“Hey!” Slim Jim yelled.
“Uh…” Dana said, biting her lip. “Well, kind of…”
“You’re not here one week and you’re cheating on me with this guy?”
“Hey!” Slim Jim said again. “What’s wrong with this guy?”
“You know,” Mrs. Rosenblatt piped up, “this is just like the time my third husband, Rory, thought I was foolin’ around with the dry-cleaning guy. Only that time-”
But she didn’t get to finish. Before anyone could stop him, Rico swung one meaty fist in the air, missing Slim Jim’s jaw by millimeters.
“Holy crap!” Slim Jim yelled, ducking. Rico came in for another try, swinging his left fist this time. Slim Jim crouched behind a Lucky Seven slot machine. “Holy freakin’ crap!” he yelled.
“Rico, no!” Dana cried, grabbing on to the back of Rico’s shirt. It ripped as he lunged for Slim Jim again, looking frighteningly like a scene from The Incredible Hulk as Rico’s bared muscles flexed, his fist making another dive at Slim Jim. Jim skittered behind a fake tree.
“Somebody call the police!” Marco shouted.
Dana pulled out her cell and dialed 911. But before she could even get the call out, two security guards came rushing up. They each grabbed one of Rico’s arms, which was almost effective in holding him back. Almost. Hey, the guy was about a thousand pounds of pure muscle. He charged at Slim Jim again, a security guard dangling from each arm like a puppet. Slim Jim ducked behind a street sign, one of the guards called for backup, and Marco screamed for Dana to call the police again.
She did. And this time they arrived. Five minutes later I was treated to my second Vegas PD encounter of the evening as three uniformed officers pushed their way through the growing crowd of onlookers. Much to the relief of Slim Jim, who was starting to look tired of bobbing and weaving. I didn’t blame him. Actually, I was kind of impressed he’d lasted three rounds with the Jolly Green-with-jealousy Giant.
The first two uniforms helped the two security guards restrain Rico. The third stared at Dana, uncomprehendingly. Because, of course, with our luck, the LVMPD had sent us Officer Baby Face.
“Dana?” he asked. “What’s going on?”
Dana looked like a deer caught in the headlights, her gaze whipping from Rico to Slim Jim then back to Officer Baby Face.
“Uh…”
Ever helpful, Marco stepped in. “See, Dana had a date with this guy Jim, but she totally forgot about it because Maddie set it up for her and then her boyfriend, Rico, got into town-”
“Boyfriend?” Officer Baby Face yelled, clearly hurt. “You have a boyfriend?”
“Uh…” Dana said again.
I elbowed Marco in the ribs. “Not a boyfriend boyfriend. More like someone she just dates occasionally.”
“You went out with me when you were dating someone else?” Officer Baby Face asked, and I feared he was on the brink of tears.
“You went out with this guy too?” Rico growled, his face going red, steam starting to pour out of his ears.
“Uh…” Dana looked from Rico to Marco and me. “A little help here?” she pleaded.
“Oh, come on, fellows,” Marco said, stepping up. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?”
Three pairs of angry eyes turned his way.
Marco whimpered and jumped behind me.
“Okay, clearly this is all just some big misunderstanding,” I said, trying to diffuse the situation. “See, I’m the one who-”
“Wait!” Mrs. Rosenblatt cut me off, slapping her palm over the bulging veins on Rico’s forehead. “I’m having a vision!”
Oh. Good. Lord.
Mrs. Rosenblatt rolled her eyes back in her head, doing her Dawn of the Dead impression. “I see…a donkey. A big, strong donkey.” Mrs. Rosenblatt snapped her eyes open. “You got a pet?”
“Ha!” Slim Jim said, popping out from behind the street sign machine. “She thinks you’re an ass.”
Rico growled and lunged for Slim Jim again, dragging the security guards and LVMPD with him. They may have held his arms, but his legs were free. And considering Rico was trained in fifteen different forms of martial arts, this was a huge oversight on the LVMPD’s part. Rico coiled one foot back like a snake, then shot it out toward Slim Jim, catching him squarely in the face.
“Uhn.” Slim Jim rocketed backwards, bouncing to a stop against a Deuces Wild machine.
“All right, that’s it. You’re all asses!” Dana yelled. She turned to Officer Baby Face, who looked like he was trying to remember if this had been covered in the manual. “You,” she said, pointing a finger at him. “Yes, I’m seeing Rico.”
Office Baby Face opened his mouth. “But-”
“But,” Dana continued, “I went out on one date with you. One! It’s not like I promised I’d marry you. I mean, hello? Does this look like the body of a married woman? I don’t think so.”
Officer Baby Face clamped his mouth shut and found a piece of dirt on the floor suddenly very interesting.
“And you,” Dana continued, turning on Rico, who now that he’d made contact with Slim Jim’s face seemed freakishly calmer. “Who do you think you are that you just go around picking on poor defenseless little wimps like that?”
“Hey!” Slim Jim called from his crumpled position on the floor.
But Dana ignored him. “Rico, that was the worst display of jealousy I have ever seen. And I work with actors! You are a grown man, not some little boy playing soldier. Get a grip or I’m walking, pal.”
Wow, I was impressed. She was taking tough chick to a whole new level.
“What about me?” Slim Jim asked.
Dana rolled her eyes. “Hello-you talk to my breasts. Get a life!”
Slim Jim pouted. Either that or his lip was swelling.
“Now,” Dana said, crossing her arms over her chest, “You three children can go on squabbling if you like, but I just shot a man and I’m tired. I’m going upstairs to get some sleep.” Dana turned around and marched toward the Chrysler elevators. “Maddie?” she called over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
Considering the testosterone level down here, that was a no-brainer. “Wait up,” I called, doing a mini jog across the casino floor to catch up to her. Marco, Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt followed close on our heels.
By the time we made it upstairs, I was beyond exhausted. Dana and Marco took one of the double beds and Mom selflessly fit her five-foot-one frame onto the rollaway. Which left me sleeping with Mrs. Rosenblatt. Or, more accurately, occupying the sliver of bed left over after she rolled her 300-pound frame into bed. But I honestly didn’t care. I closed my eyes, hit the pillow, and fell into the first good night’s sleep I’d had in weeks.
I awoke the next morning to the sounds of Marco getting into the shower. I rolled over and checked the digital clock radio display. 10:15. God I loved sleeping in. I rubbed my eyes and stretched as I sat up in bed. Dana was on the other double, watching a show on beating the blackjack dealer.
“Where are the gruesome twosome?” I asked, yawning.
“Your mom and Mrs. R.? They went to breakfast across the street at the $4.99 pancake buffet. Why, you hungry?”
I nodded. Actually, I was. I realized as my stomach growled that I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday morning. Dana dialed room service and ordered a fatfree yogurt cup with strawberries and granola for her and bacon, hash browns, and French toast with extra whipped cream for me. (Hey, I’d almost died last night. Life was too short for health food.)
While we waited for our dome-covered trays, I plugged my cell phone into the wall and checked my messages. There were so many my inbox was full. The first batch were from last night, Dana and Mom both calling frantically to find out where I was and if I was okay. The next was from Tot Trots, saying that if I didn’t turn in my designs for the Rainbow Brite jellies by Monday, I could kiss my job goodbye. I did a few mental calculations, figuring that if we left first thing in the morning, didn’t hit any traffic, and I stayed up all night, I might still be employed next week. Maybe.