"On your knees," the cowboy said.
Valentine sank to the floor. The icy tiles sent an unpleasant sensation up his legs. He watched the cowboy reach into his breast pocket.
"Look familiar?"
In his hand was Valentine's honeymoon snapshot.
"Yeah," Valentine said.
Holding a corner of the photo between his teeth, the cowboy ripped the snapshot in half, then in quarters. Valentine watched the pieces float to the floor, remembering that day on the Steel Pier as if it were yesterday.
"I've got a message from Frank Fontaine," the cowboy said.
"I'm all ears," Valentine said.
The cowboy flashed a lopsided grin. "Fontaine wants you to know that he's got a flag in every state. You know what that means, old man?"
Valentine nodded. It meant that Fontaine had gangsters he could call in every city in the country who'd do a job for him, no questions asked. He watched the cowboy reach into his pocket again.
"Look familiar?"
This time, he was holding Valentine's address book.
"Yeah," Valentine said.
"Leave town by tomorrow," the cowboy said. "Or Frank will make a call, and someone you love will get hurt. Get it?"
"Got it," Valentine said.
The cowboy made him go into the bathroom and shut the door. The bathroom phone had been ripped out of the wall. Valentine dropped his pants and checked his Jockeys. Still dry.
"Stay in there a while," the cowboy said.
"You got it," Valentine replied.
He pulled his pants back on and sat on the toilet. Having nothing better to do, he mulled over Fontaine's threat. Why hadn't Fontaine just whacked him? The only answer he could come up with was because Fontaine didn't want that kind of heat.
Which could only mean one thing: Fontaine planned to rip off the Acropolis one more time.
Five minutes later, Valentine emerged from the bathroom. His honeymoon snapshot was still on the floor. Retrieving it, he slipped the pieces into his breast pocket. Two pieces of Scotch tape and it would be as good as new.
He cased the suite, just to be sure the cowboy was gone. Then he sat down on the bed and came to a decision.
He wasn't going to run. If he did, he might as well quit the consulting racket and learn to play shuffleboard or bingo or whatever it was retired people did in Florida. He couldn't be in Fontaine's back pocket and be any good at what he did.
No, he was going to stay and track Fontaine down. Most of his friends, he was not worried about; many were cops and could take care of themselves. Two people who weren't cops-Mabel and Gerry-he was sure he could keep out of harm's way until Fontaine was in the arms of the law. There could be only one reason why Fontaine was threatening him-because he was scared. Not just of getting caught, but of losing. His pride was at stake, and his reputation.
And so was Valentine's.
17
Roxanne was busier than a one-armed paperhanger, the line of guests waiting to check in twenty deep. Valentine had forgotten that Tuesday night was the Holyfield title fight, and he grabbed a table in Nick's Place and waited for her to go on break.
His heart was still pounding from having a gun shoved in his face. There was no worse experience, unless the gun happened to go off. Roxanne appeared and joined him at the table.
"I heard you did a Chuck Norris out at the airport," she said when their drinks came. She sipped her Chardonnay and made a face. "I didn't peg you as a martial arts expert."
"I spent nearly twenty years working inside casinos," he said, sipping his tap water. "Guns don't work with that many people around."
"Is that why you took it up?"
"Yes."
"Let me guess: You're really the quiet type."
Valentine smiled. His heart had finally stopped racing and he felt himself starting to relax.
"That's me. You want something else to drink?"
"That's okay."
Roxanne gave him a dreamy, faraway look. She looked older than the other day, the wrinkles showing through when she was tired, and for some reason it made him like her even more, the chasm between them not as big as he'd first thought.
"How long you've been working for Bill?" he asked.
"About a year. Bill told me you figured it out."
"Does anyone else know?"
"No. Unless you decide to tell Nick."
"I wasn't planning on it."
She laid her hand on top of his and flashed a weary smile. Her cigarette had died without her taking two puffs. "Does it bother you that I like you as much as I do?"
"I'm getting used to it," he admitted.
"Any other women in your life?"
"Just Mabel. She's my neighbor back in Florida."
"The same Mabel who sent you the funny fax?"
"That's her. Speaking of which, did you happen to see a fax for me in the past hour or so?"
"God, Tony, I've been so busy, the casino could have caught on fire and I probably wouldn't have noticed."
"Holyfield really draws the crowds, huh?"
"It's like Fourth of July and New Year's rolled into one."
Valentine motioned to the waitress for another round.
"So," Roxanne said, "are you serious about Mabel?"
Serious about Mabel? He'd never looked at their friendship in that light. With a smile he said, "It's not that kind of relationship."
"Oh." She twirled the rim of her wineglass with her manicured fingernail. "What kind of relationship is it?"
"We tread water together."
"No other girlfriends?"
"No."
Their drinks came. The waitress said, "This one's on the house," and nodded at the bar. Valentine caught the eye of his favorite bartender and lifted his glass to him.
"You know," Roxanne said, "I'm older than you think I am."
Valentine almost said "I know" and wisely stopped himself. "How old are you, twenty-eight?"
"Very funny. How old are you?"
"I'm sixty-two," he confessed.
She didn't blink. "I'm thirty-eight."
Sixty-two plus thirty-eight was one hundred-divided by two was fifty, the prime of life. He could live with that.
"So what's holding you back from dating," she said. "Your health?"
"Everything worked the last time I checked."
She cracked a smile. "Then what?"
"You ever been married?"
"Stop avoiding the question."
"I'm not. Have you ever taken the plunge?"
"Yeah. It lasted a couple of years."
"Mine lasted thirty-five. My wife died in November. Part of me is still married to her. Letting go isn't easy."
"Ever thought about seeing a therapist?" she said quietly.
"It hasn't been a problem until now," he admitted.
There were a stack of faxes in the tray when Roxanne checked a few minutes later. Mabel's latest parody was on the bottom of the pile, and Roxanne brought it to the front desk and handed it to him.
"I need another favor," Valentine said. "Can you make it look like I've checked out of the hotel?"
"Sure," she said. "You feuding with your son again?"
"No, no, just trying to send up a smoke screen."
"Consider it done."
"Thanks a lot."
"I'm off tomorrow," she said as he started to walk away.
Valentine came back to the desk. "Any plans?"
She shrugged. "Sleep in, watch the soaps. Maybe rent a movie. I've been wanting to see The Full Monty."
The Full Monty? Did she really want to watch a bunch of pasty-skinned Limeys get naked? Women had sure changed since he'd last checked in. It was his turn to say something, but he was not sure what. Should he ask her to grab a cheeseburger, go see a movie, get an ice cream cone? None of those activities sounded with it anymore.
"Can I call you?" he asked timidly.
"Sure." She jotted her number on a blank receipt. "I know a great little vegetarian burger place on the south side of town."