Sixteen
The most expensive of the hotel-casino’s five restaurants had a large holding bar that featured a black- marble floor with small diamond-shaped inlays of gold onyx. The walls were clad in the same marble but without the diamonds. A highly dimensional black-marble ceiling glowed with panels of backlit translucent gold onyx at the bottom of each coffer. Instead of a mirror behind the black-marble bar, huge panels of backlit onyx were inlaid with the silhouettes of Art Deco wolves perpetually leaping.
If Dracula had moonlighted as an interior designer, he might have created a room like this.
Sitting at the bar, Lamar Woolsey ordered his only alcoholic beverage of the evening: a bottle of Elephant Beer, a Danish import.
Some people at the cocktail tables were waiting to be told by the maitre d’ that their dinner tables were ready, but those at the bar had not come for dinner. They were mostly men, but whether men or women, they fled the casino for a respite from self-destruction.
Their moods ranged between forced gaiety and somber reflection, but the impression they all made on Lamar was of desperation.
They had come to the games of chance with hope. Emily Dickinson, the poet, had written that “Hope is the thing with feathers / That perches in the soul …” But if your hope was hope for the wrong thing, it could be a sharp-beaked hawk that ravaged the soul and the heart.
In his easy way, Lamar chatted up six fugitives from cards and dice, as they came and went. Eventually, in each conversation, he briefly waxed philosophical, and then said, “Don’t think, just answer. What’s the first word comes into your mind when I say
As he nursed his beer, he didn’t know what answer he would find appealing, but it wasn’t among the first five:
The sixth of these brief companions, Eugene O’Malley, appeared to be in his late twenties. He had such an innocent face and such a humble manner that beard stubble and bloodshot eyes didn’t make him appear dissolute, only harried.
Both arms on the bar, hands around a bottle of Dos Equis, he replied “Home,” in response to Lamar’s question.
“Where’s home, Mr. O’Malley?”
“Call me Gene. Home’s just down the road in Henderson.”
“What’s at home that gives you hope?”
“Lianne. She’s my wife.”
“She’s a good wife, is she?”
“Lianne’s the best.”
“So why’re you here, O’Malley?”
“Supposed to be at work. Night-shift construction foreman.”
Lamar said, “I don’t see anyone constructing anything around here except hangovers.”
“In this economy, who needs a night shift? Lost my job a week ago, can’t bring myself to tell Lianne.”
“But my dear O’Malley, if she’s a good woman …”
“She was fired in July. We’ve got a baby coming in six weeks.”
“So you figured your luck had to turn.”
“Figured wrong, Ed.”
Lamar had introduced himself as Edward Lorenz. Now he asked, “You lose a lot?”
“Anything is a lot right now. I dropped fourteen hundred, half my severance pay. Don’t know what happened, sort of lost my mind.”
After finishing his bottle of Elephant Beer, Lamar said, “You aren’t fighting Irish, are you, O’Malley? Don’t take a poke at an old man just because he asks a rude question.”
“You’re not that old, and I can’t see you being rude.”
“No lie — are you a degenerate gambler or just a damn fool?”
Gene laughed softly. “You have a way about you, Ed. I’m a damn fool who doesn’t ever want to see the inside of a casino again.”
“I guess I’ll believe you. Never known an O’Malley to lie.”
“Have you known a lot of O’Malleys?”
“You’re the first one. O’Malley, do you know who Sir Isaac Newton was?”
“A scientist or somebody.”
“Both somebody and a scientist. For centuries, Newtonian physics gave science the tools it needed to build the modern world. Newton’s theories and methods still work, but we now know that many of them are incomplete or even wrong.”
“How can they work if they’re wrong?”
“It has to do with reductionist observation and the power of approximation in the reliability of short-term effect.”
“Well, of course,” O’Malley said, and rolled his eyes.
“Einstein destroyed Newton’s illusion of absolute space and time. Quantum theory put an end to the notion of a controllable measurement process.”
“How many beers have you had, Ed?”
“This all relates to something good that’s soon going to happen to you, O’Malley. You know Galileo?”
“Not personally.”
“Galileo was a great scientist, too, and one of his theories, related to the oscillation of a pendulum — that its period remains independent of its amplitude — is still taught in most high-school physics classes more than three hundred years later. But it’s wrong.”
“I’ll bet you know what’s wrong with it,” O’Malley said, as if he was humoring an eccentric.
“Everyone doing physics for the last thirty years knows it’s wrong, but it’s taught anyway. Galileo used linear equations. But turbulence is present in the system, so it requires a nonlinear approach. Chaos, O’Malley. Underlying even the simple system of a pendulum is chaos, potential for complex and unexpected behavior. Now, I’m going to give you something.”
“What I need are the magic words to make Lianne forgive me.”
“Life can sometimes seem hopelessly complex, unpredictable, chaotic. Then a strange order makes itself known. You tell Lianne what you’ve done and what I’ve done, so she’ll know there’s order in the chaos. But first, cash these and take the money home to her.”
From a pocket of his white sport coat, Lamar extracted seventeen chips worth seventeen thousand dollars and put them on the bar.
Seventeen
The snowy pair glided across the moon-chilled yard: clearly seen but not in detail, catlike, wolflike, yet little resembling either cats or wolves, both familiar and strange, dreamlike.
When the animals arced toward the house, disappearing around the north end of the porch, Grady hurried from the kitchen, navigating by the LED numbers in the oven clock and by the hum of the refrigerator.
Blind in the windowless hallway, he felt along the left wall until he found a door.
In his study, two pale rectangles silvered the darkness directly opposite the entrance. His familiarity with the furniture arrangement allowed him to make his way quickly toward those undraped windows.
Halfway across the room, he gasped as a figure loomed against one of the framed panels of moonlight. But at once he realized that it was Merlin, on this side of the glass, paws on the sill. Grady went to the other window.
The night remained for a moment as night had been for millennia: full of myth, mystery, and threat, but in fact less dangerous than the day, if only because more men were sleeping now than would be sleeping after dawn.
