James Swain - Gift sense

"Can I make a suggestion?" Valentine said. When Sammy nodded, he continued. "My wife had breast cancer, pretty advanced. She had this great doctor at Sloan-Kettering. He convinced her that her mental outlook in dealing with her disease was critical to her getting well. So Lois started planning things to do once the chemo treatment was over. Like going to school and taking a trip."

"You're saying I should start planning a new life?"

"Why not?"

"Doing what? Flipping burgers? I've seen those retired people working at McD's. No thanks."

"I can get you a job working on gambling ships in Florida," Valentine offered. "You go out at noon, come back at night; they feed you a buffet and everything. Two hundred a day to watch some drunk tourists squander their money."

"Sounds sweet. Why don't you do it?"

"I get seasick."

"I'll think about it. Thanks."

"I need to ask you a couple of questions." Pulling his chair close to the metal bed, Valentine dropped his voice. "There's a guy on the prowl for Fontaine. Real nutcase. He's got the tiniest hands I've ever seen."

"That's Little Hands Scarpi," Sammy said. "Whatever you do, don't get in the same room with him. Rumor has it the casino bosses threw him a party after he murdered Fontana."

"You think they might have rehired him once word got out that Sonny wasn't dead?"

"It's possible."

"Is Nick one of those bosses?"

"No," Sammy said. "The worst Nick's ever done is have somebody's legs broken. Nick respects human life."

Valentine said, "Here's my next question. How trustworthy is Wily?"

Sammy gave him a hard look. "Wily? Why?"

"Fontaine has someone inside the Acropolis helping him. If I'm going to catch Fontaine, I'll need someone on the inside helping me."

"And you don't want that someone to be the same person who's working with Fontaine."

"Precisely."

"Well," Sammy said, "you can trust Wily. He may be as dumb as a bucket of nails, but he's square. Just don't tell him too much. You'll only confuse him."

Valentine rose to leave. "Thanks. I've got to run."

"You said they served a buffet. What kind of food?"

"Mostly seafood. Lobster, shrimp, stone crab when it's in season. You ever have stone crab? It's the greatest; they tear only one claw off the crab, then throw it back in. They also have a carving board with roast beef. And a dessert table. Eclairs, ice cream, chocolate cake."

"They have a bar?"

"The ship is a bar," Valentine replied.

"They let you smoke cigars?"

"All night long. Cigars are the in thing. Everybody on the ship smokes them-even the ladies."

"That's too bad," Sammy said sadly. "You didn't happen to remember to bring one along, did you?"

Valentine wanted to slap himself in the head. He'd been too distracted to remember half the promises he'd made in the past two days. He apologized profusely to Sammy.

"Bring one next time," Sammy told him.

Valentine stopped in the doorway. "You want me to make a call? I know the guy who owns the ship."

"I'd better deal with my cancer first."

"It's never too late to plan for the future."

Sammy smiled, his teeth stained by years of smoking and neglect, his eyes dancing with the possibility of what might be.

"Let me think about it," he said.

Down in the lobby, Valentine dropped a quarter in the pay phone and dialed the main number of the Acropolis.

"Ten cents, please. Please deposit an additional ten cents."

He searched his pockets for more coinage. Since when did local calls cost thirty-five cents? How much did they really cost, with fibers optics and all the satellites circling the earth? Probably a nickel, the same as when he was a kid. The rest went for advertising. He reluctantly fed another dime into the slot.

The hotel operator connected him to his room and he dialed into his voice mail. Although he was not officially registered in the hotel, he'd asked Roxanne to alert the operators to take any calls from Mabel, knowing she'd probably try to reach him again. Three messages awaited him, so he punched in the code to retrieve them.

"Hi, Tony," Mabel said. "Well, I guess you didn't get my first message, because I'm still here in the pokey with a hooker with AIDS and some Mexican girl that stabbed her boyfriend to death."

Valentine bowed his head, his forehead touching the cold hospital wall. The captain of the Clearwater police had promised him he'd move Mabel into a decent cell. Wasn't a man's word worth anything anymore?

"The good news is, the judge looks like he's going to make a full recovery," she said. "Not that I wish the man harm, but he had no right to treat me the way he did. Anyway, he's not paralyzed or drooling, so I suppose my prayers were answered."

Mabel had prayed for the judge. Valentine found himself smiling in spite of everything.

"Well, I figure I can take another couple of days of this, and then I'm going to break out of here, ha-ha. Seriously, I'm starting to feel pretty bad. Food is just lousy and I can't sleep. I guess that's why they call it jail. Well, hope all is well with you. Good-bye, Tony, wherever you are."

A dial tone filled his ear. He glanced at his watch. Gerry would be in Florida soon and Mabel would be saved. He played the next message.

"Pop… it's me… Gerry. Listen-I've got trouble."

Valentine cupped his free hand over his ear. He could hardly hear his son, a jukebox in the background spitting out the Stones' "Honky Tonk Woman."

"The operator said you checked out, but when I called back and talked to Roxanne, she said you were still there. Anyway, I hope you get this, because there are two Mafia guys looking for me."

"Sweet Jesus," Valentine said into the phone.

"I went to the saloon to get some cash, and they were waiting for me," his son went on. "I asked them what they wanted, and they said this had to do with you. I threw a table at them and then hightailed it out the back, and I've been running ever since. These guys are acting like they want to kill me, Pop."

Valentine gripped the phone, his heart racing out of control.

"Anyway, I missed my flight. I'm sorry about Mabel, but I've got to watch out for my own rear end. I'm sure you understand. I'm going down to Atlantic City to hide out. I'll call you from there."

Valentine played the message again, this time listening to his son's voice. Gerry was scared. Valentine closed his eyes and said a prayer for his son's safety, then played the final message.

"Hey, Tony!" Nick shouted over the wail of sirens. "Get your butt over to my place. Somebody tried to burn my house down!"

The fire trucks were long gone by the time Valentine arrived at the smoldering palace that Nick called home. Muddy tire tracks crisscrossed the front lawn, the shrubbery trampled beyond recognition. He parked behind Nick's Caddy, got out of his car, and surveyed the damage. Whatever ugly charm the grounds had once was now gone.

A shroud of soot covered the portico and he wiped his feet on the mat before entering. Inside the foyer, he found Nick engaged in a heated discussion with a claims adjustor who was lamely trying to explain why State Farm wouldn't issue a check until the fire marshal had issued a report and ruled out arson.

"Of course it was arson," Nick bellowed at him. "She tried to burn the place down. Hoss and Tiny saw her. Didn't she, boys?"

The two gridiron stars sat at the phallic bar in the living room. Hoss sported a wounded hand, Tiny a line of scratches across his cheek. Both nodded, then stared shamefully at the floor.

"What more proof do you want?" Nick asked.

The claims adjuster glanced rudely at his watch. In an impatient voice, he said, "I meant deliberate arson, Mr. Nicocropolis. If the fire marshal concludes that it was Ms. Solomon who set the fire, your claim will fall under vandalism, which you're covered for. Until then, I can't do anything except put you up in a hotel."