3 Sin City Hunter Read online

  A last check in the mirror, and I was satisfied with my look for the evening. I had chosen to wear a burgundy-red sweater dress with long blousy sleeves and a scoop neckline. It settled a few inches above my knee. I loved the dress because it was more fitted than most and didn’t need a belt to show off my figure, and for as much and as hard as I played racquetball, I was very happy with my figure. I pulled on brown leggings and a pair of brown suede, slouchy, calf boots.

  My shoulder length blonde hair had been blown dry and had just enough fluff to look soft and pretty. My bangs were trimmed a couple of days ago, so they were creeping past my brows, but weren’t in my eyes.

  My first stop would be dinner to appease the grumbling stomach. I left the room, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button for the ground floor. I shook my head again that my room was on the 13th floor. How many hotels have a 13th floor - especially in Las Vegas when you hoped to have good luck? I giggled and decided to count it as good fortune. Darby wasn’t with me on this trip, and I only seemed to get into trouble when he was around. Things should be smooth sailing this week with my parents.

  I exited the elevator and made my way toward the casino. I loved the exciting atmosphere of the hotel and couldn’t believe how much there was to see in one building. I passed several restaurants, but had already made the decision to have dinner at Wolfgang Puck.

  I found the restaurant in the center of the bustling casino floor. I entered and requested a seat at the bar. The restaurant had a nice bar area, and I didn’t want to monopolize a table on a Friday night.

  “What can I get for you?” asked the bartender.

  “I’d like a glass of Riesling, please,” I told him. He nodded and turned to get the wine. I didn’t ask to see a menu, but when he set the glass of wine in front of me, I asked, “Do you have Reuben sandwiches?”

  I loved the sandwiches and tried to make them at least once a week for me and Darby. I always ordered a Reuben in a new restaurant and was interested in how others made the sandwich – Russian dressing or thousand island, classic or marble rye, corned beef or pastrami, very sour sauerkraut or mild. Some people used provolone rather than Swiss cheese, which is profane if you ask me.

  “We have Reuben’s on the lunch menu,” said the bartender, “but let me see if Chef will prepare one for you tonight. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thank you,” I said with a smile as he walked away.

  I turned to observe the diners in the restaurant as well as the players in the casino. Two sides of the restaurant were open giving a view to the action on the casino floor. It was an interesting design concept and quite enjoyable.

  A man came into the restaurant and sat down at the end of the bar to my left. He made eye contact with me and nodded his head. I smiled a small smile and looked away. I instinctively reached for the ring on my left hand and turned it to be sure the diamond was prominent in its position. I didn’t want any advances and hoped the ring would send the message loud and clear.

  I stole a second look at the man. He was sitting with his hands folded in front of him, and he was slumped forward a bit. I couldn’t help it, but a small giggle escaped. He was wearing a plain brown suit and a somewhat rumpled dress shirt with a tie which had been loosened. His hat, a small, brown bowler, had been placed on the bar beside him.

  I wasn’t giggling about his tired attire, I was giggling at his face. He wasn’t unattractive, but he had a very prominent chin with a deep cleft. I had only ever seen a cleft similar to this one on one other man – Detective Bentley with the Carbide City Police Department. Where Detective Bentley had dark features, this man’s were much lighter, and I quickly thought of the cartoon character Dudley Do-Right. I giggled again.

  The bartender returned and caught me smiling to myself. He gave the bar a light slap with the palm of his hand and said, “Chef said ‘no problem,’ and your Reuben sandwich will be right up.” I thanked him as he moved on down the bar to take the man’s order which was a shot of Jack Daniels. He must have had a long day.

  The bartender returned to me and said, “You look familiar. Have you been in here recently?”

  My first thought was he didn’t have a very original line if he was trying to pick me up, but I simply said, “Nope. This is my first trip to Vegas, and I just arrived today.”

  “Wow,” he said with a disappointed inflection. “I usually never forget a face, and there’s something familiar about you. Your look certainly isn’t common,” he said with a big smile, “and I should know where I’ve seen you before.” I shrugged my shoulders. There was no way he had ever seen me.

  He left to run back to the kitchen again and returned a minute later with my sandwich. “This looks fantastic,” I told him with my eyes wide and shining. “Thank you.”

  The sandwich was amazing. It was made with pretzel bread. Who would have thought of that! Well, obviously, Wolfgang Puck, but it was such a creative choice. And it was sooo good. I ate the entire thing and topped it off with another glass of wine. It was an absolutely perfect dinner.

  Dudley Do-Right left the bar just as I was finishing my meal. I was smiling to myself again. The poor man didn’t deserve to have my mind naming him after a cartoon character, but if I saw him again on this trip, he was forever Dudley to me now.

  The bartender returned to remove my plate, stopped suddenly, and snapped his fingers. He not only had a big smile on his face, he started laughing and said, “I know where I’ve seen you before.” I didn’t like the sound of this. He was definitely laughing at me. “You’re the chick who was on the news tonight!”

  “What?! What?!” I sputtered. My eyes were wide. This couldn’t be good. What was he was talking about, and why would I be on the news?

  He was obviously enjoying my confusion. “Any time the Blue Ball Blades hockey team comes into town, the sports guys like to make fun of them. They’re on a losing streak right now,” he paused to laugh again and said, “and they really need a new name.”

  Oh my gosh! My heart immediately began to sink. Blue Ball, Ohio was in the southern part of the state. Who knew the hockey guys on the airplane were from Blue Ball of all places, and why were they in Cleveland instead of flying out of Cincinnati? Just my luck.

  “How bad was it?” I asked. I could feel the red creeping into my face.

  He laughed harder and said, “It was bad. But you were cute. Let me grab my phone, and I’ll see if I can show you.”

  I wanted to slide off the stool and sink into the floor. If he recognized me from the evening newscast, what if other people did, too? I suddenly felt as though everyone was staring at me.

  “Here you go,” he said still smiling as he handed his phone to me. He had already cued up the report from the two sportscasters. I pushed the play button.

  “Bob, the Blue Ball Blades hockey team arrived today and will be trying this weekend to break a six-game losing streak. These guys are surely frustrated, but you wouldn’t know it from the videos we received from onlookers at O’Hare airport this morning.”

  “That’s right, Steve. Take a look at this. We received several cell phone videos of these guys running through the airport to catch their plane after an extended layover in Chicago. It seems the main focus of the video takers was on Dell Grady, the team’s star right wing player, and Scotty O’Brien, the center. Grady had a woman hanging on his back, and O’Brien was running with a purse slung over his shoulder and carrying a pink suitcase. Do you think these guys could give us any more fodder for jokes, Bob?”

  Oh my gosh! The videos had been cobbled together to make one video of the guys running through the airport, and it was obvious I was bobbing up and down on Dell’s back. As the video showed the guys running away from the cameras, I wanted to die. My sweater had ridden up and I was centimeters away from showing a plumber’s crack.

  “I’m telling you, Steve, it’s just too easy. Our very own Jessie Manchip caught up with Dell Grady a few hours ago and had this short exchange with him.”

&nb
sp; “Dell. Dell. Who was the woman in the airport this morning, and why was she on your back?”

  There was a close-up of Dell with a huge smile on his face. He proudly proclaimed, “Oh, that was just Susan. I was giving her a lift to the gate, and let me tell you, it was great fun, and I’d like to do ‘er again.” He nodded to the camera as he walked away from the reporter.

  Jessie Manchip turned to the camera and said with a big grin, “Well, folks, you heard it, too. It was just Susan, and Dell wants to do her again.”

  Bob and Steve were laughing so hard neither of them could speak. Bob finally managed to say, “The Blue Ball Blades need to get their act together and start winning some games. Once they do that and get rid of some of their frustration, they definitely need a name change.”

  Both men started laughing again, and they cut to commercial. I looked at the bartender with miserable eyes and said, “Please tell me this was a local sportscast and not ESPN or some other major broadcast.”

  The bartender could obviously see my distress, but he couldn’t help much. “It was local, but several of the videos are already on YouTube, and Dell Grady is pretty popular, so …” he let his words trail off, ending with one soft word under his breath … “viral.”

  If Dudley hadn’t already left, I might have moved down to the end of the bar to join him. I moaned to the bartender, “Give me a shot of Jack.”

  He smiled and poured the shot for me. “Don’t worry about it, Susan,” he said. Oh, sure, now the bartender knows my name thanks to Dell. “It was funny, but the focus was more on the team and their name. It’ll all be forgotten in a day or two, especially if they win.”

  “Thanks,” I told him dryly and threw the shot back. I paid my bill and walked out into the casino.

  Twenty minutes later I was up $2,125!

  After leaving the restaurant, I sat down at a Wheel of Fortune slot machine. I was hitting more non-winning spins than winners. I was contemplating moving to another machine, when I hit several winning spins in a row. I stuck with the machine and watched my win amount creep up over $100. I told myself I would cash out after two more spins. The second spin hit on $1,000 x 2. I squealed in delight, and several people came over to stand and watch as the machine racked up the credits on both lines. They could all laugh at me now. I didn’t care. I was a winner! I grabbed the cash voucher ticket, slipped it into my purse, and decided to move on. A small tussle erupted behind me as two women started arguing over who was next at the machine.

  I walked past the poker room, but was still excited over the slots win and didn’t feel like sitting still with a poker face. A boisterous crowd at a craps table drew my attention, and I walked over to watch the action. A grandmotherly-type woman had been rolling and winning for the table. The crowd was elated until she rolled a seven. They then offered up a collective groan. Some people stayed at the table, others took their winnings and left.

  I moved to the rail, placed a $100 bill on the table in front of me, and said, “Change, please.” The dealer gave me ten chips, and I placed one on the pass line. A grizzled old man was up to roll next, and he rolled a seven. Everyone cheered. Just like that, I was up $10.

  I played fairly conservatively by playing the pass line with odds, occasionally placing a come bet, or betting 6’s and 8’s. My winnings grew little by little. The player to my right left the table, and a good-looking, distinguished, gray-haired gentleman moved into the open space. He was dressed stylishly in obviously expensive clothing and was sporting quite a bit of bling.

  He nodded his head to me and smiled. I checked to be sure my ring was prominently positioned on the rail and gave him a little smile back. I kept my focus on the table. The current shooter, a cowboy from Texas, was on a roll and had made several points. Everyone at the table was loud and having fun.

  As the man beside me waited for the next come-out roll to be able to start playing, he leaned my way and said, “You’re playing well. I’ve been watching, and I see you play with caution, yet you win. Do you have a system?”

  “Nope,” I sort of bandied his way. I didn’t want to start a conversation with the man.

  He threw his head back, laughed, and said, “Well, then you must be one lucky lady.”

  The cowboy’s run finally ended with a seven and another collective groan from the players. The dice were presented to the man beside me, but he declined and passed to me saying, “Go ahead lucky lady. Rub some luck off on all of us.”

  I was up a couple of hundred dollars by now. It wasn’t a huge amount, but I had been at the table for a while, and it had been a lot of fun so far. I hoped this man wouldn’t spoil the experience.

  I placed a $10 chip on the pass line, and then with a mischievous smile, placed a $10 chip on the table and told the stickman, “Prop bet number 11 please.”

  The man beside me smirked and said, “You won’t stay lucky making sucker bets!”

  I ignored him and tossed the dice. They appeared to move in slow motion. The eleven was such a high-odds bet, I was sure the man would say something even more derisive when I lost the chip. The dice bounced off the rubber pyramid at the end of the table and danced back along the green felt. They settled, and the crowd cheered again. The red dice were showing eleven. Not only had everyone who bet the pass line won, but I made a quick $150 by betting on the eleven.

  The man beside me laughed a boisterous laugh again and said, “Well, well, well. Lucky lady you are! Roll again, baby.”

  Baby! Ugh. Nobody calls me baby, not even Mick. I really didn’t like the vibe I was getting from the man. I rolled again. And again. And again. I had control of the dice for almost 45 minutes. People were happy, they were loud, and they were making money. I was kicking myself for not betting on more numbers and having higher odds.

  I knew my luck was going to run out soon, and I had a quick flashback to my childhood. Aunt Charlotte and I used to sit and roll dice. We would will the dice with our minds to come up with the numbers we wanted. It happened so often, it kind of freaked us out at times. I remember telling her once, “Watch me roll double sixes,” and the sixes came up. I looked at her and said, “I can do it again,” and I rolled the double sixes. We laughed and I said, “I can do it one more time, Aunt Charlotte.” She said I might be pushing the dice gods with three, but I assured her I could do it one more time. I rolled the dice and double sixes came up. We were awed and a little frightened for a moment, but then we burst into laughter. I loved rolling dice with Aunt Charlotte.

  The memory made me smile. I had chips with odds at different points on the table, but I wanted to make the bigger bet and call my number. I placed $100 in chips onto the table and told the stickman, “Prop bet double sixes, please.”

  Several people at the table said “ooh,” and a few laughed and shook their heads. Before I picked up the dice, I announced, “I’m going to roll double sixes. Anybody want to join me?”

  The cowboy studied me for a moment, and with a big grin, he pushed his cowboy hat back from his handsome face and called to the stickman, “I’m with her!” as he tossed a $10 chip onto the table.

  I picked up the dice and looked around the full table. A couple of women had their fingers crossed. Everyone was smiling and hoping for another winning number to come up. I gave another impish grin to everyone, and for few seconds, I concentrated on the dice and on double sixes - just like I used to when I was ten years old.

  I tossed the dice. The cowboy let out an ear-piercing yell and the crowd went wild. Double sixes! I won $3,000 and the cowboy won $300.

  The man beside me reached over, grabbed me from behind by my shoulders, and pulled me in his direction to give me a hug and say, “Congratulations, lucky lady. That was some miracle.”

  I pulled away from him and collected my winnings. I knew I could do it again. I could feel it. With a big smile, I announced to everyone around the table, “I’m going to do it again. Anybody want to come with me?” I put another $100 chip on the table for the stickman to put on double
sixes.

  Everybody laughed. I knew many of them wanted to try, but the odds of rolling double sixes twice was too high, and just about everyone held back. The cowboy put another $10 chip on the table for the bet, and so did a husband and wife who were playing together. As I reached for the dice, the man beside me announced, “Lucky lady she is. I’ll take that bet.” He put a $500 chip on the table.

  I picked up the dice and concentrated hard, willing the double sixes to come up. I tossed them down the table. It didn’t feel like slow motion this time. They were down the table, off the rubber, and sitting still on double sixes. The group roared with excitement, and the cowboy went bonkers. The man beside me picked me up off the floor in a big bear hug and whirled around in a circle with me in his arms. I hated being manhandled and pushed against him so he would put me down, but it was hard to be too mad while I was grinning from ear to ear.

  “Lucky lady, you are the lady for me!” he crowed as he settled me back on my feet. “That was fantastic! I just won $15,000 thanks to you.”

  True, he had won $15,000, and I had picked up another $3,000. Another memory flashed into my mind. “It was “time to quit while the quittin’ was good,” Aunt Charlotte would say. After everyone settled down a bit, I shook my head and said, “I’m afraid I don’t have any more, and this run is over.”

  I removed all of my bets with the exception of one lone $10 chip on the pass line. I waited to see if anyone wanted to reduce their bets. Only the cowboy and the husband and wife followed my lead. The next roll was a seven. It ended my run, but what a run it was. I had nearly $6500 in winnings. I asked the dealer to color me up, which would give me the highest denomination of chips, so I would have fewer to carry away with me.

  The man beside me was still smiling and was writing his number on a napkin. “What’s your name, sugar?” he asked. “Here’s my number. You call me if you’re going to play again while you’re here. I want to be at the table when you are.” He picked up my hand to shove the napkin into it followed by a $500 chip. “This is for you,” he said. “You were my lucky lady tonight.” His eyes lit up, and he said, “As a matter of fact, come on, I’ll take you out for a drink.” He grabbed me by my arm.