Sucker Bet

25

Saul Hyman did not want trouble.

He’d started the day with a luxurious hot shower, then fixed breakfast and gone onto his balcony. Munching on a bagel, he’d stared through the apartment buildings across the street at the sliver of blue that was the mighty Atlantic. It was a razor-sharp day, the kind that made all the nonsense of living in Miami worthwhile.

And now it had been spoiled by the car parked across the street.

The car was a navy Altima. What had caught his eye was that it was in a no-parking zone. A bicycle cop had pulled up and chatted with the driver. The bicycle cop had left, and the Altima had stayed. Had to be another cop, Saul decided.

Going inside, he found the binoculars Sadie had given him for girl-watching. Whatever turns you on, she’d been fond of saying. Back on the balcony, he quickly found the car. The driver was reading the paper. Saul got in tight on his profile. He looked just like a cigar-store Indian, and Saul’s blood pressure began to rise. The man in the car was Bill Higgins, director of the Nevada Gaming Control Board, one of the most powerful law enforcement agents in the country. What was he doing here?

Looking for me, Saul thought.

He paced the condo, looking out his window at Higgins every few minutes. Saul hadn’t worked Las Vegas in ten years. The last time he’d tried, Higgins had intercepted him at McCarran airport, and Saul had flown out the same day.

So why was he here?

Only one reason came to mind. This Victor Marks thing.

Saul kicked the furniture. Upon retiring, he’d promised Sadie he would never get involved with Victor again. Now he’d broken that promise, and look what had happened.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he said aloud.

He needed to get out of the condo, to take a walk and think things out. Going into the bedroom, he turned on the light in Sadie’s closet. He’d kept all of her things, and he pulled out a floral dress he’d always liked. Stripping, he slipped it on, then opened a drawer and rummaged through her wigs. He’d always been partial to Sadie as a blond.

He made his mustache invisible with pancake, then appraised himself in the vanity. Saul Hyman, ancient drag queen. A straw hat and a pair of sunglasses lessened the pain, but only a little.

He didn’t want to risk seeing a neighbor, so he took the stairwell to the lobby. At the bottom he opened the fire exit and stuck his head out. Empty. He walked to the front doors and ventured outside.

The fresh salt air invigorated him. He walked down the condo’s driveway toward the sidewalk. Plenty of people were out. He’d blend right in.

He glanced across the street at Higgins in his car. The bastard was staring at him. Higgins’s face, normally as animated as granite, had broken into a sickening sneer.

Saul started to sweat. Known cheaters put on elaborate disguises and tried to steal money from casinos every day. And guys like Bill Higgins saw right through them.

“Oh, no,” he groaned.

Higgins got out of the car and started to cross the street. Did he want to talk about the good old days, or did he want to talk about Victor? Saul beat a trail back to his building and spied Stan and Lizzie, his neighbors, sidling down the drive.

“Saul?” Lizzie asked.

Damn, damn, damn. Saul walked with his eyes downcast.

“Saul, is that you?”

“Morning,” he muttered under his breath.

“Oh, my,” Stan said. They were regulars at the Wednesday night poolside barbecue, and Saul could imagine next week’s banter. Guess what. What? Hyman on four is a little light in the loafers. You don’t say?

The lobby’s crisp air-conditioning hit him like a slap in the face. Sadie’s dress was clinging to his legs. He tried to disengage himself and felt the fabric tear. It had been one of his late wife’s favorites.

The elevator came. He started to board it, then glanced outside. Higgins was gone. So was the Altima. A stupid cop trick, designed to scare the daylights out of him.

It had worked.

Pretending to be asleep, Gerry watched his father do his morning exercises. Jumping jacks, push-ups, deep knee bends, and a crazy judo exercise where he stood on his head in the corner. He did twenty minutes every day, no matter how he felt. Gerry had tried it for a week, and decided he liked being out of shape.

Finished, his father sat on the edge of the sofa bed, and said, “Hey.”

Gerry opened his eyes. “How did you know I wasn’t sleeping?”

“You stopped snoring. You hungry?”

Gerry sat up. “Yeah. You mind my asking you something?”

“Depends what it is.”

“It’s about Kat.” He followed his father to the bathroom and stood in the doorway as his father lathered up to shave. “I realize it’s none of my business, but how come you busted up with her? She seems okay.”

“She is okay,” his father said, running the razor beneath the hot water. “I just couldn’t be the person she wanted me to be.”

“I thought you liked the wrestling.”

“I did. I also like Halloween. But not all the time.”

“You told me yourself, the change was doing you good.”

Valentine shaved, then wiped his face with a washcloth. “I had this case once, a guy who disappeared. He lived in New Jersey, ran an accounting firm. He was a heavy gambler, and he had lines of credit at every casino. One day, he cleaned out his bank accounts and bolted. Left his wife, his kids, even his dog. Boom, gone.

“I got handed the case. I put a professional skip tracer on him, then went on to other things. There were so many places he could have gone, I didn’t see the point of killing myself trying to find him.

“Two years later, the skip tracer calls me, says, ‘You won’t believe this.’ Turns out the guy has reappeared. He’s living in New Jersey, about fifty miles from where he lived before. He belongs to a country club and is married to a woman a lot like his first wife. His life is almost identical to the one he had before. The local cops arrest him, and I arrange to meet with the guy. I was curious, you know?”

“Sure,” Gerry said.

“His name was Stanley. So I say, ‘Stanley, why didn’t you run?’ And Stanley gives me a funny smile, and says, ‘There was nothing to run to.’

“I thought about that remark for a while. And what I figured out was this. Once you reach a certain age, the patterns of your life are set. You may think otherwise, but you’re just lying to yourself. Stanley came back to New Jersey because it was the only life he had. There was nowhere else for him to go.

“I got involved with Kat because I thought I could change who I was. My life was like a suit of clothes that I’d gotten sick of wearing. So I started wearing a different suit. Turns out, it didn’t fit.”

“Can’t stop being a cop, huh?” his son asked.

Valentine shook his head. “Not if my life depended on it.”