Sucker bet - James Swain [41]
Valentine heard Saul mumble under his breath. Mabel did that a lot, and Valentine guessed he would one day, too. You grow old, lose your friends, you need someone to talk to. Saul’s filmy eyes rested on Valentine’s face.
“Neither do I,” the elderly con man said.
Valentine played the tape of Rico Blanco and Victor Marks on Saul Hyman’s stereo.
“They’re talking about conning a sucker out of a lot of money,” Saul said when the tape ended. “The raggle is a pretty girl who’s part of the scam. Playing an apple without a store, booster, or props means that Rico is running solo. The rest of it is Victor asking Rico if he’s got the moxie to pull it off. That’s the hard part.”
Valentine ejected the tape from the cassette player. “Why’s that?”
“It’s like fishing for marlin,” Saul said. “Anyone can throw a line in the water and snag one. But then you’ve got to fight the fish and reel it in. That’s the challenge.”
“Why does Victor use a voice-alteration machine?”
“Victor’s always been careful,” Saul said. “I’m probably the only person in the world who’s got a photograph of him.”
“Can I see it?”
There was no hesitation in Saul’s voice. “Yeah, sure.”
A minute later the two men were sitting on the couch leafing through a dusty photo album. Saul had spent his entire life on the wrong side of the law. In the 1930s, he’d worked on Coney Island as a spiritualist and worn a turban and walnut stain on his face. He’d graduated to being a three-card monte man, then a racetrack tout. Later, he’d moved to Palm Springs and played the sophisticate, and sold fake oil stock and rubber plantations.
“Here we go,” Saul said, finding the picture.
Valentine stared at two couples at a table in a nightclub. Saul with a pretty lady, Victor Marks with a frowning woman. Marks had his hand in front of his face. There wasn’t much to see except a thick head of hair and bushy eyebrows.
“That’s Vic and his date, and me and Sadie at the Copacabana in New York,” Saul said. “We were there to see Count Basie. Vic nearly punched the photographer for taking a photo. I paid the guy and made him destroy the negative.” Saul stared longingly at the photograph. His finger touched the picture and drew an outline around Sadie’s head.
“Your wife?”
“Yeah. Died last January.”
Valentine felt a fist tighten in his chest. Lois had died in her sleep two years ago January. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“Me, too,” Saul said, swiping at his eyes. “I didn’t get where I am by sitting on my ass. Sadie was always there supporting me. When I was in the slammer, she came every week and brought me pies and cookies.” He spread his arms to indicate the room’s modest furnishings. “This was my way of paying her back.”
Loss. It was supposed to mean something was missing. But it was really a monster, ready at any moment to leap out of the shadows and snatch someone away. And when it did, nothing on this earth could replace the loss.
“And now it doesn’t mean shit,” the elderly con man said.
17
Candy Hart was taking a bubble bath when the phone rang. She ignored it, preferring to lie in the tub with her head partially submerged, blowing bubbles through her nose. It was a little kid’s trick and, like her collection of stuffed animals, something she never wanted to let go of.
The phone rang again while she was toweling off. She glanced at her watch on the sink. Nearly two. Nigel was a poor golfer, and she imagined him on the ninth hole of the Blue Monster, staring at a dozen balls in the drink. Picking up the receiver, she said, “Hi.”
“Ms. Hart?”
“Yes?”
“This is Carlos at the front desk. I’ve got a limo driver here who says Mr. Moon called his company and asked that you be picked up.”
“Did he say why?”
“I’ll ask him.” Candy heard Carlos say something to the driver, then come back on the line. “Mr. Moon says he wants you to meet him someplace special.”
Candy smiled. “Tell him to wait.”
Twenty minutes later she walked out of the hotel. The Delano was in a downtrodden