“Mr. Creed?” Gwen says. “Fries?”
I glance in the mirror.
She does that tongue thing again, and now I’m thinking fries.
That’s me, in the white rental car. Donovan Creed, deadliest man on earth. Ordering fries, a Diet Coke, and a shake at the Wendy’s drive through. Telling the guy, “I’m only going through this line once, son. Don’t fuck up my order.” Him saying, “Relax, Pops. I’m on it.”
Pops?
22.
I drive past Phyllis’s house, turn the corner, and park the car. I tell them to wait two minutes, then circle the block, and drive the car right into the garage.
“You can break in that fast?” Gwen asks.
“Faster. But I want to check the house before you guys enter, to make sure it’s safe.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Lucky says.
“Connor Payne.”
“Good point.”
I have zero interest in searching Phyllis’s house for the second time in thirty hours. Gwen doesn’t want to be here either. She’s tired and bored, and it wouldn’t take much to set her off. Lucky’s a different beast. He claims to be exhausted, but gamblers have legendary stamina. They can sit at a poker table for three, four days at a time and never lose the ability to concentrate. In other words, fatigue is not going to make him quit. On the bright side, he’s losing faith in the device, because even if he finds it, he won’t be able to use it without the wrist unit.
I’m not the type of guy to purposely create friction in a marriage unless I’m trying to kill the husband or bang the wife. And even though I’d love to bang Gwen, it doesn’t appear I need to do much more than show up with a bag of fries to make that happen. But since I’m ready to call it a day, I decide to manipulate them into a major argument.
I break into Phyllis’s house quickly, and make my way to her bedroom. From my jacket pocket I retrieve the gift-wrapped box, the one that contains Lucky’s cufflinks and a condom, and the note that says, “Your turn to get lucky!” I place the box on top of the night stand next to her bed. As I head down the hall I can practically hear the time bomb ticking. Then I go to the garage and press the button to open the door.
23.
It’s a long ride back to Lucky’s house. The two are barely speaking to each other.
When they entered Phyllis’s house a few minutes ago, I arranged it so Lucky and I would start searching Phyllis’s office, and Gwen could check the bedroom. It took about ten seconds for her to notice the gift, and she brought it to us immediately.
“Should I open it?” she said.
I asked Lucky, “Does it look about the right size?”
He nodded.
“Go ahead,” I said.
She did.
She didn’t get mad.
She exploded with fury.
“You motherfucker!” she yelled. Then threw the box at him and stormed out of the house and sat in the car.
“She’ll warm up by the time we get home,” he said.
“You think?”
We gave up the search and went to the car. Lucky apologized to Gwen for what she’d seen, but claimed the gift didn’t prove they’d ever had sex. According to him it meant she wanted to have sex with him. Gwen clung to a more literal translation.
“The note said, ‘Your turn to get lucky.’”
“So?”
“It didn’t say, ‘Do you want to get lucky?’”
“I don’t get your point,” Lucky said.
“The point is, go fuck yourself.”
Twenty minutes later I’m pulling into their driveway. The gate goons wave us through, and I park in the same place I parked earlier in the day. Gwen gets out of the car first and stomps toward the front door, while fishing her keys out of her purse. Lucky’s rushing to catch up. I get his bags out of the trunk and follow them inside. Gwen starts making a bee line to their bedroom. Lucky notices me and says, “Where do you think you’re going?”
Gwen stops abruptly and turns around.
“I was planning to check the house.”
“And then?”
“Stay in the room Tina set up for me.”
“No way.”
Gwen and I exchange a glance. She says, “You hired him to protect us, asshole.”
“He can protect us from outside.”
“What’s the problem?” I say.
“You want to know the problem?”
I shrug. “It’s why I asked the question.”
“The problem is, forty-five minutes ago you threatened to kill me. And now you think I’m going to let you sleep in my home?”
“If you don’t need me here, pay me what you owe and I’ll head back to L.A.”
“You signed on for a week. For the next seven nights, you can sleep in your car.”
“Pay me now and I will.”
“I don’t keep that much cash at the house. I’ll pay you tomorrow.”
“Then tomorrow night I’ll sleep in the car.”
He starts to say something, then sees Gwen moving quickly toward the bedroom. He runs to catch up. She gets there first and tries to slam the door. Lucky wedges his foot in the threshold just in time to keep from getting locked out, but the blow to his foot makes him cry out in pain.
There’s a lot of yelling between them and I catch myself chuckling at some of the combinations of curse words Gwen strings together. I know she doesn’t want me to see her act this way, but she can’t help herself. And Lucky isn’t helping his cause by yelling back.
“I hate to interrupt,” I say. “But I should check out that wing of the house.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Lucky says. “I don’t want you in the command center.”
“You can check out the bedroom and closet,” Gwen says.
As I enter the bedroom, Lucky rushes over to the door that leads to his command center and blocks it.
“I don’t care what you do in there,” I say. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
“If Connor Payne has been in there, I may as well be dead anyway. He can do what he wants to me.”
“I hope he does,” Gwen says. “I can’t believe you did that to me. Turned my name into a scam.”
“What name?” I say.
“Vegas Moon,” Gwen says.
“You came up with it?”
She starts to answer, but Lucky says, “Shut up, Gwen.”
And she does.
The bedroom is large, but there’s no place for anyone to hide except behind the curtains or under the bed. I check the curtains first. Then, feeling like an idiot, I get on my hands and knees and check under the bed, thinking it would serve me right if Connor Payne was under there. I check the windows, and the door that leads to the patio.
“Everything’s fine,” I say.
“Please check the closet,” Gwen says.
“Oh yes, please do!” Lucky says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Their closet is enormous. At least six hundred square feet.
I walk through it as slowly as possible, trying to decide where Gwen might have hid the device. We’re talking about a white piece of ceramic that’s smaller than a dime. I notice twelve custom drawers on her side, six on his. There are numerous rows of shoes and boots and several racks of clothes. Lou Kelly told me Lucky and Gwen got married five months ago after a very brief courtship. That being the case, I’m amazed how many clothes she’s managed to accumulate this quickly. I move my hands through her dresses, pretending to check that no one’s hiding behind them.
As I exit the closet, Lucky says, “Don’t stay up late. We’ve got a breakfast meeting at eight.”