Sammy Keyes and the Showdown in Sin City Read Online Free PDF Page A

thing, depending on if you were coming or going.
    The McKenzes are ahead of me, rolling along their suitcases, and Marissa’s sort of lagging behind her mom, who’s talking on her cell phone. I catch up to her quick, and she whispers, “I told my mom I didn’t want to leave until I was sure your mom was here.”
    “But my mom’s not coming!” I whisper back.
    “I know! But your mom’s got a reputation for being flaky, right? So I’m thinking we’ll say that she’s flaked again. We can’t leave you here!” She looks ahead, keeping an eye on her mother. “I told her you’d never been here and had never flown before and were kind of a basket case because your mom’s marrying your boyfriend’s dad.”
    My eyes pop. “You told her all that?”
    “What else was I supposed to say? Sammy, you being here is
crazy
.”
    “Sorry. No. You did great. And thank you for not just leaving me here.”
    She snorts. “Believe me, you do not want to be thirteen and alone in Las Vegas. Especially if you’re a girl.”
    Mrs. McKenze is about ten steps in front of us and so intent on talking on her phone that she hasn’t even noticed that Marissa’s dropped back to walk with me. I take a deep breath. “So what did your mom say about what you told her?”
    “She thinks your mom’s a selfish diva.”
    “Really? Wow.” I hesitate. “And here I thought
I
was the one she didn’t like.”
    Marissa eyes me like, Well, yeah. There’s that, too. Then she says, “But she’s got bigger things to worry about than your bad influence.”
    “So what’s
her
plan? Where’s your dad?”
    Just then we hear Mrs. McKenze cry, “He’s
what
?” She staggers to the nearest chair and falls into it like a rag doll. Her hand’s shaking like mad as she holds it over her eyes. “Was it Leon?”
    “Uh-oh,” I whisper to Marissa as we stand by watching her mother shaking, because this is sounding really bad.
    Like maybe he’s
dead
.
    “Leon’s his favorite dealer,” Marissa whispers back, like that explains everything.
    “What’s it called?” Mrs. McKenze asks, rummaging around in her purse for something to write with. Shescribbles on a scrap of paper and says, “I have no idea how to do that.”
    We just hold our breath, waiting and watching while Mrs. McKenze listens for the longest time. And while she’s listening, I try to decipher what she’s scribbled on the scrap of paper. It looks like
Clark Co Det Cntr
, which I figure is Clark Company Det-something Center, but I haven’t figured out what the Det-something is yet when Mrs. McKenze gets off the phone.
    “What is it, Mom?” Marissa asks. “Is Dad all right?”
    Mrs. McKenze is panting. Hyperventilating. “That was the security manager at the casino.” She pinches her eyes closed. “Your father,” she finally says, “is in jail.”

FIVE
    “Jail?”
Marissa gasps. “What did he do?”
    Now, the McKenzes have always been really hush-hush about their personal problems. Marissa’s not
allowed
to talk about them, and I do understand that … kind of. But it’s not just that Marissa’s parents don’t want her bagging on the family like a lot of kids at school do with theirs. It’s that they have an
image
to uphold. They want to be seen as “successful investors.”
    From what I’ve been able to figure out, a “successful investor” makes money investing other people’s money. In what, I’m not sure, but I think the stock market’s a big part of it, because all the McKenzes’ problems started when their stock investments took a nosedive. And I guess if you’re playing with other people’s money, you don’t really want them to know that you’ve got financial problems yourself—especially not a gambling problem.
    So where Mr. and Mrs. McKenze used to just project success—you know, with their cars and their mansion and the way they dress and act and all of that—since their finances went in the toilet, they’ve also become supersecretive. And