Carmen improvises a dance of survival

BIRDS OF PARADISE a novel collaboration

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Where we left off: What’s on the coveted flash drive? That’s been the $64,000 question from Day One, as a TV producer, a congressman and a pole dancer lead a cast of characters on a wild and mysterious chase across Southern California. Well, today’s installment clears up a bit of the confusion, and makes one wonder if the venue might soon change from Beverly Hills to the glittering, desert city of sin, where the real-life mayor happens to be a former mob attorney.

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When Carmen hung up the phone, she knew Tony was right. She had to call Palmieri, but that was definitely a dangerous move.

She was already on the endangered species list. If Palmieri suspected for even a moment that she was lying, she’d be wearing a toe tag instead of those cute little Manolo Blahniks she’d been lusting after on Rodeo Drive.

Carmen desperately wished she’d never met Tony. Never been such a good listener. But he just had to tell her his dirty little secret. Now that knowledge would probably get her killed.

Carmen hadn’t even fully understood what Tony was telling her. It was pathetic that she was fighting for her life over something she’d barely grasped. Not that her life was exactly champagne riches and caviar dreams. But it was her life, and she wanted to keep it.

Tony called them “Birds of Paradise.” He and Bonner had lured the rich, the famous and the occasional public official into little romps with showgirls in Las Vegas -- “paradise” -- all expertly recorded in high definition and surround sound. Carmen could imagine them. The elaborate costumes, the plumed headdresses -- beautiful “birds.”

Back when she could still get a man with just a look, she’d aspired to be one of those birds. To be a Las Vegas showgirl was every stripper’s dream of ultimate success. But there were no 5-foot-3 showgirls in Sin City. Apparently you had to be tall to sin.

Now that Tony had filled in the gaps, she could see what made this such a deadly business. Palmieri had been blackmailing the poor suckers.

They should change the slogan: What happens in Vegas stays on a flash drive.

The latest one held the unmistakable indiscretions of an appellate court judge. The very judge who just happened to be reviewing Palmieri’s racketeering conviction on appeal. But a judge revealed is a judge removed. It’s not like Carmen would have ever said anything; she’d never even heard the judge’s name. But Palmieri wasn’t someone to be bothered by specifics. If Carmen knew something, she was a threat.

Carmen knew the trick would be convincing Palmieri that she’d written it all down and left it with someone who would mail it to the FBI if anything happened to her. She knew that sounded trite and ridiculously “old school,” but then Palmieri was nothing if not old school. The goon he’d sent to her place was right out of a Raymond Chandler novel.

Carmen didn’t actually have anyone she could trust with such a letter. She just had to invent someone Palmieri didn’t know and would believe he couldn’t get to.

Palmieri seemed to be a bit bothered by judges. Yes, a judge would do nicely as Carmen’s imaginary friend. It wasn’t such a stretch. Jumbo’s Clown Room had played host to a wide variety of swells. Doctors, attorneys, judges . . . congressmen.

Carmen would need a few details to seal the deal. But just enough to make it believable. Carmen could simply refuse to answer any of Palmieri’s questions. After all, she had to pretend to hold a pat hand if she wanted Palmieri to fold.

She fished out her cellphone, took a deep breath and punched in the number Tony had given her.

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Nick Boone describes himself as a puzzle enthusiast, math tutor and aspiring screenwriter.