ONE

 

Predict, prevent and protect. The same words he’d learned as a Navy SEAL bled over into his job as head of security very well. But as Luca “Lucky” Luchazi stared down at the body of his friend and former mentor Charles Vega, he didn’t feel as though he’d honored those words at all.

More than a dozen police vehicles converged on the scene. The black and whites of Las Vegas Metro were scattered everywhere. Their flashing light bars washed everything in red, drowning out the mix of neon colors that came from the casinos neighboring Lucky Sevens.

Charles had come to Vegas in its infancy and built his empire from scratch. Even while the other joints came crashing down to make way for theme-park-style mega-resorts, Lucky Sevens remained standing as one of the last legendary casinos on The Strip.

Lucky always admired the old man for remaining true to his ideals, even when the casino was taking a pounding in the pocketbook. Now he was nothing more than a sack of meat splattered all over the sidewalk.

Personnel from the county coroner’s office also responded to the scene, but not soon enough. The vision of good old Charlie lying with his robe open exposing his wobbly bits to the world, lying in a pool of his own blood, would haunt Lucky for the rest of his days.

Even now, as they draped him in plastic and wrapped him up tight for his last ride, all Lucky could see was the blood. He witnessed his fair share of death during war, but this time it was different. This was Charlie. He’d been like a second father to Lucky ever since he set foot in the city. So, when he overheard two Metro officers disrespecting Charles’ death with their blown-out theories, Lucky set them straight.

“Hey ease up,” Lucky said walking in between the two officers. “I never thought you were the type to spread gossip, Mel.”

Lucky had known Mel Harrison for many years. They’d done favors for each other multiple times. Harrison was the only guy on Metro that Lucky held any respect for. He always assumed the feeling had been mutual.

“Sorry Lucky, I know how much Charlie meant to you.” Harrison motioned to his partner. “Get the coroner over here to finish up.”

Harrison put a reassuring hand on Lucky’s shoulder and the two officers went on about their business. Lucky let them walk. He let them scrape Charles Vega off the sidewalk like road kill. He just stood there as a blast of hot wind rolled in off the desert and struck him like a blow dryer at high speed.

Damn weather turned on a dime. What were they calling it? El Nino? Something Spanish—go figure. Name somewhat brought to mind hot sand beaches and girls in Brazilian cut thongs.

There would be questions about Charlie’s death, inquiries, maybe accusations to garner some press. But not long after, they’d put everything to bed wrapped in a nice little bow.

To the police, the papers, and the tourists (who even now posed for pictures in front of a real-life Las Vegas crime scene) they would dust it off as just another gambling related suicide.

For Lucky, the question would gnaw at his insides for eternity.

How could he have let this happen?

​

LUCKY SEVENS

Vegas Vigilantes 1

Copyright © 2013 Cynthia Vespia

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