So Damn Lucky (Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Book 3) Read online

  “Where’s that smoke coming from?” Teddie whispered, as if speaking out loud might stir the ghosts.

  “Carl probably has a fire.”

  “In here?”

  We made the turnoff to the right and I stopped. “Carl? Anybody home? It’s Lucky.”

  Backlit by the glow of his fire, Carl loomed in front of us. “What’s the word?”

  Carl always insisted on a code word—just so he knew it was me and not somebody else controlling me. I didn’t know how someone would do that, but sometimes it’s best not to quibble with Crazy Carl—I didn’t tell Teddie that part. “Engelbert Humperdinck.”

  He strode forward and wrapped me in a big hug, which I was ambivalent about since his bathing rituals were sketchy at best.

  A tall man, Carl had me by several inches and a hundred pounds. His hair was matted and wild, his beard scraggly, his dark eyes the eyes of the hunted. A flash of white as he grinned. “Lucky! How the hell are you?” His voice boomed, echoing around the cavernous space. “Come, come, you’re just in time for lunch.”

  “This is my… this is Ted Kowalski,” I said by way of introduction, as Teddie and I followed Carl to his camp.

  “Good to meet you,” Carl tossed over his shoulder. “Any friend of Lucky’s is welcome here.”

  Carl’s place reflected his engineering background. Sand fortifications surrounded the main living area, which consisted of a queen-size, four-poster bed with matching dresser, a nightstand with washbasin, and a charcoal Hibachi. The coals burned hot as smoke rose into a manhole—Carl had pushed the cover aside to create a flue. A rifle lay across the foot of the bed.

  “This place is amazing,” Teddie said.

  “Almost all the comforts of home,” Carl said with a shrug. “I’m cooking hot dogs. Want some?”

  “Sure,” I said. Carl considered it bad form to turn down an offer of sustenance. “But we can’t stay long. We’ve brought blankets and a few other things. Thought you might need them now the nights are getting colder.”

  “Mighty nice of you.” Carl sat on the ground as he tended the fire and gave me a shrewd look. “Now what can I do for you?”

  “What does the word Eden mean to you?”

  Carl’s face went slack, his eyes all buggy. “Why?” His voice was strangled, as if he would choke on the word.

  “Do you know a man named Daniels?” I pressed. “He also goes by the nom de guerre, ‘The Great Danilov.’ ”

  Carl grabbed the long fork that had been stuck over the coals—it had two hot dogs on it, puckered and black from the fire. He held it in front of him, pointing it at me like a spear. Wild-eyed, pushing with his heels, he scooted away from me. His back against the bed, he stopped. “Don’t come any closer. You’re one of them, aren’t you.”

  “One of who?”

  Teddie started to move.

  Carl pointed the fork at him. “Stay away.” His eyes darted between us, then to the end of the bed…and the rifle.

  I moved quickly. Pushing the fork aside, I thrust my face close to his. Pressing my hands to his cheeks, I said, “Carl, its Lucky, your friend. Look at me. I’m not here to hurt you. I help you, remember?”

  My touch brought him back, the wildness left his eyes. “Lucky,” he said with sigh—the tension leaving his body. “For a moment I was back there… ”

  “Where?”

  “Eden… with Daniels…and the machines.” He shook his head as if trying to shake out the memories. “No sleep. Pain… ” He growled like a feral animal, cornered, fighting for its life.

  I touched his face again. “Stay with me Carl.” Clearly, pressing him about the program was out of the question—I couldn’t live with myself if I pushed him past the brink of insanity.

  “Right,” he said, taking a deep breath. “The images are close. Bad things are happening. I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Pain, etched his face. Fear lit his eyes. “I couldn’t live with it if I hurt you.”

  “No, you didn’t—you wouldn’t. Come, let’s eat.” I slowly removed the fork from his hand. “Let me fix you a hot dog.”

  Lost with his demons, he sat silently while I located a bun and some mustard.

  As I handed him his tube-steak, I said, “I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t know… ”

  When his eyes met mine, he looked as sane as me. “The Devil walks,” he said, his voice not sounding like his own.

  A chill washed over me. That’s what the note had said. I tried to keep my voice calm. “Daniels?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody does.” Carl reached though the open collar of his shirt. He grabbed a chain, breaking it as he ripped it from his neck. “This belongs to him. He is looking for it.”

  A gold medallion on a silver chain—one side embossed with an angel, the other with a large tree with fruit and a snake coiled around its trunk. I gasped. “Eden,” I whispered.

  “How do you know he’s looking for it?” Teddie asked. He’d been quiet so long I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  “I can hear him.” Carl answered. “He is angry,”

  “May I borrow that for a while?” I asked.

  Carl jerked his hand back. “No. If you have this, you are in danger. The Devil will find you.”

  “I’ll be all right.” I gently took the medallion from him.

  “Couldn’t save the others,” Carl said, as a tear leaked down his face. “Can’t save you.”

  ***

  “What did he mean, he couldn’t save the others?” Teddie asked, after we had polished off lunch, calmed Carl, delivered the blankets, and were once again motoring toward the Babylon.

  “I have no idea, and since it happened at Area 51—the existence of which the government still denies—we’re going to have a heck of a time finding out.”

  “Either someone did a number on that poor guy, or he’s a total whack job,” Teddie announced, raising my hackles. “Do you believe him?”

  “Absolutely. One day one of our internal security guys was running a polygraph. Carl came by and insisted on being tested. He’d been telling me some of his wilder tales and he wanted to convince me he was telling the truth.”

  “Was he?”

  “He passed the test. But that could mean one of two things: He’s telling the truth, or he’s convinced he’s telling the truth. In my eyes, either outcome lent credibility to his story.”

  Teddie angled himself so he faced me. “Do you really believe all this hocus-pocus?”

  “Some of it—the jury’s still out on the rest. I do know there was a joint CIA-Military program to find and train psychic spies. Some of it was conducted at Area 51.”

  “You’re kidding?”

  “Research it yourself—enough of the info has been released under the Freedom of Information Act that you can get the gist.” I turned north on the Strip. Las Vegas had yet to come alive; the traffic was light.

  “I’ll take your word for it. But what’s the connection?”

  “I don’t know. So far, I have Danilov involved in a psychic spook program called Eden. How Fortunoff plays into this is a mystery. And the words and phrases Bart Griffin is spewing each night… what are they clues to?”

  “So all you really know is you’re making somebody nervous?” Teddie summed up, cutting to the chase.

  I wrapped the chain around the rearview mirror and watched the medallion dangle, reflecting diamonds of golden light. “Rattling cages is one of my best things.”

  ***

  A worried young man greeted me when I pulled into the garage to return the van. “Ms. O’Toole, after you left, somebody came down here asking questions about you and where you took the van and stuff, and it’s got me worried.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “That astronaut dude I’ve been seeing on TV—the one who talks to dead people. My grandmother recently passed and I sure would like to talk to her.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “Only that you took some blankets to the folks living in the st
orm drains.”

  Only… Had Dr. Zewicki been following me? Watching me? The thought chased a chill down my spine and, to be honest, gave me the creeps.

  And if he was…why?

  ***

  “I really don’t like this at all,” Teddie announced, falling into his male “protector” mode as we headed toward my office.

  “Dimitri’s gone, presumably dead,” I countered. For some reason Teddie acting all protective when he couldn’t be bothered to stay, pissed me off. “Danilov is acting strange—not to mention the astronaut’s antics. Carl has gone crazy…er. Something is up, and I better stop it before someone else gets hurt.”

  “Same old Lucky, tilting at windmills. Maybe you might try focusing on those of us in your life rather than perfect strangers.” Teddie’s smile didn’t take the sting out of his words. “Look, I’m going to check on my old theatre, okay? I’ll meet up with you in a bit.”

  With a hand on his arm, I stopped him. “Same old Lucky? Maybe not. Life evolves, Teddie. When you come back, nothing is as you left it—that’s the problem with leaving,” I said, surprising myself. My heart knew something had changed even if my head didn’t want to admit it. I’m sure he could see the hurt on my face, read it in my voice and my eyes. “And what am I supposed to do? Focus on you? Even though the dream you’re living wasn’t the one I bought into, I’ve been supportive. I’ve not asked one thing from you.” It dawned on me that I’d gotten precisely what I’d asked for—a big fat nuthin’.

  “You’re right.” he said, as he folded me into his arms. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

  Hurt? I thought. Yes, I could see hurt in my future… but it wasn’t the Devil who would do the deed. This whole thing between Teddie and me was coming to a head, but now was not the time or the place—besides, right now I didn’t have the self-control to resist homicide.

  “Go run off down memory lane,” I told him, as I pulled his lips down to mine, testing, tasting. A tingle was left but nothing felt the same as it was. I couldn’t place my finger on exactly what had changed, but it was as if Teddie was here and somewhere else at the same time. When we had made love it was a physical hunger, but not an appetite of the heart. Close, yet distant—pulling away even as we came together. I could touch him, but he was no longer mine.

  Somehow, having him here made me feel worse than had he not returned at all.

  “Lucky, there you are!” my mother shouted across the lobby, bringing my day—and my life—back into focus. “I was just coming to find you.”

  I waited for her as Teddie disappeared into the crowd. Dressed in a flowing peach skirt, orange sweater, gold flats, and her South Sea pearls, she looked radiant. She wrinkled her nose as she arrived at my side. “You smell like smoke… and hot dogs. Where have you been?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I hooked my arm through hers and we both continued toward my office. “Since the SWAT team wasn’t called last night, and Security didn’t go to high alert, I’m assuming you and The Big Boss patched things up?”

  She waggled the fingers of her left hand in front of my face. A square-cut diamond the size of Manhattan sparkled on her ring finger.

  “Impressive.” Eschewing the stairs, I led her to the elevators and punched the button. “What did you want to see me about?”

  “I’ve been planning my wedding, and I have a question,” Mona said as the doors opened and we stepped inside.

  “The cards have been a bit cold lately. I’m running short on answers, but fire away.” I pressed the button for the mezzanine.

  “Do you think I’m too old to wear white?”

  Chapter Nine

  OLD wasn’t the adjective that sprung immediately to mind.

  Mona and I paused at the railing overlooking the teeming lobby below. “White is so… ”

  “Virginal?” Mother asked, narrowing her eyes—focusing the crosshairs.

  “There is that. But actually, I was thinking white is not your best color. This peach is stunning.”

  She bunched some fabric in her fists and swished her skirt provocatively. “You think so?”

  “Absolutely. I’d think about a color theme—strong shades to match your personality. You are going to get married here, aren’t you?”

  “Oh, no. I was thinking maybe in Pahrump, so all the girls could be there—some of them don’t have cars, and that way they wouldn’t have to miss work.”

  “Uh-huh. And do you have someone in mind to officiate?”

  Mona pursed her lips and tilted her head, as she looked me in the eye. “I was hoping Nathan Bailey would do it.”

  “You want Little Diva Eva, the drag queen to officiate?”

  “No,” Mona said, in one of her “don’t be stupid” tones. “I’d really just like Nathan to officiate—we’ve been friends a long time. But he usually insists on wearing taffeta to weddings, so that might be a problem.”

  “Have you cleared this with The Big Boss?”

  “He said I could have any kind of wedding I wanted.”

  Whoo boy, did that man have a lot to learn! “Have you made our reservations for Miss P’s girls-night-out birthday celebration?” I asked, losing courage.

  “This Saturday, eight P.M., at the Burger Palais.”

  “But her birthday is Friday. And since zero birthdays should never go unmourned and I’m paying, I expected her to go five stars.”

  “Jeremy wants to take her out on her birthday, and she knows you have to stay in the hotel for the Bondage Ball later that night, so she picked the new place. Is that okay?” Mona looked worried.

  “It’s her day. And it doesn’t really matter when or where—all of us together to celebrate is the important thing.”

  “You look a bit more distracted than I’ve seen you in a while,” Mona said, eyeing me shrewdly. Clearly she had lost none of the clairvoyance that comes with motherhood. “Got a new man?”

  “Men aren’t everything, Mother.”

  Her total disbelief evident, she patted my face. “You simply cannot be my daughter.”

  I took comfort in that. “Teddie’s home.”

  “I see.” She eyed me shrewdly, her voice cold. “How long is he staying?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  “A wise woman recently told me, I couldn’t keep pretending life would go on as I wanted it to—I couldn’t have everything. I think that woman ought to take her own advice.”

  Mother always could be counted on to deliver the fatal blow.

  ***

  Brandy and Miss P doused small fires while I buried myself in paperwork. The pile was small—I whizzed through it—then buzzed for Brandy. When she appeared in my doorway, I asked, “Is now a good time to give me an update on the Bondage Ball?”

  “Let me get my notes,” she said as she disappeared. Returning with a legal pad in hand, she took a chair opposite my desk. “We’re expecting a full house—the Ball has been sold out for over a month. I’ve coordinated with catering and banquets—we’ll have ten cash bars, and six buffet-style food stations which will be replenished as needed through the course of the evening. The sponsors have approved the budget and they will give us a final head count tomorrow.”

  “The entertainment?”

  “Five bands playing rotating sets on three stages. The lead band is The Rats. Their bass player, Patty Garcia, is the boss. Have you heard them?”

  I shook my head, feeling hopelessly out of date…and old.

  “I’ve confirmed arrivals with all the managers. No glitches so far.”

  “Security?”

  She looked up from her notes, a frown creasing her flawless face. “Something beyond the normal?”

  “We are going to have a crowd of near-naked people and free-flowing booze. We need extra security and they need to set up a perimeter to keep gawkers and picketers away. Only people in costume with a receipt for their tickets get in.”

  Her head down, Brandy scribbled notes as I talked.


  “And we need a canvassed chute to hide attendees as they walk through the hotel—apparently nudity offends some of our guests or, at least, some of our dear citizens want us to think so. Better to err on the safe side. Other than that, sounds like you have it covered.”

  Brandy rose to go.

  “Oh,” I continued. “Make sure the sponsors send an e-mail to all partiers reminding them they must be covered when they arrive and when they leave the ballrooms. I know that message is on the Web site and on the tickets, but… ”

  “Err on the safe side?”

  “Right.”

  ***

  When Teddie hadn’t appeared after an hour, I went in search.

  Just off the main casino floor, the Babylon’s small theatre served as home to Teddie’s former show. After surrendering his ball gowns to the siren call of rock ’n’ roll, he transferred the mantle of Las Vegas’s Foremost Female Impersonator to Christo, his former understudy. Teddie still kept his hand in though, serving as producer.

  Stepping around the sign that read “Do Not Enter, Rehearsal in Progress,” I grabbed the handle and threw my weight against the heavy door. In contrast to the brightness of the casino, the theatre was dark, the stage the focus of all the lights. Pausing, I let my eyes adjust as I watched Teddie and Christo—apparently they were discussing some nuance of the performance, with Teddie demonstrating, then Christo attempting to mimic. Try as he might, Christo would never be Teddie… no one would.

  Dane’s voice stopped me halfway to the stage. “Lucky! Got a minute?” He trotted after me.

  “Sure.”

  Reaching out, he touched my arm. He looked worried. “About last night… me and Flash… it’s not what it seemed.”

  “Cowboy, your personal life is none of my business.” I was surprised at how badly I wanted to know what was between them, but I didn’t ask. I couldn’t, I didn’t have the right.

  “Maybe not, but I wish… ” He glanced over my shoulder and his eyes hardened, his face closed. “I see Ted is home.”