As fast as Simon presented the money, Chub took it and stuffed it into one of many hidden pockets. “You sure that’s enough?”
“Positive.”
“What’s the occasion?”
“I’m retiring.”
“Aw, that’s no fun, Latch. You’ve done well.”
“Maybe I broke even, if I was lucky. And I’m spending far too much time breaking even.”
Chub smiled and took another drink from his cup. “You know, Latch, I always thought you were smarter than the others. It’s a fool’s game. Nobody wins but the house. The bookies, casinos, lotteries. There’s a very good reason they keep building more casinos.”
“I’ve always known that, but, like most players, I’ve always thought I could beat the house. But it can’t be done, can it Chub?”
He smiled and wiped egg off his mustache. “I’ve never seen it.”
“Come on, Chub. Surely you’ve seen a few guys who were successful at picking winners.”
“Maybe one, maybe two. The secret is slowing down when you’re ahead and speeding up when you’re behind. It’s counterintuitive. I’ve seen guys have a good run for a year or two, then lose their mojo and give it all back. You’re a smart one, Latch. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”
Simon laughed and said, “I doubt you’ll ever see a drop-off. The experts say just the opposite. Studies show Americans gamble more and more each year.”
“I hope so.”
“Seen Spade lately?”
Chub held his gaze for a moment then looked at his cell phone. “Spade’s in twice a week. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I like him, a good guy. Kinda shady, like most of your regulars.”
Chub laughed and said, “You’re right about that.”
Simon glanced at his watch and said, “Gotta get to the office.”
“Don’t be a stranger, Latch. Drop in and I’ll buy you a beer.”
“I will, Chub. I promise.”
Two days later, Simon drove an hour south on Interstate 81 through the Shenandoah Valley to the college town of Harrisonburg, a trip he made at least twice a month. One branch of the federal bankruptcy court was stationed there and Simon gave it a lot of business. Its docket, a real one, was posted online, so anyone with a computer could follow the court, check the current bankruptcies, and see which lawyers were filing them.
Simon had three discharge hearings in the afternoon and finished at four-thirty. As he was leaving the courthouse, he bumped into a delightful memory from his past. Yolanda, his old flame from law school at George Mason. They had not seen each other since their class’s tenth reunion.
After some slightly nervous chatter, Simon asked, “What brings you here?”
“Chasing crooks, Simon, that’s my job.”
“In Harrisonburg?”
“Oh, they’re everywhere. Including Braxton.”
“I met a colleague of yours the other night.”
“You don’t say. Hanging around Chub’s?”
“That’s my spot.”
“Where you headed?” she asked.
“To a bar to buy you a drink.”
“We shouldn’t be seen together.”
Simon laughed and said, “Wasn’t it that way in law school?”
“At first. Look, there’s a steak house on the edge of town, near a truck stop.”
“I know it. Not much of a bar.”
“I wasn’t planning on drinking all night. It’s dark. Meet you there.”
By the second beer they had finished with their old classmates and moved on to more serious matters. Landy, as everyone called her, said, “I met your wife at the reunion. Very pretty. Is she still around?”
“Yes, for now, but not for long.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. Three kids, tons of bills, a lot of stress. The marriage cracked in slow motion, almost before we realized it was too late. I hate it for my kids, but I can’t wait to get out.”
At some point during their second year of law school, Simon became terrified at the thought of falling in love with Landy. It was his first serious romance and he simply wasn’t ready for it. He wanted to finish law school, launch a career in D.C., and establish himself. She had been through a couple of bad breakups and was even more cautious, which served them well in the end. They had never taken time to explore their feelings, primarily because law school was such a grind, but also because sex was a much higher priority. If they were in bed they damned sure weren’t talking.
With a grin, she asked, “Excuse me, you seem to be drifting. Are you thinking about sex?”
“Yes.”
“Present or past?”
He chuckled because he was guilty, but he knew she was having the same thoughts. “Right now, the past.” The tension was odd and palpable. Two former lovers reminiscing about sexual escapades both had never forgotten, and had no desire to do so.
Simon tried to change the subject with “You haven’t said much about your husband.”
“He’s with the agency, like me. In fact, we’re equals in every way — rank, salary, responsibilities. They warned us in training to be wary of dating each other, and they were right. Most FBI marriages don’t work — too much travel, too many reassignments.”
“Is yours working?”
“No. We’ve grown apart and I’ve missed my window to have kids. I’m kinda sad about that.”
“Kids are overrated. I love mine, but they’re so much trouble.”
Their beer mugs were empty and two was the limit. She glanced at her watch and asked, “Are you staying here tonight?”
In other words, Come on over.
“No, I need to get back. What if we swap phone numbers?”
“Great idea.”
He took a deep breath and waded into trouble. “Am I off the hook?”
“That’s up to my boss, but I’d say probably so. You’re just a minor player, like eighty percent of them.”
“Why don’t you guys leave Chub alone? He’s harmless. He may be the biggest bookie in Braxton, Virginia, but big deal.”
“Again, not my call.”
“And I know you have bigger fish to catch.”
“As in?”
“Oh, I don’t know. As in narcotraffickers, cyberterrorists, Russian hackers, to name a few.”
“Gee, we never hear that.”
“Okay, I won’t say it again. But Chub is not a bad guy.”
“Call me, Simon. And let’s catch up.”
Chapter 22
When Eleanor finally turned off the engine, her Lincoln was straddling two clearly marked parking spaces in a small lot just off Maple Street. She got out and made her way slowly, somewhat reluctantly, to the row of buildings with awnings over the sidewalk next to Main Street. She stopped at the door of Walter F. Thackerman, Attorney at Law, and seemed to hesitate. Then she pushed it and went inside.
Simon watched intently from a dark second-floor window across the street. When the door closed behind her and she disappeared, he shut his eyes and wondered what might transpire over there in the next hour. At times she was so easily influenced that he could see Wally getting under her skin and rattling her to the point of blurting out the truth. Everything could blow up. He waited for the phone to ring, waited for Wally to call yelling and threatening.
Simon and Netty had tried to rehearse the day before but she couldn’t concentrate. The efforts convinced him that she was not that reliable.
Fran greeted her with unusual warmth. She declined coffee, tea, and water, and had little to say about the weather. Because she could not dare to do so herself, Fran was hoping Eleanor would bring up the subject of Clyde Korsak’s rather memorable visit a few weeks earlier. Fran had told the story to virtually anyone who would listen, and for a while it was a hot topic around town. But with time, the story ran out of gas. Wally warned her not to discuss the incident with their prized client.