“It means you can get your life in order,” he said.
She stopped in the middle of a spin. “What’s that?”
“It’s what you said to me on the balcony. The money was going to help you get your life in order.”
“Is that what I said?”
“Yes. Now you can.”
She laughed. The sound was harsh as it escaped her lips. “It means that my luck’s changed, that’s what it means. It means that Lucy Price is back.”
The eggs were doing a number on his stomach. He wiped his mouth with a paper napkin and stood up. The moment of truth was at hand, and he could feel his legs shake.
“I want to talk to you about something,” he said.
Lucy picked up the money from the floor and put it into the bag. Done, she rose.
“What’s that?”
“I want you to do something for me.”
A dreamy look spread across her face. “Whatever you want,” she said.
“I want you to enter into a Gamblers Anonymous program and start going to meetings. They hold them every night. You’ve got to address this problem.”
It was as if he’d slapped her across the face. Lucy stepped back until she was leaning against the kitchen counter, looking at him like he was the most horrible person alive.
“What problem? What are you saying?”
“Your gambling problem, the one you can’t control.”
“Who said I have a problem?”
“I did.”
“What makes you the expert? You’re not a shrink.”
“I’ve worked in casinos most of my life. I can recognize a gambling problem when I see one.”
“I’m down on my luck. So are a lot of people.”
No, he thought, you’re desperate. It was why she’d let Fontaine talk her into being his shill. Deep down, she’d probably sensed the deal was too good to be true, only her situation had clouded her judgment.
“You need help,” he said.
“Don’t fucking lecture me,” she said angrily.
“That’s what I want.”
“No. Go to hell.”
“Please. For me.”
Her face had gone red, and she shook her head violently. The Lucy he knew was gone. This was Lucy the gambler. From his jacket, he removed the Valentine’s Day card he’d found in his suite and propped it beside his plate of food. Then he looked at her.
“I’m leaving,” he said.
“Are you going to take the money back?”
“It’s yours,” he said.
She crossed the kitchen while staring suspiciously at him. Then she snatched up the bag with the ferocity of a mother pulling her child from a rushing stream. He waited, always the optimist when it came to things of the heart.
“Good-bye,” she said.
39
The sound of someone banging on her front door awakened Mabel from the deepest of sleeps. She lifted her head off her pillow and found a dead phone lying on her chest. Beside it was a pad of paper and the things a desperate casino boss had asked her to write down last night. Had she gone to sleep while the casino boss was talking to her? She honestly didn’t remember.
Climbing out of bed, Mabel threw on a bathrobe and walked barefoot down the cold hardwood floors of her house. “Hold your horses,” she called loudly, and ducked into the bathroom.
A minute later, she cracked open the front door. Yolanda stood on the stoop, dressed like she was going on a trip. In her hand was a suitcase. Mabel threw the door open and said, “Did your water break?”
Yolanda shook her head. “No, but it’s time. Can you drive me?”
“Are you dilating?” Mabel said, backing down the drive five minutes later.
“No, everything’s normal.”
“Then how—”
“I just know,” Yolanda said.
Just about everybody in Florida went to church on Sunday, and the traffic out of Palm Harbor was miserable. Mabel drove the speed limit, taking Route 19 to State Road 60 then heading east over the causeway to the mainland.
“But how do you know?” Mabel asked.
Yolanda drank from a bottled water. “My mother told me I would have a dream. She said a truck would come to my house. A man would open the back, and the truck would be filled with apples. She said I would smell the apples in my dream. If the apples were green, it was a boy. Red, a girl.”
“And you had this dream last night?”
Yolanda raised her eyebrows and smiled. She could do that, and tell you exactly what she was thinking. Mabel grabbed her hand and squeezed it excitedly.
“What color were they?”
“Red. It’s going to be a girl.”
The hospital Yolanda had chosen was called St. Joseph’s, only everyone called it St. Joe’s. It was a long drive from where they lived, but Yolanda had checked around and been told it was the best. That, and she’d found the right doctor, a white-haired Russian gentleman with a twinkle in his eye and the gentlest of hands. Those hands, she had decided, would bring her child into this world.
“Did you talk to Gerry? Does he know?” Mabel asked when they were on Dale Mabry Highway and only a few miles from the hospital.
“He hasn’t called since yesterday,” Yolanda said.
“Oh,” Mabel said.
A wailing ambulance blew past, and traffic stopped altogether. Mabel threw the car into park. She glanced at Yolanda and saw the corners of her mouth trembling.
“What’s wrong, dear?”
“There was another part of my dream,” she said.
“Please tell me.”
“The man with the truck gave me an apple. I went into our house to show Gerry. Only he was gone, and so were his clothes and all his things. It was like he’d disappeared.”
Cars were moving again, and Mabel tapped the accelerator. Reaching across the seat, she took Yolanda’s hand and held it all the way to the hospital.
Amin pulled up Bart Calhoun’s gravel driveway and saw his teacher’s mud-caked pickup truck parked in the garage. Calhoun had not impressed him as the type who spent his Sunday mornings in church. He killed the engine and took several deep breaths. He did not like this part of it. Calhoun had helped him. But it was necessary.
Amin looked up and down the street. The neighborhood was not fully developed, and Calhoun’s closest neighbor was a quarter mile away. He opened his door and glanced sideways at Pash. His baby brother looked terrified.
“Promise me you will not let me down.”
Pash stared at the dashboard as if hypnotized.
“Answer me,” Amin said.
“I will not let you down,” Pash whispered.
Amin glanced in the backseat at Gerry, still bound and gagged. “What about him?”
“He is not going anywhere.”
“What if he tries to escape?”
“I will beep the horn to alert you.”
Pash’s lips were trembling. Amin put his hand on his brother’s knee and said, “The end of one journey is at hand, while another is about to begin.”
Amin started to climb out. In his mirror, he saw Gerry staring at him. Reaching between the seats, he smashed his fist into Gerry’s stomach. Gerry curled into a fetal position, his gag muffling his screams. Amin had killed five different men whose identities he’d stolen in the past two years, and their final moments had ranged from defecating on themselves to crying like babies.
“If you try to escape, I will come out and shoot you. Understand?”
“Yes,” Gerry spit through his gag.
Amin adjusted the .357 in his pants so the handle hung over his belt buckle. He covered the weapon with his sweatshirt and got out of the car.
He was smoothing the sweatshirt out when Calhoun answered the door. His teacher was unshaven, and there was lint in his buzz cut. Like he’d just woken up, Amin thought. Only Calhoun’s eyes were alert. He squinted at Amin.