by Alan Cook
"Well, you've got a few more days." He dismissed my news with a wave of his hand. "What would you like to do tonight?"
"Make you a proposition."
"Another one?"
"Yes. This one depends on your reputation for absolute honesty." Elma had told me that James' best trait was that he always kept his promises. Of course he expected others to do the same. Seamus had also said that. The Goodwins, too.
James looked amused. "This sounds serious. Shall we sit down?"
He led me to a vacant table. I struggled with how to phrase my request. After a couple of false starts I said, "I-I need to have the answer to...need to have you answer a question for me. A yes-no type question."
"Go ahead; ask me the question."
"It's not that simple. If I just ask you the question you can decline to answer. I don't want to ask the question until I'm sure you will answer it."
Drinks magically appeared in front of us, a clear liquid for James with a slice of lime and a straw, iced tea for me. James sipped his drink through the straw and regarded me with his blue eyes. He said, "This must be a very serious question. What do you propose?"
"I'll gamble for the right to ask the question. But you have to promise to answer it."
"So I have to think back over my whole life and determine whether there is anything I've done that I wouldn't admit. Is that it? Because you know more about my life than most people. You've even been to the town where I grew up and talked to people there.
"But I must admit that this is intriguing. I've lived my life in a straightforward manner; I'm not trying to hide anything. What question do you want the answer to that you wouldn't just come out and ask me? More information about the Dickie incident? I can't think of a question answerable by yes or no that would help to clarify that. The truth is rarely a yes-or-no affair."
I was tempted—tempted to ask the question: Did you have any part at all in Ned's murder? But if it were that easy, getting murder convictions would be a snap. No, James lived and died by The Game. And winning The Game was the only way I could ensure getting a truthful answer.
"What kind of odds will you give me?" I asked.
"Most people who come here do so because I'm their last hope. If they're going to lose their company anyway, they're willing to buck the odds to save it. But with you, Karl, it's a different story. All you want to do is ask me a question. Besides, you have a better head for figures than most of the others. You know the odds are against you."
"I'll be honest with you," I said. "I plan to play blackjack and count the cards. If your dealer uses a single deck and plays to the last card I can swing the odds in my favor."
"In theory, yes. But can you really carry out that program? If you'd been practicing for the last two years under live conditions, I would say that you probably could. But playing in your living room with nothing to lose is a completely different matter. The difference is like a baseball player going from Little League straight to the World Series."
"Are you going to take me up on it?" I didn't want to talk all night.
"I like you, Karl, and I don't want to see you lose. But if you really want to do it I won't stop you. We need a penalty if you lose." James sipped and I waited. "I've got it. You have to work for me for a year. Of course, I'll pay you a regular salary; I'll even give you stock options."
If I lost I might be a dead man, in which case that would become irrelevant. "Agreed."
"I'll give you an initial stake of $1,000. You have to increase it to $4,000 to win."
I was expecting that and again I agreed.
"When do you want to start?" James asked.
"Right now."
"Well, you look sober and alert. Why not?"
***
There were two blackjack tables. The ideal situation would have been for me to play one-on-one against a dealer, but when I mentioned that to James he said he couldn't afford to tie up a dealer and a table just for me. Especially since my bet was puny compared to some of the other players. But it wasn't puny to me.
I picked a table with two other players and sat in the left-hand seat so that I would have the maximum opportunity to see the cards of the other players before I decided whether to take a hit. The dealer did play with one deck and did play to the last card so the odds were already better than in any other casino I was aware of. I think James allowed that out of a sense of sportsmanship because the players were not professional gamblers. He wasn't all bad.
The quick way to increase $1,000 to $4,000 was to bet the thousand on the first hand and then if I won bet $2,000 on the second hand. Unfortunately, I had less than a 25 percent probability of winning with this strategy and I needed a certainty.
I waited until the dealer shuffled before I started to bet. He offered the deck to me to cut and welcomed me to the game with a nod. I bet only a dollar a hand to start, setting my mind to the discipline of counting the cards worth ten (ten, jack, queen, king) and the others and calculating the ratio between them in my head. A ten-rich deck swings the odds in the favor of the player.
The first time the ratio reached 50-50 I bet $10 and felt a surge of adrenaline. I won the hand; my system was working.
I played for an hour and was modestly ahead. I decided to take a break and review my strategy with the intent of increasing my bets when the odds were in my favor. If you varied your bets too much in Las Vegas you got thrown out on your ear. Here, James already knew what I was doing.
I felt the presence of someone to my left. I looked up from my cards and saw Arrow's black curls. Startled, I said, "What are you doing here?"
She said, "The question is, what are you doing here? Karl, I need to talk to you."
"It's time for my break, anyway," I said, deciding to yield gracefully rather than risk a scene. I placed my loose chips in the rack I had been given and followed Arrow to a table, where we sat down. She didn't look happy.
"What are you doing here?" I asked her again.
"I tried to call you this morning," Arrow said. "I called Elma to discuss her finances and she told me she had met you and you regaled her with the story about Ned's desert blackjack game. You did that Thursday afternoon, right after you and I flew back from San Francisco. And yet you told me you weren't going to try to get Elma's proxy for James."
"I wasn't trying to get her proxy." I felt myself growing hot.
"Richard came back to work today and I told him about your bargain with James. He went ballistic. I thought he was going to have another stroke."
"How could you do that?"
"I had to, Karl. Things were getting out of hand."
"Thanks a lot. With friends like you I might as well fall on my sword."
"Don't give me that shit. I have to protect Dionysus. I also told Richard why we came here last week. He told me in no uncertain terms to stop working on Ned's murder. First, he doesn't want us to stick our necks out and, second, he doesn't believe James had any part in Ned's murder."
"How did you find out I was here?"
"I tried to call you, as I said. I left several messages, but you didn't return my calls. When I was going to Richard's house to give him briefings I got to know Luz. She told me that when you went out for more than a few hours you told her so that she wouldn't cook for you. So I called her and asked if she knew where you were. She told me you had flown to San Francisco."
"You get 'A' for detective work."
Arrow ignored my sarcasm and said, "There's only one reason you would go to San Francisco and that is to work on Ned's murder. I had to tell Richard. What he said I won't repeat, but I finally convinced him that even if he didn't want to help you as a father, he had to do it as CEO of Dionysus. A phone call here wouldn't be sufficient because what can you accomplish on the phone? So I caught the next plane."
"How did you solve the puzzle of the day with your feeble MBA brain?"
"One of James' lackeys tried to give me the puzzle. I told him to shove it and to put James on the intercom. I told James wh
at I thought of his stupid-ass puzzle and that I needed to talk to you."
"And he let you in."
"Of course."
She was definitely CEO material. "Well, now that you're here you can turn right around and fly back to LA. I don't need you."
Arrow looked at me steadily and said, "Karl, you've got to tell me what you're doing."
"I'm just having a little fun."
"If that grim expression means you're having fun, I'd hate to see you when you're not. I don't play games, remember? You're using the serious chips. You made another bet with James, didn't you?"
She knew too much. "So what if I did? That's my business."
"It's Dionysus business so it's my business. And your father's business."
"My father doesn't care if I rot in hell."
"He does! He does care for you. He just thinks you're too...reckless. And that recklessness is jeopardizing Dionysus, not to mention your own skin."
How could I get her off my back? "Okay, I made another bet." I looked around to see if anyone was within earshot. "If I win I'll find out whether James had any part in Ned's murder."
"How are you going to do that?"
I explained my reasoning in a low voice, making Arrow strain to hear me over the crowd noise. When I said it out loud it didn't sound so grand. If I couldn't even convince myself that it would work, how could I convince Arrow?
At least Arrow didn't interrupt me. When I was through, she said, "You're trying to extract a confession from a murderer, based on his personal integrity. How much integrity does a murderer have?"
I couldn't answer that question. Why did she have to show up to complicate my life?
"I sat within a few feet of this spot," she continued, "and listened to you tell that guy George why his system wouldn't work. You sounded very wise. But you don't follow your own advice, do you?"
I felt like strangling her to shut her up. But she wasn't through.
"It would break Richard's heart if you went to work for James, when you won’t work for him—your own father. So I'll tell you what I'm going to do, for Richard's sake. I'll be your assistant and your moral support. Even if that means just carrying your chips. But why can't you just cancel the bet now like we did before?"
"It's too late." Meaning that my own integrity was at stake.
Arrow looked ready to argue the point but apparently decided not to. She said, "Okay, tell me what your strategy is. That way I'll know if you're veering off course."
Even though she had turned traitor and squealed on me to my father I felt more comfortable with Arrow here. She could help me maintain my discipline. I told her my basic strategy and we agreed that I would play no more than an hour at a stretch and then rest for at least fifteen minutes. And no alcoholic beverages.
At 11 o'clock I had significantly increased my stake. I think Arrow's presence helped me stick to my plan.
Arrow suddenly said, "Okay, that's it. You're through for the night."
I remembered we had agreed on an 11 o'clock stop time, but I didn't want to quit. I figured that I could keep on winning. But Arrow grabbed my rack of chips and walked away. My urge to strangle her returned. I took several deep breaths and forced a smile at the dealer. I said, "I guess I'm through." He saluted me and I left the table.
When I caught Arrow she said, "I think it's better to quit while you're ahead. It will give you a positive attitude going into tomorrow's game."
She had a point there, although I didn't admit it. She told me she had a hotel room booked. I did too, but not at the same hotel. She said she would work at her hotel tomorrow and meet me here at seven when the casino opened.
I got a receipt for my chips and we walked toward the stairs. James came over to us from some people he was talking to and said, "Arrow, I don't know whether I'm glad or sad that you showed up. I'm glad to see you again, but you obviously have a steadying influence on Karl. He plays better with you here."
"Why don't you just let him cancel the bet?" Arrow said. "He's proved he can be cool under fire."
"Not now," I said, heatedly. "I'm going to win."
"Besides, I couldn't do that," James said with a smirk. "Then I'd never find out what question you want to ask me." He turned to Arrow. "And now that I know you're as feisty as you are beautiful I wish I'd made you part of the package and insisted that you work for me if Karl loses."
"In your dreams."
Chapter 31 FLORA
There was nothing like walking the hills of San Francisco to clear the head. When all your energy is required just to get to the top of a hill where the cars parked perpendicular to the street tilt so much that the slightest touch will tip them over you don't have any energy left for negative thoughts.
Such as what would happen if I lost the bet and actually had to go to work for James. That thought had come to me during the night and I was trying to expel it now.
I finally sat down in a small park to rest, fearful that I would exhaust myself so much I wouldn't be at my best at the blackjack table. I watched two hummingbirds play tag in the air and reviewed the last few weeks.
The day my peaceful world had turned upside down was the day my father had come to me for help. That was the day Ned had been murdered. Since then, I had been told by my father and others not to try to solve the murder. But here I was doing just that, more to save my own skin than anything else.
If I knew James had ordered Ned’s murder, somehow I thought that would free me of any obligation to James, such as the money I owed him or my agreement to obtain Elma's proxy. Even if I couldn't prove it in a court of law. But it was naive of me to think that James would actually tell the truth, even if I won the bet.
So what else could I do? There was at least one string that hadn't been explored, I was sure, by the police. That was the mysterious Chinese lady who had Ned's gun in her possession. She and Ned must have been old friends. Or were they more than friends?
It occurred to me that the woman with James at Ned's funeral could have been Chinese. I hadn't gotten a good look at her, but she definitely had Asian features. Was this another case of James and Ned sharing a woman? There was certainly precedent for it.
Suddenly, I wanted to find and talk to this woman. But how? I remembered that I had passed an Internet cafe a few blocks back. Sip cappuccino and check stocks and email. I got up and headed in that direction.
***
I bought an iced tea at the counter and headed for an available personal computer. It took me only a few seconds to access the Tartan corporate website. I looked at the site index. There were pages listed with the information you would expect: financial reports, recent acquisitions, profiles of James and other corporate officers. What wasn't there was what I was looking for: a sub-index with names and addresses of clients and other people and organizations important to Tartan and James.
Of course this was confidential information and wouldn't be made available to the world. But I knew it was on the website because the night Ned was murdered James had accessed the telephone numbers of Ned's hotel and the police from it. I had been looking over his shoulder when he did it.
Then he had made another phone call he had later denied making. Was that call to the Chinese lady? From James' side of the conversation I had gathered that the caller had seen Ned that evening. My recollection was that James didn't look up her phone number on the website; he knew it by heart. But still, it could be there.
What had James done to get to the private part of the website? He had gone to a certain page and entered a password. That page wouldn't be in the index but now I could remember James entering the Tartan URL and the word "private."
I typed in the Tartan URL followed by a slash and "private." The page I remembered seeing came up, containing a place to enter a password. What was the password? Of course the password had appeared as x's on the screen when James had entered it, but maybe I could reconstruct it.
I didn't have a computer program like you see in the movies that tries ev
ery possible combination of characters until it finds the correct password. The technology wouldn't allow me to do that, anyway. That was fiction. But most passwords were made simple so they would be easy to remember. And apparently all Tartan staff members knew it.
Now what? I could actually see James type in the password. I'm a nosy guy and I had watched him. And James wasn't a fast typist so it was possible to follow the keys he struck. I remembered at the time thinking that the password was an actual word and too obvious.
Except I couldn't remember what word it was. Six characters, I thought. I tried "tartan" and received an error message. Those weren't the keys James had pressed, anyway. He had started with the forefinger of his left hand, but not the "t." I checked the keyboard. That finger is used to type seven different letters. Great.
What words started with those letters? I drew a blank on all of them until I got to "c." "Casino." Of course. I typed "casino" and clicked Enter. Another error message. Damn.
The more I recalled the night of Ned's murder the more I was sure that "casino" was correct. So why was I getting an error message? Persnickety computer. I tried "casino" again. Same result. Think, Patterson. I thought about smashing the computer, which was not logical. And computers are logical, if nothing else.
I typed in "casino" again but didn't click Enter. Why wasn't this correct? It seemed so right. But of course memories can be self-fulfilling. I stared at the word and noticed that there was still a space remaining in the password box. Another character was needed.
I typed in a "1" after "casino" and clicked Enter.
Error.
I poured ice from the bottom of my glass into my mouth, crunched on it and froze my mouth.
Then it came to me; I remembered how awkward it had been for James to type an "s" because the tip of the fourth finger on his left hand was missing. And he'd had to use that finger twice when entering the password.
"I typed in "casinos" and clicked Enter. No error message. The index page of organizations and people that I had seen James refer to appeared, in alphabetical order. It was many screens long. I scrolled down and scanned the names, looking for Chinese-sounding names.
