw them off? I tried to swerve and change lanes.”

Stone remained silent.

“No, really. How do you throw them off? I guess I should learn this stuff.”

Stone glanced at me and I thought his face looked a bit pinched, as though the thought of having to say more than three words hurt. He sensed my persistence and shook his head.

“Pros use two or three cars to do mobile surveillance,” he said, “So you gotta throw them all off. If you speed up, usually there’s a surveillance car up ahead that’ll tag you, and if you just take a sudden turn, the one or two cars behind you will follow. So take a turn to throw off the car ahead, then lose the cars behind you in local streets, then get back on the expressway. By the time you do this, you’ll only have one car on your tail, so you just speed up a bit, change lanes, and lose it.”

I nodded as though that made a lot of sense. Which it did. But I worried that when it would be my turn to use all those tricks, I wouldn’t be able to pull it off. I sighed and tried to give myself a mental pep talk: I could do it, I could do anything.

But I felt my spirits sinking as we pulled up in front of my parents’ house. Stone got out and waited for me on the pavement. My legs felt like lead but I managed to join him and I trudged up the short driveway and rang the bell.

Nanna opened the door instantly. She must’ve been hovering nearby, taking advantage of the fact that my dad was probably glued to the game and Mom was stuck in the kitchen. Sprinkles, our ginger cat, was also watching the door, and she stared at Stone and me for a few seconds before padding away disdainfully.

“Tiffany, sweetie,” Nanna cooed softly as she gave me a hug. “And who is this young man? You didn’t tell me you’ve got a new boyfriend. What wonderful news!”

“He’s just a friend, Nan. How are you?”

She frowned. “Good. But your mother’s getting suspicious so…”

“We’ll have to tell her at some point.”

“Hmm.” Nanna peered carefully at Stone, taking in his clean, well-pressed clothes and angular face. “He’s taller than the other ones,” she whispered loudly to me and I groaned silently, hoping Stone hadn’t heard.

“Tiffany’s here,” Nanna announced loudly, as though we’d just walked in. “And she’s brought a
boy
with her.”

I rolled my eyes, feeling like I was back in junior high school. My parents had moved into this house a few years ago, when Nanna had moved to Vegas, and they’d decided they wanted a larger, more modern house. They bought it during the time of massive foreclosures and their new suburb in North Las Vegas was large and safe and new. Not having to go back to the house I grew up in was both a relief and a regret.

My dad left his game and my mom left the kitchen to come and stare at us.

“Hi,” I said weakly, and my mom came forward to give me a quick hug and peck on the cheek.

“Hey sweetie,” my dad said, “Who’s this?”

“I’m Jonathan Stone,” Stone said. He leaned forward to shake hands with my parents and gave Nanna a kiss on the cheek.

My parents exchanged a glance and Dad turned to Stone and said, “I was watching the game. Why don’t you join me?”

Stone looked at me and then glanced at my mom. “Are you sure you don’t need any help in the kitchen?”

My mom was obviously trying not to burst into tears of joy. “Oh no, we’re fine,” she said. And then she added as an afterthought, “Why don’t you ask Tiffany to give you a tour of the house.”

Right. That reminded me. “Mom,” I said, holding up my bag, “Can I go take a shower before dinner? I didn’t have time before coming here.”

Mom frowned and looked confused, but she said, “Sure. You can use the guest bath upstairs.”

Stone seemed unfazed by my parents’ curiosity and he grabbed a seat to watch the game. Nanna and Mom headed into the kitchen to add finishing touches to the salad, and I trailed after them.

“He seems nice,” Mom said, her eyes almost wild with hopefulness. “We thought you’d never find a nice guy.”

I half-snorted. “You haven’t even talked to him.”

“Yes. But he offered to help in the kitchen. And he came with you. And he
exists.
”

She had a point. But I smiled, shook my head and said, “He’s just a friend.”

Mom and Nanna looked at me with frozen expressions of half-hopefulness, half-disbelief. I glanced from one to another and said, “I’m sorry. We’re not dating. He’s just a friend who, uh, I thought I’d bring along.”

“Really.” Mom crossed her arms, ready to start the interrogation, and Nanna tilted her head.

“Well,” I said quickly, before they could start, “I gotta go take that shower.”

I just about raced up the stairs and out of earshot and I said a silent prayer that Stone and I would make it through the night ok.

I emerged from the bathroom about twenty minutes later. I’d taken my time, hoping I would be too late for the interrogation and that food would be on the table when I got back downstairs. I went straight to the den, expecting to see my dad and Stone sitting in silence and watching the game, performing that unique man-ritual I didn’t understand.

But instead, ESPN was on mute and they seemed to be having a fascinating conversation. I could hear Stone’s voice and see his lips moving, which was surprising in itself. Dad was nodding and as I got closer, I heard him ask, “So, just any kind of regular battery?”

Stone nodded. “The electromagnetic waves look like a brilliant white light and if you put it in on your head and cover up with a hat, no-one can tell who you are.”

“That’s brilliant!” Dad turned to me and said happily, “Stone’s been telling me about surveillance cameras and how to spot them. Now I can get past one without having them recognize me.”

“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t quite sure why he needed to do that, unless he was preparing a grand art theft or bank heist. But I didn’t want to put a damper on his spirits, so I said, “That sounds lovely.”

I sat down next to Dad and he put an arm around my shoulders and peered at me carefully. “Are you ok, sweetie? You look a little… worried? Tense? Is everything ok at work?”

“Everything’s fine, Daddy. Mom says you’ve been busy.”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Just a few clients. And I’ve been trying to get someone to set me up a website. They say that’s the wave of the future.”

I didn’t think anyone would Google ‘plumber, Las Vegas,’ when their pipes burst, but you never knew. I thought of the geeky young kids who were turning up to the Treasury these days and all the people glued to their tablets and smart phones.

“And your mom and I are thinking of taking a holiday,” he went on, “Maybe a cruise for a month or so. Get away from all this heat.”

I smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Sure. Nanna can come and stay with me!”

Dad narrowed his eyes and peered at me suspiciously. “You two are a bad influence on each other.”

I laughed. “Oh come
on
, Daddy! It’s not like I’m helping her skip school or something.”

“Hmm.”

Dad wasn’t too unhappy when Nanna moved in. She was always nice to him, she grew fresh herbs on the kitchen windowsill despite the Nevada heat, and her cooking was better than Mom’s. However, tales of her exploits with the Old People’s Gang got back to him, and I got the impression he was going to say something about Nanna’s recent nocturnal adventures when Mom appeared in the doorway.

“Dinner’s ready,” she announced and we all trooped into the dining room.

Mom said a quick Grace and we began helping ourselves to the roast chicken, roast veggies, and mash. Stone was silent as he dug in, as was my dad. I think they’d exhausted themselves with their five minutes of conversation and it was my mom’s turn to try to extract information out of Stone.

“So, Jonathan,” she began, but my dad interrupted.

“He prefers Stone.”

Mom looked at him in surprise and Stone swallowed the mouthful he was chewing. “It’s kind of a nickname,” he explained.

“Oh.” She looked at him and took a moment to understand. “What do you do?”

“He works in security,” I said quickly, “He has his own security company.”

Nanna and Mom shared a glance. They weren’t sure whether they should be impressed because he worked for himself, or whether they should be worried because he might be bankrupt.

I could see my mom trying to figure out a way to politely ask how his business was doing, but Nanna beat her to it.

“Are you broke?” Nanna said.

Stone said, “No.”

Nanna said, “Oh. I thought maybe you were eating here because you have no money.”

Stone shook his head. “I have some money.”

I flicked over what I knew about Stone – it was hard to judge how successful he was, but I assumed that clients like Sophia didn’t pay him peanuts.

“So, Stone,” my mom started again. “How long have you had your own company?”

“Seven years.”

She nodded. “And what did you do before that?”

“I was in the CIA.”

Mom and Nanna exchanged another smug look.

I put down my fork in exasperation. “Will you guys stop? He’s not my boyfriend, he’s just a friend.”

“Well.” My mom looked at me sharply. “Excuse me for being friendly.”

If that was friendly, I wanted to know what a KGB interview looked like.

Nanna turned to Stone. “Why aren’t you her boyfriend? You’re not gay, are you?”

Stone shook his head and Nanna continued. “Not that I’d mind if you were gay, every girl needs a gay boyfriend. You could give Tiffany a makeover. She needs one.”