Lucky Flash: A Lucky O'Toole Novella (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series) Read Online Free PDF

house with my mother.   Nobody new could hold a candle.   I focused on the bauble.   “That’s got to be a fake.”   The security at the Babylon, while not impenetrable, was damn solid.   I couldn’t imagine one of these bozos pinching the ring without sounding all kinds of alarms.
    “This one is the real one,” Johnny Pismo gave me a knowing look.   “You got the fake one in your case.”
    My disbelief must’ve been written across my face.
    “Look,” Pismo continued, warming to the story, “the Big Boss put you on my tail, right?”
    So now I knew why the Big Boss sent me after the half-wit—it wasn’t Pismo he was after.   It was the ring.   He should’ve given me a heads-up.   I’d try to remember that when I gave my boss a piece of my mind, assuming I had any left after all this.   “So you tell the Big Boss your story about the ring, that Busta’ Blue has the real one and the Babylon has been insuring a fake.   He doesn’t believe you.   And you decide to prove it by stealing Busta’s?”
    Johnny nodded. “And a good plan, too.   Well, until Busta’ Blue came home unexpected.   But I knew the Big Boss would keep an eye on me, just in case.   I’m sure he probably will get the ring in his case checked, maybe might have put that into gear, but things with me sorta escalated pretty quick.   I just talked to the Big Boss a few hours ago.”   He glanced at Flash.   “I didn’t know I’d end up with the second-string though.”
    “Delegation, it’s what I do.   And you were darn lucky to have her chasing you all over town.   Had it been me, I would’ve wrung your sorry neck and been done with it.”   I held out my hand, and, swallowing hard, Johnny Pismo dropped the ring into my palm.   I hefted it a couple of times.   It felt real.   But you could say that about most of Vegas; that was the sleight of hand.   “Liberace,” I sighed his name.   I longed for the old days, when the Mob kept the peace, everyone knew the rules, and the entertainers were exactly that, without fancy mixing and huge productions, and near-naked backup performers to compensate for the headliners who were long on charisma and short on everything else.
    “You’re not helping,” Romeo said out of the corner of his mouth.  
    “This is Vegas.   He was a god.”
    Romeo held out his hand.   I shook my head.   “Belongs to the Big Boss.”
    “It’s evidence.”
    Reluctantly I handed it to him.   “Lose it, it’s your ass.”
    He knew I was half-joking.   Without even giving it an appreciative look-see, Romeo dropped it in an evidence bag and pocketed it.   “You took this from Busta’ Blue?”   Romeo’s voice held a hint of awe.   “You might not have much, but you got balls.”
    Johnny managed to look slightly incensed.   “He stole it first.”   He put his hand out, palms down as if pressing on an invisible table, or tamping down escalating emotions.   “Look, I can’t prove it, but there’s some guys in town, they’re stealing the real stuff replacing it with fakes.   Nobody’s the wiser.”
    “How do you know that?”
    “Pawnshop downtown.   I tried to fence a piece I lifted from the storage room at Hard Rock.”   Like I said, Johnny Pismo wasn’t the brightest bulb.
    Romeo looked amused.   “Busts usually aren’t this easy.”
    “You’re going to arrest me?   Hey, I put it back,” Pismo squeaked, a post-pubescent reaching for the high note.   “Besides, I’m on a case.   Yes, that’s it; it’s all part of a scavenger hunt.”
    “And gunfire on Fremont Street, according to these ladies here.”   He motioned to Flash and myself.   “Patrol confirmed reports of gunfire.”
    Johnny Pismo waffled.   “I didn’t mean for that to happen.   I was shooting for the stars, in a manner of speaking.”
    “On a case?”
    “Well, in a manner of speaking.”
    “You a PI now?”
    “In training.”
    “He’s all yours,” I said to Romeo.
    “What is