Loaded Dice (24 page)

A guilty look spread across Pash’s face.

“What I can’t figure out is, what the hell did they sell you?” Gerry said. “Amin got a beat-up briefcase. It was too small to be filled with weapons. So what was in it?”

Pash was trembling, as if the secret were burrowing a hole in him. He reached between the seats and readjusted the gag over Gerry’s mouth.

“I am sorry this is happening,” he said.

Valentine dragged himself through the Acropolis’s deserted lobby. He’d driven around Henderson until three
AM
, then stopped at an all-night gas station for a coffee and a jelly doughnut. The next thing he remembered was waking up in his car at nine o’clock with a pancake-sized coffee stain on his shirt.

He heard someone call his name. It was Lou Ann, the pleasant receptionist he’d chatted with yesterday. He shuffled over to the front desk.

“I’ve got some terrific news for you,” Lou Ann said.

Terrific news? He thought he’d run out of that. He waited expectantly.

“Your airline found your luggage,” she said.

On the scale of one to ten, it was a minus two. Then he remembered that the shirt he was wearing was his last clean one. That made it a plus two.

“Great,” he said. “Where is it?”

Lou Ann removed a piece of paper from the counter and read from it. “Your suitcase was in Portland. The airline is routing it to Los Angeles. It should be here sometime tomorrow.”

He thanked her and went to the elevators. While he waited for a car, he took out his cell phone and stared at its face. No messages. No Gerry. For all he knew, his son was in another city, or buried in the desert. He’d called Bill Higgins twenty minutes ago to see if the FBI had maybe found his son. Bill had said they hadn’t.

The elevator doors parted. As he stepped in, a hand clasped his shoulder. He spun around and stared at Wily. He was so tired, he hadn’t heard him approach.

“Mind some company?” Wily asked.

“Only if you don’t mind my yawning.”

Wily said he didn’t. As they rode up to the penthouse, Valentine removed Amin’s photograph from his pocket and showed it to the head of security.

“Ever see this guy before? He’s a card-counter.”

Wily studied the photo. “No, but he shouldn’t be too hard to track down.”

Valentine didn’t think he’d heard Wily right. The doors parted, and they got out.

“How you going to do that?”

“Easy,” Wily said. “The casino subscribes to FaceScan. They have the face of every known card-counter in a database in their computer. I’ll give them your picture, see what they turn up.”

Valentine had a feeling the FBI had already tried that, but there was always the chance they’d missed something. He slapped Wily on the arm.

“Anyone ever tell you how smart you are?”

Wily feigned embarrassment. “Look, there’s something I need to talk to you about. As a friend.”

“What’s that?”

Wily hemmed and hawed. Valentine didn’t think he could have made a speech if his life depended upon it. Finally, Wily gave up, and walked down the hallway to Valentine’s suite. “Give me your key,” he said.

Valentine gave him the plastic key. Wily swiped the door and pushed it open.

“This is what I want to talk to you about,” he said.

Valentine entered the suite. The living room was filled with flower arrangements, their fragrance strong enough to knock over a horse. A card was propped up on the coffee table, addressed to him. Picking it up, he tore the envelope open.

It was a Valentine’s Day card with a big heart in its center, only his name had been added to the front. A Tony Valentine’s Day card. It made him smile, and he opened it and read the note.

I THINK I’M FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU

Wily told him to sit on the couch, then got two Diet Cokes from the mini bar. Valentine held the card in his fingers and stared at Lucy’s proclamation of love.

Wily made the couch sag and handed him a soda. Valentine took a long swallow. He’d read that the artificial sweetener in Diet Coke stimulated the body’s craving for sugar, and was bad for you. It was a shame it tasted so damn good.

Wily cleared his throat. “Look, Tony, what I’m going to say isn’t easy. But you’ve got to hear it. For your own good.”

“Go ahead.”

“Lucy Price is bad news.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. Know what her nickname is?”

“No.”

“The Blowtorch. She burns everyone she gets near.”

Valentine put the card on the coffee table. “I really don’t want to hear this right now, okay?”

Wily took a long pull on his soda and stared at him. “Know how many times I’ve wanted to say that to
you
over the years? About a hundred. Know why I didn’t? Because I realized that everything that comes out of your mouth is true.”

“Are you suggesting I shut up and listen?”

“Yeah,” Wily said. “Hear me out.”

“Go ahead,” he said.

Wily put on his serious face. “It’s like this. Lucy Price couldn’t stop gambling if her life depended on it. She’s lost everything. House, car, family. Six months ago, her husband took their kids and moved to Utah. He got a job and sent her an airline ticket. She won’t join him.”

“Who told you this?”

“Her husband did. He used to work here. He begged her to get help, but Lucy wouldn’t go. She doesn’t think she has a problem. She’s a lost cause.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

Valentine thought about it. “I’d like to,” he admitted.

“Don’t.”

“You make her sound like a leper.”

“The casinos in Las Vegas have a program for compulsive gamblers. If a person with a problem asks us, we’ll bar them when they come in. Over a thousand people have signed up. It started up in Canada, works great.”

“So?”

“Lucy wouldn’t sign up,” Wily said.

“You tried?”

“About a dozen times.”

Valentine finished his soda. What a wonderful time he was having in Las Vegas. He’d lost his son, gotten his face slashed, and now this. He stared at the open card sitting on the coffee table.
I THINK I’M FALLING IN LOVE WITH YOU.
Did Wily know how precious those words were? Wily had a wife, probably got to hear sweet nothings whenever he wanted. He didn’t know what it was like to be alone.

Wily glanced at his watch, then rose and went to the door. Taking the surveillance picture of Amin from his pocket, he said, “FaceScan’s office is on my way home. I’ll drop this off, ask them to run it through their computer.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Call them in a couple of hours. They get backed up on weekends.”

“I’ll do that.”

Wily’s fingers were on the doorknob. Lowering his voice, he said, “I’m sorry, Tony, but I had to tell you,” and walked out of the suite.

38

V
alentine drove to Lucy Price’s condo in Summerlin thinking about his conversation with Wily. Wily had called Lucy a lost cause. He didn’t believe that. No one was truly lost. That was the one thing he’d learned growing up Catholic. There was always a shot at redemption.

Pulling into her driveway, he realized he should have called, and let Lucy know he was coming. After what had happened last night, she’d probably gone and bought a gun. He saw the front door open. Grabbing the paper bag off the passenger seat, he climbed out of the car.

Lucy stayed in the doorway. Her skin did something magical in the daylight, its glow soft and mysterious. He came up to her and she kissed him.

“Did you find your son?”

“Still looking. I had to come and see you. Thanks for the flowers.”

“After last night, it was the least I could do.”

She led him inside. The condo smelled of fresh coffee and burned toast. She offered to make him scrambled eggs, and they went into the kitchen. He sat at the breakfast table and placed the bag between his feet. As she fixed breakfast, he found himself staring at her furniture and kitchen appliances. All of it was old and beat-up. Every compulsive gambler he’d ever known lived like this. He tried not to think about it.

“Hope you don’t mind them runny,” she said, ladling the eggs onto a plate.

“Not at all. Got any Tabasco sauce?”

“Sure. I think it’s pretty old, though.”

She found the Tabasco in a cupboard and sat down. Years of eating crummy diner food had gotten him addicted to Tabasco, and he sprinkled it on his eggs. With his foot, he pushed the bag across the linoleum floor so it touched her chair.

“This for me?”

He nodded. “It’s
all
for you.”

She made a face, then picked the bag up from the floor. She opened it and let out a shriek. The bag fell from her hands, its contents spilling onto the floor.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God!” Lucy grabbed his arm. “It’s my twenty-five thousand dollars, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

He nodded and kept eating. It was actually the money Chance Newman had paid him two days ago for demonstrating Deadlock. He’d decided that it wasn’t a coincidence that Chance had paid him the same amount that had been stolen from the safe in Lucy’s hotel room.

“You got it back from them, didn’t you?” she asked.

Another nod. The eggs were terrible. He kept shoveling them into his mouth, wanting her to do all the talking.

“I’m not going to ask you how,” she said, her face glowing. She picked up the stacks of bills from the floor and held them tightly against her bosom. “Do you know what this means, Tony? Do you know what this means to me?”

She kissed him, then jumped to her feet, kicked off her flip-flops, and danced around the kitchen like a ballerina, pausing to do an occasional pirouette, the stacks of money slipping from her grasp. He put his fork down and smiled.

“It means you can get your life in order,” he said.

She stopped in the middle of a spin. “What’s that?”

“It’s what you said to me on the balcony. The money was going to help you get your life in order.”

“Is that what I said?”

“Yes. Now you can.”

She laughed. The sound was harsh as it escaped her lips. “It means that my luck’s changed, that’s what it means. It means that Lucy Price is back.”

The eggs were doing a number on his stomach. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and stood up. The moment of truth was at hand, and he could feel his legs shake.

“I want to talk to you about something,” he said.

Lucy picked up the money from the floor and put it into the bag. Done, she rose.

“What’s that?”

“I want you to do something for me.”

A dreamy look spread across her face. “Whatever you want,” she said.

“I want you to enter into a Gamblers Anonymous program and start going to meetings. They hold them every night. You’ve got to address this problem.”

It was as if he’d slapped her across the face. Lucy stepped back until she was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking at him like he was the most horrible person alive.

“What problem? What are you saying?”

“Your gambling problem, the one you can’t control.”

“Who said I have a problem?”

“I did.”

“What makes you the expert? You’re not a shrink.”

“I’ve worked in casinos most of my life. I can recognize a gambling problem when I see one.”

“I’m down on my luck. So are a lot of people.”

No,
he thought,
you’re desperate
. It was why she’d let Fontaine talk her into being his shill. Deep down, she’d probably sensed the deal was too good to be true, only her situation had clouded her judgment.

“You need help,” he said.

“Don’t fucking lecture me,” she said angrily.

“That’s what I want.”

“No. Go to hell.”

“Please. For me.”

Her face had gone red, and she shook her head violently. The Lucy he knew was gone. This was Lucy the gambler. From his jacket, he removed the Valentine’s Day card he’d found in his suite and propped it beside his plate of food. Then he looked at her.

“I’m leaving,” he said.

“Are you going to take the money back?”

“It’s yours,” he said.

She crossed the kitchen while staring suspiciously at him. Then she snatched up the bag with the ferocity of a mother pulling her child from a rushing stream. He waited, always the optimist when it came to things of the heart.

“Good-bye,” she said.

39

T
he sound of someone banging on her front door awakened Mabel from the deepest of sleeps. She lifted her head off her pillow and found a dead phone lying on her chest. Beside it was a pad of paper and the things a desperate casino boss had asked her to write down last night. Had she gone to sleep while the casino boss was talking to her? She honestly didn’t remember.

Climbing out of bed, Mabel threw on a bathrobe and walked barefoot down the cold hardwood floors of her house. “Hold your horses,” she called loudly, and ducked into the bathroom.

A minute later, she cracked open the front door. Yolanda stood on the stoop, dressed like she was going on a trip. In her hand was a suitcase. Mabel threw the door open and said, “Did your water break?”

Yolanda shook her head. “No, but it’s time. Can you drive me?”

“Are you dilating?” Mabel said, backing down the drive five minutes later.

“No, everything’s normal.”

“Then how—”

“I just know,” Yolanda said.

Just about everybody in Florida went to church on Sunday, and the traffic out of Palm Harbor was miserable. Mabel drove the speed limit, taking Route 19 to State Road 60 then heading east over the causeway to the mainland.

“But how do you know?” Mabel asked.

Yolanda drank from a bottled water. “My mother told me I would have a dream. She said a truck would come to my house. A man would open the back, and the truck would be filled with apples. She said I would smell the apples in my dream. If the apples were green, it was a boy. Red, a girl.”

“And you had this dream last night?”

Yolanda raised her eyebrows and smiled. She could do that, and tell you exactly what she was thinking. Mabel grabbed her hand and squeezed it excitedly.

“What color were they?”