Steve Hamilton - A Cold Day in Paradise

I didn’t know what to do. I walked back and forth between the two big rooms, looking at all the blackjack tables again. I slowed down near the horse-racing game, watched that for a couple minutes. There were a good twenty people gathered around it, one in every chair, watching the little mechanical horses go around the track. The horses weren’t more than two inches tall, probably driven by magnets under the table, and yet these people were screaming at them like it was the Kentucky Derby. On another night I would have found it pretty damned hilarious.

I got in the truck and drove all the way back to the Bay Mills Casino, hoping to catch Vinnie this time. I spotted him at one of the blackjack tables and sat down. The woman next to me had a nice little pile of five-dollar chips going. Her husband stood over her shoulder, obviously ready to offer his expert advice.

“Alex,” he said, barely looking up from the cards. “Good to see you. You come to clean us out?”

“I wouldn’t want to break this place,” I said. “Then you’d be out of a job. Actually, I was just looking for Edwin Fulton. The pit boss told me he was here around dinner time. Did you see him?”

He smiled and rolled his eyes. “Oh, I saw him,” he said. He dealt two cards to the woman and then waited for her decision. Her husband leaned in and told her to take a card. She waved him away like a mosquito.

“He left here about when, six o’clock?”

“Sounds about right,” he said. “He was not a happy man.” The woman said she was good, thank you. The husband threw his hands in the air. Vinnie turned up his cards, drew to his fifteen, and busted. He matched the woman’s chips while her husband massaged her shoulders. “Alex, you gonna play a hand here at least while we’re talking? You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

I slid him a ten-dollar bill. “Give me two chips.”

“I don’t know if we can handle that much, Alex. I’m gonna have to call the man for more chips.”

“You’re one funny Indian,” I said. “Just tell me what happened.”

“Same thing as always,” he said, dealing the cards. “He lost a ton, he drank a ton, he got ugly, we booted him.”

“That much I heard already.”

“You know, if it wasn’t for that losing a ton part, I don’t think they’d even let him in the door anymore.”

“Any idea where he went? Did he say he was going home or anything?”

“I don’t know. They did offer to call him a cab so he didn’t have to drive. He said he had a chauffeur waiting outside.”

“He doesn’t have a chauffeur,” I said.

“I didn’t think so. I guess he was just trying to show off.”

“All right. Thanks, Vinnie.”

“Do the guy a favor, eh? The next time he feels like playing blackjack, lock him in his room. Hey, you want a card here or what?”

I doubled on the seven and four, drew a ten for twenty-one.

“Looks like the cards are going your way,” he said as he paid me.

I slid the chips right back at him. I needed to get back out there to look for Edwin, wherever he might be. I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I found him, until I knew he was safe at home with his goddamned wife where he belonged. “You got that right,” I said to Vinnie as I stood up. “This is my lucky night.”

I sat in my truck in the Bay Mills Casino parking lot, looking out at the lights on a freighter anchored across the bay. There must be a big storm coming, I thought. They’re waiting for it to blow through before they make their last run of the season.

At least they had a reason to be sitting there doing nothing. With some idea of how long they would wait until they began moving again.

I picked up the cell phone. In the darkness it gave off an eery green glow. If I call his house and he’s there, I thought, then I can just stop this nonsense and go home. I’ll save his ass-kicking until tomorrow. But if I call his house and he’s not home, then I just end up getting Mrs. Fulton even more frantic.

Please, Uttley, pick up the phone. He didn’t.

“Alex, is that you? Did you find him?” It was Mrs. Fulton.

“Not yet, Mrs. Fulton, but he was just here at the casino. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s probably on the way home right now,” I said. “I’m going to swing by a couple more places, just to make sure.”

“I have a bad feeling, Alex,” she said. “I told you that already, didn’t I? I’d really like you to find him immediately.”

“There’s no need to worry, Mrs. Fulton,” I said. “Can you please put Mr. Uttley on the phone?”

“Why do you want to talk to him?” she said. “Is there something you aren’t telling me?”

“No, Mrs. Fulton.”

“Something has happened, hasn’t it?” The command in her voice finally giving way.

“No, Mrs. Fulton, I swear, everything is okay. I just want to talk to Lane for a minute.”

“Alex, I’m here,” Uttley’s voice came on. “What is it?”

“Lane,” I said, taking a couple beats to calm myself down, “will you please make sure you answer the phone next time?”

“Of course, Alex. I’m sorry, she beat me to it.”

“You have my cellular number, right? Give me a call if he comes home. I’m going to go check a few more places.”

I didn’t feel much like doing that, but I didn’t see much choice. I knew he was probably sitting in a bar somewhere, feeling sorry for himself. All that talk about being a new man, it lasted, what? Seven days? I should leave the guy alone, I thought. Let him crawl home in the morning, and then tomorrow just tell him to look in the phone book under Gamblers Anonymous. But I can’t do that. I promised Mrs. Fulton I’d find him.

And that feeling. That little tickle up and down my back. I kept wishing that it would go away. It wouldn’t.

I stopped in at the two bars in Brimley. Then I headed back east toward the Soo and stopped in at the Mariner’s Tavern. I knew that had been his bar back when he was placing bets with Tony Bing. They had a good Saturday night crowd in the place, but no Edwin.

There’s got to be something like twenty bars in Sault Ste. Marie. I hit every one of them I knew of, and even found a few new ones. I looked for his silver Mercedes in the parking lots first, then took a quick look inside just in case he had left his car somewhere else. I did that myself a few times back in Detroit, after I left the force and my wife left me. I’d start at one bar and sit there over a drink for a while until it didn’t feel like the right place to be anymore. Then I’d go to the next one. By the end of the night I was walking through the darkness, just aiming myself at the next bright light down the street. I’d have to go find my car the next morning.

When I had run out of bars in the Soo, I stopped at the Kewadin Casino again, looked over all the tables. I asked a couple pit bosses if they had seen him there that night. They hadn’t.

On a hunch I decided to go down to St. Ignace, check out the casino down there. It was a good hour’s drive south, but at least it kept me moving. I took 1-75 all the way down, crossed the line into Mackinac County. It was almost midnight by then, not many cars on the road. I saw a car with a deer tied on the back, lifeless eyes staring at me as I passed. The glow of a cigarette in the passenger’s side window.

I found the casino in St. Ignace, another one of the Sault tribe’s. I walked blinking in the sudden brightness, looked at every table, cursed myself for wasting my time with such a stupid idea, got back in the truck, and headed right back to the Soo. Another hour of driving, the wind picking up, bringing the storm in from the lake.

God, I am so tired. Why am I doing this?