Кэрол Дуглас - Cat In A White Tie And Tails

The Cat Pack is the elite fighting cadre I put together for protecting my Miss Temple in matters involving major weapons, like a loaded handgun … in her purse. Not good. We all wear ninja black.

Ma Barker lurches in front of me. “Front and center, you volunteers,” she orders, her slightly skewed gaze raking every black-haired dude or doll in the clan.

“What about Three O’Clock at Gangsters?” Ma grumbles to me under her breath. “We need a geezer?”

Since she is probably older than my esteemed sire, Three O’Clock Louie, gourmand and restaurant mascot, that was a low blow.

“No time to fetch him.” Miss Louise blows past me to address the clan. One swipe of the fluffy train on that youngster’s skirt puts enough fine hairs and dander into my eyes and nose to shut down sight and speech for half a minute.

“We could use a special team of the tuxedos,” she adds.

A smaller but equally triumphal roar goes up. I have to admit these guys and gals look pretty sharp with their spanking white bibs and faces, white gloves and sox and formal black topcoats everywhere else.

Sadly, those snappy white areas also make it easier for predators to spy them in the dark. You cannot beat nose-to-tail black for camouflage.

Once I can sneeze out her loose hairs, I go abreast of Louise and whisper in her little perked ear. “Those tuxedos are a mixed bag when it comes to nocturnal operations,” I warn her. “Ma Barker will shorten our tails in tandem if we lose any of her gang.”

“Relax, Daddy-O. I have this upcoming clash of Titans thoroughly scoped out. All we have to do is throw a big monkey wrench in the unfolding events, and our guys at the Oasis will come out up on top.”

“We do not have any guys at the Oasis.”

By now the grateful tuxedos are making like a Broadway chorus line in front of Louise, they are so delighted to be asked to dance at our party.

Miss Midnight Louise, I am thinking, is biting off more than I can chew.

Chapter 45

Million-Dollar Collar

“It’s either you or Molina,” the semi-familiar voice on Temple’s smartphone intoned with resignation when she answered. “I much prefer you, Zoe Chloe.”

“Um … is this Rafi Nadir?”

“My job’s at stake. My access to my daughter’s at stake. The Amy Winehouse of Las Vegas Boulevard is MIA. I need an insty, gutsy MC by eight tonight to replace the celebrity hostess that nobody knows. I figured you could do the job in a pinch.”

“Who gets pinched?”

“Hopefully no one. It’s for the prize drawing on the million-dollar see-through treasure chest at the Oasis. You have heard of that?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to resurrect Zoe Chloe. You just need someone to announce?”

“Like that creep Buchanan did on the body-in-the-safe event. You were there. You could probably do his job, right?”

“Yes. Is this dangerous?”

“I will personally keep a bead on your ass.”

“That is not encouraging.”

Rafi chuckled. “I have a feeling you are just what the situation needs. In case things get crazy.”

Temple had a feeling too, a feeling that Rafi wasn’t telling her everything he knew, or suspected. “The hotel honestly, truly had a semi-celebrity cancel?”

“Yeah. This ditzy dame named—”

Temple had a metaphysical moment. “—Savannah Ashleigh.”

“Exactly right.”

“And I just have to—”

“Hold a mic. Welcome suckers … I mean, eligible gaming card holders in the audience. Announce the winning card number after the executive manager spins the barrel and draws a winner. Then let the winner gush and the executive preen.”

Temple ran through her short-notice wardrobe possibilities for something that went with a million dollars. Thanks to Bahama Mama resale, it was a go.

So she told Rafi.

* * *

The gig would keep her mind off Matt, so suddenly out of town on mysterious business. Temple could handle an audience, but nowadays she was used to being an anonymous PR person standing on the sidelines like a referee, yelling out encouragement and cringing at errors.

This was not “her” event. Yet here she was positioned in a spotlight in front of the Oasis Hotel’s security force, arranged in an impressive semicircle around the glittering prize in front of the two-story-high elephant statues to either side.

Rafi had even arranged that she’d stand in front of the live elephant imported for the event, not at the back, where an anonymous jumpsuited man with a bucket and shovel stood.

That down-home touch was appropriate. Some large elephant doo-doo was going down in this event. Even as she stood there in her glitzy go-to-meeting network executives suit, Temple recognized that the same zodiac spotlight pattern as the Neon Nightmare’s was programmed into the nightly highlighting of the prize.

The effect here was subtle, but it had stopped her in her tracks and her gold leather gladiator shoes. Luckily, not until she was in place alongside the treasure chest.

She watched the familiar image of a “man versus serpent” smackdown flash over the cash-stuffed plastic trunk along with images of a lion, a ram, an archer, a scorpion, and a pair of fish that reminded her of Midnight Louie’s precious koi.

Ophiuchus. That dastardly word gripped her brain like the grabby sign of the crab, Cancer.

“What’s with the zodiac light wheel?” she’d asked Rafi, who looked seriously official tonight in his Oasis house cop uniform.

“It’s all mumbo jumbo and hype,” he’d answered. “The Cloaked Conjuror is making a secret, special appearance managing this, uh, ‘dramatic finale’ to the ‘Oasis Apotheosis.’ What the heck does ‘apotheosis’ mean anyway?”

“Granted. I’d never stick a five-syllable word on a big prize promotion, but ‘Oasis’ is a tough name to work with. ‘Apotheosis’ means the best, the model of supreme coolness, say. Whatever. ‘Oasis Apotheosis” sounds like something mysterious.”

“Yeah. Like an exotic disease.”

“What lured the Cloaked Conjuror from his New Millennium fortress?” Temple wondered. “The Oasis is part of the same consortium of hotel-casinos, but, with all due respect, the security here must be less dictator-like than at his home hotel.”

“I agree.” Rafi’s eyes kept darting over the crowd. “I think he’s crazy to do it too. Maybe top management twisted his arm. Still, flaunting all that cash in a see-through steamer trunk out front sure drew a crowd this past week. I’ve been earning a lot of overtime.”

Rafi squinted into the gathered crowds, which were hard to see against the eye-dazzling assortment of lights from the hotel opposite. “Our audience here is mainly card-carrying consortium members, but riffraff too,” he added.

She emulated his squint. “I see what you mean. Some of the Strip street performers are using the aah factor of all that naked money to mingle with the onlookers and pitch them. Guess the Oasis has an irresistible event going on here, despite the weird name.”

“‘Mingle,’” Rafi echoed her with a sour twist to his tone. “Probably pickpockets, every last one.”

“You don’t get to savor a drop of human kindness in your job, do you? The Strip never had itinerant street acts before the Great Recession. Nevada has been hit the hardest of any state.”

“And I have a good new job, Little Miss Sunshine, I know. But part of that job is anticipating trouble. I don’t like this giveaway drawing out here in the open, at night, one bit.”