The Dead Don't Speak (7 page)

"Alcohol?" Sarah asked.

Cassandra nodded.

"I can't believe he let you take his picture."

"I don't think he planned on hitting me a couple weeks later," Cassandra said.

It was strange for Sarah to see her friend like this. Usually so carefree and outspoken, the change that had come over Cassandra was disturbing.

"So now what?" Sarah asked.

"That's why I wanted you to come over. You're the one who said I should try to get some money out of him. How's it done?"

"That's why you went to see him? Holy shit, I was joking!"

"It's not a joke now," Cassandra said.

"I can see that."

"So, what happens next?"

"How should I know? I've never blackmailed anyone before." Nor had she ever wanted to, until about five seconds ago. Men shouldn't hit women, ever. And to hit one of Sarah's friends, well, that deserved retribution.

Sarah began pressing buttons on Cassandra's phone.

"What are you doing?" Cassandra asked.

"Sending the pictures to myself." Sarah switched gears, "Want to hear something interesting?"

"Sure."

"My mom has been home the last couple nights..."

"Riveting," Cassandra said.

"There's more, smartass. She is all giddy because she convinced Simon Simmons to come to Versailles. She's going to pay him like sixteen million dollars plus give him a suite to live in. If there was ever a good time to try to get money from him, it's now."

"That
is
interesting," Cassandra said.

Daphne Carter waited in her office for Dylan Tovak, Versailles's Director of Entertainment, to arrive. For the past few days Daphne had been making decisions that should have gone through Dylan; it was time to bring him in the loop.

She tapped her toe beneath the desk. There were other matters to attend to and Tovak was running late. Normally Daphne would have gone about her schedule and blown off the meeting. But the Simmons deal was her baby and she wasn't about to endanger it by upsetting someone whose signature was needed on the contract

The phone buzzed.

"Yes, Shelly?"

"Mr. Tovak is here."

"Have him come in."

A moment later the door swung open and in came Dylan Tovak. He was a tall man with a penchant for slicked back hair and Brooks Brothers suits.

"Dylan, come on in. Have a seat."

"You rang?" Dylan said in his best Lurch impression.

"I have an opportunity to discuss with you. I've been looking at getting a new entertainer and wanted you to put in your two cents."

"Who's the entertainer?"

"Simon Simmons."

Dylan sat back in his chair, "That's an...
interesting
option."

"What do you think?"

Dylan shifted in his seat. His eyes wandered around the room before finally settling on Daphne. "Word around town is he's a handful. Man draws a crowd though, always a packed house. Camelot's lucky they picked him up when they did," Dylan stopped short. He knew Daphne had passed on hiring Simmons a couple years back. He hadn't meant to bring that up.

Daphne smiled, "It's okay. I messed up once. I don't plan to do it again."

"If the price is right, I say go for it," Dylan said. His eyes wandered a little lower.

Daphne adjusted her Akris suit jacket, sending Dylan's eyes back up to hers. "Sixteen million for three years, half up front. Plus five million for his buddy, I mean his manager, Chris, and a contract buy-out for Camelot."

"Christ, Daphne, how far have you taken this thing?" Dylan smiled. It was nice to have a boss who wasn't a troll.

"Nothing in writing," Daphne said.

"So we're looking at twenty-three to twenty-four for three years. Only Simmons has guaranteed money?"

"Yes." Daphne decided she would mention Chris's guaranteed two and half million to Tovak later.

"So if it goes south in a year we're out twelve to thirteen," Dylan studied the ceiling, reassessing his budget. "I can make room for it," he said finally.

"Fantastic!" Daphne beamed a smile at him. Tovak was easy to manipulate. Such a guy!

"It is, yes. But I need something from you. I want something in writing telling me to go ahead with this deal. You negotiated it all without my knowledge but you need my signature to hire him. And that's fine. You're free to act in the best interest of resort. But if this ends up coming apart at the seams, I'm not going to be the only one left naked."

Daphne smiled at him, "Good boy."

Dylan smiled back, raising an eyebrow. He usually didn't appreciate being spoke to like a dog? But this time it was a turn on.

"I will have it to you in five minutes."

Dylan Tovak checked his e-mail when he returned to his office. Sure enough, there was one from Daphne Carter. It stated the deal in broad strokes, as Daphne had explained to him minutes earlier. It clearly stated the deal was negotiated without Dylan's knowledge up until the date and time of the e-mail. It asked Dylan to please move forward with buying out the contract from Camelot and bringing Simon Simmons into the Versailles family.

Dylan stared at the computer screen. It was time. He'd been waiting for an opportunity to present itself and here it was, gift-wrapped in the shape of Simon Simmons. Daphne Carter was going down.

*****

Margaret's RV rolled to a stop, again. Traffic on the Strip was a nightmare at midday. Walter mumbled a curse from the driver seat. A drink sure would taste good right now.

Cayte, who was seated by a window, said, "Ugh, it looks like a giant carnival. I can't get away from them!"

"Hush it," Margaret snapped. "This place is beautiful."

Walter added, "Traffic's too heavy."

"Yall are a couple wet blankets, you know that?" Margaret said. Then, "What do you think, Zach?"

"I like the buildings," he said.

"There you have it! The tall buildings are lovely, aren't they, hon?"

"Where's this RV park supposed to be?" Walter said. "Who the hell puts an RV park in the middle of the city?" He huffed and fidgeted in his seat.

"We're looking for Fremont Street," Margaret said.

"Here, follow this." Cayte walked to the front of the RV and handed her phone to Margaret, she'd turned on the GPS.

"Can't believe they have camping
in
the city," Walter said.

"Best start believin' it, bubba, cause we're stayin' there tonight," Margaret said.

"Must get hot as hell."

Margaret let Walter have the last word, this time.

"Zach, can you come up here for a minute. I want to talk to you," Margaret said.

Zach appeared.

"I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Yes, darlin'."

"What surprise?"

"Have you ever heard of a man named Simon Simmons?"

Zach shook his head but his stomach fluttered. He'd seen the billboards when they got to Vegas. Simon Simmons seemed to be
the
psychic show in a city teeming with entertainment. Part of him wanted to shout in Margaret's face, "Yes! Yes, I know him!" But he had to maintain his little boy persona if he wanted to be rid of Walter.

"He has a show here in Las Vegas, a rather famous show. He only goes on twice a week and tonight just happens to be a night he will be doing his show. And," Margaret's hand fished out four tickets from the pocket of her cutoff jeans. "We're going to see him!"

"What's he do?" Zach asked, widening his eyes.

"Same thing as you, hon."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir," Margaret's head bobbed up and down.

Zach threw his arms around Margaret's neck.

"What a good boy," Margaret said. "See this, Cayte? This is what appreciation looks like."

Zach didn't like being a lesson for Cayte. He also didn't like that he'd just hugged a woman he didn't entirely trust. She'd done a nice thing for him though, for the four of them, really.

He walked back and sat across from Cayte.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's okay," Cayte took his hand for a moment then let it go. "You'll love the show."

Once they reached the RV park, which was really just a large cement slab, everyone stretched out for a nap in the air conditioning. It had been a long drive, about eighteen hours, and they needed the rest. Walter and Margaret took the bed in the back while their children shared a pullout couch in the main living area.

They woke around dinner time, ate quickly, and then got dressed for the show. Margaret was stunning in her little black dress, Walter looked rather smart in the suit Margaret had bought him back in Dallas, Zach wore his trademark tee shirt and shorts, and Cayte chose a denim skirt, plaid shirt, and cowboy boots.

"You need a straw hat," Zach told Cayte.

"Don't joke, I own three." She smiled at him.

They took a taxi, which Walter paid for, to the Camelot Hotel and Casino. The place was magnificent. The facade mimicked a medieval castle. The main entrance was a draw-bridge, over an artificial moat that led to a large opening in the stone exterior; a portcullis hung overhead. The centerpiece of the lobby was an enormous fountain, in the center of which was a large pedestal. Lounging atop the pedestal was a beautiful, blond Lady of the Lake. Suits of armor decorated the lobby walls. Most of the staff were dressed in Arthurian costume. It was like a waking dream.

A friendly fellow dressed as a jester inspected their Simon Simmons tickets. He directed the four of them toward the theater entrance closest to their seats. As they walked along the corridor they passed a lady with tears in her eyes. She was babbling into her cell phone. Out of habit Zach listened to what she said.

"He doesn't know. I don't know when to tell him. Just this morning. Yes, I'm sure. The pink plus sign means positive..."

They were out of earshot.

*****

Sarah and Cassandra were having dinner at The Hard Rock Cafe Las Vegas, giving their plan a good once-over before going to confront Simon Simmons. Sarah had made peace with the idea of blackmailing a bastard who hit women just as quickly as Cassandra had.

"Are you sure this will work?" Sarah asked.

"Why not? If he wants to stay out of jail, it'll work. We're not asking for much, not from a guy who's making sixteen million dollars. A couple hundred grand is peanuts."

"Let's go over this one more time," Sarah said.

"Okay. After his show Simon will be with whatever bimbos his little dog has brought him. I go up and slip a note under his door for him to find when he takes the girl upstairs. It says to call our throw away phone," Cassandra held it up. She handed it to Sarah. "He calls the phone and we tell him what we want or I go to the police. He has to leave the money in the men's room in the lobby at Camelot at 7:00AM two days from now."

Sarah stared at Cassandra blankly. Her stomach was roiling again; maybe this was a bad idea.

"You following me?" Cassandra asked.

"Yeah," Sarah nodded. Simmons
did
deserve it.

"We wait in the lobby until we see him go in. When he leaves, we go get the money."

"What if he has someone else waiting in the bathroom?" Sarah asked.

"We go in with pepper spray. If anyone else is in there we hose them down."

"Why don't we leave the note during his show? Then we know right where he'll be."

"Because it starts in ten minutes and we haven't eaten yet."

Sarah sat quietly now, looking everywhere but at Cassandra.

"You remember how my face looked when you came to my house?" Cassandra asked.

"Yes," Sarah answered.

"You want to back out?"

"No."

The show was about to start. Zach's stomach fluttered with excitement. Seeing what he
could
be and how far he had yet to climb, put a fire in his belly.

This Simmons guy must never break character to have done so well for himself.

"I wonder..." Zach said.

"What's that?" Cayte asked.

"I was saying I wonder how he does it. There are so many voices with this many people around."

"Can you hear them?"

"I haven't tried."

The lights dimmed. The crowd quieted.

"You better start," Cayte said.

Everything was bathed in blue light. A bright white spot exploded onto the stage, revealing a thin haze of smoke in the air. A man strode out from behind the curtain. He was tall; he was handsome; he was Simon Simmons.

Zach heard Cayte whisper, "Oh my."

"Good evening, folks," Simmons said. "How you all doing tonight?"

The crowd roared.

"Glad to hear it. I like to start every show with a warning. I can't speak to dead people, I can't speak to ghosts, I can't speak to anyone but the living. If this is what you were looking for you need to move along." He scanned the room quickly with his eyes, no one moved. "I see everyone stayed. Good choice. Because there are some things I
can
do; I speak
for
the dead. I don't hold anything back, and I'll pass messages to you until the spirits have nothing left to say."

The crowd went crazy for this. Zach looked around. People were nodding enthusiastically; one lady was already crying. It was far different than Zach's experience on the stage. He recognized the biggest difference between Simmons and himself: it was showmanship. Zach kept it lax, simple, he didn't even dress up. All his effort went into the cold reading. Simmons wore nice clothes and knew how to draw people in.

"Now, let’s get down to business..."

Simmons did a couple readings for people in the nearest section. Zach sat in rapt attention. Cayte glanced at him a few times, smiling at how intrigued he seemed.

Simmons motioned to the left side of the crescent. "Someone in this area had a father or uncle whose name was Larry. Definitely an older male, possibly a grandfather."

A hand rose in the audience. Zach didn't recognize the man, but he knew the girl whose hand the man was holding. It was the crying lady he'd eavesdropped on in the corridor leading to the theater.

Zach sat waiting for Simmons to mention a baby.

"Larry, who was very into NASCAR?" Simmons asked.

The audience member, who was standing now, nodded. An attendant arrived with a microphone.

"Larry is... your father?"

The man nodded again. He took the microphone from the attendant and said, "Yes."

"What's your name, sir?" Simmons asked.

"Paul Coogan."

"Mr. Coogan, your father wants you to know he is doing well. He's with your mother again and happy. And he wants you to be happy. You just got married, is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

Here it comes.

"He sees your beautiful wife and..." Simmons paused for effect. "And Paul, he just couldn't be happier."

The woman with Paul stood, too. They hugged. The attendant slipped the microphone from Paul's hand and began to move away.

It seemed to Zach like a missed opportunity. All at once he understood what was happening in the theater, how Simmons did his show. He wasn't cold reading, that much was obvious from the start. He had old information and that probably meant prior research. The dark side of ambition flared in Zach's heart. He had information that Simmons didn't. Zach decided he would never be the kind to miss opportunities.

He nudged Cayte, "Get your cellphone ready to make a video."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

Cayte pulled out her phone, pressed some buttons, and nodded at Zach.

He got to his feet and shouted, "No! That's not right!"

The applause hadn't died down yet, he waited for the room to quiet.

"That's not right!" Zach shouted again.

Simmons ignored him.

"Moving on to the center here..."

"That's not what they said!" Zach shouted loud enough for people in the crescent to turn and look back.

"Security?" Simmons said into his mic.

"She's pregnant," Zach screamed.

The crowd was silent after Zach's outburst. Paul and his wife heard Zach clearly when he yelled, "Larry is happy about the pregnancy. He knows it's a surprise but he is happy you're pregnant."

Everyone was now looking at the woman whose hands were over her face. The attendant, not knowing this wasn't part of the show, returned the microphone to Paul.

"Is it true?" Paul asked.

His wife bobbed her head up and down, her hands still clinging to her face.

"When did you find out?" Paul asked.

"This morning," she said, her words being picked up by the mic and broadcast for all the crowd to hear.

Now all eyes turned back to Zach.

Cayte captured the whole scene on video. Margaret looked over at her daughter with gratitude in her eyes. Tonight that clip would be uploaded to YouTube and sent to various news outlets. Margaret knew the only thing people love more than a good fraud is when a good fraud is caught in the act. Zach would have a show, if not in Vegas then somewhere. Margaret needed to dig her claws deeper into Walter.

Security arrived a moment later and escorted the four fair workers out of the building.

*****

Simmons finished his show but the audience was lukewarm at best.

"What the hell happened out there?" Chris asked.

"Fuckin' kid," Simmons spat, his face was red and he was sweating. "I should find that little shit and curb-stomp him. What right did he have to interrupt my show?"

"How'd he know the girl was pregnant?"

"Hell if I know. Probably knows the couple or something. Went through their trash and found the test. Who knows?"

Chris smiled now, "I've got a couple girls that'll cheer you up."

"I'm not in the mood. You go. Bang one. Bang 'em both. I'm going to bed."

Simon left the dressing room and went straight to the elevator. He rode it up to his floor, went into his suite, and slammed the door. The lights of Las Vegas sprawled out into the night beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. Simon marched directly to the bar and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels. He loosened the cap then spun it like a top, hard enough that once it was off it went click-clacking across the tile floor.

It wasn't his favorite liquor, not even his favorite whiskey, but Simon and Jack had spent some low times together. Now Simon returned to him like an old friend. He tipped the bottle up, taking a long pull. The alcohol slid down hot and warmed his abdomen. It felt like home.

How could the kid have known that girl was pregnant, Simon wondered. Rooting through the trash seemed the most logical explanation. For a moment, he considered what it would mean if the boy could actually hear the dead. Simon imagined show after show where a little kid would suddenly stand up and make him look like a fool. A little boy stealing his audience away.

No! He wouldn't let that happen. Simon would have a word with security. There would be footage of the boy coming in tonight. They would capture a still photo and ban him from the theater; his family too. Simon took another pull off the bottle. It burned less this time. The next show would be business as usual. The kid was a heckler, that's all.

Simon walked to the bathroom, bottle in hand. He set it down and rested both hands on the counter, hunching a little. He studied his face in the mirror.

"It's entertainment," he told himself. "The little fucker is trying to steal your audience."

The bottle of Jack Daniels called out to him. Simon picked it up and did a four-second pour down his gullet. The bottle clanked down beside the bathroom sink; Simon tottered a little, his head swimming. Jack didn't waste any time. The guy was all business.

Moments later, when things had settled, Simon took up his bottle and headed for the living room. He planned to get good and drunk, watch some TV, and figure out how to deal with tonight's embarrassment.

The arrangement of Simon's suite was such that the living room was only twenty feet from the entrance. He was still on his feet when he heard the
zwip
of paper sliding on tile.

The noise had come from the door. Simon turned his head and saw a large, dark yellow envelope coming to rest. His brain, working through the tidal waves of alcohol, told Simon someone had just slipped it beneath his door. He covered the distance in five steps, pulled the door open, and found Cassandra still transitioning from squatting to standing.

His mind spun, from revenge on the boy who'd ruined his show, to the girl who had challenged his manhood. The onslaught of alcohol caused the two strings of thought to entwine. Simon's hand shot out, grabbed Cassandra by her sweatshirt, and pulled her into the suite in one fluid motion.

Cassandra lost her balance and fell, sliding a short distance. She'd fallen face down and the impact caused her diaphragm to cramp, knocking the wind out of her. She heard the door slam, then the click of the deadbolt.

The girl rolled onto her back and kicked with her feet, pushing her body backward on the floor. Simon watched her squirm backwards. He had a frenzied look in his eyes. He took a step toward her. Cassandra moved further back. A moment passed between the two. Their eyes locked, but neither could grasp what the other might be thinking.

Simon smiled. "Come back for seconds?"

Cassandra couldn't be sure if he was talking about sex or when he'd hit her and she didn't want to find out.

Simon's face changed, like he'd just remembered something he'd forgotten earlier in the day that had been gnawing at him. He turned and scooped up the envelope.

Cassandra's stomach dropped, free-falling an impossibly long distance for her small frame.

"Don't," she said in a tiny voice.

"Don't what?" Simon said and set his bottle on the floor.

He tore the envelope open and pulled out the single sheet of paper.

"I've got mail."

Simon scanned the note then looked back at Cassandra. His eyes weren't frenzied anymore. There was nothing behind them at all.

He held the note out toward Cassandra in a gesture that was both a question and an accusation.

"I won't. It was stupid. I won't," she stammered.

He loosened his hold on the sheet of paper and let the note float to the floor. Simon picked up his bottle of Jack, he took another swig.

"I promise I won't," Cassandra said. She started pushing herself backward again.

"Stop," Simon said.

Cassandra stopped speaking and moving.

"I am going to come over there and help you up."

She nodded.

Simon did what he'd said. He helped Cassandra to her feet.

"I don't appreciate this," he said.

"I'm sorry. I won't. I promise I won't."

"I wish you hadn't come here. Especially tonight!"

Simon guided her toward the door, his hand at the small of her back.

"I'll leave. You'll never hear from me again. I swear."

"I know," Simon said.

The hand that guided Cassandra clenched into a fist, firmly gripping the sweatshirt she wore. Simon pulled back to stop her from walking.

Cassandra turned her head to look at him. What she saw was the Jack Daniels bottle approaching at an alarming rate.

He swung the bottle as hard as he could. It hit her squarely in face. Simon expected the bottle to shatter but instead it made a loud
thunk
. Cassandra went down, her nose bleeding all over her shirt.

It was smart to get her away from the furniture
, Simon thought.

Cassandra didn't try to slide backward this time. She lay on the floor groaning.

Simon knelt over her and brought the bottle down on her forehead. This time it shattered, glass scattering over the tile. He was surprised to see the neck of the bottle had broken as well. Simon let the piece fall from his hand.

Cassandra let out a shriek, the alcohol stinging the many cuts on her face. Simon clamped a hand over her mouth.

He got down close to her ear and whispered, "You're not going to tell anyone anything, are you?"

She shook her head beneath the weight of his hand.

"Fucking right, you're not."

Simon put both hands around her neck. Before he'd begun to squeeze Cassandra's eyes went wide at the realization of what was about to happen. Simon tightened his grip, putting all his strength into it, pressing in with his thumbs on Cassandra's larynx.