Loaded Dice

Out on the open road, he pushed the rental up to ninety and felt his anxiety slip away. Ever since he was a kid, he’d been good at getting out of jams: Why should this time be any different? Pulling into a mini mart, he bought a Slurpee and a bag of chips, then called Yolanda when he was back behind the wheel.

“Hey beautiful,” he said by way of greeting.

“Oh, my God, Gerry, what have you done?” his wife wailed.

He closed his eyes. With his lips he found the Slurpee’s straw and took a deep pull. “I haven’t done anything. What’s wrong? You having the baby?”

“Didn’t you get my messages?”

“I’m incognito, remember?”

“I’m your wife, goddamn it!”

Gerry felt the icy drink shoot up the back of his head. “You’re not having the baby.”

“No.”

“So what’s so catastrophic that you had to call me twelve times?”

The line went quiet. That was a stupid thing to say, he thought. He opened his eyes and stared at the painted landscape. The desert led to mountains, which pointed at the endless sky. He could understand how people fell in love with it out here. Every time he looked out the window, it made him feel better. “Sorry,” he said.

Yolanda said, “I called because a collection agency is calling every hour, and the bank is calling because you bounced ten checks—including one to my mother in San Juan—and I found a stack of bills underneath the bed, and I wanted to know how you planned to support us when the baby is born.”

The straw in his Slurpee made an offensive sound as he sucked his drink dry.

“What was that?” she snapped.

“The car,” he replied. “Look, I spoke to the bank, and I’m going to wire them the money. It’s no big deal. I sent the bill collector the money two weeks ago—why he hasn’t gotten the check, I have no idea.”

“What about all these bills?”

“It’s under control,” he said calmly. “You need to relax, stop worrying about this stuff. I’ll admit things are a little tight, but once I start pulling my weight with my father, we’ll be swimming in dough.”

“Oh, God, Gerry, I hope you’re telling the truth.”

“Why wouldn’t I be telling you the truth?”

“Gerry, my mother was crying when she called. She lives on the money we send her.”

Gerry stared at the midday sun. It was a pale disk in a creamy vanilla sky. He watched rays of light dance on the snow-covered mountaintops. Yolanda was a doctor. Her parents had nearly gone broke putting her through medical school. By knocking her up, he had inherited her financial obligation to keep them afloat. It hadn’t seemed like such a scary proposition, until now.

“I overnighted you money yesterday,” he said. “When you get it, send some to your mother.”

“Oh, Gerry,” Yolanda said, “what are you doing out there? You don’t return my calls, and now you’re sending money? Where did you get it?”

Gerry felt his cheeks burn. He loved Yolanda more than anything else in the world, but he had to get off the phone right now.

“I’ve got to get back to class.”

“Why won’t you answer me?”

“I did answer you. Everything is under control. You’ve gotta trust me.”

“I love you,” his wife said, suddenly sounding frightened.

“I love you, too. Good-bye.”

He killed the connection. Soon he was on the highway driving back toward Calhoun’s house. This time he kept under the speed limit while his mind wrestled with his situation. In the last six months, he’d maxed out ten different credit cards. On top of that, there was the overdue mortgage and car payments. He guessed he owed fifty grand on top of what he’d sent Yolanda yesterday.

He took a deep breath as he pulled down Calhoun’s bumpy driveway. He could get his hands on the money, but it wouldn’t be easy.

It never was.

7

Wily and Valentine finished their coffee and walked to the front of the Acropolis. By the front doors was the garishly lit alcove that housed One-Armed Billy, the world’s biggest slot machine. A bus tour of blue-hairs stood on line, waiting to take a crack at the thirty-million-dollar jackpot.

“You know,” Wily said, “the best thing that ever happened to us was Nola Briggs and Frank Fontaine trying to rip Billy off.”

“Business that good?”

“Billy’s is. The tour buses bring a thousand retirees a day. You’re a hero to these people.”

Valentine laughed. The attempted heist had been made into an asinine TV movie. A young Hollywood actor with wavy hair and bulging muscles had played Valentine’s role. He had watched half the program before turning it off.

They entered the alcove. Joe Smith—all seven feet, three hundred pounds of him—sat on a stool next to Billy. Joe had been there during the heist and been diverted away from Billy by a staged fight in the casino. Joe had gotten to play himself in the TV movie and looked like he was enjoying his newfound celebrity. Eight-by-ten glossies, signed and framed, were on sale on a table beside him.

“Hey Joe, how’s it going?” he said.

Joe smiled. He was getting his picture taken with an elderly fan. Picking up a mike off a table, he said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special guest with us. The man responsible for stopping the heist in the movie Grift Sense. The one and only Tony Valentine.”

The line of retirees ohhed and ahhed. The elderly fan clapped her hands together in delight. Brushing past Valentine, she disappeared into the casino lobby.

“What brings you to town?” Joe asked.

“He just saved our ass again,” Wily piped in.

Joe scratched his chin like a great thinker. “Let me guess. You stopped the jumper.”

Valentine acknowledged that he had. “You like being famous?”

“Beats working,” Joe replied.

The elderly fan returned to the alcove, looking annoyed. “Tony Valentine wasn’t in the lobby,” she said. “Where is he?”

Joe pointed at the real McCoy. She looked Valentine over from head to toe.

“Really?” she asked skeptically.

“People can be cruel,” Wily said as they walked outside. The fountains had just come on, the statues of Nick’s ex-loves getting their midday shower. Wily’s cell phone went off. Ripping it from his pocket, he stared at its face.

“The boss,” he said. Turning it on, he said, “Hey Nick, what’s up?”

Valentine mouthed the words See you and started to walk away. Wily motioned with his hand for him to stop. “Yeah, Valentine’s right here,” he said into the phone. “I know he saved the day. You want him to come over?” Wily covered the mouthpiece. “Nick wants to thank you in person.”

“I need to go find my son.”

“Nick’s got spies all over town,” Wily said. “If anyone can track Bart Calhoun down, it’s him. Come on.”

Valentine considered it. Nick had been in Las Vegas forever and knew everybody. He was also usually good for a few laughs.

“For lunch?” he asked.

Wily took his hand away from the phone. “Valentine wants to know if you’re going to feed him.” The head of security covered the phone. “Nick says sure, if you’ll promise to tell the story of how you caught Nola and Frank