Authors: James Swain
Sucker Bet (23 page)
46
“Let me guess,” Saul Hyman said. “You cut your ear off and sent it to a broad.”
It was ten days later, and Valentine stood in the foyer of Saul’s condo, glad to see that the old con man was strong enough to be in a wheelchair, the casts on his arms and legs not slowing him down.
“Can I come in?”
A black male nurse rolled the wheelchair backwards. Valentine entered the condo’s living room and stared at the sliver of ocean view. He felt bad for Saul; from the vantage point of his chair, he probably couldn’t see the water.
He sat on the couch, and the nurse rolled the wheelchair up so Saul was a few feet away. Then the nurse left.
“When I hit eighty, I want one of those,” Valentine said.
“Where’s your son?”
“Up in New York, selling his bar.”
“You going to let him come work for you?”
“One thing at a time,” Valentine said.
Saul smirked. “So how bad is the ear? You going to have a plastic surgeon make you a fake one?”
Valentine hadn’t come to Saul’s condo to talk about the shredded stump on the side of his head. He put a finger on the rubber wheel of Saul’s chair and brought the old con man a few inches closer. “Did you ever have an epiphany?”
“I don’t think Jews have those,” Saul said.
“I did. It happened while I was blindfolded and waiting for Rico to put a bullet in me. I thought I was going to die, and then I had one.”
“An epiphany?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What was it like?”
“Everything suddenly becomes clear.”
“Like Joan of Arc?”
“Did she have them?”
“In the movie, yeah.”
“Yeah, like Joan of Arc.”
“You going to share it?”
Valentine lowered his voice. The nurse, he guessed, hadn’t gone far, and he saw no point in spoiling the relationship. “You’re Victor Marks.”
Saul laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Valentine placed his hand onto the arm of Saul’s wheelchair. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. You’re in south Florida, so is Victor. All your scams used the mark’s money, so did Victor’s. And when Rico came here to kill you, you told Bill Higgins that you recognized Rico’s voice, even though he was wearing a stocking, and you’ve never met him before.”
The blood drained from Saul’s sunken cheeks. He began to look remorseful, and Valentine didn’t think it was an act. Almost dying brought out the best in most people.
“Out with it,” Valentine said.
Saul lifted his head. “Six months ago, Victor calls from Palm Beach. He tells me he’s got colon cancer, maybe two weeks to live. He says, ‘I’ve got a major scam going. I want you to take over.’ I said, ‘Why not?’ ”
“Was this the game show scam?”
Saul nodded. “I never made the kind of money Victor did, always got the crumbs. I figured it would be easy. So Victor checks out, and I dye my hair and grow a mustache, and I become him.”
“No one noticed the difference?”
“No one knew what Victor looked like, or his voice. And the staff at the Breakers turns over every few months. It was easy.”
“So you scammed
Who Wants to Be Rich?
and got hooked up with Rico.”
“Biggest mistake of my life,” Saul said.
“You didn’t know he was a killer.”
“No, no. I thought he just wanted to learn the rackets.”
“So you taught him.”
Saul leaned over and touched Valentine’s hand. “This is going to sound stupid.”
“What’s that?”
“I always wanted a son. A relationship like you have with your boy.”
“And Rico was that to you.”
“Yes.”
Valentine believed him. But it didn’t change the words that came out of his mouth.
“There’s going to be an investigation, and your name is going to come up. I can’t protect you, Saul. I know you’ve suffered, but the truth still has to come out. Other people’s reputations depend upon it.”
Saul took a Kleenex from the pocket of his robe and wiped at his eyes. He was crying, and Valentine took the Kleenex out of his hand. No onion inside. He rose from the couch. “My guess is, you’ve got a week, maybe longer, to hightail it out of the country.”
“In my condition?” Saul said belligerently.
“It’s up to you.”
“What about my condo?” Saul said. “And my clothes, and my car, and all my things? I can’t just leave them, can I?”
Valentine shrugged his shoulders.
“Why can’t you leave me out of it?” Saul said.
“It doesn’t work that way.”
“Still a damn cop, aren’t you?”
“You’ve got no one but yourself to blame.”
Saul gave him a murderous look. “For what? Giving a guy some advice and passing along a few pearls I learned during my lifetime? Is that a crime?”
Valentine crossed the living room and paused to glance out the window a final time. It wasn’t much of a view, the line of blue so small that he couldn’t even make out the waves, but it was still there. Waking up to it every day, Saul Hyman, a dirt-poor kid from Coney Island, had probably felt like the king of the world.
Saul had turned awkwardly in his wheelchair and was staring at him. “Tony, please, don’t do this to me.”
“Have a nice trip,” Valentine said.
47
The bride wore a fantasy ball gown with dangling crystals on the strapless bodice, a silk-organza flair skirt, and a cathedral-length train. She was beautiful in a way that only brides can be, and as she walked down the aisle holding Valentine’s arm, the crowd of well-wishers let out a collective
ahhh
.
A smile lit up Valentine’s face. At first, the idea of giving Candy away had not thrilled him. What if he slipped around the other guests and said something inappropriate about her past? Only, Candy had begged him.
“You’re the perfect person,” she’d said.
“I am?” he’d said.
“Yes.”
“And why is that?”
“Because I have no secrets from you.”
How was he supposed to refuse a request like that? So he’d gone to the rehearsal and let a polite little man fit him for a tuxedo—his first since his own wedding—and gotten his hair done by a stylist so his missing ear wouldn’t be too noticeable. And now here he was, leading Candy to her new life and a new beginning.
Nigel and the minister waited at the end of the aisle. Valentine had gone to Nigel’s bachelor party and tossed away his feelings about egotistical rock-and-roll musicians. Nigel was a square joe. He would make Candy happy. Valentine was sure of it.
The ceremony was just right, the minister’s comments heartfelt. Nigel surprised everyone by reciting an English wedding ballad that had been in his family for five hundred years. Then Candy recited a poem about life’s choices that had been written by her sister, who’d died in a car accident long ago. Then the minister made everyone stand up.
Nigel said, “I do,” and Candy said, “I do,” and a dozen waiters standing in the back of the Delano’s dining room popped bottles of Moët & Chandon. A toast was made, and a rock-and-roll band hiding behind a curtain broke out in a rousing version of the Rolling Stone’s
Satisfaction
.
Valentine crossed the room and found his date. She wore a stunning twin-textured peach gown. He had paid more for it than he’d ever paid for a piece of clothing for his late wife, and he’d felt guilty buying it. But he needed to tell her how he felt, and something expensive was a good way to start.
“Want to dance?”
“Of course.”
He found an empty spot on the corner of the dance floor. When he tried to engage her, she said, “I have a question for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you miss her?”
He acknowledged that he did.
“Do you mind telling me how you ended it?”
“Is that important?”
“To me it is,” she said.
It hadn’t been easy. He’d flown to Memphis and taken her out to dinner, and they’d talked several times on the phone after that. He still liked her, only the chemistry between them had changed. When he’d told her he wouldn’t be seeing her again, she hadn’t objected.
“I thanked her for helping me get my priorities straight,” he said.
“You really said that?”
The band had broken into a slow number. It was too good to pass up, and Valentine and his neighbor glided like a pair of angels across the dance floor.
“I sure did,” he said.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JAMES SWAIN,
a gambling expert, is the author of
Grift Sense
and
Funny Money
. Swain is considered one of the best card handlers in the world. He lives with his wife in Odessa, Florida, where he is currently working on his fourth novel featuring Tony Valentine. Visit his Web site at
www.jimswain.com
.
By James Swain
Grift Sense
Funny Money
Sucker Bet
Sucker Bet
is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Ballantine Book
Published by The Random House Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 2003 by James Swain
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by The Random House Ballantine Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously
in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available
from the publisher upon request.
eISBN: 978-0-345-46418-7
v3.0