Fifty-to-One

cable being lowered beside her toward the launch. As she stepped off the ladder onto the deck of the ship, she saw the cable begin retracting, hauling the footlocker on board.

She looked around. There were five men there, all of them unfamiliar. “Where’s Uncle Nick?” she said.

“Right here,” Nicolazzo said. She turned around. He was standing at the midpoint of the deck, one hand on an open door. “Won’t you join me?” he said. “I’ve got some people downstairs who are dying to see you again.”

Two of the men pushed her forward, gripping her tightly by the arms. A third pulled her purse out of her hands, and turning she saw it was Pantazonis.

“Wait, I need that—” she said, but it was already gone, and he with it.

So much for the plan, she thought. Now what?

At Nicolazzo’s insistence, she preceded him down a narrow staircase and along a low-ceilinged hall to an open doorway. She ran inside when she saw Coral, her arms tied behind her around the back of a wooden chair. Her face was bruised, but that could have been a remnant of her fight with Stella; she didn’t seem to have any new monograms on her cheeks. But her hair was tangled and there were pouches under her eyes and even when she saw Tricia she was slow to respond. The last few days clearly hadn’t been good ones for her.

“Cory,” Tricia said, hugging her tightly, “are you okay?”

Coral didn’t say anything, just nodded as Tricia stepped back.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Tricia said.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Coral said softly. “You should’ve taken Artie back home.”

“Don’t talk like that. The only one going home is you.”

“I hope you don’t mean that,” Charley said from behind her.

She turned. His black eye was as richly colored as it had been the last time she’d seen it, though the swelling had gone down a bit. Otherwise he seemed not too much the worse for wear—except, of course, for the tape wrapped around his right index finger. It looked like they’d splinted it with a Popsicle stick.

“Oh, Charley, I’m so sorry. I wish I’d never—”

“Sure,” Charley said. “We both do. But you can still make it up to me by giving this guy what he wants.”

“That is excellent advice, Mr. Borden,” Nicolazzo said. “I am glad you’ve come around to my way of thinking. You, too, Miss Heverstadt.”

At a gesture from Nicolazzo, Kagan carried the foot-locker in and deposited it heavily on a fold-down counter bolted to the wall.

“You want me to open it?” Kagan said.

“One thing at a time,” Nicolazzo said. “My pictures...?”

Tricia handed over the leather box. He slid the cover off and flipped through the photographs one by one. He nodded when he reached the last one. “Very good.” The box vanished inside his jacket pocket.

“Now the money.” Nicolazzo shooed Kagan away and lifted the two spring latches holding the footlocker closed. He eyed the money inside with a combination of satisfaction and wariness. Choosing a stack of bills from the middle, he riffled through it. His expression didn’t change, but even from where she was standing Tricia could see at a glance when the real bills ended and the newspaper began. Without saying anything, he picked up another stack and riffled through that one, then a third. He put them back in place.

“Kill the sister,” he said.

“Wait!” Tricia shouted. She yanked the pawnshop ticket out of her pocket, waved it overhead.

“What’s that supposed to be, Miss Heverstadt?”

“The rest of your money,” Tricia said. “You didn’t really think I’d bring it all here, did you?”

“I did expect that, yes. It’s what I told you to do.”

“If I had, what would have prevented you from killing all three of us and just dumping our bodies over the side?” She walked up to Nicolazzo, handed the ticket over. “I needed a way to ensure you’d let us go. You’ll get your money, every penny of it—but only once we’re safe on land.”

“You left my money at...a pawnshop?”

“Some of it,” Tricia said. “Some is in that footlocker. I’m afraid most of it is at the pawnshop, though.”

“And how am I supposed to find this pawnshop? The name’s been scratched off.”

“Oh, has it?” Tricia said. “It’s a good thing I remember which one it is, then. Or I suppose you could try going to every pawnshop in New York one at a time asking to see every brown valise they’ve got—that shouldn’t take more than a month or two, if you work hard at it.”

She could see him struggling with conflicting emotions, the hunger to lash out warring with his own self- interest. Before he could settle the matter, Pantazonis rushed in, knocking on the doorframe as he entered. He had the beaded purse in one hand, the pink satin makeup case in the other.

“Sorry to interrupt, boss—”

“Uncle Nick,” Nicolazzo growled.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Nick.” Pantazonis started over again. “I thought you’d want to see this.”

“Why would I want to see a purse?”

“Not the purse,” Pantazonis said. “This thing. Look what I found in it.” He swung open the hinged top of the makeup kit and lifted the false panel, revealing the transistor radio inside. “It’s a radio,” he said unnecessarily. “Only when I turn it on, it doesn’t play any music. It doesn’t play anything—but the little light goes on.”

Nicolazzo snatched it out of his hands, turned it over to look at the back, then waved it in Tricia’s face. “You think I don’t know what this is? After I’ve had the federal boys on my back for seven years?” His eyes blazed. “Pawnshop, my eye. This is a set-up. They want you to lure me back to land, don’t they? And when you get me there you’re supposed to flip the switch on this thing and it’ll send out a signal: Here’s Nicolazzo, here’s Nicolazzo. Come and get him. Well. Here’s what I think of that.” He strode to a porthole in the wall, opened it, and pitched the radio out. They could all hear the splash a moment later.

He slammed the porthole cover shut.

“Now, Miss Heverstadt, you are going to tell me where my money really is. And then you’re going to take me to it, or I swear I will kill all three of you. For now, one will do.” He turned back to Kagan. “Like I said. Kill the sister.”

“No, don’t—” Tricia said.

“You’re not taking me seriously, young lady, and you won’t unless I give you a reason to.”

Kagan pulled out a gun.

“Please,” Tricia said to Kagan, “don’t do it.”

“Oh? You’d rather he kill your boyfriend here?” Nicolazzo grabbed Charley’s chin in one hand, shook it roughly. “That’s fine with me. Your choice. Which one?”

“Neither,” Tricia said.

“That sounds good to me,” Charley said.

“You shut up,” Nicolazzo said, wheeling on him. “You, you imbroglione, with your goddamn cheating cards—you know what, I think maybe you should choose, how about that? Huh?”

“I’d rather not,” Charley said.

“Ah, but you will,” Nicolazzo said. He snapped his fingers at Pantazonis. “Get me a deck of cards. Now!” Pantazonis scurried out of the room.

“I’ve wanted to do this ever since you walked out my door,” Nicolazzo said. “A little rematch. A hand of Fifty-to-One—only with my deck this time, not yours. You want to know what the stakes are?”

“I doubt it,” Charley said.

“If I win, my man here shoots you—in the head eventually, but not right away, he’ll take his time. He’s got plenty of bullets and you’ve got plenty of other places to get shot in first. Painful places.”

“And if I win?”

“If you win, I spare your life—for now,” Nicolazzo said. “And kill her instead.” He jabbed a finger in Coral’s direction.

“You’re insane,” Charley said, and it earned him a punch in the head.

Pantazonis came back through the door, a deck of cards in his hand. Nicolazzo peeled the top card off, threw it in Charley’s face. It bounced off and landed on the floor. Eight of hearts.

“What’s the next one, Borden?” Nicolazzo said. “Think hard. There’s a lot riding on it.” He waved Kagan over. The big man positioned himself at Charley’s side and pressed the barrel of his gun against Charley’s neck.