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Back to Vegas, Part 14 (suspense, fiction)

December 14, 2011 - Burt Angeli
Ravenna spent a fitful night worrying about the diamonds and who might be looking for them.   The sisters had argued for nearly an hour thinking of where to hide the stash, when they settled on Fi's newest (and hopefully, least caustic) facial cream. 

Si came up with the brilliant plan that they put the stones in the tiny jar. After nearly emptying it, she smeared a bit on the sides of the jar and wrapped the stones in tissue. 

At a glance, the jar looked like an ordinary vial of "anti-aging, forever youthful serum."

"Really this stuff shouldn't dissolve a diamond even if does make you break out like you have measles with a bad case of acne," Si told them. "I doubt if anybody except the guys at the airport would take a second look at it."

Satisfied with their deception, Rav's two older sisters settled down with their emergency stash of Irish Cream and were snoring within the hour.

The next morning, the bed mates were grumpy as usual and in dire need of coffee and something a bit "sweet" to tide them over until they had to face the authorities.

While the two worked on their story for the Irish police, Ravs volunteered to venture out and find some coffee (with plenty of cream) for Fi and a something sweet for Si.

The luck of the Irish (American) held out, as O'Sullivan's had a nice spread of scones and oatcakes with pots of tea and a generous carafe of coffee with tiny jugs of sweet cream on the side.

Ravs loaded up a tray for her starving siblings and made a beeline for their room.

But after an hour of listening to her sisters working on their "story" which sounded too much like a rewrite of "The Maltese Falcon," she decided to take a hike and bolted from the security of their tiny den.  

"Sorry Grandpa Seamus, but a few more minutes with those two and I'd be as fey as a loon," Ravs thought to herself as she began to take in the beauty of the lovely island in the morning light.

The Aran Islands are habitat for a number of birds and Ravs couldn't help but marvel at the airborne creatures as she pondered the story of St. Kevin, the gentle one who was more at home among God's lowly creatures than his fellow man.

As the legend goes, once while praying aloud with hands aloft, a bird built its  nest in his upraised arms and laid an egg.  Not wanting to hurt one of God's creatures, the mild saint kept his arms aloft until the tiny egg had hatched and were able to fly away. 

No doubt he was praying for a quick flight, her sister Si would say.

"Oh Kevin, you were rightly named my dear, gentle one," Ravs suddenly remembered how her sports addicted husband delayed replacing his old satellite dish with an updated model when he discovered a pair of mourning doves had laid some eggs in the recesses of the old dish. 

Kevin missed opening weekend of college football and the NFL. When the pair of fledging doves finally took flight and left Kevin's old satellite dish, there were tears of joy in his eyes. 

Ravs was tossing the last pieces of her morning oatcake to the terns when a threatening voice spoke behind her.

"I'd like my duffel bag back."

"Well, I suggest you check with the front desk, I'm not the maid you know?"

"As it just so happens, I talked to the maid, she remembers my bag going to your room."

"Perhaps, we should go back and retrieve it, Mr. Richard …"

"Since you looked at my bag long enough to get my first name, I bet you didn't stop there.  From the looks on your nosy face, I can tell you've already rifled through it.  I could toss you off of this cliff and it would be just another stupid tourist losing her balance near the cliffs."

At this, Rick lunged for Ravenna.  As fate or providence would have it, he nearly collided with a hungry tern who was making a bombing raid swoop for a fat chunk of oatcake. 

This was all the distraction Ravs needed to connect a knee into a portion of his anatomy left unprotected by the garment still in his duffel bag.

The blare of a whistle followed with the ferry captain and two well built members of the Garda surrounding poor Rick who was rolling in agony on the ground.

"Would I have the pleasure of addressing Mrs. Canny?  We've been looking for you," the older policeman said with a smile. "And no doubt, we have the mischief maker your police from Nevada have been looking for. It seems he's been holding up every pawn shop in what is that name, ah yes, Las Vegas?

Ah, well, this fellow won't be sharing our hospitality for long, but you my dear lass, I hope you and your sisters can join me in a bit of tay to warm yourself after this trying morning."

(To be continued)



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