Lucky Draw Read online

  The woman leaned forward, her lips wrapping the straw as she took a long drink of her fruity concoction.

  “That’s better,” she said, her eyes lighting up the way eyes do when they’re fueled with a little bit of liquid incentive. “Gotta get my courage up.”

  “Your courage?” I asked, chuckling. “This must be a hell of a question.” My mind raced with possibilities, none of which I’d voice in mixed company.

  “You could say that,” she answered, biting her lower lip. “You’re John Lucky, right?”

  I looked down at the table and then back up at the woman. “That’s the difficult question you wanted to ask me? My name? I’ve gotta say, I’m a little disappointed.”

  “Don’t be,” she answered. “It’s just the first of many.”

  “Well, now you’ve got me intrigued,” I replied, tapping my knuckles against the tabletop. The weather was great, you could smell the salt in the air, it was a Tuesday afternoon, and I didn’t need to be anywhere but here. Life was good, and all signs pointed to it getting even better. “You’ve heard of me?” I asked.

  “Seems like everyone around here has heard of you,” she said, grinning at me. “You saved a woman from an armed robber at a truck stop and won the lottery.”

  “I mean, he was armed with a water gun,” I muttered. “Not that I knew that at the time.”

  “You also saved a kid from having his crazy uncle light him on fire, right?” she asked, taking another sip of her drink.

  “Word gets around fast in these parts,” I said. “How long have you been here, anyway?”

  “About a week, but I have family here,” the woman said. “They’ve been flapping their gums about you for awhile now.”

  “Is that right?” I asked, eyeing her up and down. “Is that why you came by to sit with me?” My eyes settled on hers. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

  “I didn’t throw it,” she answered, “but I will now.” She stretched her hand out at me. “I’m Random.”

  “I’m sure you are, but what’s your name?” I asked, grabbing her hand and giving it a gentle shake.

  “Stones in glass houses, Lucky John,” she said, winking at me.

  “I couldn’t resist,” I answered, shrugging as I let go of her hand. “It’s a unique name.”

  “I’m a unique woman.”

  “I bet,” I replied, the pace of my heart picking up a little, just like it always did when I found a beautiful lady who not only wanted to verbally joust with me but actually seemed up to the task.

  “And, yes,” she answered. “I did sit down here to meet you, but not just because you’re something of a big deal around these parts. There’s also the fact that you remind me of a cooler, sexier Tom Selleck.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible. You’re talking about Magnum PI, ma’am. I’m not sure I can measure up.”

  “How about you let me be the judge of that?” she asked. “And my readers.”

  “Readers?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.

  “I have a pretty healthy blog going,” she answered. “Random Musings. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

  “Can’t say I have,” I admitted, my stare at the woman hardening. “I’m not much of a blog guy, as it turns out.”

  “Well, I have three million unique page views a month from people who definitely are,” Random said.

  “Is that good? Am I supposed to be impressed?” I asked.

  “Panoply was. They offered me my own show,” she answered. “And I’d like you to be the subject of the first episode.”

  A sharp chuckle escaped my lips. I wasn’t expecting it, and the damn thing surprised me, but it was there, nevertheless. “You’re joking.”

  “About business? Never,” Random said. “My blog covers events that I think are interesting. Most of them happen around the Gulf, though I’ve been as far west as Nevada before. The blog has taken a true crime bend lately, and there’s no better place for that than Sin City.”

  “Then why don’t you find someone to showcase out there?” I asked, pushing my seat back and standing up. “I’m sure there are more than a few people who would welcome and probably even benefit from the kind of exposure whatever the hell TV show this is you’ve got cooking would provide them.”

  “It’s actually a web-based show. It’s for a new startup subscription service,” Random said, standing up herself. “And I wish you’d just hear me out.”

  “Aren’t there already too many subscription services?” I asked flatly. “You expect me to help in the launch of another one?” I shook my head. “And I don’t need to hear you out. I’ve had way more attention than I ever wanted already. The last thing I need is for you to throw my ugly mug on computer screens all over the country.”

  “It’s a worldwide audience,” she answered. “And you mustn’t have heard what I said about being a sexier Tom Selleck.” She followed me as I started walking away, my bare feet digging into the sand. “You have a story that people want to hear. You can connect with them. The world is such a messed-up place filled with messed-up people, but you’re one of the good guys. You’re a soldier who made good. You’re proof that being a stand-up guy actually pays off. Hell, with the right kind of marketing, your face could be on Wheaties boxes. I’m scrappy. I can get you what you want.”

  “I’m not sure why you’d think I’d want that,” I answered, shaking my head as I continued to walk. “I’ve already got more money than I can reasonably ever spend, and notoriety isn’t something I’m after. I do wish you good luck with your web show and everything, Random. And if you ever want to hang out and dive into that whole ‘sexy Tom Selleck’ thing, I’m definitely down. But as for all the other stuff, I just don’t think I’m your guy. I can’t deny that I’m the man you heard about and that I did do all the things you heard I did, but all I’m looking for now is a little bit of peace and quiet.”

  The clap of thunder that came as soon as the words left my mouth should have been enough to let me know that peace and quiet would be the last thing I was getting.

  It told me that a storm was coming, but what it didn’t tell me, what I wish I would have known, was that by the end of the day, I’d be smack dab in the middle of a different kind of storm, one that would threaten everything.

  2

  Davey shook his head disapprovingly at me as he mixed his latest drink. When Alexis left town, taking her son with her after all they’d been through here, I never imagined Davey would be the one to take over her bartending job at the Rusty Bucket. He didn’t have much need for money, seeing as how I paid for everything with the lottery winnings. Still, maybe it shouldn’t have come as too much of a surprise. My best friend was a people person, which meant that he liked to impose his embellished stories and corny jokes on unsuspecting people in confined spaces whenever he could. And as everyone knows, a bar is the best place in the world to find unsuspecting people in confined spaces. Besides, he knew his way around a liquor cabinet. In retrospect, I guess I should have seen it coming.

  “You don’t agree with something?” I asked him as I reached over his shoulder, pulled open the cooler, and grabbed an ice-cold Corona. Taking off the top, I took a long swig.

  “Plan on paying for that?” Davey asked me, finishing up a Sex on the Beach and setting it at the end of the bar for one of the servers to pick up.

  “Plan on starting to pay rent?” I asked, wiping my mouth and setting the bottle on a coaster in front of me.

  “I think we both know the answer to that,” he said. “Besides, I’m not the one who turned down a shot at fame and fortune.”

  “Is that why you’re shaking at me like a bobblehead?” I scoffed, almost chuckling. “Because of Random and her stupid offer?” I lifted my hand out in front of me. “I already have the fortune, and I sure as hell don’t want the fame.”

  “I meant for me, loser!” he answered, his eyes growing just a little wider.

  “Why would you need fortune? I pay for everything. Hell, at thi
s point, you’d have to brush away cobwebs to pry your damn wallet open. And I don’t even want to consider what you might do with a little bit of fame,” I said, shaking my head myself.

  “You just don’t get it, bud,” Davey said. “You’re not using your head for marketing.”

  “That’s because I actively don’t want to be marketed,” I answered.

  “’Cause you’re not seeing the bigger picture,” Davey insisted, basically leaning over the bar at me to get his point across. “Imagine what it could be like. You’re a hero. Children could be playing with Lucky John action figures. Women could be swooning over the Lucky John posters on their bedroom walls.” His eyes got even bigger. “People could even start calling you LJ.”

  “Not if they expect me to answer,” I said.

  “Don’t be like that, LJ,” Davey said.

  “Don’t start!” I said, pointing a sharp finger at my friend. “Look, we’ve got a sweet deal here. I’m not interested in messing it up or changing things too much.”

  “I get it,” Davey said. “But maybe you’re not thinking about all the aspects of this. You ever think of that?”

  “How on earth could I think of something if I didn’t think of it?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at my friend.

  “You have a fair point there, but still, hear me out,” Davey said. “What about the good you’ve done?”

  “What about it?” I asked, shrugging my shoulders.

  “So, it’s not nothing,” my friend said. “And what if you wanted to do some more? Don’t you think it would be easier if more than a handful of people knew what you were capable of?”

  “I’ve had, at last count, six newspaper and three magazine articles written about me, not to mention the shout out I got on the truck stop’s website. At this very moment, I can’t walk the streets in Bonita Springs without someone calling me Lucky John or asking me a thousand questions about what happened with George, Alexis, and Jack.”

  “And all of that could happen on a national level!” Davey said, splaying his hands out in front of him.

  “Except that I don’t want it to happen on a national level,” I answered instantly. “There has literally never been anything that I’ve ever wanted to happen on a national level.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Davey answered matter-of-factly. “I know you play this big game about wanting to be left alone, about wanting to spend your days frolicking on the beach and soaking up enough rum to give you a permanent buzz, but I say all of that is bull.”

  “I’ve never said the word frolic in my life,” I answered. “I regret that I said it just now.”

  “You want to help people?” Davey said, his voice an accusation. “It’s your thing.”

  “It’s not my thing,” I said.

  “You’re right,” he replied. “You have to help people. That’s your thing. Otherwise, how do you explain Mr. Edwards?”

  “Mr. Edwards is an old widower who doesn’t have anyone in the world,” I said, defending myself.

  “I know who he is. That wasn’t my question,” Davey said. “My question was about the way you’re throwing yourself into his business.”

  “His home healthcare worker stole all of his wife’s jewelry on the day she died, including the poor woman’s wedding ring. I’m just supposed to let that stand?” I balked.

  “You’re supposed to let the police do their job,” Davey said. “That’s what us normal people without a compulsion to help every downtrodden soul we happen across would do, but you’re not one of us, are you, LJ?”

  “I’m going to murder you if you call me that one more time,” I said.

  “You do have the compulsion. You have the need to be of service. That’s why instead of lying on the beach like you claim you want to, you’re going to hunt down Mr. Home Healthcare Worker and feed him his teeth.” He leaned closer to me. “’Cause it’s your thing.”

  “I’d have to be able to find him first.” I sighed. “And right now, That’s a dead end.”

  “Actually, that PI you hit up earlier called a few minutes ago. He caught a glimpse of a car that looks a lot like that thieving bastard’s at the Seafoam Inn outside of town. I meant to tell you, but I’ve had a lot of drink orders coming in, you know?” Davey grinned at me.

  “Yeah, I know,” I grunted. “You’re a piece of work. You know that, Davey?” I asked as I turned toward the door and got myself prepared to take a little trip to the motel.

  “Yeah, but I’m your piece of work. Don’t you forget it.”

  “I couldn’t if I wanted to,” I muttered. “Trust me.”

  The road was clear in Bonita Springs, which I had come to find was something of an oddity this time of the year. Right before the start of school was typically when tourists and snowbirds squeezed the last of their vacation days out in places like this. As such, the town had been packed with people who would be gone in two weeks, not to return until the weather crisped up wherever they happened to live.

  Right now, it seemed as though Moses had come with his staff and slammed it right down onto the highway, because the traffic had parted for me, and I couldn’t be happier about it. I was a man on a mission, and given the tardy nature of how Davey gave me the information about the guy who’d swindled Mr. Edwards, I didn’t have any time to waste.

  The Seafoam Inn was a dive on the other side of town. While Bonita Springs was a picture-perfect place filled with tennis courts, sprawling beaches, and the sort of high-end restaurants you’d expect to draw in the more affluent crowd, that didn’t mean it didn’t have a seedier side. It didn’t surprise me that this side was where I would find a guy the caliber of one who would steal from a brand-new widower.

  When Mr. Edwards came to me a few weeks ago after having heard about all the stuff that had also sent Random slinking up to me on the beach, he asked me to fix things with tears in his eyes. The thing was, he didn’t care about the money. He said if Russ Mangrove, the morally compromised healthcare worker in question, had just lifted cash from him or even broken into his bank account and gone on a shopping spree, he wouldn’t have cared.

  And the thing was, I believed him. He didn’t care about the fact that he had been robbed. He didn’t even care about most of the jewelry. All he wanted was the ring he gave his wife fifty years ago as he knelt down in a field under the tree where they first met and asked her to be his bride. That would have been enough for him.

  That, however, was not enough for me. You don’t get to steal from people who have done the right thing their entire lives and expect to get away with it. Not if I could help it.

  As I swung into the parking lot of the motel, rage and indignation filling me, it occurred to me that maybe Davey was right about me. Maybe this was my thing, after all. I also made a mental note to never, ever tell Davey about that. The guy was hard enough to deal with without letting him know he was right about something.

  Slamming the door, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window's reflection. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to give it that slept in windswept look that (in my experience) girls seemed to think looked nice on me. Add that to the fact that I was wearing a five o’clock shadow, at eleven in the morning, no less, and I was pretty confident that I could charm whatever information I needed out of whatever lady was behind the front desk here.

  Stuffing my hands into my pockets, I turned and saw the white Chevy that I knew belonged to Mancove. There was no need to check the license plate to be sure. This particular car had a dent in the hood and a smashed out right taillight. Seeing both of those things was all the positive ID I needed. Of course, just knowing the car and the man who drove it were here was only half the battle.

  I still needed to know what room he was in, and I needed to do it without letting him know I was looking for him. And though this place, with its chipped light blue painted walls and its only half there signage wasn’t the Taj Mahal by any stretch of the imagination, it did have three floors of rooms to choose from. Even taking into consideration
the fact that Mancove would have likely parked outside or near his room if he was on the bottom floor left most of the top two floors up for grabs. And as far as I knew, Mancove had never seen me and had no idea who I was or that I was looking for him, but seeing some dude peeking in windows and pulling on door handles would very likely set his spider senses tingling. No. I was going to have to be more focused than that, and that meant milking the information out of whoever was behind the front desk. I just had to hope that she was the kind of person who could be charmed.

  As I pushed my way into the lobby of the place, a Beach Boys song drifting through the air, it took all I could do not to smile. The lobby was a tiny box of a place. No frills, no extras, nothing that would lead anyone to believe they were getting anything other than the bare essentials from a stay here.

  Normally, that might strike some people the wrong way. I could definitely name more than a couple of people who would turn tail and run should they ever come into contact with a place like this, but not me. All it did was remind me of simpler times. When I was a truck driver, moving throughout the Midwest with an Eagles song both on the radio and in my heart, I stayed at places like this all the time. Sure, fleabag motels in Nebraska, Iowa, and Illinois weren’t studded with coastal themes and tacky seashells painted on the walls, but all that stuff was just cosmetic. In the end, they were all the same, and oddly enough, walking into a place like this made me feel at home.

  What it didn’t make me feel was at ease. Because as I looked around the place, noticing the mostly empty vending machine and television set in the corner that—I kid you not—still had those rabbit ear things jutting out of the top, I noticed the person behind the front desk wasn’t exactly in the demographic I was after.

  In order to charm my way into getting the information I needed, I was hoping for someone who was more open to my charms. Instead, what I found was a guy of maybe twenty-one with a snake tattoo on his arm and his nose buried in the screen of his phone. And let’s just say the highly inappropriate video he was watching on that screen left no doubt that I definitely wasn’t his type.