Death On the Flop Read online

  “What?”

  She laughed, deep and throaty. “Smoke’s coming out your ears, girl.” She shook her head at me. “Let me give you a piece of advice. Don’t try to make things make sense in Vegas, just take things as they come. And don’t try to figure out Frank Gilbert. There’s a reason he lives in Vegas, and the reason is he wants to keep his secrets. Here, we let him.”

  “So, Frank’s your friend?” I asked.

  “I know Frank. I see him around here a couple of times a week. I wouldn’t call him my friend. Friends are few and far between here. Too many of us just pass through. It’s best to keep things friendly but not make friends.”

  I thought about Shana and how much mileage in life we’d shared and how much that helped when I just needed an ear to listen or a word of advice. Sometimes knowing that she was there was enough. “That seems lonely,” I finally told Spring.

  She shrugged and turned away to help a man hailing her from the other end of the bar.

  I sighed and grabbed the handle of the suitcase, rolling it behind me out of the bar. Of course, I had no idea where I was going. I needed to find the poker tables. At the slot machines, I passed a seventy-something blue-haired woman in a caftan who wore a heavy looking baby sling over her chest. I assumed her grandchildren had left her with babysitting duty. “Sumbitch,” she hissed when the rollers came to rest. Quaint. Maybe it would be Junior’s first word. She reached into the sling, pulled out a handful of quarters and fed another into the machine in front of her. That’s when I realized Junior was a couple hundred dollars in change.

  Okay. I was in the Twilight Zone.

  A couple of rows of slots later, I decided to ask someone where they played poker in this casino. I leaned down to a clean cut young man in a Nebraska Cornhuskers T-shirt. Poised to crank another chance, he looked at me and said, “Yes!”

  I looked behind me. Nobody stood there. I looked at the machine to make sure he hadn’t just won. Two cherries and an orange. I looked back at his eager face. “I, uh, didn’t say anything.”

  “I know, but you are my lucky charm. I haven’t gotten two of any fruit all night. You come up and I got two fruits. Three are bound to be next.” He fed the machine and punched the button. Two apples and a banana. He looked at me desperately as he fed the slot again. “Soon.”

  “I’m looking for the poker tables,” I began.

  The Cornhusker grabbed my wrist. “Please, not yet, I gotta pay off my student loans. I’m gonna hit it. Just stand there for a minute. Please?”

  Feeling extremely stupid, but sorry for the kid, I nodded hastily. He fed the slots, muttering under his breath, for another few minutes. No jackpot. Good. Maybe my lucky charm had worn off and I could go find Ben.

  Just as I was about to melt away, the machine dinged and quarters cascaded out in a roar. Cornhusker grabbed my shoulders, jumping up and down with glee. Then he snatched his backpack off the floor, counting to himself as he swept the money into the pocket.

  “How much did you win?” I asked.

  “Three hundred dollars.”

  “Not bad, how many quarters did you have to put in?”

  “Five hundred . . .”

  Not a bad return on his money, I computed as he continued. “. . . dollars.”

  Ack. He’d lost two hundred dollars and was excited? What was wrong with this picture? He was about to win himself broke feeding that slot. “Good luck,” I said, ignoring his impassioned pleas for me to stay. I stomped off, having to drag the suitcase behind me, no doubt compromising the effect of my elder statesman disgust. I’d have to find the poker tables myself, because I was afraid to get near any more strangers. I wandered past the roulette tables, craps players and dealers whipping up blackjack. I watched them play for a moment and thought of Frank. Intriguing guy, mostly because he was the only male I’d encountered since I’d been in Las Vegas who hadn’t propositioned me. Maybe he was gay. I whacked myself on the head with the heel of my hand. I was as bad as the rest of these freaks.

  “Are you okay?” a male voice behind me asked. Uh-oh. Loaded question. I spun around. A guy about my age in an Armani suit with the body of a gorilla stood there.

  I jammed my hands on my hips. “I’m not interested in getting naked, videos, or strip poker with someone who’s not old enough to drink a margarita.”

  “Are you a hooker?”

  “Didn’t you hear me?”

  “Listen, only the tourists do all those crazy things. The hookers are much pickier.”

  He cracked a smile, and only then I noticed that he was wearing an earpiece. “Aren’t you kind of young to be wearing a hearing aid?” I couldn’t believe I said that. This place was getting to me.

  He pressed his lips together and raised his eyebrows. “You look lost.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  The corners of his mouth turned up despite himself. “Can I help you find your room?”

  “I wish. I don’t know where I am staying.”

  His eyebrows shot up again just briefly before adjusting themselves back to a perfect corporate look of interest. “Well, the casino prefers that you don’t wander around with your baggage on the floor. Can I have the porters at the front desk hold it for you? Miss . . .”

  “Cooley. Belinda Cooley.” I shook his proffered hand. “You don’t understand. I lost my brother. This vacation nightmare was his idea. Mr. . . . ?”

  He didn’t respond to my question. I guess casino security was tighter than the Secret Service. “Give Vegas time. It grows on you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  The edges of his mouth twitched again. “Miss Cooley, can I help you get to your room?”

  “Sure, you can, if you can figure out which hotel is holding our reservation.”

  “I see. Do you have any idea where your brother might have wandered?”

  “Here in the casino to play Hold ’Em.”

  Mr. Casino Bouncer asked Ben’s name and what he was wearing, guided me to a side chair, ordered me nicely to sit and wait while he turned away to whisper into his lapel. A few minutes later, I saw some of my gorilla friend’s lookalikes making their way through tables. It wasn’t long before I saw one of them haul a man sitting at a table in the center of the room to his feet. Ben was halfway across the room, flanked by two suits, before his perplexed look turned to one of frustrated fury when he caught sight of me.

  “It looks like your brother’s finished his game, Miss Cooley,” my friend said in smooth warning. “Perhaps now he will be able to check you into your hotel.”

  “Bee,” Ben warned. “I don’t like being pulled out of a hand with a bunch of fish when I had nuts on the turn.”

  “Ben, since I have no idea what you just said, I can’t say I’m sorry.”

  “Perhaps you should teach your sister to play poker, Mr. Cooley,” my bouncer buddy put in. “Then she wouldn’t be so eager to find her room.”

  “I’m sorry, Bee,” Ben said, shaking his head at himself. “I did promise to teach you. I will. Let’s go check in at the Lanai and then we’ll get started.”

  The only thing I wanted to start was a hot bath. I thanked my personal Secret Service agent, whose associates had somehow melted away during our conversation. He nodded and stepped back, keeping us in his sights as Ben grabbed the suitcase handle from me and we headed toward an exit.

  “Did you really have to call the goons on me?” Ben whispered as we pushed our way out into the neon-lit night.

  “The head goon found me, Ben. I guess they thought I looked like a terrorist, lugging my bomb fixings around in a Burberry bag.”

  “That’s weird, but I guess with Hold ’Em becoming such an international sensation, it makes sense that they would increase security in all the casinos leading up to a well publicized tournament like the one I’m in.”

  “Ben, why did you drop more than I used to make in a month on entering a stupid game?”

  “How do you know how much it costs to enter
?”

  “You put me at the bar with someone who knew something about it.”

  “A player?”

  “Used to be, apparently, now plays blackjack.”

  “I know it’s a lot of money, Bee, but I’m going to win a lot more.”

  “Come on Ben, what are the odds? Most of the players are professionals or they’ve won their way to the tournament by playing a lot more than you do. I know you must play the odds when you play a hand, right? Play the odds here and get out before you get in too deep.”

  Ben waved off my advice. “Hold ’Em is not all about playing odds and experience. Instinct and heart have a lot to do with it.”

  “And luck, don’t forget that. That is so easy to control,” I added, sarcasm thick.

  “Not everything in life can be controlled, Bee.”

  “You are living proof of that.” I sighed.

  We’d reached the Lanai where I would finally get my hot bath. I stepped into the driveway to avoid a trio weaving their way down the sidewalk. A loud honk behind me made me jump and Ben’s hand closed on my arm, pulling me back up onto the sidewalk as a glittering iridescent white Hummer limo zoomed its way to the front door. We’d just made it to the front door as the door to the limo opened. Out came two pairs of long, tan female legs, one wearing silver and rhinestone strappy Manolo Blahnik sandals, the other some pink polka dotted Jimmy Choos, followed by their giggling blond Playboy bunnyish owners. A tall man hopped out after them, dressed in red leather jeans and jacket, black snakeskin boots and mirrored wraparound Oakleys. Longish hair peeked out from under his black Stetson. For some reason, ZZ Top’s Sharp Dressed Man sang in my head. It wasn’t that this guy was that handsome—on closer inspection his nose was too big, his lips too thin and his jaw too thick—but he sure had a powerful charisma. Heads turned, and it wasn’t just because he wore half a cowhide.

  Ben elbowed me so hard I almost went down. “That’s him!”

  I was trying to figure out what movie star he was as other casino guests stopped and pointed. A couple waved and one man gave him a thumbs up. He ignored them, draping his arms around the shoulders of the bunnies, letting each hand dangle over a size D. Tacky. I groaned.

  The Sharp Dressed Man paused and looked back at me over his shoulder. I could feel his glare through the lenses. “You got a problem?”

  “No, but you do, two of them. And they are attached to your arms.”

  “You oughta mind your own business.”

  “I’m trying to, but you’re in my way.”

  I think he was so shocked at being back talked that he reeled back a step, just enough for me to get through the door ahead of him, pulling Ben in my wake. I didn’t stop until we arrived at the front desk.

  “Bee.” Ben wore a bemused half grin/half grimace. “I can’t believe you just got away with that! You know who he is?”

  “I don’t care—” I could see him out of the corner of my eye, dragging his blondes along, glaring our way.

  “That’s him,” Ben whispered heatedly. “That’s Steely Stan Trident. The jerk I’ve gotta beat.”

  And the jerk Frank Gilbert warned was dangerous.

  Five

  I can’t remember when a hot bubble bath felt any better than the first one I took in Vegas. Of course, it helped that our room turned out to be a suite and bigger than my apartment back home by half—two bedrooms, a sitting room, dining room, fully stocked bar, even a foyer. Did I mention the Jacuzzi that overlooked The Strip lit up brighter than Christmas from twenty floors up? That might have been why I thought I was in nirvana amidst the Giorgio scented bubbles.

  I could get used to this, I thought as I wrapped myself up in an overly plush cabernet-colored robe.

  Of course to do so, I would have to rely on my brother sitting in on high stakes poker games on a regular basis. I wasn’t sure I could handle the stress. That was why we were in a suite—neither of us could afford such. I found out—after I’d nearly suffered a heart attack when the porter opened the front door—that Ben’s last flight attendant girlfriend had treated him to a turnaround to Vegas in April and he’d played at the biggest table at the Aladdin. According to his story, he’d won a lot and lost a lot and went home even. The hotel wanted him back in the hopes that he might not be as lucky as the house the next time, so they offered him a free room. The strategy must have worked, or they wouldn’t be passing out thousand dollar a night rooms with such wild abandon. When Ben registered for the tournament he’d called the Lanai and bemoaned the fact that he would be staying at his free suite in the Aladdin. The Lanai, of course, preferred a big spender be tempted to squander his free time gambling at their tables so they offered the same, a suite.

  I wandered out into the spacious, tastefully decorated living area and took in the view that wrapped around nearly 180 degrees in floor to ceiling glass. It was already three o’clock in the morning but The Strip was as busy as rush hour in Houston. I looked at Ben’s closed door. He’d dragged the suitcase in to unpack when I’d left to bathe. Surely he couldn’t have fallen asleep already. I wouldn’t be so lucky.

  I knocked. “Ben?”

  Hearing nothing, I turned the knob, bracing myself to find one of the coeds from the street or someone like her. Ben had never been known to go long without some girl on his arm, or rather, in his bed.

  The bed was empty, save a piece of hotel stationery. Uh-oh. Snatching it up, I read Ben’s chicken scratch handwriting.

  BeeBee,

  Enjoy the champagne I ordered. I’ll be back soon. I went to find out what Stan was up to. The more I find out about the guy, the easier he will be to read at the table. I plan to beat him and make you proud. Consider it a research trip.

  Your thorough brother, Ben

  Make me proud? Make me crazy was more like it.

  I could just see him gambling away our return tickets on a last ditch effort to beat Steely Stan. Jeez. With only a glance at the champagne (Perrier Jouet, what was he thinking!), I grabbed the suitcase and wheeled it back into my room. There I pulled out the jumble of clothes I’d so bravely pitched in and took stock.

  “This is what I get for being impulsive,” I told myself out loud. Now I had to live with the consequences, which would be cordovan leather Steve Madden scrunch cowboy boots with an eggplant suede jacket, an ocher silk shirt, tan suede skirt. I didn’t even pack the jewelry that matched any of the partial outfits I had on. If I had any luck at all, that would’ve happened by accident. Luckless, that was me. Oh well, might as well go all the way into unmatchingdom. I closed my eyes, dipped my hand into my jewelry pile and came out with . . . oh no. Sucking in a deep breath, I slid on the teal and gold chandelier earrings. I hoped everyone I encountered was color-blind.

  I almost put back on the unobtrusive denim mini and black baby tee I’d worn on the plane, but then remembered it had been touched by Cyrano’s slimy hands. With a shiver, I deposited it into the hotel laundry bag and stuffed it into the side pocket of my suitcase.

  I tied my unruly hair back into a bun at the base of my neck, slid the room key into the pocket of my jacket, blew out a breath and reached for the doorknob. So far this vacation was a blast.

  I’d been waiting for the elevator for ten minutes. Ten painful minutes trying to avoid the mirrors that lined the wall opposite me. Once I’d eroded my confidence to sub zero, I turned to look at the empty hallway. All I could think about was all the trouble Ben could be getting himself into. The whole way up to our room, he’d talked about the Stan guy like they’d had some longstanding, multigenerational feud. Granted, the guy was an obvious jerk, but if you lost sleep about every one of those you encountered, you’d die young. There was something Ben wasn’t telling me. Ben said there were claims Stan didn’t play a clean game (in other words, he cheated). After more prodding, he told me Stan’s well publicized and clearly obvious womanizing got Ben’s back up. I wanted to advise Ben to look in the mirror, but to his credit, I’d never seen Ben with his hands on two women’s breasts
at the same time. Maybe in the same hour, but I guess that was an important detail.

  Finally, when I threatened to get on the next plane home, Ben mentioned that Stan was supposedly some kind of pill popper. I still didn’t see what that had to do with Ben, except for the fact that he sold pills for a living, which you’d think would make him less critical of the guy if for no other reason than he might boost Ben’s paycheck in an indirect way. Okay, I was stretching it a bit, but something was off. Why a drug abusing, skirt chasing poker champion would get his back up, I don’t know. Ben was acting like he was employed as the flack for the World Series of Poker. It didn’t make sense and I aimed to get to the bottom of it.

  The longer I stood there waiting for the elevator, the further my imagination stretched. Finally, when my mind had drawn a picture of Ben choking Stan to death at the poker table downstairs, I went in search of the stairs. Twenty floors was a long way to go, but at least it was down and maybe the exercise would curb my anxiety. Good thing my Steve Maddens were comfy. I was huffing by the time I got to the tenth floor, so I barely heard the voices over my own wheezing lungs. I paused and bit down on my lower lip to keep from panting out loud. The voices, loudly angry, were both male and drifted down the stairwell from a few floors above me.

  “I don’t care what kind of problems you’re having down there right now, Pete, discretion is especially important because of what is happening here this weekend.” A deep bass threatened. “This is very important to the jefe. You cannot talk to him. You cannot talk to me. Got it?”

  “But what am I supposed to do if I have problems with a new driver? He walked off the job and I swear he thinks something’s hinky with the operation. We already lost a day because of it and two transfers. We’ll lose money, he’ll get mad,” a whiny tenor proclaimed defensively.

  “He’s already mad. You coming up to him in the middle of the casino like that, blowing his cover.”

  “It wasn’t in the middle of the casino, I caught him out of the way. I didn’t know that idiot was stalking him or something. How could I know that?” The one named Pete raised his voice in frightened desperation.