Viva Lost Vegas Read online

  Viva Lost Vegas

  by

  Melanie Jackson

  Version 1.1 – February 2011

  Copyright © 2011 by Melanie Jackson

  Discover other titles by Melanie Jackson at www.melaniejackson.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Chapter 1

  Alex poured me a glass of wine as soon as I walked through the door. For one moment I thought it was because he was frustrated about having his car in for repairs again.

  “So,” he said nervously. “Gwen called today. She’s been talking to Mom about the wedding.”

  Alex is sweet. He has a kind of naiveté about his sister that is not usually found in anyone who can count their birthdays on more than one hand.

  “No,” I said, refusing his request and the wine. “No. I don’t want her to be a bridesmaid.”

  “But—”

  “No. Never.” I turned, picked up my purse, called Blue and then left. About two blocks later I stopped burning up the sidewalk and called the house.

  “Chloe!”

  “I’ve had it, Alex. I don’t want a June wedding. I don’t want a polka band. I don’t want fruitcake. I don’t want to release a hundred white doves to poop on my guests. I don’t want to wear a dress that is bigger than the entire church and weighs more than I do. And I really, really don’t want people picking my bridesmaids!”

  The last part was shouted and Blue was looking alarmed.

  “I’m sorry. I—”

  “The wedding is off.”

  “What?” he sounded as stunned as I was. I clutched at Blue and rolled the words around my head. They were horrible, but they were right. I did a quick soul-search, and because I am young and usually honest with myself, I didn’t have a lot of obscure territory to cover. This was the right thing to do. We had to stop the wedding madness before we developed some permanent personality disorder.

  I sighed aloud. An enormous weight slipped off my bowed shoulders. Ever since Alex’s dad had had his heart attack we had been handling his mother with kid gloves. The more outrageous Rosemary’s wedding suggestions, the more ridiculous my own mother’s plans grew. They had no thoughts of their own, no common sense, no logic. And the plans they were getting from the magazines and bridal network were insane. Our parents had become nuptial terrorists. For this Alex and I were probably equally to blame. But one of us had to be strong and it wouldn’t be Alex.

  I had tolerated the mothers and their goofy plans, but Alex’s sister was one straw too many for this camel’s back.

  “Here are the options. One, we continue to live in sin. Two, it’s you, me and the courthouse— with maybe our parents. Three, we elope to Las Vegas and let Elvis marry us.” I paused, feeling faint but forcing out the next words. “Or you can leave, of course.”

  “No! God, no! I’ve been driven crazy by the wedding, but not that crazy.”

  “Okay then.” I inhaled and exhaled slowly. “So what’s it to be?”

  “Run those options by me again.”

  “Homicide, suicide or flight,” I said dryly.

  And that was how we ended up in Mary Elizabeth’s borrowed, pink, Mary Kay car, in the dead of night, during a rainstorm, heading for state border with a duffle bag, my dog and a sack of kibble. I had called Mr. Jackman and asked him to feed the cats. Usually Dad would do this for me, but calling Dad would lead to too many questions about where we were going.

  The only other person I phoned was my boss, Randy Wallace, and he had only asked me if this was vacation or sick leave. I suspected that he knew the truth since I had discussed my wedding woes before, but he would keep any questions to himself. The Chief is discreet.

  “Does the department have mental health days?” I asked.

  “No. Not without a visit to a shrink.”

  “Then mark me down as sick and tired. I’ll be back by the weekend.”

  “Okay. I’ll get Jeffrey to cover for you. Chloe, before you go, Duke and North Carolina are playing tonight. I like Duke but…”

  “I know, but they won’t win. North Carolina will win. It will be a rout.”

  “God forbid. A rout? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, and it will take divine intervention to change this, so just accept it.”

  “Hmph,” the chief said, but I knew that he would bet the way I told him. “Drive safely, wherever you’re going. And I’ll see you soon.”

  “Thanks, Chief,” I said, feeling better once escape was at hand.

  I should have known that it is never that easy when you are having a wedding, even a prepackaged one in Las Vegas.

  Chapter 2

  The GPS assured me that we were nearing the Carnival Motor Court, a pet-friendly motel with a doggie grass area, an animal decoration motif and free ice though not HBO. But history has proven that microelectronic machines lie to me a lot, and we had gotten lost more times than the Lewis and Clark expedition since leaving the highway, so I started looking around for some kind of marker to prove we actually were where the electronic-deceiver claimed we were.

  The landscape was a lot of nothing, not even made pretty by moonlight. We don’t do nothing in Hope Falls since we are surrounded by trees and mountains. It made me feel quite small and naked.

  It was about an hour before dawn and very dark, being we were passing through a town without streetlights, but it had stopped raining so I was able to read the sign while it was caught briefly in the headlights:

  Do Not Disturb

  Population 84

  Someone had shot a hole through the O in Not. I opened my mouth to mention this odd sign to Alex when something even more startling caught my eye.

  “Stop!” I said, but he was already slowing down. Alex made a slow turn and doubled back, stopping about fifteen feet from the pink Cadillac that had legs dressed in white satin pants and blue suede shoes protruding from the open trunk. The front right tire was very flat and the car rested at an angle.

  “Huh,” I said and Blue whined.

  Two pink cars in the desert. What were the odds? I checked my cell, no reception.

  Of course we were going to offer help. Of course, but previous events have taught us both caution especially in strange situations. And I hadn’t forgotten the bullet hole in the sign. The night was silent though and the headlights showed us nothing except a dusty car and dustier legs sticking out of the trunk.

  “Blue, wait here,” I said finally cracking open the door. My breath immediately frosted and my nose began to run. The cold was bitter and the wind sighed eerily.

  Alex and I approached the vehicle together and hesitated a moment when we got to the legs and trunk. Neither of us believed that someone had stopped to change a tire and then decided to take a nap while leaning over their trunk. But perhaps the driver had had a heart attack, or maybe struck his head on something and collapsed.

  Alex turned on his flashlight and shone it at the dark interior. I gasped. The sight was ghastly even without blood. The jump-suited corpse, laid on its back, was contorted. It seemed that someone had attempted to cram it into a trunk already full of luggage and the arms were bent at impossible angles. Worst of all was the head. It has been twisted around backwards so all we saw were dark cowlicks where a face should be.

  “Oh no. See if you can get cell phone reception. Mine is flat-lined and—” I started to say and then screamed when the corpse turned its head around and opened its eyes. A moment later it pulled down its arms and popped all the join
ts back into place.

  “Who are you?” asked Elvis Presley. “And thank you— thank you very much for stopping. I thought the aliens had me for sure.”

  Elvis, who insisted his name really was Elvis and showed us a driver’s license to prove it, was having coffee with us at a nearby truck-stop. We had given him a ride in our car since it didn’t seem a good idea to change a tire when there was a would-be murderer— or aliens— who might be lurking in the dark with a gun.

  Elvis had no memory of what had happened, beyond stopping to repair a flat tire which had blown or been shot out. He was able to explain about his broken neck and arms, which obviously weren’t actually broken. He suffered from a condition called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. It gave him hypermobility of the joints and extremely stretchy skin. In advanced cases, the patients could die of damage to internal organs but Elvis King was only a Type 1. That meant that whoever had tried to twist his head off had failed to kill him. The shortage of blood and air had caused him to black out though.

  “Which isn’t great but better than expected,” he said, taking another bite of cherry pie. “Never thought I’d be happy about all those experiments them aliens ran on me, but I guess the Gumby disease has its uses.”

  “Aliens? Like from Mars, not South America?” Alex asked. I slipped Blue a bit of piecrust. She had on her service dog vest and no one had asked her to leave the diner. Of course, it was very late at night and maybe the waitress was too busy waiting on the three other Elvises that were in the café looking for pie and coffee. I made note of their faces. Couldn’t help it. It was like Elvis was standing in a house of mirrors looking at three distortions of the original.

  Fat-heavy steam from the kitchen fogged the mirror above the pass-through and eventually the glass began to weep greasy tears. I sipped my coffee but abandoned the pie whose lard crust suddenly tasted bad.

  The big windows in the low building squatting at the side of the road made me nervous, but I thought that maybe between the smoke and the multiple Elvises we were safe from pot-shots, at least for the time being. Our strange guest was a definite cloud on our rose-colored horizon.

  “Yep, them aliens picked me up a time or two already. Once in the seventies and again in eight-nine. I come back all flexible and able to sing. In fact, that’s where I’m headed now. The new Event Horizon Hotel is having a competition, looking for the best Elvis impersonator— and I reckon that would be me.”

  “It’s near here?” I asked, ignoring the aliens thing for the moment.

  “That it is. Leastways it’s supposed to be about another twenty miles up the road. The hotel folks have been renovating some old ghost town and plan to have a grand opening the first of next month. The best old Elvis will get to headline in their lounge this summer. The chance at this job is a nice surprise. There are always new acts coming along, kids younger and more talented. It’s nice that someone thought of us old timers.”

  “Wow.” That was all Alex could think to say. This was a new kind of insanity for him. I have a neighbor with dementia though and she often sees things like gnomes, so I am more used to it.

  “We were headed for another motel for the night, but I’m darned if I know where it is. They take dogs,” I added.

  Elvis smiled at Blue. Blue smiled back.

  “The Event Horizon allows pets. And they are kind of light on bookings now on account of not being officially opened yet.”

  This was a hint. I decided to acknowledge it since I wasn’t sold on our other motel and— though it flew in the face of better judgment— I found myself interested in Elvis King and wanted to know why someone was after him.

  “So, do we call the police?” I asked, not mentioning that I am the police.

  “Well, truthfully, I’d as soon not. The police and I, well, we go back a ways and not in the most amicable way. Seems none of them has ever been taken by aliens and they tend to be a bit closed minded when you explain things.”

  “I can see that,” I admitted. Alex and I shared a long look and then Alex grinned. It was a goofy smile and the first I’d seen in weeks. Alex is a forensic accountant and private eye who specializes in online sleuthing. He rarely encounters real crime or criminals anymore unless I badger him into a case. There isn’t much about the job that’s amusing or imaginative. Probably because it’s all numbers, and except for 8 none of the digits are that funny.

  “And it isn’t like I’m really hurt,” Elvis pointed out. “Besides, what are they gonna do about aliens anyway?”

  “Okay,” I said, making a note to call The Chief anyway and ask him to run a check on Elvis King. I was betting that Alex would be able to find stuff on him too. “How about if we take you to your hotel and see if they have a room for us. Tomorrow we’ll go back and fix the tire on your car. I don’t much fancy doing it tonight. There could be snakes around.” Not likely in winter but I didn’t want to bring up aliens or gunmen.

  “That’s very generous of you. I was feeling a bit blue about being stranded here all night,” Elvis said. He had a nice smile. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt him, even if they were aliens.

  “It’s no problem,” Alex said. “Anyway, this Elvis competition sounds like exactly our kind of thing.”

  It was? I guess it’s true that you learn something new every day.

  Chapter 3

  The Event Horizon was not what I expected. Given the ghost town theme and that silver mines had played out at the end of the nineteenth century, I expected something appropriately Victorian, albeit downscale. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  The entrance to the hotel was flanked by Grecian urns, lit by hellish red lights. The sins of architecture continued with colonial columns stuck on a Hacienda-style stucco building— lit green— and a pseudo-Roman mosaic which flanked the south-western paving stones that led to the lobby doors— glass doors, not the more suitable iron studded wood that would belong on a hacienda. There was a gothic tower in one corner made of faux-stone. It was also lit up with red floodlights. Some rich magpie had gone out collecting anything and everything that appealed to them and had crammed it all together. I wasn’t sure if the stylistic inbreeding was cheerful and avant garde, or merely garish.

  Mary Elizabeth’s car looked right at home in the parking lot where there were a couple other pink Cadillacs of varying ages and conditions. I could only shake my head.

  The entry way spelled out ‘welcome’ in red, blue and purple carpet, designed to clash with all exterior styles, be it Roman or ranchero. To the left of the empty lobby was a bar, wood-paneled and deserted at that hour, and to the right was the small casino. It was almost deserted, but not quite. One young Elvis of the Hollywood variety was at the slots. I couldn’t imagine the racket at full capacity. The slots were very loud and the strobe lights hurt my tired eyes. Dad has an old-fashioned pinball machine and standing by the casino was like being dropped into it.

  Whatever its shortcoming in taste, Mr. Mobley, the night manager and a pretty fair imitation of Elvis himself, did have a room for us and was prepared to believe that Blue was a service dog as long as we paid a deposit, so I was content.

  We got settled in our room which was just down the hall from Elvis, and I checked my cell for a signal. We did have service at the hotel. Though it was early, I decided to call The Chief before I plugged in the charger and then set about recharging myself.

  “Go.”

  “Chief, it’s Chloe. Good morning.” I stared at the wooden walls, decorated with charred cattle brands. Our bedspread had cowboys on it and there were bucking broncos on the drapes.

  “Boston. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Alex and I are in Nevada.” The Chief grunted. I didn’t take offense. He had guessed we were eloping and the hour was early for pleasantries or pretending surprise at my announcement. “We may have stumbled across something. Can you run a check on a man named Elvis King for me? He’s an Elvis impersonator and lives in Reno. He drives an old pink Cadillac.” I gave him the lice
nse plate number.

  “What am I looking for?” I thought it was really nice of Randy not to ask me why he was looking. Our relationship has come a long way.

  “Criminal record, obviously, but I want to make sure he isn’t violent. And I am betting there is a history of mental illness. Specifically, reports of alien abduction.”

  The Chief chuckled.

  “Boston, you do find them. Call me back in ten minutes and I’ll give you what I have.”

  “Okay.”

  Alex and I changed places in the bathroom which was thankfully void of cowboy themed faucets or horse troughs. I brushed and rinsed and then called Randy back. I put him on speaker so Alex could listen too.

  “The guy’s a whacknut,” The Chief said immediately, not mincing matters. “He is also an ordained minister of the Universal Living Church since ninty-nine. This isn’t who is going to marry you, is it?”

  “Uh, I hadn’t thought about it.” I glanced at Alex, who just shrugged. Married here? That seemed weird, but I would think about it. After all, one place was as good as any other as long as it was legal.

  “Boston, I am probably going to regret asking this, but if he isn’t marrying you, what’s this guy to you and Alex?”

  “I think someone may have tried to kill him last night, though he believes it was aliens attempting to abduct him again. It was dark and in the middle of nowhere, so who knows what really happened. Somehow he ended up in a car trunk with his head turned severely sideways. This smells bad to me, but he has some disease that makes his joints hyper-flexible. Maybe he had a brain seizure or something. Anyhow, we rescued him and took him to his hotel. We’ve ended up in a renovated ghost town called Molly Mines. It’s just down the road from Do Not Disturb. They are having a talent search for the world’s best Elvis impersonator. I think we may stay another day before heading on to Las Vegas. After all, you can’t beat entertainment like this.” And the situation was weird enough that I wanted to look into it a little more before taking off and leaving Elvis to his fate.