The Case of the Perilous Performers in Las Vegas: A Cozy Tiffany Black Mystery (Tiffany Black Cases Book 24) by A.R. Winters

Author:A.R. Winters [Winters, A.R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Idrove.

Was this it for Rosie and me? We had a very angry gangster in the back seat pointing a gun at our heads. I was fairly certain his directions would lead us out of town. Into the middle of the Mojave Desert.

I was playing too fast and loose with him. After the gunfire in the shopping center, I should’ve brought in the cops. And then I let him go from the Lindsey Gallery.

This was all my fault.

Well, mine and the man with the gun aimed at me.

“I told them it was too complicated.” Mac talked, but it didn’t seem his speech was aimed at either me or Rosie.

“We should’ve just gone after it. Not pussyfooted around with an artist. An installation.”

I glanced over at Rosie. She raised her brows a little. Then I nodded at the glove compartment. She gazed at the roof of the car.

Mac wasn’t giving me any directions. Maybe he wanted me to keep heading straight. But he also wanted his cell phone back. I could probably come up with some distraction at the bus depot. Enough for Rosie to get away. Maybe both of us.

I made a left before the airport.

“Why did we even need the installation? It was a waste of money. If only we could’ve kept the buildings straight, we’d be done and dusted with this thing. People always complicate things. Women especially complicate things.”

Mac kept talking in the back seat. I wondered when he would get to the part about having to kill Vesna. How it wasn’t his fault. Was he that kind of killer? The look-what-you-made-me-do kind of murderer? Those were my least favorite.

“I told them, we just go in. Make it quick. What’s with all the big schemes? We weren’t the ones pulling the heist. Why did it have to get so convoluted? It was there for the taking, right?”

Rosie side-eyed me. I shrugged.

“Right,” she said.

What was I going to do? I had to make a play.

We were southbound on South Eastern Avenue, heading generally for Harry Reid. The bus terminal. On this stretch, there were nothing but low houses. Some were residential, and some housed businesses. But there was nowhere to go.

Eastern was a nominally busy street, a main artery through town. Traffic backed up three or four cars deep at the red lights.

I needed some place public. Well lit.

I passed by a couple of gas stations that might fit the bill but dismissed them. I couldn’t make the turn quick enough to count.

“We should’ve gone for it right away. That would’ve been the smart thing to do. Back when they were being cagey, cautious. That was the time to strike,” Mac kept on. “What choice would they have then to just let us in?”

I still had no idea what he was babbling about. Was he working up to a murder confession?

“What do we have now? We’re out the money on the art thingy. The girl’s dead. And we still haven’t even gotten inside.” Mac was looking out the passenger window.

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