Free Ink Flamingos by Karen E. Olson

fairly comfortable financially, as well as my staff. Even in hard economic times.
    It always surprised me that I’d get someone in my shop who had lost a job and was paying me from an unemployment check. While the businesswoman in me was happy to have the client, the woman in me wanted to tell them to keep their money and come back when times were better, when they’d found a job, when a tattoo wasn’t going to take food or rent money out of their pocket.
    Jeff and I had had this conversation; he tended to think we shouldn’t get emotionally involved in it. If someone were out of work and down on his luck, maybe getting a tattoo would give him a little more confidence. Jeff liked to think of it as his good deed.
    We dealt with it in different ways, but when it came down to it, I did the tattoo, too.
    It was a little bit of a walk down to Caesars, but it was a nice night and we walked in companionable silence. We crossed the Strip and saw the fountains at the Bellagio start to dance. Part of me wanted to join the crowds that had gathered, cameras on tripods, to watch. I still worried that Tim would see me and I’d catch hell from him.
    We reached Caesars and made our way through the Forum shops. It was as surreal as the Venetian as we passed the Trevi Fountain, complete with a statue of Zeus. The “sky” had darkened overhead, and I spotted a kiosk selling brightly colored scarves. Again I was distracted and wanted to browse.
    We heard the music as we got closer, but it was a familiar tune sung by deep voices.
    “Beatles cover band?” Jeff asked, frowning as we approached Cleopatra’s Barge.
    I had moved ahead of him a little and turned toward him when he spoke.
    And slammed right into someone.
    I turned back, my heart pounding when I saw who it was.
    Tim.

Chapter 12
    H e was not happy with me. Other people who didn’t know him might not recognize the crease in his forehead that only appeared when he was really furious about something. But I saw it. I knew what it was. This had totally been the wrong thing to do.
    “You must be Brett’s brother.” Harry made it worse by stepping toward Tim and holding out his hand.
    Tim’s eyes flicked toward Harry, then Jeff, then back to me.
    “I should’ve known. And now you’re even adding to your contingent.”
    Jeff reached into his front breast pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, tapping one out and sticking it between his lips before putting the pack back.
    “Is she here?” I asked, figuring while Tim would still be mad at me, he might actually slip up and tell me something.
    Turned out, he didn’t have to. Before he could answer, Flanigan came off the barge.
    “Wild goose chase,” he said to Tim before he spotted me standing there. “What are you doing here?”
    “Keeping my ear to the ground, like you asked,” I said, trying to turn the tables on him. “What do you mean, wild goose chase?”
    Tim put his hand up to keep me quiet, but Flanigan, to my surprise, said, “What does it matter now?” He turned to me. “She’s not here. She never showed. Neither did that manager. Are you sure they said they’d be here tonight? Because the bar manager says he’s never even talked to a Sherman Potter.”
    “That’s what he said,” Harry spoke up. “He said they were going to be here. He invited us.”
    “That’s right,” I said. “I don’t know what’s going on.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jeff Coleman taking a pack of matches out of his pocket.
    “You quit,” I scolded, reaching over and taking the matches and the cigarette out of his mouth. He grinned.
    “Mr. Coleman,” Flanigan said. “What are you doing here?”
    “Wherever my sister goes, Coleman goes,” Tim muttered.
    I wanted to argue with him, but sometimes it was true. I didn’t want to get into that. “So where are we now? Square one?”
    “More than you know,” Flanigan said. “Potter checked out of the Venetian shortly after your visit.”
    “So you have no