Lucky Bastard by Deborah Coonts Page B

“Farfetched, I know, but feasible.” I made a sweeping motion. “For God’s sake, the whole table knew Sylvie was cheating.”
    “Seems like everyone knew except the Stoneman, the little shit.” Jerry squashed out the butt of one cigarette after lighting another from the glowing embers.
    I tried to ignore his chain-smoking, but wasn’t very successful. “When did the game end?”
    “They broke it up right after Sylvie left. The Hawk took the pot.”
    “Thanks to Sylvie and her little game, whatever it was,” I scoffed. “I’m going to want to talk to Watalsky.”
    “Sure. You pick the time and place.”
    “This morning, my office.” Neither of us took our eyes off the video feed.
    “It’s already morning. Better make it afternoon,” Jerry said, the cigarette held between his lips bouncing with the words. “He’s on a roll. You know him, with money in his pocket he’ll play until he’s tapped out or thrown out.”
    As we watched, Sylvie hooked a finger under the chain around her neck and pulled what looked to be a pocket watch out of her cleavage. I’d heard that was a great place to stash stuff, but having no cleavage of my own, I wouldn’t know. “Can you zoom in on that?”
    Jerry gave me a sly grin as he toggled a few switches. “My pleasure.”
    In no mood to play, I ignored the exaggerated leer that followed.
    Besides, nobody in Vegas really cared about cleavage anymore. These days, everyone had a set of first-class, custom jugs. Five grand and serious pain just to be like everyone else. There was an interesting irony there.
    Made of white gold, with what appeared to be a rather ornate pattern in precious stones on the cover, the watch looked expensive.
    “Interesting bauble for a girl always low on funds. I wonder what happened to it. It wasn’t around her neck when I saw her on the Ferrari.”
    “Dane took it, maybe?” Jerry commented, his eyes never leaving the feed. After a few moments, he froze the picture. Tapping it, he looked thoughtful. “There’s something…”
    “What?”
    “Hang on.” His chair shot back as he stood. Without a word, he strode from the room, leaving me alone with the silence and the ticking of the clock hanging on the wall.
    Not much time passed, not even enough for me to get nervous, before he burst back into the room, waving a piece of paper over his head. “That watch rang a bell.” He thrust the paper at me. “It’s stolen.”
    “Really?” I snatched the paper from him, smoothed it on the table, and began reading. Two weeks ago. From one of our nicest suites. “Do you know these people?”
    “Big fish from Toledo. The suite was comped.” He turned the paper back around and read from the second page—I hadn’t made it that far. “The watch they reported stolen had been in the family several generations, they were pretty upset. Apparently some famous ancestor had inscribed his initials on the inside cover.”
    “I wonder how it ended up in Sylvie Dane’s possession?” I also wondered what happened to it, but I didn’t voice that. If Jerry knew, he’d have told me. But I knew who might be able to shed some light. Dane had some answering to do—he hadn’t mentioned the necklace, nor, come to think of it, the missing shoe. “Could you get me a photo?”
    “It’ll be grainy, but your wish is my command.” Jerry moved the cursor over an icon and pressed. Somewhere in the darkness behind us a printer whirred to life.
    After flipping open the cover on the watch, Sylvie made a show of checking the time, then snapped it shut and tucked it back into its nest. Most of the men at the table were riveted. Even the Hawk. Even Marvin Johnstone who stood off to the side.
    For the next forty-five minutes, Sylvie played fast and loose until her stack was gone. Rachael escorted her from the table, as she said she had. Sylvie didn’t look afraid, just…angry. When Dane joined her, she narrowed her eyes as she grabbed his elbow whirling him around. Her