Kitty and the Dead Man's Hand (Kitty Norville 5)

This is a completely mundane, ordinary trip. I shouldn’t need any of that kind of help.”

Rick hid his skepticism well. “Just in case. It won’t hurt you to meet him.”

“You said he has some good stories. Did he know Frank Sinatra?”

“I think he knew Elvis. And Bugsy Siegel.”

I had to admit, that was pretty cool. “Fine. Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Thank you,” he said, giving a genuine smile that made it hard to stay mad at him.

“So, ah. Anything else? ’Cause I really have to get back to work.”

He tapped the letter in his hand, and his grin showed fangs. “I’ll need a new envelope.”

Chapter 3

Finally, we were on our way. Despite all my grousing, once we got on the plane, I was convinced this was the right thing to do. The radio show, visiting Rick’s vampire friend, all of it was perfect. This was an adventure. This was going to be awesome. Whether we would have any time on the trip to spend on a vacation was up for debate. Ben kept giving me dark looks. Going to Vegas was supposed to make everything easier. So much for that.

We marched out of the baggage-claim area to go outside to find a cab. I could hear it now, my entrance music: a full Hollywood orchestra playing a zippy, peppy version of “Luck Be a Lady.” Frank Sinatra on my arm, smiling jauntily as we left the airport. . .

Even in September, the heat outside the airport hit me like a brick wall.

“Holy crap,” I said.

“Just remember, this was your idea,” Ben said, squinting at the glare of sun on blacktop.

“Was it? You sure it wasn’t yours?” The recording of “Luck Be a Lady” playing in my head sputtered and died.

I’d never been to Las Vegas. I was interested in seeing how the reality measured up to the hype, propagated in countless TV shows, movies, and ads. Mostly what registered on the cab ride to the hotel was the heat. Baking, shimmering, blinding heat. It made the whole city seem like a mirage rising out of the desert. The air-conditioning costs alone must have been phenomenal. It only added to the amusement-park unreality of the place: towering buildings of glass, structures representing every kind of fantasy—pyramids, castles, Italian palazzos, Roman columns, pirate ships—set down in a clump on the Strip, incongruous.

This place was on crack.

Ben pointed to a billboard for a production show: Bite. Strategically covered topless showgirl vampires leered out at us, baring their fangs. “You don’t think those are really vampires. The supernatural’s not so mainstream now that there’s really a vampire show.”

I shook my head. “Those women aren’t really vampires. They have tans.”

“Ah.”

But I had to wonder—how long would it be before someone got that bright idea?

Ben wouldn’t let it go. “But they could be spray-on tans. We could go see it in person. Check it out, just to make sure.” He looked a little too hopeful.

“I don’t think that’s really necessary,” I said. “I don’t need to go see topless showgirls.”

“It’s not like a strip joint. It’s tasteful entertainment.”

Topless fake vampires were tasteful? I didn’t want to be having this discussion. “And why are you so interested in topless girls? Topless girls who aren’t me? It’s kind of sleazy.”

“Hey, this time last year I was a swinging bachelor and most of the women I met were in the drunk tank at the Denver PD. I’m all about sleazy.”

“You’re not making me feel any better.”

He just laughed. He’d been teasing me the whole time, so I mock-punched him in the arm. He was probably getting a bruise there.

My parents were flying in tomorrow, in time to have dinner and see my show. We’d agreed that they’d have their own vacation here, and while we’d meet for a couple of meals—and the wedding, of course—their time was their own. I’d have my hands way too full with the show to be much fun. But at least they’d be here for the ceremony itself, and that was what Mom wanted. The wedding would happen Saturday, after the show was done and over with and I could stop feeling like I had to work. We’d found the Golden Memories Wedding Chapel, right on the Strip. They offered a package deal. It wasn’t as obnoxious and sappy as some of the places we looked at via online virtual tours. Which wasn’t to say it wasn’t obnoxious. I had never see so much white tulle in one place in my life. My sister Cheryl wasn’t able to come—too busy with kids, her husband too busy with work, and she didn’t want to come without him—but wished us well, expressing gratitude that I wasn’t going to inflict a revenge bridesmaid dress on her. Now, that was an opportunity I hadn’t thought of. It might have made a traditional wedding worthwhile.

The taxi pulled into the hotel’s drive.