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Regardless, the images were burned into my mind. To imagine Ace as a little boy without words was to feel heartbreak in its purest form. He’d never been loved. He’d never been protected. Even as an adult, he was still learning how to communicate with the world and navigate his emotions. I wanted to fix him. I wanted to heal him. But not with the pain he thought he needed. What Ace really needed was love, but how could I show him the way when I didn’t even know it myself? I think that truth hurt the most. I couldn’t be what he really needed.
With Ace’s history, I couldn’t imagine he’d ever find a single redeeming quality in me when he learned who I really was. He thought he’d seen me at my worst. The rage, the cons, the lies. He’d even spoken with Detective Taylor, but he didn’t know the worst thing I’d ever done. And if it ever came out, I knew with horrific certainty that he wouldn’t ever want to look at me again.
My phone rang, shaking me from my thoughts, and a glance at the screen confirmed it was the past calling.
“Joe?” I answered.
“Miss me?” The slimy voice on the other line sounded distant as if he had me on speakerphone.
“I’ve been calling you,” I grumbled. “Are you ready to make a deal or not?”
“So eager,” he mused. “How about I’m ready to talk about it?”
I pinched the phone in my grip as I forced myself to stay calm and play his stupid game. “Okay, so talk.”
“Not on the phone,” he scolded. “Meet me inside the Rio. I’ll be at the bar.”
“You’re in Vegas?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions, Birdie. Are you coming or not?”
He’d intentionally asked me to meet him in a public place, knowing I wouldn’t agree otherwise. Not after the last time. Even though it was the last thing I wanted to do, it was my only option.
“Fine. Give me twenty minutes.”
“See you then.”
He hung up, and I glanced around the empty lot, still torn by the thought of leaving here before Ace arrived. But it was done. He wasn’t part of this, and I needed to remember that. The only thing that mattered now was getting my life back.
The Rio wasn’t on my list of usual haunts in Vegas, but it was right up Joe’s alley. After the cabbie dropped me off, I walked straight into the bar and scanned the patrons, but I didn’t see him.
Something in my gut warned me this was too convenient. He didn’t need to meet with me in person; he just liked to toy with me. That was his MO. And now here I sat, looking like a fool while he probably watched on from a machine, snickering at his ability to control me like a puppet.
Twenty minutes passed. And then thirty. The first three texts I sent him went unanswered, but on the fourth, he finally responded.
Joe: Something came up. Another time.
Seriously? I stared at the screen, dumbfounded. Now he was definitely playing games with me. But even this was out of character for him. Regardless, I wasn’t about to waste my time sitting around while he figured his shit out. Clearly, he thought my threat to expose him was a joke. Maybe he thought he was untouchable. Maybe I was really screwed. I texted him back anyway.
Birdie: You know what’s about to ‘come up’ in your world, Joe? The police at your door if you don’t give me that fucking tape.
I waited five minutes and still no response. With a groan, I marched back toward the exit and stepped outside into the afternoon heat. The Rio was a short walking distance from the Strip, and I figured I could use the time to blow off some of my pent-up frustrations. There was also the matter of figuring out where I would go.
More than one time today, I’d considered hopping on a plane and saying fuck it all. I didn’t know where I’d end up or what I would do, but maybe there was another life out there for me. Only, I knew there wasn’t. Vegas was my home. I’d tried leaving before, and even then, I couldn’t stay gone long. Now I had Ace and Gypsy and my nephew to consider. But unless I got the evidence on that tape, I had no future at all, and that was what it all boiled down to.
I turned the corner on the sidewalk and almost stumbled over a bum napping in the middle of it. The foliage was thick here, and I often saw the homeless utilizing that real estate for shade and comfort. Farther down the ravine in the storage lot were shipping containers converted into homes. Definitely not legal, but people lived there too. That was Vegas for you. There was a very thin line between abject poverty and the filthy rich, and it was sometimes only a matter of feet.
