the corner of my eye, I caught my father fighting with his smile."Lucky, I swear..."
"Go right ahead if it feels good, but I'm too old to change." My arm circled his shoulders and I gave him a squeeze. "Okay, just for you, until this thing blows over, I'll check the women's bathroom before I sit down…for a meal."
"Small comfort." He handed his empty glass back to me. "I'm trying to give you a warning."
"Did anyone ever find Boogie's stash?"
"His stash?" I had my father's interest now.
"I'd been told that back in the day, the bomb makers all had hiding places for their…ingredients."
"That stuff'd be damn old by now." My father's eyes snapped to mine as realization dawned.
"Precisely." I lifted the glass with an eyebrow raised in question. "Another?" At his nod, I headed toward the bar but kept talking. "So did they find his stuff?"
"Not that I'm aware of, but I wasn't in that loop."
I almost snorted in disbelief but decided it wasn't consistent with my strong desire for self-preservation.
"Lucky, this just adds more weight to my warning."
"A warning. I heard you. But really, you know as well as I do, I couldn't do my job if I had to be afraid of every reprobate wishing to knock me down a peg. Truthfully, fear isn't my strong suit—I come by it naturally."
When I returned to his side, my father took his glass and sipped. He swished the scotch around his mouth before swallowing. "I'm trying to tell you this time is different. Boogie being back. The bomb. Just stirs up a bunch of old grudges—wrongs to be righted."
"Great, a bunch of old farts all tilting at windmills." I threw back the rest of my drink, then almost choked. I'd been prepared for whiskey, not fizzy water. "Just what we need for the Fourth of July."
"You really aren't going to take this seriously, are you?" My father sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice.
"Father, I was four when Boogie the Bomber got his balls busted. I can't imagine what beef he has with me. Besides, it's not me Boogie is after."
"Jimmy can handle himself."
"Not Jimmy." I waited until he turned to look at me. "There's someone else Boogie has a beef with, at least according to Jimmy."
"Who?"
"You."
"Me?" My father shot me a half-assed smirk. "Tell him to take a number."
"My point exactly."
***
After my father left, I lingered at the window, this time with a glass of Wild Turkey. Perhaps it was a delayed life-passing-before-my-eyes experience in the wake of a near-death experience, or maybe just the echoes of emptiness pinging off the walls of my heart, but demons assaulted me. And what was that whole weird thing with my father? Usually not one to beat around the bush, he'd left me with the feeling so much had been left unsaid—that I'd gotten only one piece of the whole picture. He expected me to read the subtext when he knew better than anyone that I was a big-print kind of gal.
So how did one protect themselves from unknown evils? Who knew? The whole thought left me curiously defeated. A Pollyanna to the last, I'd always lived each day, seized each moment. When had that changed? If I was honest with myself—not one of my best things—I'd probably have to say the whole down-in-the-mouth Lucky showed up when Teddie left. The fact that he had so much power over me should probably disgust me. But that's what happens when you give someone your heart, right?
Short on answers but long on questions, I succumbed to the bone-bending weariness washing through me. Tossing back the last of my drink—this time getting the anticipated high-octane hit—I put the empty glass on the bar, then headed toward the bedroom. While it was a nice place to sleep, it wasn't home. All my things were still packed away in the boxes stacked against the wall.
A metaphor for my life.
I wondered what I was waiting for.
***
The Fourth of July in Vegas—a giant citywide party.
To be honest, it was my favorite holiday—even above New Year's Eve. Less structured, less controlled, the
"Go right ahead if it feels good, but I'm too old to change." My arm circled his shoulders and I gave him a squeeze. "Okay, just for you, until this thing blows over, I'll check the women's bathroom before I sit down…for a meal."
"Small comfort." He handed his empty glass back to me. "I'm trying to give you a warning."
"Did anyone ever find Boogie's stash?"
"His stash?" I had my father's interest now.
"I'd been told that back in the day, the bomb makers all had hiding places for their…ingredients."
"That stuff'd be damn old by now." My father's eyes snapped to mine as realization dawned.
"Precisely." I lifted the glass with an eyebrow raised in question. "Another?" At his nod, I headed toward the bar but kept talking. "So did they find his stuff?"
"Not that I'm aware of, but I wasn't in that loop."
I almost snorted in disbelief but decided it wasn't consistent with my strong desire for self-preservation.
"Lucky, this just adds more weight to my warning."
"A warning. I heard you. But really, you know as well as I do, I couldn't do my job if I had to be afraid of every reprobate wishing to knock me down a peg. Truthfully, fear isn't my strong suit—I come by it naturally."
When I returned to his side, my father took his glass and sipped. He swished the scotch around his mouth before swallowing. "I'm trying to tell you this time is different. Boogie being back. The bomb. Just stirs up a bunch of old grudges—wrongs to be righted."
"Great, a bunch of old farts all tilting at windmills." I threw back the rest of my drink, then almost choked. I'd been prepared for whiskey, not fizzy water. "Just what we need for the Fourth of July."
"You really aren't going to take this seriously, are you?" My father sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice.
"Father, I was four when Boogie the Bomber got his balls busted. I can't imagine what beef he has with me. Besides, it's not me Boogie is after."
"Jimmy can handle himself."
"Not Jimmy." I waited until he turned to look at me. "There's someone else Boogie has a beef with, at least according to Jimmy."
"Who?"
"You."
"Me?" My father shot me a half-assed smirk. "Tell him to take a number."
"My point exactly."
***
After my father left, I lingered at the window, this time with a glass of Wild Turkey. Perhaps it was a delayed life-passing-before-my-eyes experience in the wake of a near-death experience, or maybe just the echoes of emptiness pinging off the walls of my heart, but demons assaulted me. And what was that whole weird thing with my father? Usually not one to beat around the bush, he'd left me with the feeling so much had been left unsaid—that I'd gotten only one piece of the whole picture. He expected me to read the subtext when he knew better than anyone that I was a big-print kind of gal.
So how did one protect themselves from unknown evils? Who knew? The whole thought left me curiously defeated. A Pollyanna to the last, I'd always lived each day, seized each moment. When had that changed? If I was honest with myself—not one of my best things—I'd probably have to say the whole down-in-the-mouth Lucky showed up when Teddie left. The fact that he had so much power over me should probably disgust me. But that's what happens when you give someone your heart, right?
Short on answers but long on questions, I succumbed to the bone-bending weariness washing through me. Tossing back the last of my drink—this time getting the anticipated high-octane hit—I put the empty glass on the bar, then headed toward the bedroom. While it was a nice place to sleep, it wasn't home. All my things were still packed away in the boxes stacked against the wall.
A metaphor for my life.
I wondered what I was waiting for.
***
The Fourth of July in Vegas—a giant citywide party.
To be honest, it was my favorite holiday—even above New Year's Eve. Less structured, less controlled, the
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