Nine

I’d never once in my life worn a wig. But, had I done so, it certainly would not have been peroxide blonde. An image of Miss Missy crossed my mind as I stared at the hideous thing. I pulled it from the box and examined it from every possible angle. I had mixed feelings—was it just hilariously ugly or was it full-blown atrocious?

“Put it on. You’ll look great in it.”

I frowned and half-closed my right eye. “Okay, but first let me see what else you bought.”

I opened one of the two paper bags—big, gaudy sunglasses and a ring with a fake rock half the size of Mongolia. “Classy, Ron, real classy.”

“Cheap—the total opposite of you. And that’s the idea, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the idea. But damn! Was it necessary to go trailer-trash tacky?” I was almost afraid to open the other bag. It was large but weighed next to nothing. I recited a silent prayer, reached into the bag, and pulled out a flat-brimmed straw hat. The band matched the frame of the sunglasses—pastel yellow with small pink, purple, and orange polka dots. My eyes cut a fast path to Ron’s.

“In case you don’t like the wig,” he explained, a smirky grin on his face.

“Oh. Uh … nice.” I wasn’t sure what to think. On the other hand, how can you not like a guy who knows how to coordinate?

I slipped the ring onto a finger and waved my hand in front of my face at various angles. Although fake, it was big, and most girls will tell you—size matters. I contemplated all the items. “Hat and sunglasses.”

Ron smiled. “Good choice.”

He would have said that, regardless of which choice I’d made.

He checked his watch. “Almost noon. Since we missed breakfast, how about lunch? The buffet here is terrific.”

“Give me a second.” I stepped into the bathroom and pulled my hair into a pony tail. I applied makeup to match the new getup. As a bonus, it gave me a different look from the previous day. I donned the straw hat and adjusted the sunglasses. Can’t say I was thrilled with the reflection in the mirror, but it accomplished the intent. I hardly knew it was me looking back.

He scrutinized me up and down in my cut-off denims, black blouse with big yellow buttons, goofy shades and Farmer Jane straw hat. “Gorgeous!”

“Yep, if you like Daisy Duke.”

“She was pretty hot, you know.”

I gave him the evil eye. Of course he couldn’t see it behind the clown sunglasses.

“Before we head down to eat, you got a picture of this guy? You know, in case I happen to see him.” I’d explained my mission to him before leaving the crepes place last night.

I lifted the brown envelope from the desk and pulled out the photo.

“Nice design on his cheek,” Ron commented. “I’d love to hear the story about that.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” Ron returned the picture and I slid it back in the envelope. I grabbed my purse and followed him out the door as my stomach growled. I hoped he was right about the buffet.

We polished off some spaghetti and meat balls, complimented by a few sticks of garlic bread. The selection of entrees was nearly endless, but our time wasn’t.

Ron pushed his plate aside. “You ready to go searching for your bad guy?”

“Let’s do it.”

I asked him to check the slots room while I perused the table games. We spent the next two hours cruising the various game rooms and concessions, but found no clue of Bishop. We kept in contact with our cell phones and decided to meet in the rotunda.

“So, what’s next?” Ron asked.

“I’m not sure. Give me a minute or two to think about it.” I hated being indecisive. It went against my grain and made me feel inadequate.

As I thought about a plan of action, Ron wandered over to the window with an outside view. I recalled it overlooked the topiary gardens between the hotel front entrance and parking lot, and the Strip. “Hey! I think I see him, but I’m not sure. Wanna take a look?”

I rushed to the window and peered out. With the rotunda situated on the second level, everything below was a bit small. But from the side, he definitely looked like our guy. He stopped to light a cigarette.

Heights petrified me. Even though this was just the second story, my stomach clenched. Knowing I was safely inside made no difference. I rerouted my thoughts back to the guy in the parking lot. I was pretty sure it was Adam Bishop. One way to find out.

“Let’s go!” I dashed toward the steps—I surmised the escalator was too slow. Ron followed after me. We clamored down the stairs but walked briskly, rather than ran, through the main lobby—didn’t want to draw attention. When we hit the asphalt, we broke into a full sprint.

A quick scan of the parking lot didn't reveal Bishop. There were numerous long rows of cars and he could have been anywhere. We checked the rows closest to the hotel and worked our way toward the peripheral lanes, where I’d parked Patsy. Frustrated, I stood with curled hands on hips and continued my surveillance. Ron did the same.

I looked to my right as I heard a vehicle coming down the driving lane. Sure enough—Andy Bishop sat behind the wheel of a red Chevy S-10 pickup. He zipped right past me, almost taking me out.

“That’s him!” I shouted to Ron as I pointed. “In the red truck.”

Bishop turned left at the end of the lane and headed for the exit.

“Quick! Patsy’s parked right over there.” We scrambled to my Caddy, probably breaking some long-standing sprinting records. I took off before Ron fully closed his door.

Bishop forced his way into traffic on the Strip. By the time I made it onto the street, he was ten or twelve cars in front of me. As usual, almost any time of day or night, traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard clogged all lanes. I was blocked in and had no way of closing the distance between us.

I cranked Patsy’s air conditioning higher. “You watch right; I’ll watch left.”

Two intersections later, Ron motioned his head to the side window. “He just turned right at the next intersection.” Seven or eight cars creeped along between me and the cross street Bishop had turned onto. At least he wasn’t moving much faster than I was.

I jammed Patsy into Park and then grabbed my door handle. “Take over and keep following him.”

“What the hell do you …”

Before Ron finished his sentence, I’d opened the door and slid from behind the steering wheel. I ignored the several honking horns as I dashed in front of Patsy, zigzagged through the slow traffic, and cut a diagonal path to the side street.  Running at full speed, I zipped through the pump area of the gas station on the corner and continued toward Bishop’s truck. I was only thirty or forty feet away when the traffic jam broke free and he picked up speed. “Damn!”

No way was I going to just let him get away. That wasn’t an option. I had to think of something—but what?

Someone behind me yelled. “Get out of my way!” I looked over my shoulder. The bike rider donned one of those silly-looking hats they usually wore. “Don’t make me run over you!” He was less than forty feet away and quickly approaching.

Blocked by a knee-high wrought iron metal fence on one side and congested traffic on the other, he had nowhere to go except through me.

With Olympic form, I hurdled the fence.

The biker pulled within a few feet of me. “Stupid bitch.”

As he passed directly in front of me, I lifted my right leg over the short fence and planted my foot on his rear wheel. “Asshole!”

I relished the look of fear on his face as he lost control and slammed the front tire into the fence. The bike jolted to a sudden stop and the rear wheel lifted off the cement. He flew through the air like a bull rider coming up two seconds short. He landed with a sickening thud in the front lawn of the Freeze Your Fanny Off Air Conditioning Shop. His bicycle slammed onto the sidewalk, the front wheel slightly bent.

I hopped over the fence and righted the bike. When I straddled the seat, my feet barely reached the pedals. Nonetheless, I was determined. “I’ll leave it down the street a few blocks. Thanks for the loan.”

I pressed down on the higher pedal and sped off in pursuit of Bishop again. The front wheel wobbled a bit and made steering a challenge, but I managed. The sidewalk pedestrians moved out of my way when they saw I wasn’t slowing down. I entertained another rude comment but kept going. It ain’t easy to stop an angry bitch on a mission.

I was in luck as I approached the cross street ahead. The light was green my way. But a car making a right turn damn near took me out.

I closed to within three vehicles of him over the next two blocks. Traffic stopped as the light at the next intersection turned red. I vaulted from the moving bike and it crashed into a parked car.

I charged between two other parked cars and grabbed the tailgate of Bishop’s truck. After planting my foot firmly on the rear bumper, I propelled myself over the tailgate and into the pickup’s bed, landing as softly as possible. Lucky for me, he had his radio cranked up loud and didn’t hear me. I kept low and crept forward. I didn’t think he’d seen me yet. I crawled over the right side of the bed, just behind the cab, keeping a strong grip on the side of the truck.

Bishop zipped by the parked cars, my butt clearing them by less than six inches. I reached for the door handle and yanked. I knew if I messed this up, I’d be tumbling down the street, ass over elbows. The door swung wide as I took a second to look ahead.

Oh shit!

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A Good Chance For Bad Luck  - Main Character List

I will add to the list as the story progresses. Don’t want to

give away too much too early!

Olivia Michelle Grace ------- Rookie PI and millionaire

Alice Milner: -------------- Olivia’s best friend and murder victim

Patsy -------------------- Olivia's fire engine red 1959 Cadillac convertible

Robert Milner: ------------ Alice’s ex and primary suspect in her death

Andy Bishop: -------------- Sabotage suspect at Butler Farms

Ron Matthews: ------------ Olivia’s friend and possible love interest

Linda Sears: -------------- Olivia’s friend and housekeeper

Max Grace: --------------- Olivia’s brother and Kern County Deputy Sherif

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