Stilettos & Scoundrels (36 page)

The man was also d
ressed in an impeccable three-piece
Italian
suit,
I
assumed,
and he looked
well off. High quality designer all the way,
I
could tell from across the room.
I
would give the man credit for his taste in clothes
;
I
loved a man in a good suit. Someone with that kind of taste couldn’t be all
bad. He wore a lot of gold jewelry, somewhat ostentatious, but since it fit with his whole look,
I
couldn’t knock off points for that. It somehow fit.

I
admitted this guy wasn’t bad looking for a
M
obster guy, if you liked that type. He was older, maybe around
sixty
-ish with a full head of black hair and just a hint of silver
—t
he kind of hair
that
looked distinguished
on men
, but
that
women spen
t
hundreds at the salon trying to hide.
I
couldn’t really tell how tall he was sitting down,
but he was
solidly built, thick and strong without being fat. Someone who
,
even on first glance, you knew you wouldn’t want to run into in a dark alley or in broad daylight for that matter, unless you were his wife, girlfriend, daughter, or priest.

Should
I
walk up and talk to Bobby? After all,
we
went to high school together and his mother kept trying to fix
us
up.
I
could go u
p and flirt. Ask him to call me
.
But
knowing what
I
knew now,
I
wasn’t sure that would be too successful
. I
smirked to
my
self.
I
didn't think
I
would be the one to change his sexual preferen
ce back to women. I
was good
,
but not that good. Just as
I
decided
I
would sneak up on them and say hi to Bobby, you know, just to be friendly and figure out who that guy
was, my
cell rang.
Shit!
The whole restaurant, which was actually pretty busy considering the traditional lunch hour had already passed, turned and looked at
me
.
I
forgot to turn the stupid thing down after turning it all the way up so
I
could hear it over
my
car
radio. It was pretty loud
,
and
I
was sure
the special ringtone I had chosen for my mother
attracted their attention
—
“I Can’t Get No Satisfaction”
by the Rolling Stones.

Bobby looked up and saw
me
, but the guy he was with didn’t, which
I
was sure Bobby was happy about. He obviously wasn’t as curious as the rest of the patrons
,
and he seemed really intent on eating his Chinese food. It must
have been
good
,
the way he
focused on eating. A look of recognition, combined with shock, crossed Bobby’s face. He recovered quickly and went right back to his normal blank stare.
Incidentally,
that was
one of the reasons he
had always
annoyed
me:
he always seemed to have a stupid look on his face.

He gave a subtle shake of his head, as if to say
“
don’t come over here
.”
Even though
I
really wanted to see what was going on and meet the alleged
M
ob dude,
I
knew
that
if
I
didn’t call
my
mother back
, she wouldn’t stop hounding me
. So
I
decided to give Bobby his wish
, t
hough he was nuts if he thought
I
wouldn’t be finding him
later. He was going to tell me
what was going on.
I
didn’t care what
Cooper
thought about the
Bobby and Tobey connection. My gut told me that
the fact that both Bobby and the Senator had a gambling problem
—and were in Vegas at the same time—
meant something.
Putting Tobey in the mix just added all the more reason there just had to be something there.

I
backed out of the restaurant, phone in hand, embarrassed be
cause everyone was staring at me
. You would have thought it was a four star restaurant they way they glared at
me
. Maybe a slight exaggeration
, but I
still felt it.
I walked back to my
car,
engaged in another
no
-win conversation. And she
wondered why
I
didn’t ca
ll home often enough. To get my
mother off the phone
, I
promised her more yard work
. After I hung up
,
I
deci
ded to sit in my
car and wait for
Bobby to come out. Forgoing my
Coach
p
urse shopping
was no great
sacrifice
; once I
got close enough to the store sign
, I saw that it
said
“
Goach
.” I
should’ve known there wouldn’t be a genuine Coach store out here.
As disappointed as I was, my
bank account would remain happy. Waiting for Bobby to come out of the restaurant and talk to him to find out who that guy wa
s seemed like a better plan. I
was prepared to wait as long as it took. So, to be productive and
pass the time, I cleaned out my
purse. It was a jumbled mess and
I
could
n
ever
find anything
in it
.
I
had a bad habit of shoving everything in there.
Amazing what a person collects in their purse
,
I thought to myself as I
pulled out gum wrappers, a half eaten candy bar (whi
ch would come in handy since I
never got anything to eat at the Chinese restaurant and was starving), a past due bill that better find a mailbox soon
, and a bunch of other junk. I filed my
nails, ate the candy, and started to play Twenty Questions, which was a very boring game when played alone.
It wasn’t much of a challenge.

About an hour went by and I
was getting antsy with the need to pee.
I
wondered how long it took to eat Chinese food
.
This didn’t seem like a place
where
people normally lingered over
the food.
They should have c
o
me out thirty minutes ago.
I
was just about to get out of
my
car and run back in to the knock-off coffee shop to use the restroom when Bobby finally came out. The Mob Dude, as
I
had already named him, walked out behind Bobby, went
o
ver to an expensive
-
looking black Lincoln
,
got in, and drove away.
He actually drives himself, impressive.
I
thought he would have a driver. It showed he was a down-to-earth guy. Probably important for a criminal to show he was equal to the common folk, even if it was just for show.
I wondered if it was the same car I had seen Simon leaning into at the grocery store. This was Alkon. Surely there weren’t that many Lincolns on the streets. I
waited until Mob Dude pulled out of the parking lot to jump out of
my
car and corner Bobby. He was just getting ready to pull out too as
I
jumped in front of his truck to stop him. He hit the brakes and rolle
d down his window to yell at me
.

“What the hell are you doing,
Presley? I almost hit you.” I
ran around and jumped in the passenger side.
I
wasn’t taking any chances
;
Bobby might try to
take off without talking to me
.

“Excuse me! Why are you getting in my car? Hey! Stop it
!
” Bobby yelled, referring to
me
sweeping a bunch of junk off the front seat of his dirty upholstery.

“Why? Are you afraid your car might fall
apart if I clean it off?” If I
wasn’t mistaken, this was the
same
car he had in high school. It
was
pretty sad
to me
that he was still driving the same Chevy S-10 he bought
as an eighteen year-old
. What had once been a halfway cool truck was now riddled with rust holes and so much grey primer covering holes he had tried to fix,
that I
could hardly tell
that
the truck had once been blue. “Bobby, this is kind of gross.” The interior had stains of god
-
knows
-
what all over.

“Get out, Presley. I have to be somewhere. What’s gotten into you?” Bobby exclaimed.

“We need to talk, Bobby. And I am not getting out of this truck until you tell me what I want to know.”

“About what?” he replied, with a bit of an attitude.
I
couldn’t blame him.
I
had a feeling
I
had just caught him doing something he didn’t want people to know about and
I knew I
was one of the last people he wanted to know about his problems.
I
hated to break it to him, but
it
was too late for
that. At least with Bobby, we
had once been friends, so he wouldn’t go running to
my
mom
—or me
to his, for that matter. It was an unspoken code among children of all ages everywhere
—
or it should
have been as far as I was concerned
.

“First of all, I want to know who that was you were just talking to.”
I
star
ted ticking the items off on my
fingers. “Secondly, how much do you owe due to your gambling problem and who to? Thirdly, what’s going on with you and Tobey? Is that enough for you?”

“I don’t have a gambling problem
,
and if I did, what makes you think I would tell you anything?” Bobby sneered. “What business
is
this
of
yours?”

“Cut the act, Bobby. Don’t forget I knew you back in the days when you thought armpit farts were funny. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to tell your mother about the mystery guy you were with. I bet she wouldn’t appreciate hearing you were in debt again.”

At that, he cringed.
I
hated playing the Mother card
,
and i
t had only been a guess, but I
could add two and two with the best of them. Besides, misery loved company
,
and it felt good knowing someone else was still deathly afraid of their mother. “So,
how much do you owe, Bobby?” I
prompted him to get the ball rolling, so to speak.

“A hundred and fifty thousand,” he said, dejected, not even trying to deny the gambling issue this time
, resigned to the fact I
wouldn’t give up that eas
il
y.

Not quite as much as Tom Daniels, but then
again,
the Daniels’ have money, so comparatively
,
it was a lot more.
Wow.
Neither Bobby nor his family had much money
; they were
just
a
typical middle
-class like my
own
. Six figures might as well be
six million dollars, in my opinion. I
was sure it was in Bobby’s too. No wonder he looked upset. “Is
that
guy you were meeting with the person you owe?”