As I settled back and plotted my next moves, I rubbed at something sticky on my fingers. It had smeared onto my phone as well.
Bits of brown dust flaked off where the substance had dried. I powered up my phone screen and almost screamed, but managed to keep my terror quiet.
The driver was oblivious to my predicament.
There was blood on my hands and my dress.
3
Mario
The driver didn’t appreciate the knife I’d stolen from Ringo. Holding it at his throat probably didn’t help. To appease him, I offered him a hundred dollars to cancel the prior ride and take me to the airport.
My mistake.
Instead of driving south, he drove north.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to go to the programmed destination.”
“No, you don’t. You canceled it.”
“Please, mister? Don’t kill me.” His hands were shaking.
Logistically, Ringo would expect me to divert the car to the airport. “Fine.” I’d find another ride from wherever this car landed. I’d have to plan how to avoid him when I got to the private flight hangar. I had a knife. Would I need more than that? Naw. I’d disarmed Ringo without even thinking.
“Thank you so much, I mean, for not robbing me or killing me, or?—”
“Shut up and I’ll give you an extra fifty. Not one word, got it?”
He nodded quickly and zipped down the side streets to avoid the traffic on the strip. There was still a bottleneck by the convention center, and another delay as we passed the Stratosphere. I squinted at the road ahead. The only things up here were strip clubs and… wedding chapels.
Right. Her sister was getting married.
I felt awful now.
Well, more awful. Ringo nicked me good. I’d soaked through my shirt, and the expensive Italian wool suit jacket I wore was working overtime to absorb the blood. At this rate, I’d bleed out before I left Las Vegas.
The driver pulled into one of the larger wedding chapel complexes. The billboard overhead advertised complete wedding packages, including on-site tuxedo rentals and costumes for themed events. I handed off the fifty and got out.
Out of habit, I scanned the area for resources.
Across the street was a tattoo parlor. They would have antiseptic and gauze. I looked both ways and crossed.
The artist on duty took my cash, handed over what I asked for without questions, and let me use their restroom. After wrapping the wound, I could maneuver much better. Luckily, it wasn’t as bad as it looked. I’d survive. I just needed clean clothes. Preferably something without branding on it that would make me stick out in the exclusive airport lounge.
And I knew just the place. I prepared to cross the street again.
Right as I did, two things happened. First, a dog walker lost their grip on their diminutive Yorkie who got spooked by a motorcycle and sprinted ahead of me, and second, a gray sedan arrived at the chapel. Ringo stepped out of it.
The stupid dog ran straight at my nemesis. But the traffic on the strip was faster than its little legs could move. It froze right in the middle of a lane of oncoming traffic. The owner screamed for help. I ran into the road, scooped up the dog, and sprinted the last bit of distance giving me the momentum to dive into the parking lot, cradling the bundle of fluff as I hit the pavement where I rolled to a stop at Ringo’s feet.
“Here.” I jumped up, handed him the dog, and slipped inside the wedding complex. That should keep his hands busy for a few moments.
Just before the glass doors behind me slid shut, the dog’s owner offered Ringo money for his heroic rescue.
He’d have to decline, then they’d argue over it, buying me two minutes while I found a place to hide. Excellent. Another plan sorted and executed without a hitch.
