Longo removed the ticket and examined it. "Only one?" he asked innocently.
Wily shot Sammy a helpless glance.
"For the love of Christ," Sammy swore under his breath. From his other pocket, he removed a second ticket and handed it over.
"You know, I've always been a big fight fan," Longo said, slipping the two tickets into his sharkskin wallet.
"Me, too," Wily said. "So's Sammy. Aren't you, Sammy?"
Sammy didn't say anything. They were his tickets. Now he'd have to watch the fight at home on Pay-Per-View or go to a bar with a bunch of other clowns who couldn't afford a real seat.
"What are friends for," he said through clenched teeth. "So, are you going to help us or not?"
"I can buy you a few days," Longo said.
Sammy jerked his head around to stare at Longo. "A few days?"
"I should let her walk right now."
"A few days?"
"Here's what I'll do," Longo said. "I'm going to ask the judge who arraigned Nola to stall Underman until next week. Tomorrow's Sunday and Monday's a state holiday. That gives you three days to come back to me with hard evidence. Bring me something credible, and I'll gladly lock horns with Underman on Tuesday morning."
Sammy ran his hand through his thinning hair, not believing what he was hearing. He'd known hoods with better manners than this sorry excuse for a law enforcement officer. Biting his tongue, he said, "We really appreciate it, Pete."
"You da man," Wily said apishly.
"It's been a pleasure doing business with you," Longo said, shaking their hands at the door. "See you boys at the fight."
"I wish I was going to the fight," Wily said, pouting as Sammy paid three bucks to get his car out of the lot. "How about you?"
"I'll probably go to a bar or watch it on Pay-Per-View," Sammy admitted. "I love the fights."
"Pay-Per-View sucks," Wily said.
"Well, you can see it on cable. They usually show it a week later."
"Cable sucks, too. I won't watch cable."
It was rare for Wily to have an opinion about anything. He was vanilla and proud of it. When they were on the Maryland Parkway, Sammy said, "You got something against the cable company?"
"How many times you seen the fights on cable?" Wily asked.
"I don't know. Say a thousand."
"A thousand even?"
"No, a thousand and one. Get to the fucking point."
"You've seen a thousand and one fights, and how many ring girls have you ever seen? Bet you can't count them on the fingers of one hand. The best-looking broads at a fight are the ring girls, and they never show them on cable."
"And that's why cable sucks."
"Sucks the big one," Wily said.
Reaching beneath his seat, Sammy removed a flask of whiskey and removed the top with his teeth. He took a long pull, licking his lips when he was done.
"Why are you drinking again?" Wily asked.
"Because we're screwed."
"You think Nick will can us?"
"He should."
For a while they rode in silence, each man considering what that meant. For Sammy, it meant retiring to someplace cheap like Arizona or Florida where he'd spend his days hustling loose change at cards so he could afford to buy premium cigars. Wily's future was not as bleak; for him, there was always a decent-paying job at an Indian reservation casino or on a cruise ship. He'd survive, but he'd do so knowing his best days were behind him.
"Nola was in on it," Wily said. "You agreed with me."
"Stupid me," Sammy said.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means I didn't think it through. If I'd known this broad was holding a grudge against Nick, I never would have had her arrested. I would have watched her, figured out what she was up to. The scam with Fontaine was a smoke screen; something else was going down, a big con, and we didn't see it."
They were back at the Acropolis. Sammy lapsed into silence as he passed the busty statuary that illustrated Nick's checkered marital history. He thought about Nola driving past the fountains each day, her hatred ignited by the sculpted mountains of silicone. No wonder she had it in for the boss.
Sammy pulled his car up to the front doors and threw it into park. The casino was dead, the uniformed valet nowhere to be seen. Letting the engine idle, he said, "What the hell is Valentine doing anyway?"
"I talked to him a few hours ago," Wily said. "He's holed up in his suite on his computer."
"Did he make Fontaine?"
"Not yet."
"Who put him in the suite, anyway?"
"I sure as hell didn't."
Sammy drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "What's he charging us, anyway?"
"Thousand bucks a day, plus expenses."
"Jesus Christ," Sammy muttered, getting out as the valet came running. "What a thief."
Sammy found Nick alone on the catwalk, hunched over the railing, his attention consumed by the torrid action on a craps table below. Shadows danced on his face, tiny angels of light coming off a big-chested woman dripping with cubic zirconias. She was trying to make eight the hard way and kissed the dice like she was planning to make love to them if they pulled through.
"Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night," Nick said after she crapped out, "and I lie in the dark and think about all the crummy things I've done in my life. At least the ones I can remember. They gnaw at you, especially the ones that ended up being worse than you had in mind."
"Like Nola," Sammy said quietly.
"I swear to God I don't remember her," Nick said, breathing heavily. "Now, with her clothes off, it might be a different story."
Sammy was in no mood to laugh. If Nick was trying to make a confession, it certainly wasn't coming across that way.
"Anyway," Nick went on, "Nola is a good example. Sherry said we dated for ten days. My guess is we fucked like bunnies for nine, then finally got down to talking. Maybe I did ask her to get her tits blown up; stupider things have come out of my mouth. But the truth is, I was being honest with her. I like my women a certain way. There isn't a crime against that, is there?"
"Not that I know of," Sammy said.
"So look where my honesty got me," Nick said, glancing briefly at Sammy before returning his attention to the tables. "I've got a real enemy in this broad."
"You think Sherry's leveling with us?"
"She's not clever enough to make something like that up," Nick said. "Nola definitely has it in for me."
Sensing Nick's reflective mood, Sammy gently broke the bad news to him. "The police want to drop charges. Seems she passed a polygraph with flying colors."
"Beautiful," Nick said.
Nick began to take a walk. Sammy followed, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. They stopped at the blackjack pit and both men put their elbows on the railing. The tables were half full, the action light.
"I do know one thing," Sammy said after a minute.
"Only one?" Nick said.
"It's a figure of speech."
"I know what it is," Nick snapped. "So what's this one thing you know?"
"I know there isn't a flaw in our security system," Sammy replied. "Nobody can waltz in here and start robbing us without the alarms going off. No one's going to ruin you, boss."
Down below, a dealer had busted and was paying off the table. Several players had doubled down on their bets and the two men silently added up the house's losses: over twelve hundred on the turn of a single card.
Nick said, "It won't take much. Fifty grand here, a hundred grand there. It all adds up. You hear what I'm saying?"
Sammy swallowed hard: It was the first time Nick had come out and admitted his financial shape was nothing to write home about. If the Acropolis had to shut down because of losses at the tables, he and Wily would never find work anywhere ever again.