Gift sense

28

Back in his suite, Valentine sat on the couch and stared into space. Every part of his body hurt, his head most of all. And tomorrow, he was going to hurt a lot more.

The scent of Roxanne's lilac perfume clung heavily to the air. On the couch were the dents she'd left in the cushions; on the coffee table, a half-smoked cigarette and her lipstick-stained drink. She was everywhere, her lovely memory haunting him. He fired up a book of casino matches to erase the intoxicating smell.

A knock on the door interrupted him. Not every member of Fontaine's gang had been apprehended, and so he approached the door cautiously. Through the peephole he saw a uniformed waiter. He cracked open the door.

"What's up?"

"Mr. Valentine?" the waiter inquired.

"That's me."

The waiter handed Valentine a cream-colored envelope. "Mr. Nicocropolis apologizes for not delivering this in person, but he's busy with the police."

Valentine reached for his wallet and the waiter shook his head.

"No need, Mr. Valentine. Good night."

He walked away and Valentine tore the envelope open. Inside were fifty hundred-dollar bills. And a note. Tony, Billy's jackpot would have busted me-I'm liable for the first three million. Thanks. Wily told me about your son. Really sorry. My jet is still available. Nick P.S. You're a good guy, even if you are from Jersey.

Valentine took out his wallet and added the bills to his growing collection. Then he slipped Nick's note in behind his torn honeymoon photo. After Lois died, he found a scrapbook in her closet filled with newspaper clippings and commendations he'd received as a cop. She'd cared about that stuff, and he would add Nick's note to the collection, knowing how happy it would have made her.

He was tossing his dirty clothes into his suitcase when the phone rang. He ignored it, not wanting to talk. But to his annoyance, it continued to ring. Apparently this call was not going to voice mail. He lifted the receiver to his ear and said, "Yeah?"

"Tony? Is that you?"

"Mabel?"

"I'm free," she squealed with delight. "I know it's late out there, but I had to call and tell you my good news."

"You're out of jail?"

"I most certainly am!"

Valentine heard a screen door slam in the background, then a familiar voice. "Mabel, where'd you say the ice cream was?"

"Gerry?" he said in astonishment.

"In the icebox in the garage," Mabel said. "I've got your father on the line."

"Hey, Pop," Gerry said from afar.

"Gerry?" Tears rolled down Valentine's face. "Gerry!"

"Hey," his son said, coming on the line.

"You're alive!"

"You bet I'm alive. Those judo moves you taught me as a kid finally came in handy."

"What happened?"

"Guy was choking me to death in the Holland Tunnel and I snapped his arm back. He fell over, hit his partner, bidda-bang, bidda-boom, they're both out cold. I cabbed it to the airport, jumped on a plane."

Valentine could not remember when his son's voice had sounded so good. "You called Yolanda, didn't you?"

"She's flying down tomorrow," his son said. "We're going away for a few days."

"Good boy."

"Mabel's dying to talk to you."

Valentine heard the screen door open and close. Ice cream. His son had gone to get some ice cream. Did he have any idea the anguish his father had been through, thinking him dead?

No, Valentine realized, probably not.

Mabel came on, her voice filled with schoolgirl glee. "Oh, Tony. You would have been so proud."

"Tell me," he said.

"Your son flew down an hour ago and drove straight to the courthouse. He begged a judge to hear my case, and they dragged me out of jail. Your son told that judge exactly what happened, how he was to blame, and how he should have come down and straightened things out, and how his father was a cop, and that he'd been raised knowing right from wrong, and this time there was no doubt he was wrong. Then he begged the judge to let me go-"

"Mabel," Valentine said, "slow down before you croak!"

His neighbor took a deep breath, then plunged back in. "Tony, it was so touching, I cried. Gerry told the judge that just a few hours ago, two hoodlums had tried to murder him and that he'd had this amazing life-changing experience. He had a strange name for it-"

"An epiphany?"

"That's it. Anyway, he said it was a real wake-up call. He told the judge that he had to take responsibility for his life and that this was as good a way as any to start."

"Gerry said that?"

"I know," she laughed merrily. "Tony, for a minute I thought I was listening to you!"

"What did the judge say?"

"Well, the judge was a she and a real tough nut. She praised Gerry for his honesty, but then told him the law was the law, and fined him fifty-five hundred dollars."

"Fifty-five hundred bucks!" he shouted into the phone. "That's highway robbery. She ought to be run out of town."

"Well, your son doesn't feel that way."

"What do you mean? What did he do?"

"He paid up."

"What?"

"He said, and I quote, 'I broke the law, and I'll pay whatever fine you see fit.'"

Valentine heard the screen door slam. "Put him on, will you?"

"Hey," his son said a moment later.

"Mabel told me what you did. I'm proud of you, boy."

"Yeah, well, now that you mention it, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor," his son said.

"Sure."

"I paid the court with a check, and my cash flow's been kinda short lately, if you know what I mean."

Valentine pushed himself off the bed, not believing his ears.

"You want me to cover you?"

"Well, yeah," his son said.

Valentine kicked the night table and got violent feedback from his big toe. The more things changed, the more they remained the same.

"I'll pay you back," his son mumbled.

An uncomfortable silence followed. Gerry cleared his throat. "Pop."

"What?"

"I know this is hard to believe, but I'm trying."

"You're trying," Valentine echoed.

"Yeah, I'm trying."

Across the street the Mirage's volcano spit a doughnut-shaped cloud into the air. The police cruisers were leaving the Acropolis, their wailing sirens drowning out all other sound. Roxanne was in one of those cruisers, getting her first taste of her new life. She would do a minimum of five years in the state pen and her life would never be the same again. Only when the cruisers were gone did Valentine speak.

"Well," he said, "it's about time." By James Swain Published by Ballantine Books: