Wanna Get Lucky? Read Online Free PDF Page A

seen the light. Now I owed him a big favor.
    Girded by the jolt of caffeine and a sense of impending doom, I opened the door to my inner office and stepped inside.
    Both detectives turned at my greeting. One stood at my wall of windows, legs spread, hands on hips, surveying the activity in the lobby below. The other, much younger detective held one of the photographs from my credenza. He hastily replaced it. A sheepish grin briefly split his face, then disappeared.
    He had been holding my favorite photograph, a black-and-white picture that showed a four-year-old me and my mom with Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr. Dean Martin held me as I smiled and reached for the camera. In short-shorts with one of her heels kicked up, my mother had thrown her arms playfully around Sammy Davis’s neck. She was beautiful—so young and full of life.
    Another time and place.
    Both of the cops were dressed as if they’d come straight from the set of one of those police dramas on television—cheap suits, rumpled jackets and serious expressions.
    “We’re looking for your helicopter pilot who was on duty tonight,” said the older one. “I assume you know why?”
    “And you are?”
    “Detective Richards.” He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a badge, which he flashed. Then he pulled out a business card and shoved it at me. He jerked his head at the young guy. “That’s Detective Romeo.”
    I looked at the younger one. He must have seen my amusement, as his face flushed crimson, and I instantly felt like a pig. I was ashamed of myself, sort of. It was late. I was tired. My head hurt. And I’m shallow—I find amusement where I can.
    I turned back to Detective Richards in time to watch his gaze wander from my face down my body then back again, apparently missing the fact that my eyes had turned into little slits at his obvious undressing. “We were told you might be able to help us.” He sounded dubious.
    “I work mainly the on-property problems. Young women jumping to their deaths at another hotel are a bit out of my purview.” The truth, but not the whole truth.
    “So you won’t help us?”
    “Can’t help you. I haven’t a clue where the pilot is. Believe me, I’m looking for him myself.” I could feel the detective’s eyes follow me as I moved behind my desk and sat down.
    The guy was starting to creep me out. Still, as far as creeps go, he was a benchwarmer in the minor leagues. I played in the majors. I’d come up through the ranks of violently drunk customers with projectile vomiting, groping hands and foul mouths, plus card sharps, thieves, petty thugs, mashers and various other minor criminals. Just imagining this pompous detective dealing with the vomiters made me smile.
    That clearly wasn’t the reaction Richards expected. He glowered at me.
    Romeo shifted nervously from one foot to the other, his eyes fixed on his partner as if watching for his cue.
    I was wondering if I was going to get the whole good cop/bad cop thing, which semiamused me, but then I decided I was too beat to stick around and play. “Gentlemen, I’m tired. I have a headache. And—” I motioned with my arm toward the wall of glass. “—out there is a hotel and casino full of problems, all of which I have to address before I get to call it a night.”
    “So you won’t tell us where the helicopter pilot is?” Detective Richards asked again.
    “I told you, I have no idea. Why don’t you try the dispatch operator, he or she may know more. You’ll find the dispatch desk in Guest Services.”
    Detective Romeo pulled out a pad and started taking notes.
    “And the video of the suicide, did you know the television station apparently taped over it after it ran on the eleven o’clock news?” Detective Richards continued.
    “Erased? Too bad.”
Bless you, Marty
. Good thing for me, lying by omission wasn’t a capital offense in Nevada—at least I didn’t think it was. “Now, please, if that’s all you want, you’re talking to