Lucky Bastard Read Online Free

someone who had seen more than his share of the bad things in life.
    A fact that broke my heart just a little.
    I watched and listened as Romeo instructed his men to secure the scene. He supervised them until, apparently satisfied, he turned to me. Pulling a spiral-bound pad from his inside coat pocket, he flipped it open, then wetted the end of a stub of pencil on his tongue. Glancing between Dane and me he said, “I should separate you two, go by the book. But with our history, why bother?” He turned, focusing his words on me. “You’re probably eight steps ahead of me already anyway. You gave me the overview on the phone, so just give the rest to me straight, okay?”
    “When have I ever not…” I trailed off. Better not to open that can of worms. So, I did as he asked—straight as I could. As I talked, trying to remember every detail, even the seemingly unimportant ones, the young detective scribbled, his brows furrowed. “The call from Dane came in at…?”
    Dane started to answer.
    Romeo silenced him with a frown. “You’ll get your chance, Cowboy.”
    I raised my eyebrows at my detective friend. Like a spark, a hint of humor flared in his eyes then quickly faded. The kid was growing into his badge. Somehow, I didn’t feel like celebrating. One more cockeyed optimist thrown under the reality bus.
    Scrolling through my phone directory to the most recent calls, I said, “Two forty-two.”
    Romeo made a note. “This dealership is a concessionaire, right?” He glanced up from his notes. At my nod he continued, “I need to know who owns it, and who has access.”
    “Frank DeLuca owns the place. Give me an hour to get you the rest.”
    “DeLuca?” Romeo’s brows snapped together making him look older than twelve and somehow a bit more serious. Perhaps he ought to think about that as a permanent look. Could they do that with Botox?
    Stress and panic had clearly fractured the few functioning brain cells I had, letting loose random thoughts to ping around my empty skull. Terrific.
    “DeLuca? As in the pro poker player?” Romeo continued. “I went to Bishop Gorman with a couple of his kids.” A local Catholic high school, Bishop Gorman had educated the best and brightest of most of the old Vegas families.
    “One and the same.”
    “I’d like to talk to him,” the kid muttered as he made a note. “Although after that dustup with his daughter…” Romeo’s cheeks reddened as he glanced at me and shrugged.
    “Nothing like having history in this burg, huh?” I said with a hint of resignation and a sharp nip of reality. “A lot of people live here, but it’s still a small town.”
    “Tell me about it.” Weariness hung heavy in his voice. The kid looked barely old enough to drive. How much history could he have? “Would you happen to know where I might find Mr. DeLuca?” he asked, his pencil poised.
    “You’re in luck. He qualified for the Sin City Smack Down.”
    Romeo’s face creased with puzzlement. “Smack Down? Isn’t Mr. DeLuca a bit old for cage fighting?”
    “Poker. It’s a poker tournament almost as important as the World Series of Poker. What rock have you been living under?” I felt like a creep the minute I said it—I don’t normally feast on unseasoned detectives. The hurt look flashing across his face didn’t help. “Sorry, I forget not everyone lives in my happy little corner of the universe. The Smack Down is the Super Bowl of Texas hold ’em and this weekend is the final table. The hoards descend today—the nine players who qualified, the media, celebrities wanting some face time, the hookers hoping to land a whale, and folks just needing an excuse to misbehave. Tournament play starts day after tomorrow. Each interminable moment will be televised to the world from Teddie’s old theatre.”
    There, I’d said his name. Teddie. I held my breath waiting for a reaction. Nothing happened. My pulse remained steady. My heart didn’t constrict to the size of a raisin.