Tough Guy: A Hero Club Novel by Jamie Schmidt (the reading list .TXT) 📗

“I’m just sayin’ maybe the Rivs left you alone for two years because they had people inside making them money. And now those people are gone.” Highway shrugged.

“It’s a stretch. Dee left to become a hooker and Zeke followed her hoping to bring her home. But I’ll ask her when I see her tomorrow.” Since I had nothing better to do, I filled him in on what Jackie and I had found out. “If Paulie was the supplier, why did he leave? And leave the merchandise behind?” I shook my head. “None of this makes any fucking sense.”

“Did you go to Paulie’s place, since you seemed to be taking a tour of all your employees’ digs? Am I next?” He put a hand over his chest. “I’ll have to have the manservant polish the silverware.”

I hadn’t gone to Paulie’s yet because I didn’t want to spook him. I’d let Grier handle bringing him in for possession. I wanted to be out of it as much as possible.

“Just make sure you don’t try and serve me some of that lemon shandy shit.”

“I’m not a heathen,” Highway said.

I gave him a noncommittal grunt and went back to glaring across the street. After another two hours, Highway and I headed back to the car where we took turns dozing and keeping an eye out for the inspector to call an all clear.

It was getting late and my mood wasn’t improving. Even if there was even a miracle and this got sorted out, I’d be piss-poor company if I headed out to the Wynn tonight. I texted Jackie a few times to let her know that I wasn’t going to make it. Either she was pissed off or asleep. With my luck it was probably the former. I’d deal with it tomorrow.

It took until dawn and I was too tired to give them the red ass that they deserved. I could open up as usual at noon for the lunch crowd. I left a message for Liu to bring in his cousins again and staggered up to my apartment to get a few hours of sleep.

Chapter Thirteen

Jackie Mitchell

I woke up this morning hugging a pasta bowl instead of a muscled bouncer with crazy hot tattoos. Fumbling for my phone, I saw it was past noon New York time, but still too early Las Vegas time to see Miles. I was ridiculously pleased to see he had texted last night and didn’t blow me off. It was probably for the best that I had gotten a good night’s sleep, even though my dreams left me feeling restless and needy. Maybe I could convince Miles to have another quickie in his office before we headed out to Pahrump.

Speaking of brothels, Chance didn’t check in. I hoped that meant that they were having a good time. I also hoped that the bridegroom remained loyal to his bride. If I ever got engaged, there wouldn’t be any chicken ranches in my husband-to-be’s future. I might let him go to a strip club—if he let me dance in it.

Giggling to myself, I threw back the covers—mindful of the pasta bowls—and found that I was only slightly sore. Of course, the last thing my body wanted to do was dance. But I needed to get used to the idea of dancing every day, so I did some warmup exercises before doing my stripper routine that I had planned out. I never got to do my last two songs. Keeping with the Broadway theme, I had planned to do “You Can’t Stop the Beat” from Hairspray and “One Night in Bangkok” from Chess. My costumes were so cute too. I wondered if Miles would change his mind about me dancing in the club and just let me just dance on stage and keep the tips, but not have to work the room.

Of course, that’s what the other dancers had hated about Lisa. So maybe I should just stick to dancing in my hotel room for now. I flipped open my laptop to finish answering the pressing e-mails that I had blown off yesterday. Making myself a pot of coffee with the tiny machine in the room, I yawned.

My job was dull.

There. I admitted it. When I was in Manhattan, at least I could use the excuse that the city was exciting, and I was meeting and greeting directors and choreographers for new shows. It was fun to pitch my clients to them, even though I felt a twinge of jealousy when they got the contracts. The majority of my job, though, was reviewing contracts and researching opportunities for other people. I couldn’t be too upset. I was making fifteen percent, but I’d rather be up on the stage.

For shits and giggles, I went online to the Las Vegas classifieds to see if there were any auditions this week. I didn’t find any. I should have taken that as a sign, but instead I called my office back in New York. It didn’t matter that it was a Saturday morning, the office never closed on the weekend.

“Zimmerman Agency,” Mags, our receptionist said.

“Hi, Mags, it’s me checking in from Sin City.”

“We got two feet of snow dumped on us. Calling to rub it in?”

I hadn’t been, but I pulled back the drape and gazed out into the sun and palm trees. I was glad I wasn’t in New York. “Looks like it’s going to hit ninety degrees today before noon.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait!” I leaned against the window, looking down at the Strip. It wasn’t even noon yet, but there were still people out there hustling and working. It reminded me of New York. “I was wondering, do we have any connections out here? In the back of my mind I thought there was a production company that had been farming for showgirls a couple of years back. But I can’t remember the name, otherwise I’d search it myself. Can you ask around and get back to