Free Lucky Flash: A Lucky O'Toole Novella (The Lucky O'Toole Vegas Adventure Series) by Deborah Coonts

place of worship and reverence, which I guess I was.   Music played in the background—a loop of the oldies but goodies I’d helped the Big Boss compile.   Fun times.   Curiously, Liberace crooned I’ll Be Seeing You as I staked out my place, holding up the wall, waiting for my father.
    Elvis’s sequined jacket from his last concert in Vegas hung on the wall above the case holding the ring, next to a signed guitar from B. B. King and sheet music to My Way signed by Sinatra.   These were my favorite things in what I referred to as the Big Boss’s music corner.
    Leaning against the wall, I watched tourists wander the room partaking of bits of Vegas’s heritage.   Music had been almost as important as gambling in the heyday, luring visitors to make the long hot drive through the Mojave from L A.   Of course, the Mob and a possible brush-up against bad was a lure as well, but I tried not to focus on that.   Although I was born into that world, it wasn’t my Vegas.
    As if hearing his cue, the Big Boss strolled through the door acting like he owned the place, which stood to reason.   Casually, he cased the room, checking every detail, every nuance for the perfection he demanded.   His eyes paused and then moved on as they brushed over me.   Working his way in my direction, he graciously greeted those who stopped him, spending time and attention on each.   Since I’d left him, he’d added a suit jacket and his diamond tie-bar—just enough bling to fit with Vegas expectations.   Matching diamond cufflinks flashed where they peeked out of his coat sleeve when he reached to shake someone’s hand.
    The personification of Vegas, someone had described him in an article recently.   Smart, savvy, good, with just a hint of bad.   He’d thought the description perfect.   “If I was all good, what would they talk about?” he’d said with a grin.
    Finally, he made stood in front of the case. When he found me looking at him, he gestured to the bauble resting inside the case.   “I told you it was still there.”
    I shouldered in next to him.   “I had no doubt.”
    “The real one is in Detective Romeo’s custody, you say?”
    “I’ll need to have it authenticated, but I’d stand by that.”
    “You don’t need to.   Not unless there’s more than one fake floating around.   While we were visiting upstairs, my guy tested this one.   Jerry had a whole team of security down here.” He lifted his chin toward the shiny bauble nestled in velvet under glass.
    “So this one’s glue, or whatever they’re making the fakes out of these days.”   It wasn’t a question.   I glanced at his face, red with anger. “I know mother has you on the brink of homicide, but don’t do anything stupid.   If you want to kill somebody, at least give me the time to figure out who.”
    He didn’t agree, but I saw a bit of rational trickle back into his posture.  
    “How did you end up dealing with Johnny Pismo?” I asked.
    “He came to me with his cock-and-bull story.   I didn’t believe him.”
    As I thought.   I blew at some hair that tickled my forehead.   “Who would?   That guy has more angles than a geometry test.   But don’t worry.   Acute or obtuse, I can straighten him out.”

    The Bazaar hummed with activity as I paused in the doorway.   This close to dinnertime I felt a burger was in order, or at least a hug from the chef.   I had gone too long without and was feeling the pangs.   I dove into the sea of humanity and went with the flow, fighting my way to the side when I arrived in front of the Burger Palais.   Yes, I am on the record as having opposed that name.   I lost.   I wasn’t broken up about it—Jean-Charles seemed happy, so I was content in defeat.
    A few of the folks waiting in line gave me a dirty look as the hostess waved me through.   The energy didn’t drop by much when I stepped into the welcoming confines of the restaurant.   Jean-Charles’s transformation of the prior