Wanna Get Lucky? (26 page)

And I felt . . . nothing.

Could Irv the Creep have been the cure for my libido problem?

I slowly extracted my hand from his grip. I’m not sure he even noticed.

“You’re the key,” he said. “I know how important you are over there. Everybody likes you—the employees, the guests, the entertainers—you charm them all.” He jumped to his feet and started pacing again. “You make the Babylon work. You know how to run a casino. If you stay after Ol’ Irv becomes the boss, everyone else will stay.”

“I’m flattered.”

“I’ll make it worth your while.”

“How worth my while?”

“I’ll double your salary and give you a bonus of one percent of the pretax profit.”

I looked him straight in the eye. “A tender offer for the Babylon will require a serious chunk of change.”

“As I said, the money is there. Some foreign money, some venture capital, and I’ve been setting some aside from the operations here.”

I took another sip of my drink as I looked him over. Impeccably turned out, every
i
dotted, every
t
crossed, he still gave off a hint of quiet desperation. Hang around Vegas long enough and you develop a nose for it. “The Big Boss will never sell.”

“The board of directors will force him to,” Irv announced, a look of triumph on his face. “You, see, Lucky my dear, Ol’ Irv has your Big Boss by the balls.”

“You?” I asked, putting some skepticism in my voice. “Have The Big Boss by the balls?”

“I’m going to bury him.”

“How?”

“He’s mixed up in something really bad. So bad, he’ll go to jail. And you know how the Gaming Commission frowns on felons running casinos. They’ll jerk his license for sure.”

“It’ll take more than your word to bring down The Big Boss.”

“I have it all on tape. Your boss is a goner.” Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms, a look of immense satisfaction on his face. “Yeah, Ol’ Irv is going to be running the show.”

I paused more a moment as if in careful deliberation. “Okay, I’ll play. Assuming what you told me is true, let’s talk money. The older I get, the more I like it. Now, tell me about this one percent.”

TWENTY
minutes later, I found the Ferrari where I’d left it, the nervous valet at its side. I exchanged a twenty for the keys and folded myself into the car.

“Thanks, Ms. O’Toole!”

“You bet. You’re Brandy aren’t you? From my class at UNLV last fall?”

“Yes.” A shy grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“Hard not to. You were one of the brightest in the class.” I pulled a card out of my wallet and handed it to her. “If you ever consider changing jobs, come see me.”

“For sure!” Her grin grew wider. “Thanks!”

At the turn of the key, the engine growled to life. Like a big cat, the car waited, coiled to spring into action. Unfortunately, the drive up Las Vegas Boulevard to the Babylon would be slow and short, but it would give me time to think.

The lights of the Strip competed with the fading sunlight, beating it into submission as day marched relentlessly toward night. As I eased the car into traffic, a few clusters of people wandered the streets, drinks in hand. The night was young and laden with the expectations of untold delights—food, fun, entertainment—maybe some luck at the tables or with the opposite sex—or the same, depending
on your preference. I drove with the window down, drinking in the dry, fresh desert air, trying to wash away the sour taste left by Irv Gittings.

While it would make interesting listening, the tape I’d made of our conversation didn’t provide direct proof that Ol’ Irv had added murder to his résumé. And I wasn’t sure that it mattered. Whether Irv instigated the murder or merely took advantage of the opportunity when Felicia appeared with the tape, the Babylon’s board of directors would take a dim view of his shenanigans.

Something else he’d said niggled at me. Some of his tender-offer funds were monies he’d set aside from the operations of the Athena. How does one set aside money when the hotel operates in the red? Either I knew nothing about operating a casino, or Irv Gittings had been skimming from the house, which was a definite no-no with the Gaming Control Board, not to mention the IRS.

The light at Flamingo turned red, so I eased the Ferrari to a stop. Whistling their appreciation for the car, a group of young men passed in front of me. I smiled back at them. They raised their beers in a salute before they disappeared around the corner.

The light turned green. I kept the car at a slow crawl. The huge, illuminated signs lining the Strip flashed their come-ons. Magic shows, a popular singer at Caesar’s, various Cirque du Soleil extravaganzas, an impersonator at the Venetian, Teddie at the Babylon, each sign painted the car with multicolored lights as I passed.

I didn’t believe for a minute that those two petty blackmailers, Felicia and Willie, could dream up, much less pull off, a plot against The Big Boss. No, it had Ol’ Irv’s stink all over it. But that wasn’t my problem—the police could sort it out.

Irv would have been a fool to actually pay Felicia Reilly for the tape. Giving money to a murderer would be a quick pass to the slammer. Irv was slimy, but he wasn’t completely stupid. No doubt he had promised money then stiffed her.

That meant Felicia was on her own, with only the grand from Mr. Fujikara—these days even if you travel light, a grand won’t take you far.

I smiled as I tapped my hand to the beat of the song playing on the radio. Since she had no money, Felicia Reilly would probably go back to doing what she did best, blackmail. The Trendmakers party on Thursday night would be irresistible—she’d already told Jeep she’d be there to get her dough. Oh yeah, she’d show all right. And we’d be waiting.

THE
Big Boss was waiting for me when the elevator deposited me in his apartment.

“Have I got a story for you,” I announced as I brushed past him and headed straight for the bar.

“I’m out of Wild Turkey,” The Big Boss said as he punched the hold button for the elevator then followed me. “You drank the last of it last time you were here. I forgot to call down for more. Want me to do it now?”

“I don’t need a drink, just a bottle of water.” I grabbed one from the fridge and drained the whole thing in two long sessions before coming up for air. The empty bottle sailed into the trash can, dead center. “Two points.”

The Big Boss eyed me warily. “You’re in a fine humor this evening.”

I plopped on his couch facing the window and the lights of Vegas and patted the place beside me. “Sit. You’re going to like this story.”

He did as I asked.

“Here.” I took his hand and spread it open, palm up, putting the two tapes and the recorder into it. “I think you’ll find these . . . most enlightening.”

He started to close his hand.

“Wait.” I grabbed the tapes and pried off the little tabs on the back of them. Now they couldn’t be recorded over. Notoriously technophobic and inept when it came to small electronic devices, The Big Boss couldn’t be trusted.

“Listen to those when you have a chance,” I said, “but I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version now, if you want.”

“What is that on your shoes?” The Big Boss deposited the tapes and recorder in his pocket.

“Blood.” Perfectly good Chanel flats ruined. A small price to pay for the opportunity to break Willie’s nose.

“Not yours?” The Big Boss looked genuinely alarmed.

I shook my head. “Willie’s.”

“You found Willie?” The Big Boss’s head swiveled to me.

“Yep.” I leaned my head back and let the feeling of immense satisfaction wash over me.

“How’d you get his blood on you?”

“I broke his nose.”

“That’s my girl,” The Big Boss said with a chuckle. “Where is he now?”

“The police have him, but they’re keeping a lid on that fact for a couple of days.” I crossed my hands behind my head. “One of those tapes I gave you is Willie’s confession. He said you knew nothing about the murder of Lyda Sue.”

The Big Boss grew very still beside me. He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his words were soft and full of emotion. “I owe you.”

“Seems to me you’ve had my back several times through the years.” I reached down and squeezed his knee.

“The police are keeping the lid on Willie’s arrest as a favor to me.” I sat up and looked at the lights of the Strip. The sun had almost disappeared behind the mountains, shooting the sky full of oranges and pinks. I had no more than thirty minutes before I’d promised Miss Patterson I’d be back. “I need some time to find Felicia Reilly.”

“You know where she is?”

“No.” My elbows resting on my knees, I cupped my chin in my hands. “But I have a good hunch where she’s going to be.”

“You’re going to tell me?”

“Not on a bet. You’ll send your goons after her.”

“No, I won’t.”

I gave The Big Boss a disbelieving look. “Let me handle this.”

He eyed me for a moment. “I owe you that much. Besides, you’re doing fine on your own.”

We both stared out the window for a minute, the reality of the day washing over us.

The Big Boss reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracted a hundred-dollar bill, then returned the wallet to his pocket. As I’d watched him do a thousand times, he began creasing and folding.

“You gave me two tapes. What’s on the other one?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the small shape taking form in his hands.

“A very enlightening conversation I had with Irv Gittings.”

“Gittings?” The Big Boss kept his voice flat, which I figured cost him dearly. When I’d taken up with the competition years ago, The Big Boss had been practically apoplectic. “Where’d you see that ass?”

“In his office. I went to see him.” I watched as The Big Boss focused on his creation. “He’d been sending me a bunch of e-mails. He offered me an obscene amount of money to come work for him.”

“Damn,” The Big Boss muttered as he dropped the small shape. He bent over and snatched it from the floor.

“He wants me to run the Babylon for him.”

The Big Boss’s eyes locked onto mine, the small figure in his hand forgotten.

“He’s going to make a tender offer for the Babylon. He says he has the money lined up and you over a barrel.”

“That son of a bitch!” The Big Boss’s voice had murder in it. Jamming the folded bill into his pocket, he leapt to his feet. He stood very still in front of the window, hands clasped behind his back.

I thought he was being fairly charitable in his assessment of Irv Gittings’s character. Maybe he was protecting my delicate sensibilities.

“Who do you know on the Gaming Control Board?”

“Bentley Beckwith is the head of the thing now. We go way back. Why?” The Big Boss swiveled his head around to look at me.

“Some of the funds for the tender offer came from money Irv said he had been setting aside from operations.”

“The Athena has been running underwater for the last two years.”

“My point exactly.”

“You think he’s been skimming?” The Big Boss turned to face me. The fire of the setting sun behind him outlined him in shadow, hiding his features.

I didn’t need to see his face to know what was lurking there. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

“The Control Board won’t like that.”

“I thought so, too. Wouldn’t hurt to mention the possibility to Beckwith.”

“Nothing like a woman scorned, eh?”

I deserved that. The Big Boss had taken my sleeping with Ol’ Irv as a personal affront. Actually, I didn’t give a damn what happened to Irv Gittings—he’d get what was coming to him eventually.

“I’ll make the call,” The Big Boss said. “Bentley will be all ears.” He paused, then said with the old fire in his voice, “There’s a board of directors meeting on Friday. It’s time we went on the offensive, don’t you think?”

“Offensive is my middle name.” I smiled at the double meaning—both sometimes appropriate—and rose to go. Miss Patterson would be on pins and needles. “Listen to the tapes, then we’ll strategize.”

“That sounds like a plan. How about breakfast? Say, nine thirty at Nebuchadnezzar’s?” The Big Boss took my elbow as he walked me to the elevator.

“I’ll meet you there.” My hand on the button, I paused. “Do me a favor, will you?”

“Anything.”

“Don’t call the police asking about Willie. Don’t send a lawyer down there or take a hit out on him. Don’t take any calls from the media, and, whatever you do, don’t tell Dane about those tapes. You and I are the only ones around here who know of their existence. Let’s keep it that way.”

“That’s four favors, actually,” The Big Boss said with a smile.

I gave him a withering look.

He put up his hands. “You have my word.”

BEFORE
I could put the day officially to bed, I had one more call to make.

Fredericka “Flash” Gordon was the
Las Vegas Review-Journal
’s top investigative journalist and my ace in the hole. We’d met at UNLV where Flash was known as Freddie. The moniker “Flash” had been hung on her after an incident with a bus full of professional basketball players—but I’d been sworn to secrecy.

I grabbed my Nextel and dialed a number I knew by heart.

“Hey, girl,” she said. “What’s up? You going to tell me about the new man in your life?”

“Which one?” I asked.

“You lying or bragging?”

“You’re the ace reporter—you find out.” I shifted the phone to my other ear as I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for the mezzanine. My watch read ten till nine. “I need a favor.”

“Does this have anything to do with the swan dive out of the helicopter?” All business, Flash’s voice had lost its playful tone.

“It has everything to with that.” The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and two couples got on. “Hang on a minute, will you?”

“Sure.”

I waited until I stepped out into the empty mezzanine before continuing. “Listen, I can’t give you any details right now, but this story is going to be huge when it breaks.”

“I’m all ears.”

I could picture Flash grabbing her ever-present notebook and pen, yanking off the cap of the pen with her teeth, then scribbling notes in her own shorthand that nobody else could read.