I tuned out the conversation that followed as I sat down on the toilet lid and finally scrolled through the missed text messages Nick had left for me earlier that morning. My fingers hovered over his number on the screen, but it was late and we should both be asleep.
I set my phone aside and splashed cold water on my face. As I toweled off, I pressed an ear to the door before slipping out of the bathroom and tiptoeing around the foot of my mother’s bed. The eye mask she’d insisted on buying was on, along with a pair of bright orange disposable earplugs. I nudged Vero awake. She sat up and rubbed her eyes.
With a sigh, she rolled out of the bed and scraped a hotel key off the dresser, tucking it into her back pocket as I reached for the complimentary stationery and pen on the desk and scribbled a note for my mother.
Couldn’t sleep. Gone to the casino with Vero. Back soon.
Hopefully with all of our fingers and toes. And hopefully with Javi.
“How exactly does this work?” I asked Vero as the elevator doors opened to the lobby.
“Probably the same way it did the last time I was here. One of the pit bosses at the Tropicana saw I was on a hot streak and pulled me aside. He told me if I wanted to borrow some cash to play the higher-stakes tables, I should go to the Royal Flush and ask for a valet named Ricky. If Marco’s interested in a meeting, Ricky sets it up.”
“We can’t just go to Marco’s office?”
“We’d never find it,” she said, leading us past the front desk toward the revolving doors. “Marco rotates his meetings between all the big hotels. Even Ricky doesn’t know where Marco will be until he sets the appointment.”
Vero slammed her hand down on the silver bell atop the concierge desk. A valet materialized beside her and silenced it with his palm. He glanced furtively around the lobby as he tucked it under a shelf.
“You’ve got some nerve coming back here,” he said in a low voice. “You can’t just borrow two hundred Gs and ghost a guy like Marco Toscano. You got me in a lot of trouble. I vouched for you.”
Vero flicked the name badge on his jacket. “Then it’s your lucky day, Ricky, because here I am. Go on, call him.”
“Hell no! You cost me a perfectly good gig. Why should I stick my neck out for you?”
“Why? I’ll tell you why,” she said, jamming a hand into her pocket. “Because I’ve got a Glock twelve eighty-four in here and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“Twelve eighty-four?” Ricky’s face screwed up at the finger-shaped bulge in her coat. “Is that even a thing?”
That’s not a thing,I mouthed at her.
“It’s totally a thing,” she said, jabbing it into the side of his ribs and making him jump. “Now get on the damn phone.” I pressed my mouth shut.
Ricky looked around us, but none of the members of the drunkenbachelorette party stumbling out of the elevator seemed to notice that his hands were up. “Look,” he said, “even if I wanted to get you a meeting with Marco, there’s no way I could. That disappearing act you pulled over Thanksgiving cost me my side hustle. Marco cut me off. He said I was a bad judge of character because I was the one who referred you to him in the first place. He quit taking my calls after you lost his money and skipped town.” Ricky waved his phone at us. “Rolls straight to a recording.”
Vero pulled her hand from her pocket and held it out. “Let me see that.”
Ricky smirked. “See? I knew you weren’t really packing—”
She spread two fingers and poked them in his eyes. He yelped, blinking back tears as she snatched his phone. She scrolled to Marco’s name, tapped the screen, and put the phone on speaker. Just like Ricky said, the call rolled to a recording. Vero left a message for Marco after the tone.
“You want me, you got me. I’m here, asshole. You have something of mine, and I demand a parley. You know where to find me.” She disconnected, shoving the phone back at Ricky.
“A parley?” he said, rubbing his watering eyes. “Who do you think you are, Jack Sparrow? This isn’tPirates of the Caribbean.”
She waited a beat as she studied her nails. “Answer that.”
“Answer what? It’s not even…” His phone vibrated. His eyes widened as he glanced down at the text message on his screen.
“Well?” Vero snapped a finger in front of him. “What did he say?”
Ricky tucked a finger in his collar and dragged it away from his Adam’s apple, gesturing for us to follow him through the revolving doors of the hotel. He stepped to the curb and raised a hand, letting out an ear-piercing whistle. A taxi squealed to a stop in front of us. Ricky leaned in the window and gave the driver an address.
“Where are we going?” Vero asked as Ricky opened the back door for us.
“You wanted a parley? You got one. Get in.”
CHAPTER 5
