“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s a good life.”
“Is it?”
“When I’m not bored out of my skull.”
While waiting, I take a minute to wonder why pretty girls are always bored at home.
Soon she says, “Here he comes. In the cowboy hat.”
“They’re all wearing cowboy hats.”
“He’s the one looks stupid in it.”
“You don’t mean…”
“I do. That Jesus freak in the sandals? Wearing the cowboy hat?”
“That’s Lucky?”
“In the pock-marked flesh.”
He looks worse in person than he did in his photo.
Thirty minutes later the three of us are in my car, heading toward PhySpa. Lucky’s riding shotgun, Gwen’s sitting behind him.
Gwen says, “When we get to the next intersection, turn right.”
“We don’t have time for that,” Lucky says.
“I want Mr. Creed to see what he’s protecting.”
“He’s protecting us.”
“C’mon, Lucky, it’ll only take a second.”
He sighs. “Fine.”
I take the next right a half block, turn left into a paved entrance that ends twenty feet into the vacant lot.
“Put your brights on,” Gwen says.
I do. The extra wattage illuminates a large sign, thirty yards in front of us. It says, Future Home of Vegas Moon! Underneath that, in smaller script, are the words Greatest Sports Book under the Sun!
“This is the most valuable vacant lot in all of Las Vegas,” she says.
“I don’t doubt it.”
“And it’s going to be named after me.”
“Shut up, Gwen,” Lucky says.
“I’m just proud, is all.”
It’s not my business to ask what she means about the name, so I say, “Well, it’s a great piece of land.”
“That’s where I’ll be buried someday,” she says.
“Oh Jeez,” Lucky says. “Not this again.”
“I’m going to be buried there someday,” she says. “And you have to respect my dying wish. If I die before you open the sports book, I want you to bury me right smack under the sign.”
“I will,” Lucky says, “Sooner, instead of later. If you don’t shut the fuck up.”
I think it’s an odd thing for her to say. I seriously doubt the city fathers of Vegas would allow someone to be buried on commercial land a half-block off the strip.
“Can we go to Phyllis’s office now?” Lucky says.
I follow his directions to PhySpa, then do a drive-by to check the lay of the land. I make a circle, pull into the parking lot, circle the building.
“Looks clear,” I say.
Phyllis’s car has been moved, so I park in her space and sit there a minute, looking around. It’s too dark. Phyllis would want a light back here where her car is.
“Stay put,” I say, then get out of the car and look around. By the time my eyes get to her roof line I notice her security light isn’t working. I get back in the car, drive it to the business next door, and park behind their dumpster.
“I’m wearing heels, remember?” Gwen says.
“Why didn’t you stay where you parked the first time?” Lucky says.
“The security light was aimed at us.”
“So what? It was probably broken.”
“It could be on a timer. If the timer’s off by a few hours, the light could come on and attract attention.”
“Wow,” Gwen says. “You think of everything!”
“It was obvious,” Lucky says. He’s annoyed. I would be too, if I’d had a colonoscopy this morning and spent the
