Page 10 of Full Tilt
Jimmy Ray answered the phone on the fifth ring but talking was impossible. Loud music blasted from behind him, and the chaotic sounds of a hundred voices shouting and screaming almost drowned him out.
“Hello, what?What?”
“Mr. Ray,” I had to shout. “I’m your driver.”
“What? I can’t hear a fucking thing.”
“I’m from A-1 Limousine—”
“Who the fuckisthis?”
I rubbed my eyes. “Elvis. Elvis Presley. Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated…”
“Look, whoever this is, I’ve got a damn catastrophe on my hands. Call me back.”
More shouting and then it all turned muffled. The guy had probably put the phone in his pocket without hanging up.
I ended the call on my end and checked the time. Just after two a.m. On the darkened street, no lights heading my way, no one coming home. I glanced inside at the nameless girl.
“What am I going to do with you?”
The urge to take her back to the Pony Club and hand her back to the bodyguard was a strong one, but that poor bastard probablyhad his hands full.
I shut the passenger door to the limo and got back behind the wheel. This whole scene felt seedy and wrong. I wanted to get her someplace safe and while taking her to my apartment wasn’t exactly kosher, it was better than seeing her splayed out drunk in the back of a puke-splattered limo.
“I hope you realize this is highly irregular,” I told her as I navigated out of the Summerlin estates. “Totallynotin the employee handbook. In fact, I seem to recall watching an educational video about this sort of thing, How Not to Get Sued Into Oblivion. Step one, don’t take your fares home with you, especially if they are of theblacked-out drunk and femalepersuasion.”
At two in the morning, Vegas showed its dark underbelly. The streets were filled with the most desperate: gamblers hoping to salvage some of their losses, hopeless drunks, drug dealers and prostitutes. This was the Vegas I hated, but as I crossed the Strip, heading east, I passed the Bellagio. My smile returned. There was real beauty in Las Vegas. You just had to know where to look.
The Bellagio’s lobby ceiling was one place. In my rearview was another.
The girl passed out on the long seat threw one tattooed arm over her eyes and gave a little moan.
“We’re almost there,” I told her gently. “You’re going to be okay.”
CHAPTER
FOUR
I pulled the limo to the front of my apartment complex. I lived in a cement box of a building, with pale gray stucco and crooked railings peeling lime green paint.
“I know it’s not the luxury villa you’re used to,” I told her, “but beggars can’t be choosers, am I right?”
The girl, still deep in her booze-soaked nap, wasn’t in a position to choose anything.
I parked the limo along the side of the building as close to my first-floor apartment as I could get. Illegally parked but hidden from the street.
I jogged to my front door, unlocked and opened it, and flipped on the light near the door. Back at the limo, I climbed in and sat beside the girl.
“Hey,” I said, nudging her arm gently. “Hey. Can you wake up for me?”
She didn’t stir.
“Shit.” I heaved a breath. “All right, here we go.”
She was a slight thing, maybe 5’5” and couldn’t have weighed more than a buck-ten, but the alcohol had turned her to dead weight. Her limbs were limp, and her head lolled. Istruggled to get her out of the damn limo without banging her head on the door. I hoped to half-carry, half-walk her inside, but she was like jelly, oozing out of my arms.
I sucked in a deep breath and lifted her under her knees and back, cradling her, so that her head rested against my chest.
