The Stratosphere
Flicka von Hannover
I hate roller coasters.
I have always hated roller coasters.
Dieter knew that,
the jackass.
“Where are we going?” Flicka laughed, skipping beside Dieter as they wove through the crowds along the Strip.
Her hair was knotted on top of her head and tucked up under a baseball cap. Dieter wore a matching hat, thus camouflaging theirtwo blond heads that stuck out of the crowd.
Her glittery-gold little purse, the one she’d been holding when she’d escaped from Pierre, bounced on her wrist.
It’s easy to get lost in a crowd, especially at a time when they shouldn’t be there and walking to a place they never went.
But since she had nearly been kidnapped off the street, Dieter had increased their operational security measures.
When Flicka got off work, Dieter drew a card out of a deck to randomize which of many different paths and corners they would use before they were picked up by a car service at many differing locations. They’d discussed buying a car, but they didn’t plan to live in Nevada more than a few more weeks at the most. Maybe a few months, depending on whether Pierre contested the divorce. Being drivenaround in different cars every day was better operational security, anyway.
The suit of the card determined which cardinal direction they would walk. Spades meant north. Hearts were east.
The rank of the card determined their route.
A queen meant they went through casinos and out the other side to a northeastern corner.
If he drew a three, they went back around the block to other streets andpicked up a car on the southwest corner.
An ace meant they had to find a wholly new route they had never used before.
Flicka dreaded kings. Kings were a long walk through stairwells and upper floors of casinos to a far-off corner. They’d only drawn one of those so far, thank goodness.
This Tuesday, however, was one of her days off. They had left Alina with Tinashe for just a few hours to eata quick lunch together. No cocktails to deliver. No playing card draw. Just a never-before-used route to a place they never went at a time when they were never outside.
Unpredictability increased operational security.
But before they went to lunch, for some bizarre reason, Dieter had wanted to come down to this end of the Strip.
He stopped in front of the Stratosphere hotel and casino.
“Here?”she asked, peering up at the tall hotel with amusement park rides at the very tip. “What’s in here?”
“Just something I thought you might like,” he said. “We’re in Las Vegas, so we might as well enjoy ourselves.”
“Chocolate cheesecake?” Flicka ventured. “Really good champagne?”
“Nope, higher.”
She had no idea what he meant, so she followed him first through the jangling casino and to an elevatormarked that it went to “The Tower.”
The fake, mini-Eiffel Tower was over at the Paris Las Vegas, not the Stratosphere, so that wasn’t it.
Okay, fine. She followed.Whatever.
In the elevator, Dieter did not wipe that smug grin off of his face.
