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Authors: Deborah Coonts
Tags: Romance
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altar of Nielsen ratings.” I poked him in the chest for emphasis. “Whatever you do, Vera gets veto power. If you serve her up for public ridicule, you’re gonna see that lily white ass of yours on the widescreen. You got it?”
He swallowed hard. “I got it.”
“Deal?” I extended my hand.
He reluctantly took it in his limp, clammy one and gave my hand a weak pump. “Deal.”
* * *
A fter he had dressed, I sent him back to the Babylon alone in the limo. Maybe I thought if I shared the same air with him, some of his despair, some of his disillusionment, some of his lack of faith in the grandeur of the human spirit might rub off on me. The guy had a black hole for a soul. And right now, I felt the pull of the darkness. It hid in the shadows, waiting like a hellhound to snatch the nugget of optimism glowing inside of me and lighting my way.
Besides, Miss Minnie and I still had a bit of business to transact.
She was sitting behind the reception desk when I returned—an imperious little Korean geisha, to the extent those terms fit together. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her little bow-tie, painted-on mouth puckered with disapproval.
I held out my hand and snapped my fingers, then extended my open palm. “Give it to me.”
“You took my best girl. You no get nothing.”
My eyes never leaving hers, I reached for my phone. With my thumb, I felt the raised buttons, found the one I wanted, and pressed. When it started ringing, I held it to my ear.
“Who you calling?” Miss Minnie tried to hide fear with indignation as she pulled herself straight and threw her shoulders back. “You no scare me.”
I thought we’d established that that wasn’t true, but since mentioning it probably wouldn’t be helpful, I didn’t. “I work closely with the Pandering Investigation Team. I’m sure you’re familiar with the vice team at Metro. Sheriff Gillespie is a personal friend.”
“I a businesswoman. ” Shooting me daggers, Miss Minnie pulled the videotape from under the desk and slapped it on the counter. “You win.”
I pocketed the tape. “Yes. I win.” I didn’t even try to hide my gloat.
When I walked outside, victory had beaten back the pull of darkness—not a bad evening, all things considered. As I paused at the curb, a taxi flashed its lights and then eased to a stop in front of me. I opened the back door and peered inside at the driver. “Hey, Watalsky. Fancy meeting you here.”
“I could say the same,” he replied, grinning at me through a full beard. River Watalsky was an inveterate poker player. He’d won and lost more fortunes than he could keep track of. Recently on a downward trend, he’d come to me for a job. I’d found him one with the cab company. “Your office called the company. When the dispatcher said the pickup was you, I took the call.”
Miss P and Paolo—they took better care of me than I could. I shut the back door and climbed in the front. “Follow the yellow brick road back to Oz, please.”
He turned and put the car into gear. “The Babylon?”
“No, home. I think I’ll knock off for the day.”
“Had enough crossing swords with the Wicked Witch?”
I settled into the seat and tried not to think about why commercial-grade rubber covered the entire inside of the car. “Why don’t the cops put her out of business?”
“Honey, without the bad, how do we know the good?”
Chapter Four
T he Presidio, a tall cylinder of steel and glass, served as home and home-away-from-home to financiers, entertainers, athletes, celebrities, and me. One of the toniest addresses in Vegas, the Presidio had impeccable service and unrivaled views, but I wouldn’t know—all my home time was spent sleeping or changing clothes. More than once I’d thought about just moving into a small apartment at the hotel, but Teddie also lived at the Presidio. Giving up proximity and privacy seemed too high a price for expediency.
After rewarding Watalsky for
He swallowed hard. “I got it.”
“Deal?” I extended my hand.
He reluctantly took it in his limp, clammy one and gave my hand a weak pump. “Deal.”
* * *
A fter he had dressed, I sent him back to the Babylon alone in the limo. Maybe I thought if I shared the same air with him, some of his despair, some of his disillusionment, some of his lack of faith in the grandeur of the human spirit might rub off on me. The guy had a black hole for a soul. And right now, I felt the pull of the darkness. It hid in the shadows, waiting like a hellhound to snatch the nugget of optimism glowing inside of me and lighting my way.
Besides, Miss Minnie and I still had a bit of business to transact.
She was sitting behind the reception desk when I returned—an imperious little Korean geisha, to the extent those terms fit together. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and her little bow-tie, painted-on mouth puckered with disapproval.
I held out my hand and snapped my fingers, then extended my open palm. “Give it to me.”
“You took my best girl. You no get nothing.”
My eyes never leaving hers, I reached for my phone. With my thumb, I felt the raised buttons, found the one I wanted, and pressed. When it started ringing, I held it to my ear.
“Who you calling?” Miss Minnie tried to hide fear with indignation as she pulled herself straight and threw her shoulders back. “You no scare me.”
I thought we’d established that that wasn’t true, but since mentioning it probably wouldn’t be helpful, I didn’t. “I work closely with the Pandering Investigation Team. I’m sure you’re familiar with the vice team at Metro. Sheriff Gillespie is a personal friend.”
“I a businesswoman. ” Shooting me daggers, Miss Minnie pulled the videotape from under the desk and slapped it on the counter. “You win.”
I pocketed the tape. “Yes. I win.” I didn’t even try to hide my gloat.
When I walked outside, victory had beaten back the pull of darkness—not a bad evening, all things considered. As I paused at the curb, a taxi flashed its lights and then eased to a stop in front of me. I opened the back door and peered inside at the driver. “Hey, Watalsky. Fancy meeting you here.”
“I could say the same,” he replied, grinning at me through a full beard. River Watalsky was an inveterate poker player. He’d won and lost more fortunes than he could keep track of. Recently on a downward trend, he’d come to me for a job. I’d found him one with the cab company. “Your office called the company. When the dispatcher said the pickup was you, I took the call.”
Miss P and Paolo—they took better care of me than I could. I shut the back door and climbed in the front. “Follow the yellow brick road back to Oz, please.”
He turned and put the car into gear. “The Babylon?”
“No, home. I think I’ll knock off for the day.”
“Had enough crossing swords with the Wicked Witch?”
I settled into the seat and tried not to think about why commercial-grade rubber covered the entire inside of the car. “Why don’t the cops put her out of business?”
“Honey, without the bad, how do we know the good?”
Chapter Four
T he Presidio, a tall cylinder of steel and glass, served as home and home-away-from-home to financiers, entertainers, athletes, celebrities, and me. One of the toniest addresses in Vegas, the Presidio had impeccable service and unrivaled views, but I wouldn’t know—all my home time was spent sleeping or changing clothes. More than once I’d thought about just moving into a small apartment at the hotel, but Teddie also lived at the Presidio. Giving up proximity and privacy seemed too high a price for expediency.
After rewarding Watalsky for
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