Tumblin' Dice (22 page)

He said, “I'm sure they're going to work this out — it'll be fine,” and she nodded and shrugged like she didn't care.

Barry said, “It's nice up here, you know, busy — you can make a lot of money,” and she just shrugged again and then said, “I think I'm going to go back to Toronto.”

“Yeah, sure, you could do that. What did Frank say?”

She said, “I don't talk to him. I talk to Stancie: she runs the agency.” Barry said, “You haven't talked to Frank since you've been here,” and she said, “No, haven't seen him since we got here.”

Barry said, okay, that's fine, but, “Maybe we should talk to him now,” and she said, “What for?”

“He should give you something for what happened, some kind of bonus or something.”

“Money?”

Barry said, yeah, money, “He let this happen in his hotel, he's supposed to be running the place. He brought you up here, he should pay.”

Felice was looking right at Barry and he wasn't sure she'd go for it, but she said, “How much?” and he said, “Gotta be thousands, shiner like that. Couple thousand?”

She touched her face with her fingertips and said, “I might not be able to work for a week,” and Barry said, “You make a grand a day, that's seven grand. Let's make it an even ten.” Felice said, yeah, “Fuck him. Ten grand.”

Barry said, okay, “Let's go talk to Frank,” and figured they'd better do it right away while Felice was still high, who knows what shit she might pull, really scare Frank.

• • •

Ritchie liked the riff he had and he liked the way he built the rhythm, he just couldn't get the words to fit.

The further I go,

Looking for something new,

Keeps bringing me back,

And I still love you.

He strummed his acoustic, the same chords over and over, thinking he should put in something about “the more things change.” Maybe he should do it in French, like the Beatles with Michelle, sing something like “
Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose,
” but he knew people would say the “s,” like in “one plus one,” so he tried just “
la même chose,
” but what could he rhyme with “
chose,
” especially singing it in French, it sounded like shoes.

Just because he was afraid of putting his feelings into a song. He strummed harder and realized he was playing “Too Far Gone” from their second album, maybe the first song he wrote about Angie. Didn't even realize it at the time, didn't even make the connection himself.

Then he was thinking no, that was bullshit. That was just what he told himself for being too chickenshit to go full out after her.

Looking for something new, keeps bringing me back, and I still love you.

So why not tell her?

He laughed then, thinking, yeah that's right, she's in the middle of this fucking bullshit so you just ride in and sweep her off her feet, just what every grown-up woman with a career wants, some guy riding up on a tour bus.

Shit, he had nothing.

Then thinking, no, that's not true. He had something: he had himself, he had consistency. Angie had started to realize it, telling him he hadn't changed, and that was true. Sure, maybe he hadn't gotten any better but he hadn't gotten any worse.

He pounded out a couple of major chords and put the guitar down on the bed, stood up thinking, yeah, go talk to Angie. Get this done.

Before he left the room he looked at himself in the mirror and quickly decided he better not do that. Shit, looking at that old guy looking back at him wouldn't help.

No, man, he was a rock star. Yeah.

• • •

Frank was standing in the doorway to his office talking to Burroughs when the little shit guitar player walked past them and said, “The hotel detective, he was outta sight,” and Frank said, “Fuck you.”

Ritchie just smiled and half-nodded like it was exactly what he was expecting and kept walking to Angie's office and right in through the open door.

Burroughs was telling Frank that the local cop, Sandra Bolduc, had made an arrest in the parking lot shooting, biker named Boner, and then he said, “If the guy looks to make a deal . . .” and let it hang there and Frank couldn't believe it, this tough cop getting scared, and he said, “He won't.”

Burroughs said, “How can you be so sure? 'Cause if you're wrong —” but Frank cut him off, saying, “I'm not.”

Ritchie came back by them then, not looking quite as happy as before, and walked past them without saying anything and Frank said, “Little Rock got you in a daze?” and Ritchie just kept going and Frank said, “She's around somewhere. You want me to tell her you're looking for her?”

Ritchie didn't look back, just held up a hand with an extended middle finger and got on the elevator.

Frank laughed.

Then he looked at Burroughs and he was thinking how things had changed, big, tough Mr. Ex-Cop now the one looking scared and Frank thinking he was the one going to land on his feet. He said, “Bikers don't talk,” and Burroughs said, “Don't be a moron. They make him a good enough deal he will.”

Frank said, “Yeah? Look, you worry about your shit. I'll worry about deals — that's what I do.”

“Not like this.”

“Yes,” Frank said, “like this. A deal is a deal: it's all about what you want and what you have to offer. They haven't got shit to offer Boner because they want this to go away as fast as we do.”

“And he's going take the fall?”

Frank said, “Yeah, he's going do a couple of years, tops, get out and be a bigshot. Don't worry about the bikers.”

Burroughs said he wasn't so sure about that, they were losing all kinds of guys, but Frank said, “I'm telling you,” and Burroughs nodded and looked at his feet and then said, okay, and walked away, and Frank went into his office thinking, oh yeah, things have really changed.

Shit, he was thinking maybe he'd invite the High to dinner at the steakhouse, talk about old times. Hell, only two of them tried to kill him — that wasn't bad after all they'd been through — and it might be funny to watch little Ritchie still mooning over Angie, wherever the hell she was. But then he thought, fuck it, they'd probably all lost their per diems in the slots by now, let them buy their own goddamned meals, and then one of them walked into his office with a chick Frank thought he recognized but couldn't place.

Frank said, “What do you want now?” and Barry said, “Ten grand,” and Frank said, “That's some negotiating you're doing, from two mil down to ten grand — you should've been the manager.”

Barry said, “It's for Felice,” and Frank looked at her closer, thinking maybe she was one of the waitresses from the bar and he just didn't recognize her without the buckskin bikini, saw the shiner and her swollen face and figured a boyfriend probably punched her out, what was it to him? Then Barry said, yeah, “To cover what she would have made this week,” and Frank said, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You have no idea what you're doing, do you?”

Frank took a breath, looked at the chick, and said, “Do I know you?”

Barry laughed and said, “You don't remember driving her up here?”

The chick said, “You got a freebie in the car?” and Barry laughed again, saying, “Oh man, Frank, you're losing it,” and Frank said, “Fuck off,” but didn't put much into it.

Then he realized Barry had closed the door and now he was walking right up to him and saying, “You're in over your head, Frank, and Felice here got caught in the middle of your fuck-up. She was supposed to work the hotel but you didn't clear it with your boss.”

Frank said, I'm the boss, but Barry was already shaking his head, not taking that seriously, and saying, “So now look at her. She can't work. Would you pay her to suck your dick, her face all bruised like that?” Frank said, “I don't have to pay,” but Barry cut him off saying, “She would've made ten grand this week so that's what you owe her.”

“And again I say, fuck you.”

Now Frank was really getting pissed off at the way Barry was laughing at him like he knew something Frank didn't, so to put him in his place Frank said, “I found your little gift,” and Barry just laughed again, and then Frank was wondering just how stoned the guy was.

Barry said, “You want me to take care of it for you?” and Frank said, no, “I had it taken care of. I've got some connections.”

Barry said, “Sure you do,” and Frank said, yeah, “I do,” but Barry was still just staring at him like he didn't believe him, so Frank said, “You want it back? I still have it,” and then Barry looked around the office and said, “Is it here?” and Frank shook his head and said, yeah, “I brought it up here.”

He stood up then, finally, and walked around his desk looking at Barry and the chick, this Felice who really did have a big fucking shiner and might even have a broken bone in her face, and he said, “You haven't changed at all, Barry. You're still a little punk who thinks he's better than he is. You couldn't play for shit back then and this play you're trying now is no better than your shitty bass lines Ritchie had to write for you.”

Barry was still looking at him like he knew something Frank didn't, still had a little shit-eating grin Frank couldn't stand, so he looked at the chick and said, “I'll straighten it out for you, honey, but you only get paid what you earn. Put on some make-up and do what you can.”

Then he looked at Barry and said, “You think you can remember both the bass lines you use?” and Barry just said, “See ya, Frank,” and walked out, the chick following him.

Then Frank thought about calling Danny Mac, telling him what was going on, but remembered that Gayle was coming back up to Huron Woods to see the High, said something about years ago at Wasaga Beach, and he could just tell her.

Or he could talk to Felix Alfano, see if he could still go that way on this. Shit, this deal not as easy as he'd thought it would be, things changing all the time.

• • •

Felice caught up to Barry by the elevator and said, “What the hell?”

Barry stepped on and pushed the button for the lobby and nodded at her and said, “Yeah, what the hell, eh?”

She said, “That was it? You ask him for the money, he says no, and you leave?”

Barry looked at her and she looked back, waiting for him to say something, and finally when the elevator got to the lobby and the bell rang he said, “Oh yeah, well Frank's an asshole.”

She followed him out and then out of the administration building and into the parking lot and then she said, “So what now?” and he said, “He must have another elevator,” and she said, “What?”

Barry stopped walking and looked back at her and said, “He parks around back. He'd park right here if that was the only elevator.”

She shrugged and said, “The Player's Club has its own elevator.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, guy took me up there yesterday.”

Barry was walking again and she followed, saying, yeah, “It's no big deal. Guys playing poker, they have rooms on the top floor.”

Barry didn't say anything, so Felice stopped talking and walked with him around back of the building until they came to a few cars parked in the shade, and Barry said, “Yeah, must be right in there,” looking at a flat door with no handle or any way to open it from the outside.

Felice said, “You really want to get on this elevator, huh?” and Barry said, no, “I'm interested in his car.”

“The old one?”

“It's a classic.”

“That's what he said. It bounces a lot.”

“You almost bite his dick off?”

She laughed a little and said, “I should have. Asshole.”

“That's what I told you.”

They were standing at the back of Frank's Barracuda then, and Barry looked at Felice's feet and said, “How much you pay for those shoes?”

She said, what? And he said, “Think I could pop the trunk with those heels?”

“What do you want in the trunk?”

“Give me the shoe. Let's see.”

She said, “No way. You're not breaking off this heel, I paid four hundred bucks for these shoes.”

Barry said, yeah, okay, “Probably wouldn't work anyway.”

Then he just started to walk away and Felice said, “Where you going?”

“Get something off the tour bus.”

“What about me?”

He stopped and looked back and said, “Come with me if you want, then you can come backstage, see the show.”

She looked around, standing behind the building in the middle of fucking nowhere and for a second she was thinking, how the hell did I get here?, but then she just said, “Yeah, okay,” and followed Barry to the bus.

• • •

Ritchie walked around the casino getting kind of depressed. There was a lot of great Indian artwork, that big mural, paintings all over the place, sculptures, and even a big stained glass dome over some intricate tile in the lobby, so that if you stood and watched, the sun would light up in different designs as it moved across.

Of course, no one ever stood and watched. No one even slowed down to look at the paintings or the sculptures.

At first Ritchie didn't understand how the lobby could be so empty and the big casino room so crowded until he walked through it and found the “bus lobby” at the back. Outside it looked just like the old bus terminal on Alexandra Street in Toronto, rows of buses idling, people getting on and off.

And from the bus lobby you walked right into the casino, didn't have to pass any Indian art, got right to the cashier stations and you could start gambling in two minutes. Lots of slot machines, poker tables, blackjack — hell, they even had baccarat but Ritchie didn't see any James Bonds in tuxedos.

Like every other casino they'd played on this tour. Like every other casino that Ritchie had played on every tour he'd been on in the last ten years. Usually he just avoided the whole place but now he was looking for Angie.