Sammy Keyes and the Showdown in Sin City

  So I about fall out of my chair when her face crinkles up and she says, “Oh, Sammy! I’m so relieved to see you! I’ve been feeling terrible! I can’t believe … I can’t believe any of this!”

  I just sit there sort of mentally shaking out my ears, and finally I squint and say, “She would have killed me, you know.”

  “She knew you would move!” Even to her this sounds totally lame, so right away she covers her face and says, “I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it.” She drops her hands. “And then I just left you behind! How could I do that? Why do I listen to her?” She shakes her head hard and fast. “I can’t control her anymore! She’s … she’s … I don’t know what to do!”

  I lean back a little and snort. “Boy. I know how you feel.”

  Then she surprises me again by saying, “I want to know the story of the pin. All I can get out of her is that you’re a liar.” She searches my face. “But if you’re lying, her reaction doesn’t make sense!” She shakes her head. “But her jabbing you doesn’t make sense, either! Why would she do that?”

  I study her a minute, then say, “I think it had to do with Marissa and me interrupting a conversation she was having with an eighth-grade boy named Taylor.”

  “She jabbed you for interrupting a conversation?”

  “It was the first day of seventh grade and Marissa and I were lost, so we went up and asked them where our homeroom was. Heather snubbed us, but Taylor was friendly and helped us out.”

  She frowns a little. “Damsels in distress.”

  “We didn’t think so, but I think she did, because later in homeroom she started sneering at me and making fun of me, and the teacher embarrassed her in front of the class … which she probably blamed on me. So she came up to Marissa and me at lunch and asked for lunch money—”

  “But she has her own lunch money!”

  “I’m just telling you what happened. You don’t have to believe it if you don’t want to, but you asked. And she probably only asked for money because Marissa’s family used to be rich and—”

  “Used to be?”

  I shake my head. “Long story. But bottom line, Heather asked for money, and when we turned her down, she jabbed me with a pin—which really hurt, by the way—so I punched her in the nose.” I let out a puffy-cheeked sigh. “And that’s how it all started.”

  She takes a super deep breath, then shakes her head, saying, “Cute, rich damsels in distress.”

  “I’m not rich!”

  Her eyebrows go flying. “You’ll pay fifty dollars for a tip without blinking an eye?”

  “No! I—”

  “It’s okay,” she says, putting up a hand. “It’s just that it’s been a struggle for us, you know? Heather’s very … resentful of people who are in a better position than we are.”

  “But I—”

  “She’s also very style-conscious, which is expensive, but I think it’s important for a girl to … to develop confidence.” She eyes me. “Obviously you already have that.”

  My eyes go a little buggy. “Because of how I dress?”

  She gives me a sort of sad smile. “Everything about you says confidence.” She looks at me eye to eye for the longest time until finally she says, “But you’re not at all what I expected.”

  “Neither are you,” I tell her, and at that moment it’s true—never in a million years did I think I’d have a conversation like this with Candi Acosta. Then I look around and ask, “Where is Heather, anyway?”

  She tosses a hand in the air. “Searching for her father. I just let her go.” She sighs. “You’ve got to be able to admit when it’s over.”

  I study her. “But it’s not over. What I said before about you and him is true, isn’t it?”

  She looks at me. Looks down. Looks at me. Looks down.

  “Why can’t you admit it?”

  Her face crinkles up and she blurts out, “Yes, I still love him.” Then right away she covers her face. “I can’t believe I just said that.”

  “So he doesn’t know?”

  “He thinks I hate him. And I thought I did! I don’t know … everything just … escalated.”

  “Into a divorce?”

  “Yes!”

  “But you don’t want to be divorced?”

  “No! I wish we could just … erase all the hurt. I wish we could find a way.…”

  She just trails off, so I finally ask, “Is there any chance he still loves you?”

  “With your mother in the picture?” Her eyes spring full of tears. “I don’t have a chance.”

  “But he did love you at some point. And you have two kids together?”

  She blots away a tear and shakes her head like there’s no way things could ever go back to that.

  “Look,” I tell her. “You probably think I’m talking about this because I don’t want him to marry my mom, but …”

  “But what?”

  I let out a big sigh. “I went clear up to Circus Circus and clear back down here. It was a long way to ride, but it gave me a long time to think about your family, about my family … about everything.” I kind of tilt my head and ask, “When you split up, how did Heather wind up living with you, and Casey with Warren?”

  “That’s just how we divided things.”

  I stare at her ’cause it sounds like she’s talking about property.

  She must have thought so, too, because she hurries to say, “That sounds terrible, I know, but the kids weren’t getting along, either.” She shrugs. “It just made sense.”

  I let this sink in for a minute, then ask, “Have you seen that picture Heather has on her phone?” I quickly add, “The one of her and her dad?” because I know of some pictures on Heather’s phone that no mother would want to see.

  She shakes her head. “She won’t let me touch her phone.”

  “Well, you need to see that picture for this to make sense, but what I came up with on my ride over here is that maybe Heather felt like her dad chose Casey over her.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe it made her mad and then insecure. Especially about guys choosing someone else over her. Which is why she got so bent out of shape about Taylor that first day of school.”

  “But … Warren didn’t choose Casey—we thought it was better for a boy to be with his dad and a girl to be with her mom!”

  “But I don’t think that’s how Heather feels about it. Or felt about it. She was ten, right? Something like that?”

  “Eleven.”

  “So maybe it made sense to split your kids up like that, but it hurts to feel left behind.”

  For some reason saying this puts a lump in my throat. And what I should have done was not say anything else, but all of a sudden it’s like I need to say it. “It really hurts,” I tell her, and this time tears are stinging my eyes.

  “But she wasn’t left behind! Warren’s been … involved. And I’ve worked really hard to give her a good home!”

  “Look, Heather acts tough, but maybe that’s because she’s hurt. Someone, something, the situation came between her and Warren and maybe that’s what she hates, but since there’s nothing she can do about it, she takes it out on other people.”

  The more I talk about this, the more my throat closes up, and I know I should just stop talking. But deep down inside it feels like I’m gasping for air—like my heart is gasping for air—and that the only way I’ll be able to breathe again is to finish what I’m trying to say. So I choke out, “I know it hurts, ’cause my mother chose being a movie star over being my mom. It’s not the same thing, but now that Warren’s moved down to L.A., it’s close, and it makes you feel unwanted and unloved and … and … abandoned.”

  And there I am, crying in front of Candi Acosta.

  Candi Acosta!

  “But … what about your dad?” she asks, reaching for my hand. “Doesn’t he make you feel wanted and secure?”

  And I don’t know—maybe it was the stress from the whole trip to Las Vegas. But at this point I
’m completely exhausted and hysterical, and she’s holding my hand, and before I know what I’m saying, I blurt out, “I don’t even know who he is!”

  Her jaw drops. “You …”

  And just then Heather swoops in with “What the hell is going on?” And let me tell you, her eyes are on fire.

  I yank back my hand and try to hide the fact that I’ve been crying. “Nothing,” I tell her. Then I pick up my skateboard and whisper to Candi, “Find him and tell him how you feel.”

  Candi just stares, but Heather chases after me. “What was that about? Hey! Where are you going?”

  “What do you care?” I grumble.

  She follows me, demanding, “What were you saying to my mother?”

  “We were discussing traffic laws and what kind of jail time you’d serve for running down kids in the road.” I pick up the pace because I’m panicked over what I’ve just told Candi. Besides the whole well-who-does-she-live-with? problem, once Candi told Heather what I’d said, things would get brutal at school. Talk about giving your archenemy an arsenal of ammo! What kind of an idiot was I?

  But as much as I want to get away from her, Heather stays on my tail. “What did you really tell her?” she demands, and when I don’t say anything, she grabs my arm and shouts, “Tell me!”

  I yank my arm away and keep walking, but then it hits me that she’s worried. Worried that I might have told her mother all sorts of things. Not just about what she’s done to me, but about things like her circulating racy pictures of herself with older guys. Or the fact that she smokes. Or about what really happened to her cell phone that disappeared. Or … wow, there were so many things!

  And I’m actually thinking that maybe I could find some way to put Heather in the hot seat …

  But then we turn the corner.

  EIGHTEEN

  In the time I’d been around the corner talking to Candi, a line had formed outside the House of Blues and was running through the big open area between the box office and into the casino. And standing in a group between the line and us are four Elvises.

  This is even weirder than seeing Pete on the Strip with the first group of impersonators, because not only are these Elvi all wearing the same white outfit, they’re all about the same size. It’s like seeing Elvis in some weird fractured universe. Or a kaleidoscope. Or the mirrored stairwell at the Heavenly Hotel.

  “Sammy!” Pete calls, waving real big.

  Which kind of messes with my fractured universe thing because none of the other Elvi’s arms go up.

  “Who’s that?” Heather asks.

  I raise an eyebrow her way. “Elvis Presley?”

  “No, stupid, who’s he really?”

  I stop cold. “You know what? I don’t need to put up with you. After what you did? You can take your bad attitude and run people over with it all around town, but stay away from me.”

  But she’s already figured it out. “That’s your connection?” she laughs. “Your source is a wannabe Elvis?”

  “It’s the entire Elvis Army,” I growl at her. “And they’re here to get paid, so unless you’ve got fifty bucks for the tip you stole, back off.”

  That does make her hesitate, but she doesn’t leave. “You shouldn’t pay them. Their tips were bogus.”

  “That’s her?” one of the other Elvises says to Pete. “She’s just a kid.”

  “But she’s got one really hot mama,” another one says.

  “Knock it off!” Pete tells him. He steps closer to us and eyes Heather. “I’m guessin’ this is the sneak who tricked me.”

  “Yup, that’s her,” I tell him. “Stole a tip, tried to run me over with her mother’s car, ditched me … The list of crimes goes on and on.”

  The Army has also advanced. “So you two are sisters?” one of the Elvises asks.

  “No!” Heather and I say, looking at each other with wide eyes.

  Elvis shrugs. “That’s the kind of stuff my sisters did to each other.”

  “Mine, too,” the Elvis next to him says with a nod.

  “Give us some space, would you?” Pete tells them. “Give us some space and I’ll get you your money.”

  “Right, right,” the Army says, and when they’ve retreated, Pete whips out his phone.

  I look at Heather. “I said back off. If you’re not paying, you don’t get to see. I’m done being stabbed in the back by you.”

  “You’re just sore because—”

  “Back off!”

  She does step back, and I pull Pete even farther away, saying, “She really did try to run me over.”

  He eyes her again. “One of these days you’re going to have to explain this whole deal to me.” Then he scrolls through his phone and brings up a picture.

  And there she is.

  Beautiful as ever.

  My mother.

  It’s a picture of just her, and I recognize the Miracle Mile Shops behind her, but Pete was right—she’s carrying no bags. Plus her purse is tiny. “Yeah, that’s her,” I tell him.

  “Here’s the other one,” he says as he taps on his phone.

  And there she is again, this time up close and with a surprised look on her face. Like some rogue Elvis jumped out of nowhere and snapped a picture.

  Warren’s partly in the picture, too. It’s just his shoulder, but it’s definitely a maroon leather jacket with fringe. It’s hard to tell the background, though, so I ask, “Where was this one taken?”

  “Hey, Chewy!” Pete calls over to the Elvises. “Where’d you get this shot?”

  “Right over there!” Chewy-Elvis says, pointing toward the escalators.

  “Going up or down?” I call.

  “They came down and went inside the House of Blues.” Then he adds, “Any chance we could move this along? The night’s not getting any younger!”

  “Yeah,” another Elvis calls. “I need to boogie or Benny and me’ll get towed!”

  “Sorry,” Pete says to me, ’cause he knows I’m looking at a picture that’s over three hours old and am having to pay a hundred bucks for basically nothing. “I tried. And really, I’ll split it with you.”

  “That’s okay.” I dig up a hundred bucks and hand it over. “It was nice of you to help me out. I guess it was stupid to think I could find her in this crazy place.”

  He takes the money and shakes his head. “ ‘Crazy’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

  “Does that mean you miss Santa Martina?”

  “No!” he says with a laugh. “It’s good to be gone.” Then he nods over my shoulder and says, “At least you’re not here alone.”

  I look behind me and there’s Candi, her shoes gripped in one hand and her daughter’s arm gripped in the other—which explains why Heather hadn’t swooped back in when I was looking at the pictures.

  “You gonna be okay with them?” Pete asks as he heads toward the Elvis Army with my cash. “Got a place to stay and all?”

  “I’ll be fine,” I tell him, ’cause what else am I going to say? Uh, no. Can I crash on your couch?

  But Candi must’ve heard because she calls, “She’ll be fine. She’s staying with us.”

  “Mom, no!” Heather cries.

  “She’s staying with us!” Candi tells her. “And we’re going to have a big, long talk tonight.”

  “No!” Heather wails. It’s a desperate wail, too. Like she thinks I’ve given her mother all sorts of dirt on her.

  “Maybe I’ll just try to get a flight home,” I tell Candi.

  “No! You’re staying with us. And if we haven’t made any progress by tomorrow, you can get a ride home with us, too.”

  “Mom!” Heather cries. “Why are you punishing me? What did she tell you?” She gives me a desperate look, then turns back to her mother and blurts out, “Whatever she told you, I can explain! I can explain everything!”

  “My,” Candi says, studying her daughter. “This gets more interesting by the minute.” She arches an eyebrow at her. “Sammy actually said some remarkably understand
ing things about you.”

  First Heather’s face goes blank, then her eyes go shifty. “She did?”

  “Mm-hmm.”

  “Great to see ya, Sammy!” Pete calls as the Army starts to scatter. “Should I use that same number if somethin’ comes up?”

  “Sure,” I call back.

  “Any tip from me is free, of course!” Then he says, “Hey, Eddie, where are you and Benny parked?”

  “At the Blues loading dock—if I haven’t already been towed!”

  Pete hurries after them. “Where you headed?”

  “Up to Bally’s.”

  “Can you drop me at the Monte Carlo?”

  “And me at the Marketplace?” Chewy-Elvis calls.

  “As long as you bums promise to get out!” Eddie-Elvis tells them.

  There’s a chorus of Elvis laughter and then off they go past the House of Blues and out of sight.

  When they’re gone, Candi comes closer, saying, “Are we calling it a night?”

  I turn to face her. “Thanks for offering to let me stay.”

  She nods. “I don’t know about the two of you, but I’m exhausted. And we’ve been here for hours, so”—she shrugs—“we need to face facts. They’re long gone, and we have no idea where to look.”

  “I can’t believe this,” Heather grumbles.

  Well, obviously what she can’t believe is not that we haven’t found my mom and her dad—it’s that she hasn’t been able to get rid of me. But I ignore her and tell Candi, “I’m all out of ideas, too.”

  “So let’s call it a night.”

  But as we’re walking past the House of Blues restaurant, I catch a glimpse of something that makes me do a double take.

  “Sammy?” Candi asks, because I’m moving away from them fast.

  I say, “Hang on!” over my shoulder as I hurry into the restaurant, and sure enough, there’s a man in a fringed maroon leather jacket. I call, “Warren!” because he’s clear across the restaurant and walking away, and when he doesn’t hear me, I shout out, “Hey, Warren!”

  He doesn’t turn around, though, and in a flash Heather is next to me, going, “Where?”