Rarities Unlimited 02 - Running Scared

heard Socks say about Cherelle, they weren’t what anyone would describe as close.
    As soon as Shane got out of his car carrying a small suitcase, the door of the Bronco popped open and a woman climbed out.
    She wasn’t Cherelle Faulkner.

Chapter 56
    Las Vegas
    November 5
    7:00 a.m.
    G nawing on the inside of her mouth, Cherelle sat in the middle of the unmade bed and stared at the television. She had gone through a whole cycle of news promos and ads for breath mints, “sexergizers,” and gambling tips. Other than running the tape of Socks busting through the Golden Fleece and saying that the police had identified him as Cesar Firenze Marquez, nephew of the CEO and part-owner of Roman Circus, John Firenze, who was cooperating with police in the search for his nephew, the news had nothing to say about the apprehension and lockup of Socks.
    “Well, shit,” Cherelle said.
    She dragged her fingers through her hair so she wouldn’t have to look at their fine trembling. She wanted some crack. She wanted it bad. Not that she was hooked. She could take it or leave it.
    Right now she wanted to take it.
    Problem was, she wouldn’t have any money to get crack unless she hit another jackpot, sold her ass on a street corner, or Socks got nailed so she could sell the gold without falling on her face from looking over her shoulder the whole time.
    “How many cops does it take to find one stupid asshole?” she asked.
    The TV cut back to the judges of the Santa Claus bikini contest. They had big hair and tits like rocket ships, probably used to find out if a man had any working equipment under his big belly.
    “You dumb bitches! Give me some news! Tell me the cops took him down!”
    Somebody in the room next door pounded on the wall and yelled at her to shut-the-fuck-up.
    Cherelle came off the bed like a tiger and started to heave the lamp at the wall. All that stopped her was that the lamp was nailed to the bedside table. Cursing, she yanked until her nails were bloody. Then she caught a glimpse of herself in the dresser mirror. At first she didn’t recognize the woman with the pale, sweating face and dull hair standing out in all directions. Then she did.
    Christ Jesus. I look like some whacked-out crackhead. That isn’t me!
    She stopped pulling at the lamp. Carefully she smoothed her hair down and forced her breathing to level.
    “It’s okay, mama-chick. You’ll do fine. You always do. Take a big ol’ shower. Get some coffee. Some food. Maybe a beer or two. If they haven’t caught the dumb fuck by then, he’s left town, and you don’t need to worry no more.”
    Nothing answered her words but an earnest middle-aged man on the TV, telling her that her sexual troubles were over. No prescriptions. No harsh chemicals, just Mother Nature’s own—
    The shower came on, drowning out everything else for Cherelle but the gnawing need to sell the gold and get a little crack.
    Not much. Just a little.
    Just enough to take the edge off.

Chapter 57
    Las Vegas
    November 5
    7:00 a.m.
    H ands empty, Shane leaned against his car. As soon as he’d seen that the woman wasn’t Cherelle, he put the briefcase full of money into the trunk and locked it. He would have turned around and driven off, but the closer he got to the Bronco, the more his instincts were reminded of how it had felt at Virgil’s house.
    Only stronger.
    Almost as strong as when he’d picked up the first of Smith-White’s offerings and felt time peeling away like smoke in a hard wind and he was standing in an oak grove with the moon in his face and a solid gold knife in his hands.
    “No gold until I see the money,” the woman said for maybe the sixth time.
    Though she was dressed like a tart in crotch-length black skirt and half-unbuttoned see-through blouse, Shane knew she wasn’t in the business of selling herself. He couldn’t have said why he was so certain, but he was. Right clothes, wrong everything else.
    “Lady, you can huff and puff all you like,” Shane said. “You aren’t Cherelle. Your Bronco has Nevada rental plates. That’s two big strikes against you. Until I see the gold, you don’t see the money.” He looked at his watch. “Fifty seconds more and I’m gone.”
    “There are other markets for—”
    “Forty-five,” he cut in calmly. He’d heard it all from her before. It hadn’t impressed him the first time. It was downright tiresome the fifth time.
    Body armor itched in awkward places.
    The woman looked at his stone green