Death On the Flop Read Online Free PDF Page B

you know.”
    “Yes.” His shiny eyes became sharp. “So you aren’t attached?”
    “Like conjoined twins? Heaven forbid,” I laughed.
    “No, I should say, you are in Vegas with your brother, so I can only ascertain that you are without a husband or boyfriend.”
    Hey, did I have a scarlet L for “Loser in Love” on my forehead or what? How could this yahoo know I was hard up?
    Ben, recognizing my anger, chuckled. That just fueled my fury. “Listen, mister, I don’t think it’s any of your business.”
    “Actually, it is my business. I am searching for a girl just like you.” His hand dipped into the pocket and I braced, for what I didn’t know . . . maybe a microphone to interview me for a show about single women with aging eggs. Instead, he extracted a business card. A psychologist? I knew it. He was some kind of love doctor and he thought I needed therapy. I probably did.
    “I just wanted to make sure you could make your own decisions, without having to consult a mate,” he was saying while I read his card. Black suedey paper with gold lettering. Just the name Cyrano and a telephone number with a New York City area code. Okay, so he wasn’t a sleazy reporter. The pricey clothes should have tipped me off. He wasn’t a shrink either, since they rarely paid their clients. Who paid for types of people? Someone fitting a script. “You’re some kind of talent scout?” I asked, suddenly feeling in my element again.
    His mouth curved slowly into a smile. Ben had moved up next to me.
    “Exactly,” Cyrano said, reaching over to put my hand in his. He had one of those cold fish handshakes. Ick. “Miss . . . ?”
    I wasn’t sure I trusted Cyrano even though I’d pinpointed his line of work. Hadn’t Ben said I could be anyone I wanted in Vegas? Glancing over Cyrano’s shoulder past Bellagio’s expanse of fountains and gardens, I caught just half of a sign from a hotel down the strip. “Carlo. Paris Carlo.”
    “Lovely name. Perfect in fact. And you, sir?’ he asked Ben.
    “Monty,” Ben answered. Smart ass. But, good ole Cyrano was too busy giving me the heebie-jeebies with his X-ray eyes to catch on.
    “So, are you available for a session?” It looked like Cyrano was sizing me for the costume.
    “Not right now, dude,” Ben said, trying to edge me back out onto the sidewalk. “We need to check into our hotel room.”
    “Of course.” He nodded. “And where would that be?”
    Ben put a hand on my back and began to propel me away. “Off The Strip,” he answered over his shoulder.
    Cyrano nodded. “When you get settled in, call me. I pay two thousand dollars an hour. Triple if you allow a CD.”
    I stumbled. Ben caught my forearm, locking my wide-eyed gaze with one of his own. Whoa. What kind of talent was this guy looking for anyway? Six thousand dollars was a lot of money for an out of work ad exec. I turned around. “That much even though I don’t have any experience acting?”
    “Hmm. I prefer that, actually.”
    Ben was pulling me by the hem of my baby tee. Cyrano didn’t seem to mind. He was looking at my exposed midriff.
    Ben yanked me down the sidewalk. “Thanks, she’s not interested.”
    “Hey,” I said, spinning around. “Maybe I am. Not all of us get a regular paycheck anymore.” Not that I’d be any good at acting but once would be enough to pay my rent for a while. Ben glowered at me.
    “Miss Carlo, feel free to contact me after you check in,” Cyrano called out, pulling up his sleeve to consult a diamond encrusted Rolex in case I’d missed the price tag on the clothes.
    “Get real, dude,” Ben said, under his breath, hustling me across the street and then doubling back across and into the entrance to Caesars Palace.
    Once we were inside the doors, the dings of the slot machines and the yells from the players at the roulette tables made me pause. After I took in the charged atmosphere for a moment, I turned to my brother. “I know that guy was creepy, but why were