DEATH

ON THE STRIP

BOOK 1 – The Death Card Series

By

J.S. Peck

BEJEWELED PUBLISHING

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

Chapter 1

I felt sick, my stomach queasy.  Do I really want to do this? Perhaps it was the sense of urgency in her voice that’d pushed me to finally take the leap. I sighed. Deep down, I knew the truth. I needed to get on with my life!  No more feeling sorry for myself. It was time to step forward and move beyond the past of my feeling guilty for what I hadn’t done. Furthermore, I had things to resolve if I were ever going to live with myself. And to be in that happy place, it was going to take my doing whatever I had to do to make things right.

I am a psychic and read Tarot cards for extra money. When the Death Card shows itself to me, it’s a warning, announcing the possible murder of someone I know or have just met or am soon to meet. That is the blessing and curse of my Tarot card deck. Not always an easy way to live, but there it is.

I don’t remember exactly when it began, but the time it made the greatest impression on me was when my fiancé Jeff was murdered three years ago. The Death card had reared its ugly head beforehand and I hadn’t paid much attention to it. Jeff was a cop, always surrounded by death. That is what’s been eating at me ever since. I had ignored those warnings, and couldn’t help but feel if I had paid attention to them, would Jeff still be alive?

The Death card’s meaning doesn’t always mean death, but an ending of something or bringing in a new beginning, I know better to be on the alert and prepare for a possible death if the Death card comes up in a reading or simply falls from the deck — and I hadn’t done that for Jeff.

It was still painful for me to think back to that time. It seemed like it was just yesterday I was planning my wedding to a man I adored. Jeff was a straight arrow through and through, which had actually become a deterrent for him. As can happen to people in power, there can be opportunities to take advantage of situations that exceed what is “right” or legal. Jeff had come to a turning point in his life where he was close to crossing the line. In the end, he had opted out.

There had been a drug bust within the police department and someone had to take the fall. Everyone there was aware Jeff knew who the players were and his honesty could take them all down. In hindsight, it was no surprise to me he was found dead in a car accident that was due to his “falling asleep at the wheel.” That was the statement the cops made to the press. I knew that would have never happened. Jeff had more energy than any two people and was cautious in all ways, especially behind the wheel of a car. Their story didn’t ring true by a long shot!

Much to my dismay, his death and the drug bust were quickly swept away. The idea was that it had been Jeff and no one else who was responsible for everything. I had demanded an autopsy, which had quickly been turned down by the Chief of Police. Jeff had no living immediate family, and I was not considered family. Due to the condition of his body, it was cremated before any further protests could be made, which was odd right there. How had they gotten away with that?

I shifted in my seat waiting for my client to show up and the old anger surfaced once again. As his fiancée, I had been the only one who could stand up and defend Jeff, but that had gone nowhere. The police had easily dismissed me. My objection that Jeff was innocent and shouldn’t be taking the blame for what had happened went nowhere. No one was really interested in what I had to say. That had been a bitter pill for me to swallow for I felt I had failed him.

But now after wallowing in my guilty grief these past few years, I’ve a new purpose. It’s become my mission to clear Jeff’s name come hell or high water and pin his murder on the one man who I believe was the cause of it. The Chief of Police. I’ve made up my mind to take him down no matter how long it takes! I also promised myself if any of my clients were found murdered, I’d never let it remain unresolved as Jeff’s has been. It wouldn’t be fair to the victim to do nothing if I can help find their murderer through my psychic ability. What choice did I have, really?

Now, here I was getting back into the swing of things, reading Tarot cards for the first time since Jeff’s death. The tension in the air built as the beautiful girl across the table waited anxiously for me to turn over the last Tarot card that would foretell her future. As I did, much to my concern, a card came loose from the deck, more like someone had jerked it free. We were facing the dreaded Death card. My client gasped, and I quickly looked at her, noting the frown deepening on her brow. I wondered if she could see what I saw – death all around her – perhaps her own as well. What was I going to say?  I needed to be very careful with my wording.

“Discernment!” I heard my grandmother whisper from the energy surrounding me. ”Discernment, Rosalie!”

I began by saying, “Melissa, the Death card doesn’t necessarily mean death. It stands for something coming to an end, a change or new beginnings.” I paused. “I saw you in new surroundings, which we haven’t really discussed yet. Do you want to tell me what that’s all about?”

“Well,” said Melissa with a sheepish grin, confirming what I’d seen. “I’m starting a new job next week. A real job, a professional job.”

“Wow,” I said, feeling strangely uneasy. It sounds as if you are making a big change. What did you do before?” I asked, knowing it wasn’t good.

She blushed and said with some defiance, “I was a stripper down on the Las Vegas Strip. That’s why you said earlier you saw me dancing.”

Worry began to eat at me. Without hesitating, I asked, “Did you have a hard time getting out of that field?  I’ve heard that sometimes it can be difficult, particularly if drugs are involved.”

I watched her face fall. “I’m okay. Anyway, I need to make changes in my life. I’m willing to earn less money just to live a decent life … one my mother would be proud of. I really want to have a family of my own, too,” she added wistfully.

“So what’s your new job?” I asked.

Melissa’s face lit up. I signed up with PUP.”

“PUP? What’s that?”

Melissa laughed. It stands for Pick Up, the new taxi service, like Uber. You know, the one where if I get an alert from PUP. Then I pick up the rider in my new car and it’s a lot less money for them than a regular taxi. The percentage of money I make is more than if I were a taxi cab driver. I even have my own hours!  It’s a good deal all around!”

“Is it safe?” I asked, sounding stodgy and triple my age. “I mean with strangers in your car?”

My client shrugged her shoulders. Sounding a bit annoyed, she answered, “As safe as any taxi driver, I guess.”

“Oh, well. That makes sense, I suppose. And we girls always keep our safety spray handy, anyhow, don’t we?”

She looked at me oddly and said, “Sure, why not?”

The rest of her reading and the overview went as well as expected in spite of the Death card’s message looming over us. Melissa talked to me some more about how she was planning to change her life since she was only twenty-three. She was looking to create a new home life. As I reviewed with her all the cards’ meanings, including the one of a star-crossed love where it would be her choice to be involved or not, she asked, “Do you see anything bad?  I mean with the Death card?”

“I always tell my clients with or without the Death card to become more aware of their surroundings and more sensitive to what their inner body is telling them. Times are different today. Las Vegas is an area that has many visitors and transient people. You never know what can happen. The world isn’t as safe as it used to be. Just be careful, and follow your inner voice.”

She looked at me long and hard. “Okay.”

“Keep in touch and let me know how your new job is going, okay?”

She smiled and said, “Thank you,” before grabbing her large purse, slinging it over her shoulder, heading to the door. “I have some things to work out for sure. I might need another reading in a few weeks, okay?”

“Of course. Just call me for an appointment and we’ll do this again.”

“You did well, Rosie my girl,” my grandmother said from the mist at my side. “I know you were worried about getting back into your readings, but just remember, you are there to guide. It’s ultimately up to each of us to make our own choices, right? Love you, Sweetheart. Bye for now.”

As she faded away, my grandmother amazed me for she always seemed to know when I needed her and then, poof, off she went, gone until she had something more to say. It would probably seem strange to most people that my grandmother and I have communicated spiritually ever since she passed several years ago. She has always been there for me ever since I was little.

I paused, looking at the cards, remembering I’d been just seven when I had taken and hidden these same Tarot cards from one of an assortment of babysitters who had been assigned to me at the time. I’d been drawn to them from the very first I’d laid my eyes on them. They looked so pretty and magical. My mother had been furious with me for taking them and told me that I was never to touch those cards again. As it turned out, I never did return the cards to that sitter for she was never asked back. I realize now my mother had been upset with me believing I’d follow in my grandmother’s footsteps with her psychic abilities — something she didn’t want to happen.

My parents had been Shakespearean actors travelling the world performing at various less famous, but notable, venues until their small plane crashed. I was almost 9 years old. Instead of a nanny to care for me, I had my grandmother on my mother’s side move into our house and take over the reins of rearing a shy, introverted little girl — one that knew things before they happened. It took me a while before I realized she did as well.

She’d say, “Answer the door, Rosie girl!” long before anyone was at our front door.

Or she’d say, “Aunt Mary wants us to go to lunch with her today. You’d better get dressed, Rosie girl!” long before Aunt Mary would telephone with the invitation.

So I began to open up to my grandmother that things come to me – visions of happenings or simple premonitions. She would just smile and say, “I know, Rosie girl. You take after me.”  Then she would hug me tight and tell me how much she loved me, covering my face and neck with kisses. That is when my heart began to open – really open – to all the possibilities of unconditional love and safety within a happy home life.

It wasn’t that my parents didn’t love me; it was that they were never home to share in my everyday events. And so, in my grandmother’s care, I began to blossom. I was a somewhat unusual looking little girl for I was an odd mixture of cultures. My grandmother was an Irish gypsy and I inherited her thick, wild, dark hair and olive skin. I understood without being told that my mother was somewhat ashamed of my grandmother because of her psychic gifts and dark looks. I guess, it was one of the reasons I hadn’t spent much time with her before she moved in to take care of me.

On the other hand, my mother was thrilled that I had also inherited my father’s green eyes and pinkish-white skin, making mine more the color of an apricot. Today, some might call me a natural beauty, but to be honest, I don’t see myself that way. I see myself like many of the attractive women my age, just with a mop of unruly hair that has a mind of its own.

As I became older, I grew to 5’ 10” and lost my pudginess and some of my awkwardness. I began to understand that my psychic abilities were a gift to be used with caution. I’d learned the hard way that not everyone wanted to be warned of things before they happened, especially if the news wasn’t good. Many people are afraid of anything psychic, and that included many of my classmates. Especially the boys, once they discovered I had those abilities.

One particular time in junior high school, I had lost my temper, walked up to the boy who was taunting me and punched him in the eye making him the laughing stock of the entire school. I had been a brat to him, calling him names and becoming the bully to him that he had been to me. The whole incident became an uproar with people taking sides. Truth be told, I was very pleased with myself.

My grandmother was certainly not pleased to be called to the school office to claim her granddaughter who had a dirty trail of tears running down her face. In fact, she had been more upset with me to think that I had stooped to his level and had fought back. I could hear her mumbling, “She’s just a child. She doesn’t understand the consequences of what she is doing…”

Later, I found out that one particular boy in high school, who had been the worst with his bullying, making me unhappy enough to skip school, had been visited by my Gram. That had stopped any bullying and even any kind of friendship from happening. I never knew what had taken place, but from that time on, no one bothered me again which, unfortunately, included most of the kids in my class. To say the least, it was a very difficult time for me during those school years and even later. I have to admit it now, it must have been hard on my grandmother as well. She was ridiculed by others in town; yet, many of those same critical women sneaked to our house for a tarot card reading with her.