“You’re never going to settle down, are you?”
“The fields are too green for a man to stop mowing.”
“I guess that means no.”
“I’ll find the woman of my dreams someday,” Eddie said.
Valentine’s eyes found the framed photograph of his late wife that sat on his desk. She’d never stopped being the woman of his dreams, even after she’d died.
“So what’s up?” Eddie asked.
“I just sent you an e-mail with the names of two punks in Atlantic City I’d like you to check out. I need everything you can tell me about these jokers. Criminal backgrounds, who they run with, crimes they’ve been accused of, the whole shooting match.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. Anybody I know?”
“Vinny Fountain and Frank DeCesar. There’s also a third one, Nunzie Fountain.”
Eddie went silent, and Valentine said, “You know them?”
“Their names have come up.”
“How so?”
“This is in strict confidence, okay?”
“Of course.”
“Vinny and Frank are informants. There was a flood of bad heroin on the streets a year ago; lots of hookers were shooting up and dropping dead. Vinny and Frank came forward, gave us enough information to track the source, and shut the operation down. The department didn’t pay them or anything.”
“What are you saying, they’re good Samaritans?”
“In a way, yeah,” Eddie said. “Don’t get me wrong. They’re wise guys, but they’re also locals. They didn’t like what was happening, so they put a stop to it.”
“Sounds like they want to go to heaven,” Valentine said.
Eddie laughed. “I’ll run a check on them first thing tomorrow.”
7
At eight o’clock in the morning, Gerry drove his family across Highway 60 toward Tampa International Airport, the rush-hour traffic made bearable by the near-perfect spring weather. Warm temperatures, and not a cloud in the flawless blue sky. The baby was asleep in her car seat in the back, while his wife sat beside him reading the paper. He drove with his eyes glued to the road, even though traffic was hardly moving.
“What time did your father come over last night?” Yolanda asked.
“Late,” Gerry replied.
“I’m surprised I didn’t hear him.”
“He tried to be quiet. He knows how lightly you sleep.”
“What made him change his mind?” his wife asked.
Lying had never been Gerry’s strong suit, and it was rare that he was able to pull the wool over his wife’s eyes. Yolanda had a sixth sense when it came to knowing the truth, and he guessed it was why she hated it when he tried to break bad news to her over the phone.
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Come on. You must have some idea.”
“I guess he realized I’m not a kid anymore,” Gerry said.
“You’re always going to be a kid in his eyes.” His wife took out a sanitary wipe and cleaned off their daughter’s chin. “You need to get used to it.”
The traffic began to move and Gerry goosed the accelerator. Ahead was the Courtney Campbell Causeway, the four-lane highway bordered on both sides by the gently lapping sea. Yolanda had hit the nail on the head. His father was still treating him like a kid. Only he wasn’t a kid anymore; he’d stopped being one the day he’d started taking bets from his classmates in high school. He’d done that for twenty years along with plenty of other illegal things, yet somehow his father had forgotten that.
“We’re partners now,” Gerry said. “My father can’t be bossing me around if we’re going to work in the same business together.”
“Even if he knows it’s for your own good?” his wife asked.
Gerry feigned a laugh. Yolanda was the best thing that had ever happened to him. She was beautiful and wickedly smart and loved him to a fault. But she didn’t always back him up, especially when it came to disagreements with his old man.
“Even then,” he said.
People who lived in Tampa liked to say that their airport was the best in the country. Gerry had used the airport a few times, and joined the chorus. The place worked like a fine Swiss watch. He parked in short term, and got his wife’s suitcase out of the trunk along with his daughter’s stroller. They took an elevator down to the second level, and headed for the American Airlines counter. Within ten minutes the suitcase had been vetted by two TSA agents, and Yolanda had the boarding passes to San Juan.
They strolled around the main concourse, looking inside the shop windows, then bought two coffees at the Starbucks stand and an oatmeal cookie for their daughter. Yolanda glanced at her watch and said, “Well, I guess we should be going.”
The flight didn’t leave for another hour, and Gerry knew that Yolanda would pre-board because of the baby. He asked, “Had enough of me, huh?”
Yolanda kissed him on the lips, then looked into her husband’s eyes.
“What I mean is, it’s time for you to go to work,” she said.
“Think my old man will dock me if I show up late?”
“With that attitude, yes.”
“Do I have a bad attitude?”
“You do with your father. He brought you into his business to help you, Gerry. That says a lot about what type of person he is. I know he can be a bear sometimes, but he has your best interests at heart and always will.”
Gerry didn’t doubt what Yolanda was saying for a minute. His old man had been there for him through thick and thin. But he also knew that if he didn’t avenge Jack Donovan’s murder, he wasn’t going to be able to live with himself.
They walked over to the Concourse E shuttle and kissed again. Then he gave his daughter a kiss. His wife gave the security person her driver’s license and the boarding passes, and a moment later was let through. Gerry waved good-bye, and watched Yolanda and his daughter board a tram that would take them to their airline gate.
Gerry drove his car out of short-term parking and handed the ticket attendant his stub. Moments later his charge was printed on a digital screen next to the attendant’s booth. NO CHARGE.
“I get to park for free?” Gerry said.
“You just made it under the minimum amount of time,” the attendant said.
“What a great place.”
“Tell me about it. Have a nice day.”
He followed the signs out of the airport until he saw one that said AIRPORT RETURN. He got in the left lane, and looped back the way he came. A minute later he reentered the parking area, and headed for long term. He spent several minutes finding a spot, parked, and sat behind the wheel watching a jet depart on a runway. He imagined Yolanda and his daughter on that jet, and how he would feel if something happened to them and he was not by their side. Pangs of guilt swept over him, and he supposed that was the penalty for being untruthful with his wife.
He got his suitcase from the trunk. He’d stowed it there the night before, when Yolanda was sleeping. His wife believed she was a light sleeper, but ever since she’d had the baby, she slept like a log.
He took a tram to the main concourse, then an elevator to the second level. As he exited the elevator, he stopped beneath a giant electronic board that showed the morning’s arrivals and departures arranged alphabetically by city. There were three flights out that morning, and he didn’t think he’d have trouble getting a seat. He went to the Delta counter and handed a reservation agent his driver’s license and credit card.
“Where are we going today?” the agent asked.
“Las Vegas,” Gerry said.
8
One of the curses of the retired was the excess of unstructured time. Though not yet retired, Valentine had read that in a magazine published by AARP and had taken it to heart. Every morning, he followed a strict routine — twenty minutes of exercise, followed by breakfast while reading the paper. By nine he was ready to start work, and would go to his study and check his e-mails. More often than not, a panicked casino boss in some part of the world had contacted him the night before, and his workday would officially begin.