She laughed. “Always talk with your mouth full?”
“Depends what it’s filled with. What’s your name?”
“Mona. You in town for the convention?”
He’d seen several Shriners walk by, wearing their silly purple hats, and nodded his head. Mona eyed the cone, and he handed it to her. She licked at the cherry sitting atop the whipped cream. Her tongue was pointed like a serpent’s. She saw the effect it had on him, and went for the kill.
“Want to go on a date?”
“Depends. How much do you charge?”
“Two hundred bucks.”
“For how long?”
“For as long as you can last, handsome.”
He removed a wad of cash from his pocket along with a handful of black casino chips. Carrying the chips was a little touch, but sometimes they were the most important things. He peeled away a brand new hundred, and handed it to her.
“Half now, half when we get there.”
Mona made the C-note disappear in her leather jacket.
“I like your style,” she said.
She consummated the deal by kissing him on the lips. The ebb and flow of human traffic continued past. He felt himself becoming aroused. Soon, she would be his.
“You got wheels?” Mona asked.
“I’m parked down the street.”
He offered his arm, acting like a gentleman. Mona took it and smiled. Whenever possible, he tried to get his victims to smile. Even if it meant buying them a gift, or saying something stupid. It always brought their guards down, and made everything easier later on. As they started to walk away, he glanced into the confectionary store window. His own reflection looked back at him. In it, he saw a strange object perched on a pole across the Boardwalk. He jerked his head and stared.
It was a surveillance camera, similar to the ones inside the casino. It had not been there a few days ago, when he’d come to the Boardwalk, and scoped things out. It was new, and he guessed, had been put there to find him. He imagined Tony Valentine sitting in a darkened room somewhere, watching him.
“Come on, handsome, time’s a wasting.”
The Dresser stuck his tongue out at the camera as Mona dragged him away.
Chapter 43
The phone call from Nucky Balducci came early the next morning.
“We need to talk,” the old gangster said.
Valentine was sitting at his kitchen table, finishing his usual breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. The funeral of Marcus Mink had drained him, and he’d slept poorly. Talking to Nucky was the last thing he wanted to do right now.
“About what?” he asked.
“Your health,” Nucky replied.
Thirty minutes later, Valentine parked in front of Nucky’s house and killed the Pinto’s sputtering engine. Any day now, he expected the car to catch on fire and die, and found himself hoping it would be soon. Walking up the brick path, he stared at Nucky’s palatial digs. He remembered how impressed he’d been twenty years ago while picking Zelda up for the school dance.
Knocking on the front door, he heard a noise and glanced up. Zelda was watching from a second-story window and clasped her hands together in joy.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said under his breath.
The front door opened, and Nucky ushered him in. The old gangster wore black pants and a black sweater, his traditional colors. It made his bald head look bigger, not that anyone in town had the courage to tell him. Hearing the pounding of feet, Valentine saw Zelda coming down the staircase wearing a fuzzy pink bathrobe and pink slippers.
“Tony!” she exclaimed.
He had always felt sorry for Zelda. Deep down, she was a sweet kid, but bore the horrible misfortune of looking exactly like her father. As she bounded across the foyer, he realized she was going to hug him. He let her.
“Hey, Zelda,” he said, kissing the top of her forehead.
“It’s not time for our twentieth high school reunion, is it?” she asked.
Valentine wasn’t sure what time zone Zelda occupied since she’d flipped her wig. The reunion had happened last summer, but he saw no reason to tell her.
“Not yet,” he replied.
“Good. I’m holding you to the first dance.”
