Fifty-to-One

pointed toward the big crowd, “find Sergeant Mulvaney, and tell him I’m taking the suspect downtown.”

“Downtown, sir?”

“That’s right, downtown. Oh, and Lenahan, let me use your car.” He held out a hand for the keys.

“My car, sir?”

“Yes. I can’t get mine out, just look at that mob.”

“Yes, sir.” Lenahan found his car keys and handed them over. The captain snatched them and Lenahan turned to go find Sergeant Mulvaney. “Oh, Lenahan,” the captain said, and Lenahan turned back.

“Sir?”

The captain waved at the cars nearest to them. “Which one...?”

“This one, sir,” Lenahan said, patting the nearest on the hood.

“Of course,” the captain said, and unlocked the door. “Thank you. That’s all.” And when Lenahan didn’t depart, “What are you waiting for?”

“Sir!” Lenahan spun on his heel and dived into the throng, looking for a police sergeant Tricia firmly believed existed only in the realm of imagination.

“My god,” she said, but the captain held up a finger in warning.

“In the car.” He opened the rear door of the police cruiser and Tricia slid in. Then he climbed behind the wheel, cranked the ignition, backed out, and made the turn onto West 4th.

Tricia waited to speak till she saw Washington Square Park racing past the windows.

“So where’s Captain Clohessy?” she finally said.

“Never fear. He’s sleeping peacefully, right where I left him.”

“And how did you manage to get away from Uncle Nick?”

“It’s a funny story,” Borden replied.

21.

Straight Cut

Nicolazzo smiled narrowly as he walked Borden to a pair of overstuffed, leather-upholstered armchairs on either side of a glass-topped oval table. He pulled the stiletto, sprang the blade, stepped behind Borden’s back, and for a moment Borden feared the worst. But all Nicolazzo used the blade on was the rope holding his hands together, sawing away until it dropped to the ground. Borden rubbed his wrists and when Nicolazzo gestured for him to do so, sat.

“So you’re the one published the book,” Nicolazzo said.

“What book?” Borden said.

“What book. Very good.” Nicolazzo opened the cardboard box the playing cards were in, set it aside, shuffled. “They warned me you were a rompiculo.” He slid the deck across the table. “Cut.”

Borden split the deck in half, set the top half over to the right of the bottom. Nicolazzo reassembled the deck, shuffled again.

“Why would you publish a book like this, revealing a man’s private concerns?”

“For money,” Borden said.

Nicolazzo nodded. That was reasoning he could understand, could appreciate. “Why not just come to me? I might have paid you not to publish it.”

“It’s not just this book,” Borden said. “I publish one book that’s a hit, it puts the whole line on the map.”

“I might have paid you not to publish the whole line.”

“Or you might have killed me,” Borden said. “Saved yourself some money.”

“I might kill you now,” Nicolazzo said.

“The horse is out of the barn now,” Borden said. “What good would killing me now do?”

“Maybe it would just make me feel better,” Nicolazzo said. “Maybe it would keep some other farabutto from screwing with me next time.”

“What’s a farabutto?”

“You,” Nicolazzo said. “You’re a farabutto. And—” he glanced at his watch “—for the next fifty minutes or so, you’re a live farabutto. After that...” He raised his shoulders expressively, let them fall. “So, canasta? Rummy? Or you like something simpler?”

“Simple is always nice,” Borden said.

Nicolazzo slapped the cards down. “Straight cut. High card wins.”

“How much?” Borden said.

“How much can you afford? Hundred bucks a point?”

Borden, who couldn’t afford one buck a point, said, “Sure.” He divided the deck into two parts, roughly equal.

Nicolazzo pushed the top two cards off the bottom half with a plump index finger. “Choose,” he said.

Borden looked at the backs of the two cards, scrutinized them as though the intricate pattern could reveal something to him about what was on the other side. Finally he flipped one face up. Two of diamonds.

Nicolazzo turned over the other card. Seven of clubs. “You owe me five hundred dollars.”

“I thought you said one hundred,” Borden said.

“One hundred a point. Seven minus two is five points. Five hundred. Do you disagree?”

Borden shook his head. Nicolazzo gathered up the cards, shuffled again, slapped them down. “Cut,” he said.

Borden cut, Nicolazzo slid two cards forward, and Borden turned over the jack of hearts. Nicolazzo turned over the queen of hearts. “One point,” Nicolazzo said. “That’s one hundred dollars. For a total of six hundred. Double or nothing?”

“What the hell,” Borden said. “Double or nothing.”

Half an hour later, Borden was forty thousand dollars in the hole and still plunging, no bottom in sight.

“At this rate,” Borden said, “you’ll have your three million back before the night’s out.”

“That assumes you have three million to lose,” Nicolazzo said, “which I’m betting you don’t.”

“You’re right about that,” Borden said. “But what if I told you I knew who did?”

“My three million?”

“Your three million.”

Nicolazzo pushed the deck toward him. Borden cut it and Nicolazzo fingered off two cards. By this point, they could do it without talking, without even paying much attention. Borden turned over the four of clubs, Nicolazzo the nine of spades. Eighty thousand.

“Quite the losing streak,” Nicolazzo said. “You haven’t gotten one right yet.”

Borden shrugged. “Happens.”

“So,” Nicolazzo said, “where’s my money?”

“You may find this surprising,” Borden said, “but I don’t keep eighty thousand dollars in my wallet.”

“Not that money,” Nicolazzo said. “The three million dollars this Judas took from me.”

“Ah, yes. That money.” Borden fingered the cards thoughtfully. “Well, I may not be winning right now, but I’m sure you’ll agree I don’t owe you that much quite yet.”

Nicolazzo leaned forward across the table, glared at Borden ominously. “Where’s my money? You don’t want to play games with me.”

“I thought you liked games,” Borden said. “Canasta and all.”

“If you don’t tell me right now—”

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Borden said. “Let’s cut for it. Make a little wager. Three million dollars if you win.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Why not?” Borden said.

Nicolazzo thought about it. “And if you win?”

“I walk out of here right now,” Borden said, “and you don’t stop me. You don’t touch me. You don’t get that bruiser of yours to stop me and you don’t send him after me. I win and we’re even. I don’t owe you the eighty thousand, I don’t owe you anything.” Charley leaned in, matched Nicolazzo stare for stare. “Or are you scared to risk that much on a hand of cards?”

Nicolazzo raised a meaty fist, shook it at Borden. “Salvatore Nicolazzo,” he said in a strangled voice, “is not afraid of any bet.”