Lucky Bang Read Online Free PDF Page B

one of the chairs across from her and nursed the rest of my whiskey.
    Flash had peeled back the plastic tarp covering all the furniture when she'd set up shop in the construction zone I called my office. Caught in the throes of unbridled optimism, I'd given Miss P a promotion—she was now what I used to be. Unfortunately, as the 'me' I used to be, she hung out where I used to hang out—my old office.
    We'd knocked out a wall to make room for a workspace for me in an adjacent storage room. I had no doubt that my little corner of the universe would be a nice place to store my stuff—if it was ever completed. Two workmen with one hammer had been at it so long and made such little progress, I was seriously considering adopting them.
    Now, tarps protected all the furniture. The only light was a weak circle cast by a lone light bulb dangling from a wire. A hole in the outer wall—my future private entrance—necessitated us locking all the important stuff in drawers and filing cabinets. To be honest, I wasn't there that much, so the whole thing never rose high enough on my priority list to actually do anything more than whine about it.
    "I've phoned in my story on the explosion," Flash announced as she slammed the receiver in its cradle, then set her feet on the floor and kicked the drawer shut with one foot. Leaning across the desk, she fixed me with her most serious, investigative-reporter stare. "My deadline is almost here, and I'm still a little thin on details. That's where you come in."
    "I'm fine, thank you for asking."
    She waved away my grousing. "Hell, it was just a little bomb. You're walking and talking. How bad can it be?"
    "Besides a blistering headache and a scar on my forehead?"
    She opened her eyes wide. "Oh, I hope it's a lightening bolt like Harry Potter."
    "And add Voldemort and the dementors to the list of people after me? Why not?"
    "If you include some vampires, zombies, and maybe a werewolf or two, you could sell your story and make billions." Flash, her pencil poised, morphed back into reporter mode. "But if a bomb is all we've got, we'll have to make due. What can you tell me about the explosion?"
    "More than you can imagine, but some of it has to be off the record, at least for now. I need your help." I took another sip as I tried to figure out how much to tell. Flash and I went way back—all the way to our time at UNLV where she worked to keep our names out of the paper and I kept us out of jail. A match made in Heaven. We'd had each others' backs ever since. I'd trust her with my life—normally a figure of speech, but this time I might have to for real.
    "I'll give you the skinny on Jimmy G's—at least enough to make you a hero with your editor. In return, I need to tell you a story that's totally between you and me."
    She chewed her lip, then nodded once.
    I settled back and opened the door to a time long ago, to memories I'd protected myself from for a lifetime. "When I was a kid, Jimmy had a place over on D.I. east of the Strip. The Danger Zone. Everybody went there. Late at night was the best. The entertainers would gather there after their last act. Often they'd play the piano and sing, just for the fun of it."
    "I've heard of that place. There was something about it." Flash's face was open, her eyes intense. "Didn't it burn down?"
    I shrugged. "Sorta. I was there." Memories washed over me. "It was late. The place was almost empty."
    "How old were you?"
    "Four."
    "What were you doing in a joint like that late at night at that age?" Indignation tinged Flash's voice, which I thought was cute—naïve, but cute.
    "Please, it was Vegas…old Vegas. And I was there with my mother. She was nineteen at the time and not long on good judgment." I leaned over and grabbed a paperweight off the corner of my desk—a golden cockroach in Lucite—a gift from the employees after dealing with one of our more creative guests. Turning the weight over and over, I stared into it as if looking through a window to