Vegas Moon

7.

“The initials LP were shaved out of her bush,” I say to Callie.

“Did you verify that personally?”

“No. I trusted her.”

“Is she in heaven now?”

“With Saint Peter you mean? Instead of Lucky Peters?”

“Hard to think of Lucky Peters as a saint.”

“What else do you know about him?”

“He’s seeking investors.”

“For what?”

“He wants to build a sports book facility. Vegas Moon, he calls it.”

“Vegas Moon?”

“Biggest Sports Book under the Sun. That’s his slogan.”

“Makes sense. About him owning a sports book.”

“Casinos aren’t happy about it.”

“I suppose not. You know anything about his wife?”

“Nope. Just that she’s a young trophy. He keeps her out of the public eye, for the most part.”

“What does he look like?”

“Lucky? Yucky.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Charles Manson in a Stetson.”

“That’s a happy thought,” I say. Then add, “Are you still home?”

“What do you need?”

“A shower, and the suit I left there.”

“Got a date?”

“I’m hopeful.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Gwen.”

“Who’s that?”

“Lucky’s wife.”

“Does she know you’re coming?”

“Not yet.”