Sucker Bet

38

Slash shook Mabel awake early Monday morning. He let her use the bathroom, then tied her legs back to the chair. She was hungry, but that didn’t concern him. He wanted to learn how to use the David card-counting computer.

The David was strapped to his waist, with two wires going down to his crotch, where they were separated by a Y-connector, with separate wires running down each pants leg to the special boots. Inside each boot were two switches, one mounted above and one below the big toe. The switches corresponded to the switches on the practice keyboard, which Mabel held in her lap.

“Show me again,” he said.

Mabel stiffly nodded her head. She’d awakened feeling numb, like someone on a lifeboat who’s discovered they’ve run out of water. She was going to die; it was just a matter of when. She removed a legal pad off the desk and pointed at the chart she’d drawn the night before.

“The David will calculate the best way to play blackjack, based upon the cards dealt. The information that the computer requires is input through numerical codes.

“There are fifteen codes. Each of the switches in your boots represents one of four numbers—eight, four, two, and one. By tripping the switches separately, or in combination, you can input any number from one to fifteen. With me so far?”

Slash made a face. “Don’t lecture me. How does the rest of it work?”

“I’m getting to that,” Mabel said.

“Do it with the cards,” he said.

Mabel looked around the study for the cards. Slash had held them last, and now they were gone. He misplaced things constantly, then lost his temper. In exasperation she said, “I don’t know where you put them. We’ll have to use a fresh deck.”

Slash rifled the drawers in Tony’s desk. In the bottom one, he found several unopened decks of cards. A pack landed in her lap.

“There,” he said.

Mabel unwrapped the cards while staring at the desk. In a middle drawer she saw the open box that contained Tony’s Sig Sauer semiautomatic handgun. He’d shown her the gun the first day she’d come to work for him. Did the empty box mean Tony had taken it with him? Or was it someplace in the house?

“Hurry,” Slash said.

Mabel shuffled the cards. Tony spent most of his time here, so it was logical that the Sig Sauer was also here. Only, Slash had searched the room last night, and no gun had turned up.

“Come on,” he said.

Mabel dealt two cards onto the desk. The first was a nine, the second a two. Slash stared at them for several seconds. Then he studied Mabel’s chart.

“Fuck,” he said.

“First you input a twelve to tell the computer that it’s a new deal. Then input one to tell the computer how many decks are in use.”

Slash wiggled his toes in the boots. “Okay,” he said, still sounding unsure.

“Now input eleven to indicate the combined value of the two cards.”

“Okay,” he said.

Mabel dealt two cards to herself, one faceup, the other facedown. Her faceup card was a six. Slash input its value without being told. Then grinned. The David communicated in a Morse-code-type signal that was felt against the skin, and she guessed the computer was talking to him and telling him how to play his hand.

He said, “It just buzzed me twice. What does that mean?”

“Were the buzzes long or short?”

“Long.”

“It means you should double-down your bet,” Mabel said.

“I’m going to win the hand?”

“That’s what the David is saying.”

“Okay, so I double my bet. Deal me another card.”

Mabel dealt him a third card. It was a ten, giving Slash twenty-one, the most desirable outcome possible. She turned her facedown card over. A ten, giving her a sixteen. The rules called for her to deal a third card for herself. It was a seven. She had busted.

“You win,” she said.

Slash looked perplexed, and Mabel realized he still hadn’t grasped how the David worked.

Thank God, she thought.

His Honda drew a glare from the Loews valet.

Valentine had spent the morning talking to Gerry about becoming his partner. Typical with his son, he had not thought things out—like where he planned to live, or what money he’d use to buy a car for Yolanda and the baby—and Valentine was having second thoughts when he pulled up to the hotel. As he handed over his keys, he remembered something. Gerry planned to pay him back after he sold the bar, which meant Valentine would have fifty grand to play with. Looking at the valet, he said, “Time for a new car, don’t you think?”

Bill’s room was on the seventh floor. Valentine opened the door with Bill’s key, stuck his head in, and said, “Anyone home?” then went in.

Fresh flowers were on the night table, and a mint creased the pillow. His son pilfered it. Valentine said, “Put it back.”

“But, Pop, you said he wasn’t coming back here.”

“Doesn’t matter. You didn’t pay for it.”

Gerry put the mint back. Opening the closet, Valentine spotted the safe above the clothes rack. From his wallet he removed the slip of paper with the combination Bill had given him. He punched it in and heard the safe make a whirring sound. Inside he found a .45 Glock and a spare clip.

“So, what do you think?” his son said.

The gun felt good and solid in his hand, and he slipped it into his jacket pocket. He knew what his son was asking. Make a commitment, Pop. Say yes right now.

“Something’s bugging me,” Valentine said.

“What?”

“Why this sudden urge to go legit?”

His son didn’t flinch.

“I don’t want my kid knowing I was a criminal.”

It was the right answer, only Valentine wasn’t sold. This was Gerry he was talking to.

“One thing at a time,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“First you sell your bar, pay me back, then you relocate, then you start working for me.” He paused and looked Gerry square in the eye. “As in, I’m the boss. Understood?”

His son dutifully nodded his head.

“Understood,” he replied.