The Given by Vicki Pettersson

Author:Vicki Pettersson
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780062064141
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2014-04-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The tiki lounge was Grif’s idea. It had bamboo walls that muted sound, an island god guarding the front door, and was dark enough to remain discreet despite all of that. Frankie’s Tiki Room was also a sort of home-away-from-home for the rockabilly crowd, marrying South Seas nostalgia with the mid-century aesthetic to create an escape from the brazen glitz of modern Las Vegas. It was the perfect place for two men to come back around from their drugged stupor, yet still remain a little disoriented.

The last time Grif had been here was with Kit. She wore a Hawaiian dress with flowers in her hair, and though his suit and fedora had been remarked upon, the glances he got had been more covetous than wondering. He lost count of the number of times he’d been complimented on his straight-razored pomp. Grif smiled, remembering that they drank rum until sunrise, then went home and made love until sunset.

But now it was a late Monday afternoon and the crowd at Frankie’s was thin, with only three men taking up real estate at the bar, none speaking and none interested when Grif and Dennis walked in and settled two groggy men into the far corner of the room.

“I gotta finish changing,” Dennis said, nodding at his uniform. He’d removed the shirt, but the utility belt would eventually attract attention from the bar.

“I’ll work on these guys.”

“Think they’ll talk to you?”

“I got ways to make ’em talk.”

“How Perry Mason of you,” Dennis said, but there was no censure in his voice. Dennis, too, was rockabilly to the core. “You sounded just like Raymond Burr.”

Grif rolled his eyes but put a hand on Dennis’s arm before he could leave. “Check the scanners again for word about the old man, too, will ya?”

Worry clouded Dennis’s brow. “I’ll work on getting the hotel’s surveillance videos, too. We can piece together their exit from the casino, maybe get a license plate, but it’ll take time.” He jerked his head at the two semiconscious men. “This is our best bet to get Zicaro back quickly.”

Grif nodded and turned back around, and a moment later a giant swath of light cut across the floor as Dennis exited. Then the darkness settled in again. By that time, the bartender had arrived with the three tiki mugs they’d asked for when they’d arrived. Grif had pushed two square tables tight to the two men’s bellies to keep them from falling over. The larger one, Larry, was propped between the wall and Eric, making a run at Grif near impossible.

The bartender eyeballed Eric, who had drool pooling at one corner of his mouth, as he set the drinks in front of them.

“Bachelor party,” Grif said, before he could ask.

Straightening, the bartender placed his hands on his hips. “Who’s the unlucky man?”

“The little one.”

The bartender nodded at Eric and gripped the ends of the towel he’d flung around his neck. “You the DD?”

No one who actually knew Grif and his penchant for getting lost would appoint him designated driver, but he just nodded.

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