Cat In An Ultramarine Scheme

“These smooth rides-on-rails are perfecto,” Santiago proclaimed, his white tropical suit blossoming into the Fontana’s dark pinstriped midst so he looked uncannily like a ghost of the brothers’ usual selves. “In South America, older American cars are treasured.”

Temple swallowed her natural comment. She could picture Santiago being driven around Vegas in a white stretch 1961 Cadillac limo with chrome fins from here to eternity to match his ego.

Meanwhile, Macho Mario was playing the tribe elder and escorting the renovation’s main forces into various cars.

“Here.” He gestured the five booted and bejeaned former miners, who looked the most at home in a dark tunnel, into a six-seated thirties Ford. “You Desert Rat Pack boys can ride in the Longhorn-mobile.” He gestured to the pair of chromed steer horns riding the car’s narrow hood.

Nicky joined the diminishing knot of guys surrounding Temple. She was surprised the Fontana brothers and Glory Hole gang had gathered around her and Santiago, when not thirty feet away, Van von Rhine stood with her statuesque blonde classmate from Swiss finishing school, Revienne. Two sleek blondes should attract more men, Temple thought, especially the charm-spreading Santiago.

Hey, Temple thought again, Van had snagged the first Fontana brother to ever wed. Opposites do attract, and Revienne seemed born to snag another bachelor Fontana brother. Then Temple would have a fourth bridesmaid for her so-far-fictional wedding party. Better to dwell in the future than the confusing past.

She cocked her head and cast an inquiring glance from Eduardo to Revienne to Eduardo. “I’m surprised you and your bros aren’t making a beeline to that foreign honey.”

His head shook almost imperceptibly. “She’s taken.”

“How do you know?”

“That’s my job. I work in a ‘people’ business.”

“She says she’s single.”

Eduardo discreetly elbowed his nearest brother, temporarily known as Ralphie the Wrench, in the, ah, elbow. When Ralph looked his way, Eduardo shifted his eyes sideways to Revienne.

“Nice icing, but no go, bro,” Ralph murmured, smartly shooting his suit sleeves to reveal the onyx links on his baby’s-blush-pink shirt cuffs.

Fontana Brothers were so cool.

If guys unafraid to wear pink were wary of Revienne, it explained why Temple found her troubling. It seemed the woman was watching them all, Temple especially. Temple must be imagining that, because she was not the type people took seriously enough to watch. Which was their mistake. So maybe Revienne was not just foxy looking, but foxy sharp.

Temple glanced back as the last Glory Hole Gang scuffed boot heel disappeared into the vintage Ford. They’d never had the money their old associates, Boots and Jersey Joe, had cheated them of, but then they were here, still kicking and cooking; Boots was just a bizarre museum piece, and Jersey Joe, the ghost of a sad, reclusive bankrupt.

Temple’s heart warmed to see the Glory Hole Gang together again, jazzed on a new enterprise at their ages, a recognized historic part of the Vegas scene, worthy of a prime seat at the pre-pre-pre-opening run of this groundbreaking new attraction.

Nothing really got lost. Even Boots had experienced his new day in the sun, if a bit too literally. And, thanks to his supposedly hidden loot, Jersey Joe Jackson had remained a force around the Crystal Phoenix long past his death.

Heck, with all the dead actors resurrected for these still and moving media effects, this could be considered a zombie jamboree. The party certainly was of mixed company.

Lined up along the dark place where dark floor met dark faux-stone tunnel wall was Midnight Louie … and Midnight Louie and … Midnight Louie and … Midnight Louise with the waggly, fluffy tail.

Maybe Temple’s suddenly misty vision was turning Louie into multiple images. She wasn’t surprised to see him. He often decided to go everywhere that Temple went, and his coat was black as coal. His last command performance with the Cat Pack had been stellar.

She was sure Macho Mario wouldn’t have a free car to usher Louie and Louise and pals into. Three O’Clock Louie she recognized on second thought. He had finally moved his center of operations from Lake Mead to the Glory Hole Gang’s Gangsters suite and the Speakeasy bar and restaurant.

She recognized from the Neon Nightmare the cat among them with the half-masted eyelid. Poor thing. She’d take it home to the Circle Ritz if she could catch it … which didn’t look likely from the battle-scarred condition of that eyelid.

“Okay,” Macho Mario announced behind her, addressing his nephews, “boys, you climb into the stretch nineteen thirty-seven purple Hudson Terraplane.”

“There are eight of us,” Julio’s deep voice objected.

“Bend your knees and scrunch. Besides, purple complements that girly pink in your pinstripes.”

“Ah, Uncle Mario,” they moaned in chorus.

“Guys are secure enough these days to wear pink and carry mother-of-pearl pistols,” Ralph said.

“Only on Broadway, boys, only on Broadway. Now, scat!”