Aces and Knaves

by Alan Cook

  "So James needs me," Elma said with a little smile. "That's a switch." She looked at Arrow and me. "Arrow, since you've been so helpful to me, and Karl, since you are Richard's son, I owe you both an explanation of my involvement with James."

  Having dropped that bombshell, Elma heightened the tension by going to the kitchen to refresh our drinks. My stomach did flips. I asked Arrow, "Are we in trouble?"

  "I don't know," she said, frowning. "This is the first I've heard of anything between Elma and James."

  Elma came back with a plate of cookies. I immediately stuffed two into my mouth and was working on a third before I realized what I was doing. I deliberately set the partially eaten cookie down on the napkin in front of me.

  I watched the freckles on Elma's nose as she sat back down in a large armchair, wondering what secrets they had seen. She took off her shoes and drew her legs up underneath her. She had freckles on her legs, too. I like freckles.

  "Once upon a time," Elma said, "I was a girl living in northern Scotland, in the village of Wick. There were two boys—friends of each other—also living in Wick. They were a few years older than I was. Their names were James Buchanan and Ned Mackay."

  Elma paused and took a bite of a cookie, while Arrow and I surreptitiously glanced at each other. Elma appeared to be collecting her thoughts. "When I was old enough to notice boys I set my cap for James. James was...how shall I say it? I think flamboyant is the best description for him. He was popular and he liked to take risks. He bet on things. But he managed to get the odds in his favor and he won most of his bets.

  "Girls were attracted to him and at first I didn't think I had a chance. But when other boys started noticing me I realized that I was not without my charms. On Saturday evenings there would be singing and dancing at Mackays Hotel, which was owned by a distant cousin of Ned. I had a good voice and I would sing songs about Loch Lomond and the Highlands."

  The lilt in Elma's voice became more definite now as she became engrossed in her tale.

  "I was 15 when I caught James' eye. He began squiring me. Ned was sweet on me too and when James wasn't there—he played the bagpipes in a band and sometimes traveled to other cities to perform—I would dance with Ned or go to the movies with him. But I liked James better.

  "As long as James had me to himself when he was around he didn't mind me going with Ned when he wasn't because they were friends and Ned didn't infringe on James' territory. He was content to be in James' shadow—then. We were a loose triangle. This went on for a couple of years. I felt like a queen with my two beaus."

  Elma smiled to herself as she relived the memory. I could understand why James and Ned had liked her.

  "It sounds ideal to me," Arrow said. "I can't even hold onto one beau."

  "It didn't last, of course.”One day they went away. Took the train to Glasgow and flew to America."

  "Together?" I asked.

  "Together. In those days they did everything together. Shared everything—including me." Elma's faced clouded. "They left me at the same time. My heart broke into little pieces. In retrospect, I should have seen it coming. Wick wasn't big enough for James. He was always so restless, so full of grand ideas. That's one reason I liked him. Ultimately, the same thing proved to be true for Ned."

  Elma stopped talking, still lost in her memories.

  "But that's not the end of the story," Arrow said.

  "No, it isn't." Elma said. She was smiling again. "After my heart mended itself I tried to adjust to life without James and Ned. Wick wasn't the same without them. I began to see the warts—the provinciality. The narrowness of thinking in a small town where, if you get out of step you are a pariah.

  "My mother was glad James and Ned were gone because she felt that as long as I had two boyfriends, I would never get married. However, my father sensed the reasons for my rebellion, even though it mostly manifested itself in moodiness, and offered to send me to university. I wanted to go to a university all right, but not in the UK—in the US. I saved my money and got some help from my father and an uncle.

  "The day I boarded the train for Glasgow to fly to the US my mother was so upset I almost didn't go. I thought she might die of grief. I was her only child. But I was too selfish to stay; so I went."

  "Alone?" Arrow asked. "Did you go alone?"

  "Yes, I went alone. There was nobody left in Wick who had the wanderlust—nobody to go with me."

  "So you had more balls than James and Ned."

  Elma laughed. "I didn't see them again for five years. I graduated from college and moved to Los Angeles, where I got a job teaching at a private school. And then one night I ran into James at a party—and his wife. He and Ned were in partnership together and they had just taken over a printing company.

  "I'll summarize the rest so I don't bore you to tears. James put me in touch with Ned. We dated; we got married. Their company grew but Ned was still second fiddle. He chafed under the arrangement. I urged him to break with James. Finally, James bought him out and moved to San Francisco. They went their separate ways and both prospered."

  Perhaps James had prospered more than Ned. I wondered whether Elma ever wished she had married James. There was another thing. Before giving it any thought I said, "Did you know that when Ned went to San Francisco on business he visited James?"

  Elma shook her head slowly, her green eyes boring into me. "No, he never told me that. Are you sure?"

  "I was supposed to meet him at James' house the night he was killed. James and one of his assistants told us—told me—that Ned was a frequent visitor there. James has set up a mock gambling casino and lots of people go there."

  "I can't say that I'm shocked, or even surprised. Ned kept things to himself."

  "Just one more question, Elma. Did Ned gamble?"

  "Gamble? He might bet a dollar on a football game once in a while. But he didn't play the horses, if that's what you mean. He didn't even buy lottery tickets. Why?"

  "He didn't like casino gambling? Dice? Blackjack?"

  "No. I don't think he's been to Las Vegas more than three times since we've been married. He helped to get financing for a casino once, but that was strictly a business deal. Of course, I don't know what he did at this casino you said James has."

  "That isn't a real casino. No money changes hands."

  "I have a question," Arrow said. "James may make an offer to buy your stock—and everybody else's. Would you sell?"

  Elma smiled at her audacity. "I haven't spoken to James in over five years."

  "He seems to prefer boys to girls now."

  "There were shades of that even when he was a teenager back in Wick. I was young and naive, it's true, but I always thought his roughhousing with his friends went beyond the bounds of camaraderie."

  Chapter 16 THE HOAX

  Again it looked as though my involvement with Dionysus had ended. Arrow knew as much as I did about the threat James posed and was in a better position to take action on it. And I didn't know what else I could do to clear Ned's name. But my family responsibilities hadn't ended.

  By the time I got to the hospital Monday morning, Jacie was already there. I had gained a new respect for her, watching her concern about and care for my father. She was reading to him from the Wall Street Journal. He was sitting up in bed and looked much better. He was still hooked to a heart monitor and an IV, but he wasn't receiving oxygen.

  I forced myself to give him a quick hug and said, "You look good, Dad."

  "I feel fine. I'm ready to go back to work."

  He spoke slowly, but at least he wasn't slurring his words.

  Jacie patted his hand and said, "You'll be back at work soon enough, Richard. Relax and enjoy your vacation." To me she said, "He can move his right arm."

  My father demonstrated, and although he was stiff he did manage to lift it.

  "The doctor said I can start physical therapy soon," he said. "I'll be back to walking in no time."

  "Do as Jacie says and enjoy your vacation," I s
aid. He was too anxious to get back in the game. And the game could kill him if he wasn't careful. I couldn't picture life without my father. I wondered what was in his will and whether Jacie would kick me out of the guesthouse. Selfish thoughts. More important was what would happen to Dionysus.

  "I can't let James get control of Dionysus."

  Was he reading my mind? "Don't worry about James, Dad. Everything is under control. When you've rested a little more we'll play chess together." We used to play chess when I was young.

  "Chess is one game I can beat you at."

  We would see about that. Jacie and I steered the conversation to inconsequential things. He wasn't in any shape to talk about whether or not James might get Elma's proxy and/or her stock, but I realized that he must know about her relationship to James, even though we hadn't discussed it.

  I didn't tell him that one of my sources had said that the cocaine was planted in Ned's car, either, because that wouldn't clear his name unless the perps who had planted the drugs were caught. The information would just be a source of frustration to my father.

  I left him in Jacie's capable hands, determined to work harder on my sports card business. Perhaps the last few days had made a change in me.

  ***

  Dionysus stock was down again so I purchased more for Luz and for myself. This wasn't insider trading. The newspapers and the Internet carried the story of my father's stroke. Of course word that he was much better this morning hadn't gotten out yet, but I deserved some kind of an edge.

  I had received enough cash flow from my business so that I had recently been able to purchase part of a baseball card collection for a good price. I separated out the more valuable cards from the commons and placed some of the best ones for sale on eBay.

  When I updated my auctions on eBay I often checked to see whether other cards I was interested in owning for my personal collection were being sold. I acquired them one by one, as I could afford them.

  I was casually looking through the pages of old cards for sale when I caught my breath. There was a T206 Honus Wagner listed. I looked at the scans of the front and the back of the card. No lines or other apparent damage. This might be one of the good ones. The dealer who was selling it said it was in near-mint condition. I knew him; we had done business together many times, buying and selling. He was completely honest. He was probably selling the card for somebody else, but he was staking his reputation on what he said about it.

  The bidding was already at several-hundred-thousand dollars, even though the card had only been listed for two days. It would go higher before it was over. I couldn't bid on this card, of course. Some day I would. Reluctantly, I clicked to another page.

  I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and thought about Ned. Arrow wouldn't really be able to dig into his financial situation until Wednesday, after the funeral. One of the puzzles that remained was what he was doing at the casino, apparently losing thousands of dollars, when everybody said he wasn't a compulsive gambler. At least everybody except James. And was James reliable when it came to talking about Ned?

  In searching for answers, I remembered Elma saying that Ned had been involved in getting financing for a casino. Any lead was better than none. I called Elma's number and caught her at home. She couldn't come up with a name, but she said it was an Indian casino on the road to Palm Springs. Bingo.

  ***

  It was a great day for a drive. It was a great day not to be tied down with responsibilities such as a family or having to sit at a desk all day. The sun was shining; it was a day for extolling the wonders of Southern California.

  I drove the Jaguar, not only because it handled so well but also because it was the only car we had with a manual transmission. Shifting gears made me feel as if I were accomplishing something—actively driving the car instead of having it drive me.

  I took Pacific Coast Highway to the 110 Freeway, aka the Harbor Freeway, because it goes to the Los Angeles Harbor. Giving it a number to replace the name de-romanticized it, made it mundane. I headed north, away from the harbor, and bore right on the 91 Freeway, which was called a variety of names, depending on the year and where you were on it.

  Traffic was moderate, meaning it was moving at 65 miles-per-hour or higher. The Jag rode effortlessly at 70, but I refused to go faster because exotic red cars attract the attention of the California Highway Patrol. We were in synch, the car and I, as it responded to my every touch. We passed from Los Angeles County into Orange County. Miles and miles of well-groomed stucco suburbs. Then Riverside County. Through Corona, once a farming community, now motels and fast food.

  As we approached the Inland Empire city of Riverside I headed east on Route 60, through the Moreno Valley, one of the fastest growing communities in the state. Wound through foothills and down to the floor of the Coachella Valley and Interstate 10, the east-west artery that is often followed to LAX by planes coming from the East.

  I got a close-up look at massive Mt. San Gorgonio, all 11,500 feet of it, which was visible from my window at home on a clear day, and Mt. San Jacinto, less massive at 10,800 feet and not visible from home because of intervening mountains in Orange County.

  But Mt. San Jacinto has the advantage of the Palm Springs Tramway, gliding almost straight up to 8,500 feet. From there, the peak is a breathtaking but not arduous climb of five-and-a-half miles. I did it every year.

  The speed limit here was 70. I eased up to 75 and was passed by little old retirees doing 90 in their Cadillacs. The huge statues of a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a Brontosaurus just off the Interstate at Cabazon told me I was almost there.

  I exited I-10 at a sign for the casino, crossed over the freeway and coasted into the parking lot. Monday afternoon is not what I would consider prime gambling time, but judging from the number of cars in the huge lot not everybody agreed with me. I guess gamblers know no time limitations.

  The sun was warm and friendly as I walked 100 yards to the casino. I felt sleepy from the drive, and the heat didn't alleviate this condition. I knew the casino would be air-conditioned and figured a blast of cold would wake me up.

  What woke me even faster were the noise and the cigarette smoke. Arrow had been correct in her description; if anything, she had understated the case. I had forgotten how awful the environment was inside a casino.

  Look on the bright side; at least I didn't have to work here like the ladies of indeterminate age, dyed hair and short skirts who served drinks to the fatties emptying their bank accounts into the slots, or the neatly dressed dealers and croupiers at the blackjack and craps tables who were being watched along with the patrons through one-way mirrors in the ceiling. James's pretend casino was superior to this in three respects: It didn't have the cigarette smoke, it didn't have the grating din of slot machines and the patrons were much better dressed.

  I took a minute to orient myself and then moved over to the blackjack tables. The dealers were sliding the cards to the players along the green felt surfaces from shoes containing multiple decks. The players were betting their five-dollar chips and idly glancing at their cards, standing, taking hits, sometimes busting. Everybody looked supremely bored.

  I quickly determined that there were no big-stakes games in progress. It was all small potatoes. I passed by some video-poker machines. I had been known to play video poker in my time, rationalizing that there was at least a modicum of skill to the game.

  I stopped in front of a machine. The payoff for four-of-a-kind was 40-to-one. Once in Las Vegas I had taken a calculator and figured out that the best machines to play were the ones where the payoff was 80-to-one for four-of-a-kind, even though some of the other payoffs were lower. The strategy was to expend all one's effort on getting four-of-a-kind and hope to break even the rest of the time.

  I had a few quarters in my pocket and was tempted to try my luck, anyway. What could happen? I knew what could happen. I could end up spending the day, hypnotized, shoving quarters into the slot. After an agonizing minute I walk away
from the machines. Proud of myself, I found a casher's cage and waited while an old man in a wrinkled short-sleeved shirt exchanged a hundred-dollar bill for chips.

  When the cashier was free I asked her if I could speak to the casino manager. She gave me a skeptical look and called to a man behind her, who was talking to another employee. When he came over she said, "This guy says he wants to speak to the manager."

  The young man had black hair and was dressed in a black suit. He said through the bars, "I'll be right with you." He disappeared around a corner. A minute later he came through a doorway a few feet away. We approached each other and met in the middle.

  He said, "What can I do for you?"

  "Are you the casino manager?" I asked.

  "I'm one of the floor managers."

  That wasn't high enough. I only wanted to tell my story once. "What's the name of the casino manager?" I asked.

  He looked at me without expression and I wondered whether he was going to have me thrown out. Then he said, "That's Charlie White. What's your business with him?"

  I had to say something. I gave him my name and then said, "Tell him I'm a friend of Ned Mackay."

  Ned's name meant zilch to him, judging by his continuing lack of expression. He said, "Wait here," and disappeared through the mysterious doorway.

  After five minutes I figured I was on a hopeless quest. I would go back empty-handed. I least I had had the fun of the drive. Or maybe I would play some blackjack. I took out my wallet to count my money and didn't see the young man return.

  I jumped when he said, "Follow me."

  We went back through the doorway. The noise and the cigarette smoke disappeared as the door closed behind us. Here was plush. Plush carpets and plush offices. He led me to the door of the biggest office, stuck his head in and said, "This is Mr. Patterson." Then he left.

  "Come in," the man behind the large desk said.

  He was middle-aged, with short black hair and a wrinkled face that could have modeled for Geronimo or Crazy Horse, but he wore a dark suit and smiled as he shook hands with me and introduced himself as Charlie White.