Page 2 of Femme Fatale
“Mary Williams. It’s good to meet you finally, Selene.” She chuckled at the face I made.
“Buck was married?”
Mary shook her head, adding a comforting smile. “I’m his sister.”
“Shit." I held up a hand. “Sorry. He never mentioned anything about family.” Why had he not left everything to her?
I followed her inside, past the lobby, and into an office decorated for the seventeenth century. In fact, the entire house, from what little I had seen, was decorated that way.
“I can see it on your face, Selene. So, I’ll go ahead and explain. I had no interest in the casino or the hotel. I didn’t want the responsibility of managing this land, though, the brothel sits on twenty-five of the two hundred acres and is mine through perpetuity.”
“You enjoy the brothel?”
“Sounds fucked up, I know. But I make sure the girls are treated well, are paid well, and get whatever they want out of life.” She lit a cigarette. “Buck would have it no other way. He once told me to celebrate his life, not be sad in his death. I want the same thing.”
“How can I help?” I asked, maybe more for Buck than myself.
Mary finished her cigarette and took a deep breath. “Zeke Smalls. The man hated Buck. He owns two brothels outside Vegas. Treats his girls like shit. He hates competition. Buck warned him with bodily harm if he ever came near me or my girls.”
“Which means he’d done it before the warning,” I said.
Mary nodded and tapped her ash into a crystal ashtray shaped like a clamshell. “He’s a fucker. He gets rough with the girls and pays off the right people. He’s been quiet since Buck died, but I hear he’s hiring muscle. I don’t trust it.”
I got up and walked to the window, looking out at the sun-blasted parking lot. My mind spun gears fast, round and round. Zeke, the girls, the land, and above all, the sinking sense thatinertia is dangerous, that grief is a luxury I can’t afford. “How many girls work here?”
“Six full-time. Four part-time,” Mary said. “Most come and go. Some are students, some send money to their families back east. The clientele is loyal, but you know how Vegas works. Loyalty comes with a price.”
I’d made my own way through years of silence, and I could hang in it as long as needed. Eventually, I turned from the window. “Has anyone threatened them, or you, directly?”
Mary’s lips curled into a half-smile. “That’s the thing. With Buck gone, the threats aren’t just coming from Zeke. There’s a vacuum over the whole operation. No one’s saying it, but girls have left without warning, and clients are getting pushy. Zeke’s taking advantage of the chaos.”
“How soon before he makes a real move?” I asked.
She stubbed out the cigarette and exhaled smoke through her nose, like a dragon in silk pajamas. “He had a girl turn up in a ditch three months ago. Nobody in the papers cared enough to get the story straight, but word on the street is Zeke’s got someone new doing his dirty work. A woman. She's contacted two of our girls.”
“Got a name?”
Mary got up and walked around the room. “All we know is that she goes by the name Dark Shadow. As far as I know, she’s not from around here.”
I started to reply, but stopped when my phone buzzed. The message was from Marty Stephens, my casino manager: I need you back here ASAP. Four women are in your office. Looks like they could kick my ass.
Chapter Two
Selene
Igunned the Harley into the Aces Wild parking lot at dusk, Vegas sky bleeding out in bands of blood-orange. Neon from the casino’s front caught and scattered across my handlebars, flare-white and sharp enough to blind me for a second. I killed the engine and sat there, listening to the V-twin’s after-rattle echo against cinderblock. That sound always left my nerves keyed up, Dad’s ghost thrumming in every piston stroke. I took a breath and tasted burnt oil, the tang of ozone curling at the back of my throat. Only then did I notice the motorcycles crowding my reserved spots. Not tourist bikes. Custom jobs, high-end, lacquered in deep-candy colors. The backs of the seats were draped with leather vests.
I swung off and ran my hand along the tank. The old bastard gleamed even under Nevada grime. The casino loomed above.
The doors hissed shut behind me, and I was back in my kingdom, the familiar, humming heart of it. The pit boss caught my eye, sweat bleeding through his shirt, a neck tattoo peeking out. He nodded, just a tilt; I gave the same back. It was old code, nothing showy. You don’t make a scene in your own house. We called him Boss. He was one of my hires.
The scent inside was a blend of stale filtered air, cigarettes ground to ash, and the faintest mix of colognes and perfumes. I’d gotten used to the smell and the sounds. The slot machines did their work, a thousand voices in white static, never letting up.
I hadn’t gone ten feet before I felt all the security eyes boxed in on me. Then I remembered Marty’s text. Four women are in my office. Not a bachelorette situation. Something else, something that brought gravity.
I moved across the floor, past retirees gripping their players' cards with dreams of riches, past cocktail girls in matching uniforms, each one with that same smile, their Broadway dreams gone brittle. Vegas could make your dreams come true, but more than likely, Vegas dashed all hope.
I didn’t break stride. I’d learned to never move too fast, and never let yourself slow. You walked like someone who expected people to clear a lane, and most of them did. The back hallway led me to the conference room. Whatever waited, it wasn’t going anywhere.
