Connie slid him a sideways glance. “He was in the lobby of the Luxor when we came through.”
“Probably just a coincidence,” I said.
He was about five feet, ten inches and average build. He wore a black suit, black shirt, and black silk tie. His hair was dark and slicked back behind his ears.
“I bet he's got a purple car with a bobble-?head doll on the dash,” Lula said. “I bet he's a pimp. I guess I know a pimp when I see one. The question is, why would a pimp be following us?”
Connie and I looked at Lula.
“What?” Lula said.
Lula was wearing a skin-?tight pink stretchy T-?shirt with sexy written across her boobs in silver sequins. It had a low scoop neck showing an acre of cleavage and it was tucked into a matching spandex miniskirt.
“Hey, I'm not the one wearing a shirt asking if you got crabs,” Lula said.
I looked down at my shirt. “It's for the baseball team in Lakewood. Joe bought it for me.”
“Hunh,” Lula said.
I didn't think the guy in black looked like a pimp. I thought he looked like someone who bought GQ and took it seriously. Probably he was from L.A. and worked in the CAA mailroom.
“Let's go across the room and find a blackjack table,” Connie said to me. “See if he follows you.”
“Fine, but I can't play blackjack. I'll just stand and watch.”
“That's ridiculous,” Connie said. “Everyone can play blackjack. All you have to do is count to twenty-?one.” Connie was pulling me along by my purse strap. “I'll have Vinnie bankroll you.”
“You play blackjack.”
“That won't work,” Connie said. “I want to see if he's after you. Maybe he's the carnation guy. This way, you sit down and Lula and I can sort of fade away, all the while keeping our eyes on you. Then we wait to see what he does.”
“Here he comes,” Lula said. “He's coming along with us. He's trying not to be noticed, but I'm onto him.”
Connie tugged me toward an empty chair. “Sit,” she said, “there's an opening at this table.”
“This is a twenty-?five-?dollar table,” I said. “Aren't there any loose change tables?”
There were two men and two women already playing at the table. They were drinking and smoking and their faces were without expression. They looked like they knew what they were doing. They'd look at the dealer and tap the table and obviously that meant something. One of the women wanted to double. She lost her chips after that, so I made a mental note not to double.
When the hand was done Connie dropped fifty dollars on the table. The dealer gave me two chips and the fifty bucks got whisked away by the dealer and stuffed into a slot on the table.
Everyone put chips out, so I put one out, too. I looked over my shoulder at Connie. Connie was gone. When I swung my attention back to the table I had two cards face up in front of me. A king and an ace.
“Twenty-?one wins,” the dealer said. And he gave me a bunch of chips.
Wow. I won. I didn't even have to do anything.
Everyone else played out their hands and then we all started again with new chips on the table. I put mine out, too. The dealer gave me two cards face up. A six and a jack. Panic. I had to add. A jack was worth what? Ten? Okay, ten seemed reasonable for a jack. So I had sixteen. I looked around. Everyone was waiting for me to say something.
The dealer asked me if I wanted a card. More panic. I didn't want to go over twenty-?one. I had to subtract. I hate to subtract. “Sure,” I said. “Give me another card.”
The dealer asked me if I was certain I wanted another card. “You have a six showing and the book says not to take another card,” the dealer said.
I didn't know what book he was talking about, but all the other players agreed with the dealer and the book so I decided not to take a card.
The dealer had a six and a ten on the table. He dealt himself another ten. “Dealer busts,” he said.
And I got another chip. Hot damn. No wonder people liked to gamble. This was easy.