Chapter 17

Saturday, December 24

I had a hard time believing that tonight would be Christmas Eve. I had always spent the day before Christmas hanging around the house, wrapping presents, listening to Nat King Cole croon about chestnuts, and maybe watching A Christmas Story. The most strenuous activity was cooking dinner and then trying to stay awake until it was time to go to church for the midnight service.

This just wasn’t going to be an ordinary Christmas, although waking up in the arms of a good-looking guy in a friendly mood was a change I’d be happy to incorporate into future Yuletide celebrations. Only now I had to inform said guy that I’d promised to meet a retired prostitute for lunch. I’d been putting it off because I knew Daniel wouldn’t like the idea of going to a trailer park to chat with a working girl. Actually, he probably would have liked it if I hadn’t been the one to suggest it. I lay in bed wondering how to break the news to him while he went downstairs to buy us a quick breakfast.

When my cell phone rang, I thought it might be Daniel, explaining why it was taking so long to acquire a couple of lattes. But it wasn’t. It was Heather. Instead of meeting at her rig, she wanted to meet at a McDonald’s inside a Walmart down near where David Nussbaum lives. She said she was buying presents for “lost angels.” I wasn’t sure what “lost angels” were, but I had once seen a book about Wild West hookers called Soiled Doves. Maybe “soiled doves” were called “lost angels” at Christmastime. Anyway, now I not only had Heather to explain to Daniel, but also why we were going to join her for a Happy Meal.

:: :: ::

Daniel finally got back with our lattes and a couple of quite outstanding chocolate-filled croissants. I tried to slip my meeting with Heather into the conversation casually.

“I guess we better force ourselves to put on some clothes,” I said, my legs still entwined with Daniel’s under the covers.

“I already did that once this morning,” he said, locking his ankles around me. “What’s the rush?”

“Oh, nothing,” I said. “Except—well—Las Vegas.”

“This is Vegas, baby,” Daniel said, sliding his arm around my neck and kissing me in a manner that proved once again that my lips and tongue have a high-speed connection with the bikini triangle.

“Mmmm,” I said. “You have a very good point.” I sneaked a look at the clock radio. 11:15. I let my hands start sliding, and the next time I caught a glimpse of the clock, it was after noon.

“Oh, my God!”

“What is it, babe?”

“I have an—appointment—at one!” I said. “I’m never going to make it!” I leapt out of bed. Daniel was right behind me.

“On Christmas Eve?” he said, grabbing me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. “I thought our only command performance was dinner at your brother’s house.”

“Well,” I said, “I forgot to tell you about Heather.”

“Heather?”

As I gave Daniel a brief rundown of my continued inquiries into Victoria’s death, the atmosphere in the room grew noticeably chillier.

“So—do you want to stay here or go with me?” I asked, honestly unsure what I hoped his answer might be.

“What choice do I have?” he said. “Somebody has to look out for you.”

:: :: ::

On the way down to Walmart, I realized that I had to fill Daniel in on some of the details of my life. He took things pretty well until I explained the scab on my jaw. He just sat there for a moment, staring through the windshield.

“You were knifed?” he finally said. “You were burglarized?”

I nodded.

“You went to a whorehouse?”

I almost laughed. He made it sound like my trip to the Beavertail was worse than getting mugged.

“It’s not like they’re all connected,” I said, but I don’t know how convincing I sounded. I was still bothered by the white sneakers Julia Saxon’s companion had been wearing at dinner. But I shrugged it off. It was hardly solid evidence.

“God, Copper,” Daniel said as we pulled off Eastern Avenue into the Walmart shopping center. “God damn.” He looked at me, and I think I’m reporting accurately when I say I saw genuine concern in his eyes. “This place isn’t good for you.”

“I like living here,” I said. “It’s not what I thought it would be.”

“It’s everything I thought it would be and worse,” Daniel said. “You’ve been injured, terrorized, robbed, and—I don’t know—you’re not the same. You’re—tough.”

Tough! I couldn’t help smiling. The adjective had never been applied to sweet little Copper Black before. Well, maybe back in second grade when I finally developed enough calluses to go on the monkey bars without getting blisters.

“I’m still me,” I said. “I’m just having significant life experiences. Just like you.”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to make a knife wound near your jugular sound like a botany field trip.”

“Look, I don’t want to fight,” I said, pulling into a parking place at least a mile from the store’s entrance. It seemed like every car in town was at Walmart. “I just want to have a Big Mac and find out what’s eating Heather. Are you coming?”

Daniel joined me in the crowd surging toward the entrance to Walmart, a dark look still clouding his face.

Heather was easy to spot. McDonald’s was almost as crowded as the parking lot, but she had managed to stake out a table for four near the entrance with three shopping carts piled high with a remarkable haul of dolls, stuffed animals, games, and toys. She was poring over a computer printout on the table and making checkmarks with a pencil when I said hello.

“Oh, good!” Heather said, without looking up. “I’m glad you’re here. Sit down.”

“I brought a friend,” I said. “This is Daniel.”

That got Heather’s full attention.

“Oh!” she said, standing up. “How nice to meet you!”

It wasn’t what she said that had the effect. It was how she said it and what her body was doing simultaneously. She shook her hair and shifted her shoulders so her breasts—which were barely encased in a tight, pale green turtleneck emerged from her leather jacket like a couple of honeydews. She took Daniel’s hand and looked straight into his eyes, which was easy because they were almost exactly the same height. She smiled a glossy fuchsia smile.

“Welcome to Las Vegas,” she said.

Really, men are so easy. Daniel melted faster than chocolate in August. He puddled into a chair directly across from Heather, and I took the one next to him.

“I’m not quite done with my shopping,” Heather said. “We have a bumper crop of lost angels this year.”

Lost angels, it turns out, aren’t fallen women. They are the Christmas dreams of orphans. Every year, children who otherwise would get no presents at all write their fondest wishes on little white the paper angels. The United Christian Charities of Southern Nevada sets up Christmas trees at malls and shopping centers around the valley, each one decorated with paper angels. Passing shoppers are invited to take an angel, buy the item noted on it, and turn it in at a table staffed by volunteers.

“The trouble is,” Heather explained, “some people take the angels and never bring back the gifts.”

She turned her computer printout around so Daniel and I could see how many names were on the list.

“Maybe they forget or decide they can’t afford the gift after all, but it’s real kids those thoughtless bastards are shafting,” she said. “This year more than ever before. I’ve bought fifty-eight gifts so far, and I’m only about two-thirds done. I thought I could get everything here at Walmart, but it looks like I’ll have to hit Toys-R-Us and maybe even Target to finish up.” She sighed. “The big challenge this year is Go-Go Godfrey. I’ve got eight, but I need eleven. Personally, I don’t see the appeal of a burping platypus, but that’s not the point.” Heather looked at her watch. “I’ll make this fast,” she said. “Do you need food?”

While Daniel was off acquiring burgers, fries, and Cokes, Heather opened her shoulder bag and pulled out a yellow envelope.

“Take a look at these,” she said, pulling out some snapshots. “I think you’ll understand why I’m concerned.”

She spread the pictures on the table in front of me. Two showed the filthiest kitchen I’ve ever seen, complete with spilled garbage and dirty dishes on the floor. Two more showed a living room that looked worse than my apartment right after it was ransacked.

“The McKimber residence,” Heather said.

“What happened?” I asked. I thought back to my own visit to Victoria’s house. I hadn’t gone inside, but it had certainly looked tidy on the exterior.

“Things are going downhill fast,” Heather continued. “Mostly because of Jason. He’s bipolar, and when he doesn’t take his meds, he turns into Freddy Krueger. I’m sure that’s why the house looks so bad. He was on a rampage when I showed up the other night. Richard got a pretty bad gash over his left eye before we managed to calm Jason down. I stopped the bleeding with a butterfly Band-Aid, but he probably could have used a few stitches. But a cut is the least of his problems. Richard’s a wreck without Victoria. He used to keep the house immaculate, but now it’s like he’s paralyzed.”

She paused and looked straight at me.

“So, here’s the deal. If things continue the way they are, somebody’s going to get hurt or arrested or both. Jason needs to go someplace. A school. A camp. A hospital. I don’t know. But he needs residential care, and it takes money. I’ve given Richard all I can. It really ought to be Bobby Marks who coughs up the cash, but that’s not happening, so that leaves American Beauty. Those bastards are benefiting from Victoria’s death too much to get off without paying a nickel. They owe her.”

Suddenly I remembered Victoria’s photographs, the ones from the film I’d had developed. I rummaged in my own shoulder bag and pulled them out.

“Do you know who these guys are?” I asked, showing her the picture of the two men in the dark restaurant.

Heather grabbed the whole stack of pictures out of my hand.

“This guy on the left is Rick Mack,” she said. “He works for American Beauty. I’ve never seen the chubby dude before.”

She flipped through the other pictures.

“Hey, I know who this is, too.” She turned one of the pictures around. It was one of the close-ups, the one showing teeth.

“I’d recognize that sneer anywhere. It’s Jason. He crashed his skateboard a year ago. Broke his arm badly enough to require surgery to set it. He also chipped a tooth, and he likes it. He thinks it looks like a vampire fang.” She handed the pictures back to me. “I bet he took that himself,” she said. “You know, a selfie.”

I looked at the picture again, noticing that Jason had been in a car when it was taken. The headrest and the back window were visible behind him.

“Is there anything we can do?” I asked.

“I’ve done what I can, Copper. I’m tapped out. It’s time for some deep pockets.”

I looked at her, wondering whether she had me confused with a cash cow.

“Julia Saxon can strong-arm the right people, but she won’t answer my calls. That’s why I called you. I need the power of the press.”

Daniel arrived back at the table just in time to hear that. As he set the tray of food down, he shot me a quizzical look that almost made me smile. Daniel knew what my job was, but I’m sure he had never thought of me as a member of “the press.”

“I guess I could give her a try,” I said, deciding not to mention that I had promised to call her anyway. “But I think the reason she’s been hard to reach is that she’s—well, she’s trying to close a big deal before the end of the year.”

“Of course she’s busy,” Heather said. “Everybody’s busy when you want to talk about a dead hooker.”

I looked at Daniel, but he didn’t return my glance. He was too entranced with Heather’s chest.

“But it’s not impossible to get her to cut the crap and do something,” Heather went on. “You just have to be a bigger pain in the ass than everybody else.” She took a sip of Coke. “Or maybe drop a hint that you’re working on a story about lawyers who drop their pro bono cases when the going gets tough.”

By the time we headed back to the Max, I had promised Heather at least a dozen times that I would talk to Julia about putting the squeeze on American Beauty. It seemed unlikely that anything would happen anytime soon, though. It was the holidays, for Christ’s sake.

“It’s the holidays for Christ’s sake,” Daniel said as we inched out of the parking lot.

“What do you mean?”

“Can’t you take a few days off? I’m beginning to think I should’ve gone to Austin for Christmas. At least it would have made my mom happy.”

Daniel’s father is a geology professor at the University of Texas. He met Daniel’s mother when they were both doing research in South Africa. He’s originally from California, she’s originally from Scotland, and even though they’d lived in Austin for decades, neither one seemed very Texan. Neither did Daniel.

“Come on, Daniel,” I said. “This isn’t ordinary work. Victoria’s family is suffering.”

“People are suffering all over, Copper.”

“These are people I know.”

“So am I.”

I glanced at him. He was staring straight ahead.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too,” Daniel said.

“So—what did you think of Heather?”

“Bad role model,” he said. “For you anyway. She’d be okay for someone training to be a ballbuster.”

“Heather’s okay,” I said. “You know why she’s doing all that shopping?”

I told Daniel about Hayley, her daughter who died of cancer.

“Look, Copper,” Daniel said when I had finished. “I think it’s wonderful that a—person like Heather loved her kid and does charitable works in her memory. I even think it’s fine that you want to write a story about Victoria. I’m sure it’ll be fascinating. What I don’t get is why you have to have a personal relationship with all of them—any of them. Really, I just don’t get that part.”

“Where are we going?” I said. When I said it, I thought I was asking about our immediate physical destination, but as it hung in the air, it seemed more like a question about our relationship.

“I don’t know. This is your town, babe.”

It was only two o’clock. I didn’t really feel like going to Michael and Sierra’s yet, but I didn’t have any other brilliant ideas.

“I like Las Vegas,” I said. “It’s not what I thought it would be.”

“So you’ve told me,” Daniel said, doing a great job of making his voice sound like a pout.

Inspiration struck. I got on the freeway heading west. Traffic was still light, and soon we were cruising out Blue Diamond Road. The sky was clear, and the snowcapped summit of Mount Charleston peeked over the red and gold ridges of the Spring Mountains.

The thing that has surprised me the most about Las Vegas is the surrounding countryside. Somehow, when I was here for Michael and Sierra’s wedding I didn’t notice that the city is ringed with mountains. I left with the same impression I’d arrived with—that Las Vegas is an artificial oasis in a flat, arid expanse, sort of like an outpost in Antarctica or a colony on Mars. That impression is helped along by quite a few people who live here. They act like the city is an island surrounded by deep space. Maybe that’s a good thing for those of us who’ve figured out differently. It keeps places like Red Rock Canyon and Mount Charleston from being as crowded as Walmart.

My first thought was to drive Daniel through the amazing geological formations in Red Rock Canyon, but when we neared the entrance to Spring Mountain Ranch State Park, I changed my mind, paid the entrance fee to the ranger at the gate, and drove up the road to the parking area next to the old ranch house.

“The other side of Vegas,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt. “Come on.”

“It’s cold,” Daniel said when he opened his door. “I didn’t bring a jacket.”

“I should have warned you,” I said. “Sorry.”

“Brrr,” Daniel said as a breeze caught the sleeves of his T-shirt.

“Hey, wait a second!” I said. “I’ve got something for you!”

I moved around to the side door of the Max, opened it, and rummaged through my bags of presents.

“Merry Christmas Eve,” I said, presenting Daniel with a flat box from Electric Canoe. “I’m sorry it isn’t wrapped.”

Daniel lifted the lid off and pulled the tissue paper aside.

“This looks expensive,” he said, running his fingers over the leather. I looked at the garment the suave salesman had helped me select. I could have sworn I had purchased a dark brown jacket, but in the natural light of day, there was no denying it looked like ripe eggplant. And the appliqué insets and tooled details that had seemed so understated next to all the more flamboyant offerings in the store now looked like the sort of accents the cast of Hombre might choose. But—well, there it was, proving beyond a doubt that Las Vegas had stripped me of any good taste I might ever have possessed.

I sucked in a breath and steeled myself for whatever Daniel was going to say. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, a slightly stunned smile appeared on his face as he slipped the jacket on.

“What do you think?” he asked dubiously, holding his arms out.

Damn! He looked like a hustler in training.

“It’ll keep you warm,” I said.

Daniel tried to catch a glimpse of himself reflected in the car window. I’m not sure he did, but when he turned back to face me, his smile had stretched into an all-out grin.

“I can keep up with your family now,” he said, turning up the collar and striking a male model pose. “How did you know I’ve always had a secret longing to be a lounge lizard?”

“You’ll really wear it?” I said.

“Well, it’ll look a lot better after I grow a mullet,” he said, “but if you don’t mind a nerd in pimp’s clothing, sure!”

He zipped the jacket up, and I was glad that I had chosen the right size.

“I actually love it,” Daniel said, and he wrapped his purple arms around me. “And I love you.”

After that, it was as though we’d never been apart. Hand in hand, we walked the trail in the hills above the ranch house. Quail scattered in front of us, and we heard wild burros hee-hawing in the distance. On our way back to the car, a stag with many-pronged antlers suddenly bounded over a nearby ridge. He stopped when he saw us. We stared at each other for a moment. Then he turned, and his sure-footed hooves danced over the rocks and carried his white tail out of sight.

“I told you Las Vegas isn’t what you think,” I said as we made our way back down the hill to the Max.

“We aren’t in Las Vegas,” Daniel said.

“That’s like saying you aren’t in New York if you go to the Statue of Liberty,” I said.

Daniel was quiet for a moment, and we paused to watch a hawk circle overhead. Then he turned to face me.

“You’re absolutely right, Copper,” he said. “Las Vegas isn’t what I expected.” He looked down at his jacket. “That’s not the surprising thing, though.” He stroked a sleeve and shot me the same smile that made me fall in love with him back in college. “The surprising thing is that you aren’t what I expected.”

After our jaunt out to Spring Mountain Ranch, we stopped at the Golden Nugget to take a shower and change clothes. That should have taken thirty minutes tops, but somehow an hour went by before we were ready to leave. Our clothes came off quickly enough, but showering and getting the new ones on was extraordinarily time-consuming. It also left the bed rumpled.

Daniel drove my car to Michael and Sierra’s because I don’t like mixing cell phone conversations with steering responsibilities, and I wanted to get my call to Julia Saxon out of the way before Heather called to grill me about what progress I’d made.

I figured with a little luck, I’d get her voice mail.

I had no luck. Julia answered on the first ring.

“Copper!” she said when I identified myself. “Thanks for calling! How was the rest of dinner?”

I had to give her credit. She always started with social banter.

“The champagne was the best part,” I said. “Thank you. It was really thoughtful of you.”

“It’s not every day you add a family member,” Julia said. “That’s so exciting.”

“It is! I—”

“Did you find the tape?” So much for social banter.

“No,” I said. “But I’ve talked with Heather Vetra.”

There was a pause.

“Tell Heather Victoria’s the reason I’m working on Christmas. I’m fully aware of the family’s—needs.”

“Good,” I said. “Because apparently things are going downhill.”

“You mean Jason,” Julia said. “I know.”

I was about to say something more on the subject, but Julia cut me off.

“I’m very interested in getting my hands on any tapes, Copper. I asked Victoria to record her conversations with the American Beauty guys. If she did, it would be very helpful to hear them. It could help her case, and her case could help her family.”

I had to admit that made sense, but I still didn’t want anyone to know I had pilfered some of Victoria’s stuff. I also couldn’t help thinking about guys in white sneakers. I had a hard time believing that Julia’s sidekick was the thug who attacked me, but the thought kept popping up.

“So keep looking.” Again, I got the distinct feeling she thought I was lying. “Call me if you find anything, no matter what time. And I don’t care about Christmas.”

Wow. Julia was working on Christmas. I was impressed by her apparent dedication to Victoria’s case, but I still wondered what I didn’t know. After all, I was lying about the tape. Maybe Julia was lying, too. Maybe she didn’t want it to nail the American Beauty guys; maybe she wanted it for something else entirely. Was she the right person to trust? For that matter, was Heather? Clearly, I needed better perspective, but how I could get it was anyone’s guess.

I might as well report what Julia had said to Heather, I decided. She answered her cell phone on the first ring, too.

“It might be good news,” Heather said after I’d relayed Julia’s comments about getting the McKimber family back on track. “But I’ll reserve judgment until there’s cash on the barrelhead. It’s just too easy to say, ‘I’m working on it.’ ‘I’m working on it’ doesn’t get Jason help. Speaking of which, what are you doing for Richard and Jason for Christmas? I’m taking dinner.”

“Oh—um—I’ve assembled a care package,” I said. “I was going to take it over there tomorrow afternoon,” I added, improvising as fast as I could. “It’s food, mostly. A ham and—cans of stuff. Things you can eat without cooking. Also paper plates, napkins—you know, picnic stuff.”

When I hung up, I sensed some serious attitude beaming at me from the driver’s seat, but Daniel didn’t say anything except, “I turn left here, right?”

“Right,” I said, “I mean yes—I mean left, and—” I paused. I had been about to say, “I’m sorry,” but I wasn’t sorry. I was actually shocked that I hadn’t thought of doing something nice for Jason and Richard on my own.

“I’m going to have to go shopping later,” I said. “Or tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? What’s going to be open on Christmas?”

“Pretty much everything,” I said. “It takes more than a holiday for Las Vegas to shut down.”

Daniel let out a big, overburdened, long-suffering sigh, but he didn’t have time to say anything before we pulled up in front of the vicarage.