The Man With the Elvis Face

At first, I was annoyed when the man with the Elvis face squeezed between me and Rick. I watched him slip a sawbuck into the bar-top poker game and order a tequila. Then, to my surprise, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little black notebook. “Can I have your autograph?” he asked, with a lip-curling grin.

“Who me?” I was tempted to make him repeat himself, partly because I wasn’t sure that I’d heard him right, and partly because I wanted to hear it again. Instead, I took the pen from his outstretched hand and wrote Lady Luck, with a flourish.

At twenty-five minutes after midnight on December 31, Rick went missing. I suppose technically that would be New Year’s Day. We’d had one of those annoying arguments that couples often have after partying all night and we were brooding at the bar with two feet of space between us.

It cost a small fortune for the hotel room and the flights to Vegas, but the booze was gratis, and Rick wanted to get his money’s worth. I wanted to hit the cash machine again, but my ever-loving was playing cat and mouse with the bank card. He'd won a little jackpot earlier in the night but like an only child, wouldn’t share. I tried whining, schmoozing, begging and even a little blackmail, but no bananas.

“Give me the bank card,” I insisted. “It’s my money.” I had just scored a tidy royalty check from my publisher and the way I saw it, any money I gambled was money I’d earned. Besides, this trip was strictly research.

“Okay,” Rick snapped. “But you’ll scratch my eyes out tomorrow.” He handed over the plastic. His voice trailed off behind me as I ventured toward the one machine in the place guaranteed to pay-out. I left Rick and the Elvis guy awkwardly staring at each other.

The casino was swaying slightly. Or I was. No matter, I wiggled my way through the sea of happy faces and party-hats without incident. A band was playing in every corner of the building, so you could pick your poison, but it was eerily quiet by the cages. I slipped my card into an ATM and punched in my PIN.

By the time I returned to the bar Rick had disappeared and so had my one and only fan. No matter, I found an unoccupied slot machine and fished a twenty out of my roll. A woman wearing a plastic tiara gave me a doleful glance. “That already hit,” she sighed.

“Lady Luck’s rule number one,” I said with authority, “Jackpots don’t hit twice in a row.”

“No kidding,” she replied. “I’d be happy with a couple of cherries. This machine’s tighter than Mick Jagger’s jeans.”

“Did you see who won?” I inquired.

“Yeah, some guy who didn’t look like he needed the money.”

“That’s always the way,” I commiserated.

I cashed out my ticket. There wasn’t much hope of finding Rick. The casino was packed wall-to-wall but the atmosphere, the lights, the music—it all jelled. The adrenaline was pumping almost audibly and there wasn’t a sign of fatigue in the place. Even the old people were buzzing like flies on a corpse.

My two hundred bucks didn’t last long so I sat for a while watching the couples laughing and kissing their New Year's kisses. Soon after, my bankroll blown, my glass empty, I decided to head upstairs.

What would my loyal readers think? I idly wondered as the elevator jerked to a stop. My bestselling book, Lady Luck’s Guide to Winning at Slots was practically a household name in Nevada. Well, not really, but I’d sold over thirty-thousand copies. Volume two, Whole Lotta Luck was sure to turn ink into cash if I could just find a fresh angle.

My mind wandered as I tiptoed into our room. To my surprise, it was empty—no sign of Rick. I flopped down and switched on the television for company. It was impossible to relax. I couldn’t stop thinking about Rick. Where was he? I reran our pointless argument over and over in my head.

The television droned out a newscast. I perched on the edge of the bed and watched for a few minutes—a fire, a car chase and another in a string of hotel robberies. Vegas has a split personality, one side flash and glitz, a kind of Disney for adults, but the other side strangely dark and dangerous.

It occurred to me that I hadn’t checked our own safe. Perhaps Rick had returned and dashed off with his passport and his airline ticket. Could he have been that angry? I keyed in our lucky combination number. Bingo! The door swung open.

And then I stood and stared, dumbfounded.

Sure, I was tired, exhausted, but I was positive I wasn’t hallucinating. My heartbeat quickened. I could feel little beads of sweat forming on my forehead. I stepped back and rubbed my tired eyes.

I reached in and touched what I could hardly believe. The safe was packed solid with cash. Rick must have had a big win, stashed it in the safe and went back out to celebrate. I ran my hands over the money. I didn’t know the casino would pay that much in cash but hey, anything is possible in Vegas.

A dozen ideas ran through my head simultaneously: a new car, Paris in the spring, a personal trainer. I grabbed the bills from the safe and tossed them onto the bed. I sorted them into piles. It was a fortune. But my glee was spoiled when a vision of Rick in trouble invaded my euphoria. Where was he?

I grew more and more apprehensive. I tried his cell again. No answer. I scooped up the money and stuffed it back into the safe then crawled into bed. I was sure I wouldn't sleep but I didn’t care, I had to think.

When I awoke my head was buzzing. Outside in the hallway, I could hear carts and dishes and a vacuum cleaner although it was nowhere near dawn. My imagination led me down every dreary back alley in Vegas. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to ignore the clattering of the housekeepers.

I jumped out of bed and half-staggered to the safe. Was it all just some screwball dream? No, the money was still there. Gobs of sweet green, just waiting to be transformed into a new poodle or a spa or laser eye surgery! Then, I heard the sound I was so anxious to hear, the click of the keycard in the door.

“Rick!” I screamed. “It’s about time—” But it wasn’t Rick. “What the—?” I fell backwards and pushed the safe closed with my shoulder. “How did you get in?” I gasped. It was the man with the Elvis face.

“I just have a way with locks, doors, safes, you name it,” he said. “But everyone is good at something, don’t you agree? You’re good at gambling.”

“How do you even know me?” I hissed.

“Your book is in the prison library,” he said with a straight face. “One of my faves. The picture on the cover doesn’t do you justice.”

“Really?” I blushed but quickly regained my composure. “Rick will be back any second,” I bluffed.

“Unlikely,” the intruder said. “I left him at a blackjack table. Not doing too well either. I guess he didn’t read your book.” I would have laughed except it was true.

“I’ll just take that money you won and be on my way.” He moved toward me and the safe.

“Money, I won?” I said startled.

“Don’t be funny,” he growled. “Your boyfriend told everyone about your big jackpot.” Pointing at the safe he quoted from memory, “Lady Luck’s rule number seven: stash your winnings right away so you aren’t tempted to gamble it back.”

“I’m a fraud,” I said. “I’ve never won a cent in my life.”

“Open it,” he ordered, angrily.

It was pointless to refuse. I watched a crooked smile light up his face when he saw the money. He ran his hand through a mop of jet-black hair. “Easy come, easy go.” Hurriedly he transferred the money from the safe into a small tote bag then turned to exit. “Hunka, hunka,” were the last words I caught.

Suddenly there was a crash outside the door. A food cart must have toppled over, and heavy footsteps approached. The door flew open and a bevy of police officers stormed the room. The Elvis guy cursed and lunged at the door, sidestepping, and dodging the cops, but without success. It was not more than a minute before he was cuffed and dragged away by two able young uniforms.

I had barely caught my breath when the balcony doors flew open and Rick jumped into the room. “Rick!” I screamed. “You mean you were out there the whole time!”

“Someone had to keep an eye on you,” he said.

“You weren’t in any real danger, Ma’am,” piped in a cop who had stayed behind. “Our people were staked outside the room.”

“The housekeepers,” I sighed. “Of course.”

“We’re grateful for your co-operation,” she added. “Both of you.”

“I don’t get it,” I admitted.

“Well,” Rick explained, “When you left the bar, the Elvis guy split too, but being the world’s dumbest criminal, he forgot his little black book. I was looking for his name when I found a list of hotels, room numbers and safe combinations. I figured he might be the robber everyone was talking about.”

“And?”

“And I called hotel security and they called the cops and I agreed to help with a set-up. Apparently, this guy is a master of disguise so it's been impossible to identify him.”

“So that isn’t his natural hair colour?” I interrupted. The cop cracked a smile, but Rick didn’t skip a beat. He went on.

“The plan was that I would let it slip that you had won a big jackpot and if my suspicion was correct, he’d try to steal it. But to charge him with robbery, there had to be something to steal. So, I dropped the bait at the blackjack table, waited for him to leave, then came right up to the room, planted the cash in the safe, and hid on the balcony. You came in about ten minutes later.”

“You don’t think I should have been told that someone was going to break into the room? I might have been murdered in my sleep.” I was more than peeved.

“Well, that was a little screw-up,” Rick continued. “I didn’t think you would return to the room so early. You know how you are when you’re gambling.”

“You mean when I’m doing research,” I corrected. The cop raised her eyebrows.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Rick reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew the black notebook. He passed it to the cop.

She flipped through the pages then paused. “Well, he’s left us a record of all the robberies and something else. Looks like an autograph. Lady Luck?”

“Aha! An accomplice!” Rick exclaimed. I poked him in the ribs.

“Well folks, I’d say this should cinch the reward,” said the cop, ignoring my wise-cracking gumshoe.

“Reward?” I repeated. "Like a money reward?"

“Yes, Ma’am. The hotel has offered twenty-grand for evidence leading to the conviction of the thief.”

So, for the second time in 24 hours, I was rich. I made up with Rick as always and forgave him for making me worry and using me as bait. As for the man with the Elvis face? I only have one thing to say. Lady Luck’s rule number four: don’t get greedy. If you play too long the house will surely win!