double pinky swear that I’d be here. I finished off the last of the doughnuts while I watched the end of
The thing is, that latte had been good. Really good. And between sexual frustration torture and lack of sleep I really wanted another one. More than that, I really wanted a fresh pair of underwear. I know Ramirez had said to stay right here, but I was sure he wouldn’t mind if I made a teeny tiny little trip to the hotel for a change of clothes and a mocha whipped cream latte. Besides, it was only a couple of blocks away; I’d be back before he even knew I was gone.
So convincing was my logic that ten minutes later I was in a yellow cab pulling up to the front doors of the New York, New York. I crossed the casino floor to the elevators and pushed the up button, waiting with a family wearing matching shirts that read WHEELER’S VEGAS VACATION ’07. Finally the doors slid open and the Wheelers got in. I was one step behind them when someone barreled out of the elevator straight into me.
“Uhn.”
“Ohmigod, Maddie!” I looked up to see the someone was Dana, her strawberry blonde brows pulled together in a tight line as her voice went into dog-whistle territory again. “I am so freaking glad you’re here. We’ve got to go!” She grabbed my hand, steering me away from the elevators.
“Wait-what? Go where?”
“It’s your mom, dahling,” Marco said, hot on Dana’s heels.
I groaned. I’d almost forgotten about the post menopausal Bobbsey Twins to the rescue. “On no. Mom’s here?”
“No, that’s just it,” Dana said, her voice twinged with hysteria as she hustled us back out of the casino. “She’s not here.”
She paused, putting both hands on my shoulders and spinning me around to face her. “Maddie, she’s gone after Monaldo!”
Chapter Sixteen
“What?” I yelled so loud a passing blue-hair shushed me.
“We tried to stop her,” Marco explained, his mouth moving a mile a minute as he handed his car ticket to the valet. “But she was out for blood. She said she was going to kill Larry for turning you into a criminal.”
“But then we explained that no one knew where Larry was,” Dana cut in.
“Right, so then we told her about Monaldo and the shoes and the whole frame-up thing and how you mistakenly ended up in jail over it.”
“And that’s when Mrs. Rosenblatt had the vision.”
“Right, the vision.” Marco nodded.
The vision. This just kept getting better and better. “I know I’m going to regret this, but what vision?”
Dana took a deep breath. “Mrs. Rosenblatt said she saw an Italian guy-”
“Italian-
“Right. Italian-American guy. With a gun. She said he had teeny tiny eyes, a teeny tiny heart and a whole cloud of negative emotions looming over him. He was turning your aura a muddy brown.”
“Your mom was not happy about that.” Marco shook his head. “Brown is very bad for the soul. Very bad.”
“She said she wanted to teach this guy a lesson,” Dana continued. “And then my cell phone rang. It was Rico.” She paused, a goofy smile spreading across her face. “He picked up my LadySmith from Mac’s for me. Isn’t that just the sweetest thing you ever heard?”
I shook my head. “Wait, let’s get back to my mother and the mobster.”
“Oh, right. Well, as soon as I hung up with Rico I turned around and they were gone.”
“Poof, just like that,” Marco said, doing jazz hands.
“And you just let them?” I cried. “Where were you?” I asked, turning on Marco.
“Little girl’s room.”
I rubbed my temples, the tension headache from last night returning full force. “So let me get this straight. My mother is now on her way to teach a lesson to a member of the mafia because Mrs. Rosenblatt had a vision of my aura?”
“Kind of,” Dana said, biting her lip. “But that’s not the worst of it.”
What could be worse? “Oh, it gets better?”
“Well, see, before Rico called, your mom was kind of admiring my cell phone. And well, when I noticed they were gone I checked my purse. The phone was gone too.”
“Wait.” I held one hand up to silence her, tilting my head to the side as I tried to wrap my throbbing brain around this. “If they left while you were on the phone, how did they take it?”
Dana bit her lip again. “Um, yeah, see, they didn’t take
“What other one? You only have…” And then it hit me. The stun gun phone!
I smacked the palm of my hand to my forehead. If there was one thing in the world more dangerous than my mother in lecture mode, it was my mother in lecture mode with a weapon.
I whipped out my own cell and dialed Ramirez’s number, in hopes he could head off the impetuous seniors. But, of course, it went straight to voice mail. So we all quickly piled into the Mustang and made tracks for the Victoria.
My bags were still in the trunk so while Marco navigated the Strip, I did a quick change in the backseat from Ramirez’s sweats into a pair of black cargos, a rhinestone-studded tank, and my silver slingbacks. And tried not to picture Mom being stuffed into a mobster’s freezer.
Unfortunately, there was a wreck on the 15 and it took us another twenty minutes before we pulled up in front of the club. We dove out of the car and scrambled to the front doors. Since it was barely noon, there was no line to get in, the door left unguarded by the Crew Cut gatekeeper. We quickly pushed inside, blinking as our eyes adjusted from the Vegas sunlight to the windowless interior.
The dance floor was less crowded than before, though a few die hards still shook their tushies to a techno beat from the ’nineties. The big stage was empty, save for a lone Whitney Houston look-alike doing a baritone “I Will Always Love You” to a sparely populated room of convention-goers. Half the barstools were empty, the other half filled with hardcore AA dropouts who didn’t care if it was ten in the morning or ten at night. No sign of Mom or Mrs. Rosenblatt.
“Maybe they’re not here?” Dana said.
Marco nodded. “Maybe they changed their minds.”
Maybe Monaldo already had them bound, gagged, and fitted for cement loafers.
“Come on.” I motioned for Dana and Marco to follow as I wound my way to the hallway of offices. Dana clickety-clacked on her heels, Marco did his Broadway Bond slink, and I tried to make myself small so no cranky, sex-deprived cops noticed me breaking my pinky swear. We passed the bathrooms and the first “Private” door, heading straight for Monaldo’s office. I was just about to put my ear to the closed door when I heard a loud thud on the other side.
I sucked in a breath. Oh god. Mom!
My heart leapt into my throat, pure panic racing through my veins as I grabbed the handle and twisted the door open.
The first thing I felt was relief. Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt were standing in the middle of the room, unharmed, unshot, and generally un-victimized. (If you didn’t count the crimes of fashion being perpetrated by their wardrobes. Mom was wearing denim knee-length, elastic-waist shorts paired with a long-sleeved purple paisley printed shirt and hiking boots. Mrs. Rosenblatt had opted for her hibiscus-printed muumuu in an orange and avocado color scheme that hadn’t been socially acceptable since 1973.) My relief wavered, however, when I saw they were standing over a pile of crumpled man on the floor who looked suspiciously like one very not-nice mobster. The relief disappeared completely when I saw the stun gun dangling from Mom’s hand.
“Mom!” I shouted, rushing at her like a linebacker and tackling her in a big bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re
