Chapter 7 #2
It’s like watching a scene from my worst nightmare slowly unfold.
Big Mand has snapped. Thankfully, Liberty jumps out of the way, and Big Mand wallops her foot off a vintage slot machine instead.
The machine roars to life and immediately sheds hundreds of coins in a blaring fanfare of music.
The people around cheer and Big Mand is momentarily distracted as she picks up all of the coins.
As soon as she is finished, we set off in search of Cherry.
Her vibrant crimson locks should be easy to spot but, amid the blaze of colour, it’s nigh-on impossible.
The good folk of Las Vegas have turned out in their gaudiest gambling clothes.
The loud blinking and blooping and tringing assaults my ears as we weave in and out of tables, carousels of machines, lines of people yanking down the metal arms of the one-armed bandits, lost in concentration.
Suddenly, we spot a flash of bright red.
‘Quick,’ yells Liberty. ‘Over there!’
We bolt over to see Cherry engaged in what can only be described as a weird tug of war over a seat at a craps table. We hurry over to see what she is outraged about.
‘This jerk won’t let me sit down, even though I’m pregnant!’ she yells when she spots us approaching.
He’s very handsome as far as jerks go.
‘To be fair,’ he says to us, ‘this is the first I’m hearing of it.’ He sounds very reasonable. We look at Cherry. She looks guilty as hell. ‘If you want the seat, take the seat,’ he says, amused. ‘There’s plenty of them.’
She eyes him suspiciously. ‘Which seat do you want?’
He starts to chuckle. ‘Not sure.’
‘What’s going on?’ Liberty asks. I see him eyeing her appreciatively up and down, a smile spreading across her face.
‘Well, ma’am,’ he drawls in a smooth American accent. ‘Your friend here seems to be under the impression that whichever seat I choose is the lucky seat.’
We look to Cherry, who nods in agreement, lips pursed. ‘It’s true. Every time he wins, I lose. And it’s all because of the seats.’
It makes no sense at all. Cherry is wired and wild-looking.
Liberty’s face drains of colour. ‘How much have you lost?’
Cherry waves the card around. ‘Well, whatever was on there.’
Liberty lets out a whimper.
Cherry flings her arm in the man’s direction. ‘It’s his fault. Blame him.’
He holds his hands up. ‘No, ma’am. I think you’re—’
He doesn’t get to finish because Big Mand decides to intervene by grabbing the back of the chair he has just sat on.
To avoid contact, he leaps from his chair into the path of a passing waiter carrying a tray laden with drinks. The waiter, knocked off balance, fails to regain control.
Liberty does her best to jump out of the way, but the drinks, like falling dominoes, topple over to expertly drench both him and Liberty, before crashing loudly onto the carpet.
The chips Liberty was carrying are flung high into the air, showering us as they fall back down.
Amid the chaos, the teller announces that she’s shutting the table and radios for housekeeping, while Liberty and the man stand staring at one another with beer and cocktails dripping down their fronts. Liberty, normally cool as a cucumber, looks shyly at him.
His whole face lights up.
Security is quick to arrive on the scene, probably alerted by Big Mand and her kung-fu attempt. They take one look at Big Mand’s crazed expression and radio for backup. The waiter disappears, leaving the security guys to face us. ‘What happened?’
‘Me,’ barks Big Mand. ‘I happened.’
I’m sure one of them has a hand on a Taser gun of some sort at his waist.
Oh, God.
‘Come with us, ma’am.’ They step towards her. I gasp as Big Mand stretches out her palms towards them in a defensive manner. She has turned into Kung Fu Panda.
‘Wait,’ I cry out. ‘We’re the Cocktail Hour entertainment.
We’re here from England. We just arrived.
We’re all jet-lagged. We were booked by Eddie from Talent Star,’ I rattle out quickly before turning to the dripping-wet guy.
‘I’m so sorry about the accident. We’ll pay for your clothes to be, erm, dry-cleaned and we’ll pay for those free drinks we ruined. ’
My credit card is literally tearing itself up in my bag. Snapping itself in two in protest.
Dripping-Wet Guy smiles good-naturedly. ‘No need to pay, ma’am. But thanks.’
Liberty is staring at him open-mouthed as though she’s been hit by a bolt of lightning.
He’s quite attractive in an unconventional way, but it’s his voice that lures us in.
His accent is mesmerising. It’s deep and rich and smooth like honey.
Like dark, expensive manuka honey, not the Aldi honey-flavoured honey.
He gives her a long, admiring look before he slowly strokes his stubbled chin.
‘Okay, fellas. I think we’re good,’ he says to the security guys. ‘I’ll handle it from here.’
They instantly agree to do what he says. ‘Yes, sir. Sorry about the…’ One of them waves a hand at me and Big Mand.
‘No problem, guys,’ Dripping-Wet Guy says confidently. ‘I’ll sort this out. If you could get these chips cashed in, I’d appreciate it.’ He turns to Liberty. ‘You’re staying here, I presume?’
She nods slowly.
‘Credit her room. Thanks, guys.’
The security guys radio for help, which arrives instantly, and a waiter scampers around retrieving Liberty’s chips that are scattered all over the floor. He checks her room key and hands it back.
Liberty is still staring at her handsome stranger.
‘So, you’re the Cocktail Hour entertainment, are you?’
We nod mutely. He’s very sure of himself.
‘Well. You’ve certainly been entertaining so far.’
Liberty blushes to her roots.
‘Come with me,’ he says in such a commanding voice that we find ourselves instantly trailing through the crowd behind him like little ducklings. I notice that Cherry has absconded once again with the card.
‘What about Cherry?’ I ask Liberty. For reasons unknown, we are walking in a straight line behind Dripping-Wet Guy.
‘What about Cherry?’ booms Big Mand from behind me. ‘Has she been compromised?’
‘Yes. In a way,’ I explain as we walk. ‘She’s taken Liberty’s credit card and is loose in the casino with it. Again.’
Big Mand’s eyes grow wide with concern. ‘We have to find her. Now!’ She stops in her tracks to dart her gaze around the room. We also stop, and Dripping-Wet Guy continues for a few steps before doubling back to us.
He’s so cool, he simply raises his brow casually. Even as Liberty explains, he is emitting ‘I’ll take care of it’ vibes. They are gazing deeply at one another, clearly smitten. ‘Where does this Cherry-pie like to go?’ he asks her.
‘She’ll stick to the casino,’ Liberty says quietly. I’ve never seen her behave like this with a man before.
Dripping-Wet Guy takes the opportunity to rake his eyes slowly down her body and even more slowly back up to meet her questioning gaze.
He nods in approval. It’s all very seventies, but Liberty is blooming under his appreciation of her sexy curves.
‘Leave it to me,’ he says when he finally finds his voice.
He beckons over a waiter and explains the situation. ‘They’ll find her and bring her to us.’
‘Where are we going?’ I ask, toying with the idea of how to explain that we have abandoned our friends at the drop point and are on a very tight pre-moon spree schedule.
Dripping-Wet Guy has such an aura of calm approachability about him that I almost want to blurt out all my troubles.
I wonder what he’d make of my boyfriend currently being seduced by a hot Frenchwoman or that my unwanted admirer is loose about the hotel.
He simply answers, ‘Follow me. I’ll show you.’