Back at the poker game, all heads at the table turned toward the door. To Rex's surprise Beverly Nelson slid in, swaying her hips. To say she was a vision in pink was an understatement.
She wore a pink dress, very tight, with pink heels. A pink boa covered her shoulders, dropping to her thighs like a cloud of cotton candy. Big dangling earrings, made from feathers, brushed her shoulders. Her platinum-blonde hair, with a pink streak over her right eye, had been expertly curled to wave around her face. She smiled right at Rex.
"Hello, fellas," she said in a throaty voice.
Rex assumed that she'd made an effort to impersonate the old-time movie star Mae West. As the bodyguard held her chair, she sat down daintily. "Margarita, pink salt, double tequila," she purred.
"Right away, ma'am," the bodyguard said.
Looking over each man at the table individually, her eyes stopped on Rex. "We meet again." No longer purring, her voice held an edge. Looking away from him, she asked matter-of-factly, "Where are the cards?"
The bodyguard pulled a deck from his pocket and laid them on the table.
Beverly removed the cellophane with the flick of a manicured fingernail. Sliding the cards out from the box, she cast off the two jokers with a smirk. "Jokers are always men," she commented. And then she began to shuffle while Rex stared at her hands.
Mesmerized by the smooth action of her pink-tipped fingers, he blinked. Oh no, I'm not falling for that trick. He looked away, pausing to gather his thoughts. Being a conjurer himself, he knew that a repeated action, like pocket watches swinging and cards being shuffled, would attract anyone susceptible to being hypnotized.
Once disconnected, he returned his focus to Beverly. She made a bridge with the cards and then gently released, as each one fell into place. He exhaled, admiring her expertise. Stop it, he ordered himself. Focus on something else. He turned away again listening to the hum of the refrigerator to clear his mind.
A series of ideas pricked Rex's consciousness. She's a professional. Probably worked the blackjack table. That's where Carmine must have met her. He knew that assumption was intuition and that it may not be true. But he'd been right before.
"Caribbean stud, my deal. Here, Sammy, cut the cards," came her crisp instructions. "Cash ready, gentlemen," she directed. "Ten grand to start." Then she looked over at the woman standing behind the bar. "Chips, please."
Rex reached into his pocket for his money. Despite being searched twice, no one bothered to remove the bills.
"Here you go." Rex slapped the hundred-dollar bills on the table.
Beverly 's eyebrows rose. "Ten grand even? How did you know how much to bring?"
Somehow he knew answering her would be the most important thing he'd do that evening. Everything rested on his reply. He'd been able to convince Salucci that he wasn't a threat. He'd even gotten Salucci to include him in the search for Joey Baker.
But Beverly Nelson…she was the one he had to look out for. Somehow he'd missed that during his performance. He'd taken her for a grieving widow; okay, maybe not so much a real grieving widow, but one who was trying to play the part.
But in the midst of conjuring up his stage trick, bringing the dead man's words to life, Rex now knew that he had missed something important. The woman's confidence came from her control. She knew what she was about and she was probably smarter than any of the men at the table. Except for me, of course.
In that moment he decided to ignore her question about the exact amount of money he brought to the table. Instead he smiled knowingly, playing the fly to her spider. Come on, Beverly. I dare you to spin your web and gobble me up!
Once she realized he wasn't going to answer, she gave a curt nod. She turned to Salucci. "Before we start, I want a word with Redondo," she told him.
To Rex's surprise, Frank didn't object. In fact, all the other men, as if attached at the hip, stood together. The bodyguard opened the door to the backyard as they headed outdoors one by one. The door closed, leaving Beverly Nelson staring across the poker table right at Rex.
"I don't know what Frank's been telling you about Joey Baker, but it's all a lie. He'd never kill Carmine. He doesn't have the guts. No stamina. I want you to find my son and bring him home to me. I'll double Frank's fee and raise you another ten grand if he's unharmed."
Rex used every ounce of his willpower not to show his surprise. Joey was Beverly's boy? Why didn't I see that coming…
His mind spun. Now he understood. She hired Viv to find sonny boy and keep him away from Salucci's grasp. Beverly would then get Joey out of the country.
Rex looked at the woman in pink with new respect. Of course, he couldn't imagine her as a mother. At least not the kind of mom that a boy could turn to when in trouble. But Beverly had done the next best thing and found Viv, her opposite in every way, to do the job of rescuing her offspring.
For Rex, all the cards were on the table. This connection explained everything. Why Beverly had hired Viv, for instance. Once he brought her Joey, Viv would be safe.
"I'd be happy to find your son," he told Beverly Nelson with a bright smile.
The look of relief that came over her face surprised him. Maybe she does have a motherly heart beating somewhere underneath that pink plunging neckline and heaving cleavage.
"Good. That's settled." For a moment her face softened. Then she ducked her chin behind the fan of cards she held in her hand.
To hide her emotions, Rex thought.
Once Beverly raised her head, her face had returned to normal. No more softness. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation. Then she hollered over her shoulder, "Come on, fellas. Get back in here and let's play cards."