The Missing Ink

Chapter 43

Jeff was right: I didn’t have time to stand here and contemplate how he’d gotten there and why he’d barked orders at me. Simon’s head bobbed among the crowd, and I kept my eye on it as I weaved in and out among the slot machines. Soon I was past the slots and amid the tables: blackjack, roulette, craps. People huddled over them, their eyes wild with hope and despair.

I could get cynical, but I can’t lie. Vegas is a great place for a tattoo shop, and I make a lot of money off those dreamers who came here looking to win big but didn’t. They wanted to go home with something, and saying, “Hey, I got this tat in Vegas,” sort of made up for it.

Sure beat a T-shirt.

I wondered what Simon Chase would look like in a T-shirt. So far I’d only seen him in a suit and tie.

And as I had that thought, I realized now I couldn’t see him at all.

I stopped and scanned the room, all the heads looking identical to one another, even the bald ones. They became a blur, and I blinked a few times to get my focus back.

There he was, leaving the casino, going toward the lobby.

Not a good place for me. Not enough places to hide. All those mirrors.

I sped up slightly, because I didn’t want to lose him again, even though my heart had started pounding with the possibility of getting caught by Bruce Manning again and, if not, how I would approach Simon about why he was following me around in a Dodge Dakota for the last couple of days.

Somehow I hadn’t pictured that as his vehicle of choice. I saw him more as a Ferrari sort of guy, maybe a Maserati. Something cool, like those guys on Entourage would have.

He was a little older-sort of like Kevin Dillon but way better-looking. I could so see him in Entourage. Entourage International, maybe.

I reached the hallway that led to the lobby, where the mirrors started. I had no choice but to just boldly forge ahead.

Simon Chase was standing by one of the big, lush floral displays, talking to a young woman in a skintight black dress, her dark hair all tousled in that fashionable way, her long legs stretching into those same Kenneth Cole shoes I had my eye on.

I didn’t like her.

Simon Chase seemed to, however. He was laughing, leaning toward her, whispering something in her ear. He squeezed Skinny Girl’s hand and walked away, whistling. Whistling. Yikes.

Simon began chatting up the concierge, and I saw the futility in this quest. I wasn’t going to catch him in anything. I didn’t exactly want him to know I’d followed him, either, but he’d put two and two together if I approached him casually and said, “Fancy seeing you here.”

“You got the hots for him, Kavanaugh?”

Jeff Coleman sneaked up behind me, making me jump.

“Don’t do that,” I hissed.

His leer made me squirm.

“He’s smooth, but I’d stay away from him.”

“Oh, yeah? And who do you think you are, my father?”

Jeff clicked his tongue and shook his head sadly. “He’ll break your heart. He’s broken others.”

“Kelly’s, for one,” I said before I could stop myself.

But Jeff wasn’t exactly waxing sentimental about his ex-wife tonight. “Yeah,” he said absently before changing the subject. “Can you find out if your brother’s still looking for me?”

“He is,” I said. “You should just go talk to him. Tell him the truth.”

He snorted. “Like he’d believe me, Kavanaugh. You and I are not the upper end of society, you know. You just got a pass because he’s your brother, or you’d be sitting in a holding cell right now for that guy’s murder.”

“They fingerprinted me,” I said.

“They had to. The guy got stuck with a needle. One of ours.”

“I remember. You don’t have to tell me. I saw him.” I shuddered as I pictured it in my head. “You know, he was in my shop. Wanted a devotion tat, like Elise Lyon. He didn’t show up at your shop after that, did he?”

Jeff’s expression changed, but I couldn’t read it. I never liked to look that closely at him anyway.

“Not that I know of,” he said. “I can check with my mother. She’s been holding down the fort.”

“Hey, what about Matthew? Did you see where he went?”

Jeff shook his head. “Lost him.”

I wasn’t quite sure how you could lose a six-four, bald, heavily tattooed man, even in the casino crowd. But before I could make a snide remark, he surprised me.

“You can’t sing.”

“What?”

“That karaoke thing, tonight, at Viva Las Vegas.”

“You were there?”

“I got a call.”

“What? You got a call? A call from who?”

Jeff shrugged. “Someone left a message to meet you there.”

“Meet me-” I stopped. Someone had texted me to have me meet Simon Chase and it was a lie. I told Jeff about that, and added, “Do you think someone’s setting us both up?”

Jeff sighed. “I’ve thought about this, Kavanaugh, and I just don’t see why. I mean, I haven’t seen Kelly in a long time. I don’t know this rich bitch everyone’s looking for. I just do my job. What’s the motive?”

I was stuck on that, too. Unless it was totally random. Whoever was moving all the pieces had found us and decided we’d be part of the game. The tattoo needle fit into that theory.

“Listen, Jeff, I’m tired. I need to go home and get some sleep and get up and go to work tomorrow. I’m tired of this cat-and-mouse crap. Let’s call it a night.”

“Don’t tell your brother you saw me,” he said, just before turning and walking away, back into the casino.

I had to go that way, too, so I could get my car from the lot.

It had cooled down to about eighty degrees, and I felt like I could even use a sweater. Go figure. I put the top down on the Mustang, eager to enjoy the night air, and eased out of the lot, heading the car toward home.

The flashing lights bounced off the rearview mirror. Familiar lights, and not of the neon-sign type.

I pulled over, grabbing my license and registration out of my glove box.