Read Online Lucky Flash: A Lucky O'Toole Novella (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series) by Deborah Coonts - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Deborah Coonts
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place where I could be me and still be somebody. That was the real treasure of Vegas.
Pressing a spot on the wall at the far end of the hall, Busta’ opened a secret door, so well hidden I never would’ve known it was there. The door behind it looked to be solid steel, a combination lock in the middle. Dane pulled out his gun and leveled it at Busta Blue’s chest. “Open it.”
Busta’ gave him a narrow-eyed look. “I told you I don’t have it.”
“I know what you said.” Dane pulled back the slide.
Movement behind me made me turn. Dane didn’t flinch. A guy rushed at us. I stepped back as if cowering. Cocking my elbow the way Lucky had showed me, I waited. As the guy moved to brush by me, I threw a roundhouse, leading with my elbow. Bone hit soft cartilage. The guy dropped, clutching his nose. On his knees, his hands cupping the blood that poured out, he narrowed his eyes. Coiling his body. I kicked him, connecting under his jaw. The light in his eyes blinked out as he toppled over, blood spilling onto the perfect carpet.
Busta’ and Dane, still hiding the gun pointed at Busta’s chest, looked at me, their eyes wide. Busta’s held disbelief. Dane’s held respect.
I dusted my hands together. “Now, where were we?”
Busta’ Blue had the next move. He vacillated for a moment, shooting me a murderous look, and then bent over the lock. The door whooshed open, an air lock.
I took a peek inside. “No way I’m going in there.” We all have our little paranoias. Mine was being locked in a soundproof vault and nobody knew where I was or could hear me scream—that and too many men and too little time, but that’s not really possible. I always had the time.
“Fine, you stay out here and make sure this guy doesn’t lock me in.” Dane passed me his gun. “Keep it pointed at his chest. If he so much as flinches, shoot him.”
“Oh, just the thought of that makes me go all warm and gooey.”
Dane rolled his eyes.
I handed him my iPhone. “Pictures.”
Busta’ started to object. I silenced him with a waggle of the Glock. I was liking this upper-hand thing.
“You,” Dane nodded at Busta’, “over there.” He waited for Busta’ to do as he said, then spoke to me. “Don’t let anyone near this door.” Then he disappeared inside. I heard him whistle. A few minutes later, while I was contemplating what it would be like to shoot Busta’ Blue, Dane stepped out and handed me my phone. “Hell of a treasure chest. Nameplates are still there, but the stuff is missing.”
“You’re saying the stuff in there was real?”
Busta’ shifted, clearly uneasy. “Man, that ring Pismo had came from there, and it’s as real as you and me. I got it tested.”
“By whom?
“My insurance guy.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “A name.”
“Livermore. Nelson Livermore. Pansy-ass name. He works out of his house in the Naked City. Pismo put me onto him.”
CHAPTER SIX
L UCKY
Liberace’s ring still glimmered from its case in the mini-museum in the Bazaar, the marketplace at the Babylon where purveyors of every kind of extravagance competed for real estate. From Ferraris to Jimmy Choos, baubles of epic size, designer duds in Lilliputian sizes, graceful original art to gourmet burgers, the Bazaar tempted all shapes, sizes, and tastes. The Babylon Museum was tucked in a tasteful corner near Samson’s, the women’s grooming salon that boasted a cadre of Samson look-alikes offering limitless flutes of Champagne. Women travelled half the world to spend their entire Vegas trip there. A blue door, standing open, and a tasteful, reverent sign marked my destination.
The dusty blue walls, thick carpet, and focused lighting stood in stark contrast to the rest of the rather bold accents of the hotel. The whole place made me want to whisper as if I was in a
Pressing a spot on the wall at the far end of the hall, Busta’ opened a secret door, so well hidden I never would’ve known it was there. The door behind it looked to be solid steel, a combination lock in the middle. Dane pulled out his gun and leveled it at Busta Blue’s chest. “Open it.”
Busta’ gave him a narrow-eyed look. “I told you I don’t have it.”
“I know what you said.” Dane pulled back the slide.
Movement behind me made me turn. Dane didn’t flinch. A guy rushed at us. I stepped back as if cowering. Cocking my elbow the way Lucky had showed me, I waited. As the guy moved to brush by me, I threw a roundhouse, leading with my elbow. Bone hit soft cartilage. The guy dropped, clutching his nose. On his knees, his hands cupping the blood that poured out, he narrowed his eyes. Coiling his body. I kicked him, connecting under his jaw. The light in his eyes blinked out as he toppled over, blood spilling onto the perfect carpet.
Busta’ and Dane, still hiding the gun pointed at Busta’s chest, looked at me, their eyes wide. Busta’s held disbelief. Dane’s held respect.
I dusted my hands together. “Now, where were we?”
Busta’ Blue had the next move. He vacillated for a moment, shooting me a murderous look, and then bent over the lock. The door whooshed open, an air lock.
I took a peek inside. “No way I’m going in there.” We all have our little paranoias. Mine was being locked in a soundproof vault and nobody knew where I was or could hear me scream—that and too many men and too little time, but that’s not really possible. I always had the time.
“Fine, you stay out here and make sure this guy doesn’t lock me in.” Dane passed me his gun. “Keep it pointed at his chest. If he so much as flinches, shoot him.”
“Oh, just the thought of that makes me go all warm and gooey.”
Dane rolled his eyes.
I handed him my iPhone. “Pictures.”
Busta’ started to object. I silenced him with a waggle of the Glock. I was liking this upper-hand thing.
“You,” Dane nodded at Busta’, “over there.” He waited for Busta’ to do as he said, then spoke to me. “Don’t let anyone near this door.” Then he disappeared inside. I heard him whistle. A few minutes later, while I was contemplating what it would be like to shoot Busta’ Blue, Dane stepped out and handed me my phone. “Hell of a treasure chest. Nameplates are still there, but the stuff is missing.”
“You’re saying the stuff in there was real?”
Busta’ shifted, clearly uneasy. “Man, that ring Pismo had came from there, and it’s as real as you and me. I got it tested.”
“By whom?
“My insurance guy.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “A name.”
“Livermore. Nelson Livermore. Pansy-ass name. He works out of his house in the Naked City. Pismo put me onto him.”
CHAPTER SIX
L UCKY
Liberace’s ring still glimmered from its case in the mini-museum in the Bazaar, the marketplace at the Babylon where purveyors of every kind of extravagance competed for real estate. From Ferraris to Jimmy Choos, baubles of epic size, designer duds in Lilliputian sizes, graceful original art to gourmet burgers, the Bazaar tempted all shapes, sizes, and tastes. The Babylon Museum was tucked in a tasteful corner near Samson’s, the women’s grooming salon that boasted a cadre of Samson look-alikes offering limitless flutes of Champagne. Women travelled half the world to spend their entire Vegas trip there. A blue door, standing open, and a tasteful, reverent sign marked my destination.
The dusty blue walls, thick carpet, and focused lighting stood in stark contrast to the rest of the rather bold accents of the hotel. The whole place made me want to whisper as if I was in a
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