Mr. Lucky

Epilogue

The State of Nevada versus Lucille Price,” the bailiff announced.

Valentine saw Lucy Price’s attorney jump to his feet. He was a short guy, heavyset, and approached the bench while buttoning the middle button of his jacket. The judge was a woman and seemed to appreciate the gesture. Her courtroom was filled with drunks and prostitutes and crackheads. Little things counted here.

Lucy’s attorney explained to the judge that his client wanted to change her plea. The judge looked at Lucy sitting in the front row, then at her attorney. It wasn’t a kind look. Lucy spun around in her chair and shot Valentine a dagger. He was sitting two rows back, and it felt like a slap in the face.

“It’s okay,” he whispered.

She made a face like she didn’t believe him, then spun back around. He’d flown out from New York and shown up on her doorstep last night. He’d avoided her for so long, she’d slammed the door in his face. But he’d rung the bell again. This time when she answered, he’d begged forgiveness.

She let him take her to dinner at Smith & Wollensky on the strip. For his money, it was the best restaurant in town. She ate a Cobb salad, while he ate a New York strip steak. By the time dessert came, she was holding his hand and whispering to him.

During the drive home, she fantasized about them running away together. That was why he’d come, she speculated. He’d rented a private jet, and it was now sitting on the tarmac at McCarran, its final destination someplace exotic, like Acapulco or Cancun. Listening to her ramble on, he’d felt immensely sad.

When they reached her doorstep, she’d tried to kiss him.

“No,” he said.

“But—”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”

“We’re not…running away?”

He’d put his hands on her shoulders and shaken his head. The look in her eyes had been painful. The death of hope was always wrenching.

At seven o’clock the next morning, Valentine drove Lucy to the Clark County Courthouse on South Third Street, two blocks south of the Fremont Street Experience. He’d been to the courthouse on several occasions to act as an expert witness in a trial. That it was located near several seedy casinos in the worst part of town had always seemed a perfect metaphor for Las Vegas.

Lucy wore a conservative blue dress and little makeup and said nothing during the ride. Parking was not available in front of the courthouse, and he drove to the mammoth county parking structure a block away. As he parked, he told her that he’d called his friend Bill Higgins and gotten the skinny on the judge. “Her name’s Redmond. She used to be a public defender and has experience dealing with problem gamblers. That’s in your favor.”

“Why’s that?” Lucy said.

“She understands how casinos seduce people. A person with a gambling problem becomes falsely elevated in a casino. It changes who they are, just like a drug.”

“Is that what happens to me?”

“Yes,” he said.

“And this judge knows that?”

He nodded, and Lucy stared at the car’s dirty windshield. He saw her start to tremble. She had come to that petrifying brink where her fantasies adjoined the real world. Taking a deep breath, she said, “You’re saying I should change my plea and throw myself upon the mercy of the court. Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said. “If you go to trial and lose, you’ll do hard time.”

The idea of jail petrified her, and for good reason: Nevada had some of the worst prisons in the country. They talked it over for a few minutes, and finally she agreed. They walked to the courthouse together and found her attorney in the courthouse lobby. When Lucy told him she’d changed her mind, her attorney had looked relieved.

“Ms. Price, please step forward.”

The bailiff motioned for Lucy to stand. She rose on wobbly legs, the bottom of her world about to drop out, and approached the bench with her attorney holding her arm.

“Your attorney has informed me that you wish to change your plea to guilty,” Judge Redmond said. “Is that correct?”

Lucy nodded woodenly.

“Do you understand that by changing your plea, you are giving up your right to a trial by a jury of your peers? Do you also understand that I will pass judgment this morning and may send you to prison?”

Again the wooden nod. The judge lowered her eyes and reviewed the facts of her case. It was all there in the file: Lucy’s gambling problems, busted marriage, the whole ugly story. Valentine hoped the judge would see the same thing in the file that he’d seen in Lucy the first time he’d met her: a damaged woman desperately in need of help.

After a minute, the judge closed the file and gazed down at her. “I’m ready to pass sentence. Ms. Price, is there anything you wish to say before I do?”

Lucy shook her head.

“Then you’re ready for me to make my decision.”

Lucy tried to answer, but the words refused to come out. She looked over her shoulder again, and Valentine saw panic in her eyes. It’s the correct thing to do, he’d said as they’d gotten out of the car. The words had given her strength, so he repeated them. She smiled faintly, then turned back around.

“Yes, Your Honor,” she said. “I am ready.”