Blind Luck

by Dave Stanton

  Only when Lou asked about his relationship with Sheila did Jimmy pause. He saw no reason to confide he’d had sex with her—especially not with his father there.

  Finally, Lou concluded the interview and left the Homesteads alone. They each took a couch, and within a minute, John was snoring. Jimmy lay awake, thinking how bizarre the events of the last thirty-six hours had been. His emotions were in a jumble over the sudden arrival of his parents in his life. He didn’t quite know what to make of his old man showing up, but felt comfortable that time would sort it out. As far as Sheila, he now was sure the sleazebag was trying to run a scam on him, but she would be bitch-slapped back into the hole she crawled from, once Lou got done with her. The thought made Jimmy smile. He picked up his cell phone from the coffee table and listened to Sheila’s voicemail again. He repressed a giggle and started typing her a text message, and he almost laughed out loud when he was done punching in the letters. The message read, GO FUCK A DUCK. He hit the send button, a huge smile on his face, then put away his phone and fell peacefully asleep.

  When they woke the next morning, Lou brought them coffee. He had showered, shaved, and dressed while they were still sleeping. In fact, he looked like he’d been up for hours.

  “I called the realtor in Reno and explained you’ll need an anonymous rental. She understands and can set you up. Bring cash—you don’t want to use your credit card for this. Here are directions to her office. She’ll be waiting for you.”

  They walked outside into the crisp, shaded morning, and as Jimmy was climbing into his sports car, Lou stopped him. “One more thing—your cell phone. Don’t use it and keep it turned off. Since Sheila has your number, she may try to track you by triangulating the signal.”

  “Can she do that?” Jimmy said.

  “Depends how motivated she is. But, yes, it can be done.”

  Jimmy put on his seat belt and fired up the Lamborghini, its twelve-cylinder motor coming alive with an exotic purr. John started his car, the engine clattering like a card stuck in a bicycle’s spokes. The two vehicles pulled away, father following son, as if they were attached by an invisible financial umbilical cord. Lou stood watching until they were gone, shaking his head at the sight. Then, he walked back inside and went to work.

  27

  Sheila and Cody were waiting for me at a table in the main lounge at Harrah’s. Sheila sat cross-legged, her skirt hiked high up on her thighs. A cigarette dangled from her fingers, and her half-lidded eyes acknowledged me with practiced indifference. Cody sat across from her, staring off into space. I took a seat and helped myself to one of Sheila’s Virginia Slims.

  “How’s everything, lovebirds?” I said.

  Sheila blew out a stream of smoke. “Jimmy has checked out,” she said. “And he hasn’t taken my calls.”

  “No shit, huh?”

  She ignored my comment. I looked over at Cody, who seemed uncharacteristically sullen. He greeted me with a glance, silent for the moment.

  “Is his car still here?”

  “It was about an hour ago,” Sheila said.

  I reached out and slapped Cody on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s take a walk. Wait for us here, Sheila.”

  “What’s the matter?” I said, once we were out of her earshot.

  “Looks like the honeymoon’s over.”

  “It is, huh?”

  “She’s really on the rag. There ain’t a goddamned thing I can say to snap her out of it.”

  “Is this because Jimmy blew Dodge?”

  “Probably.”

  “Well, it’s no surprise.”

  “I fucking know that, Dan. I just hate being treated like I got a highly contagious venereal disease.”

  “What, is she blaming you?”

  “She might as well be.”

  “All right, look,” I said as we got off the elevator to the parking garage and spotted the Lamborghini. “The good news is his car is still here. I assume Jimmy has another set of keys. I’m going to replace the tracker with a freshly charged unit, and I can program the GPS alerts to go to your cell number. So, if you want, you can wait for him to pick up his car, then go after him.”

  “What about you?”

  “Me? I got to make a living, Cody. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve delivered my end of the bargain to Sheila, and she owes me ten grand, plus expenses. Any more work on my part would be above and beyond our contract. And given that I have no reason to believe she has the means to pay me, I’m not in a mood to burn further calories on this bullshit.”

  Cody stared at me hard, but then, his green eyes softened. “Christ, I feel like a dumb ass,” he said.

  “Hey, man,” I said. “Don’t get down on yourself for trying to have a good time.” But the remark was disingenuous, and Cody saw right through it.

  “Every woman I’ve been with since my divorce has screwed me over. You see a trend here?”

  “I haven’t done much better, old buddy.”

  “I’ve paid for everything since she hired me. I can’t wait to see my credit card bill.”

  “It’s time to cut our losses. This party’s over.”

  When we got to Jimmy’s car, Cody said, “Put the damn tracker on it anyway. You never know…”

  But Sheila seemed to have already drawn her own conclusions. She was no longer at the lounge when we returned. A few minutes later, she emerged from the elevators with a rollaway suitcase.

  “I need to return to San Jose,” she said. “I’ll be in touch, gentlemen.” She walked off toward the exit of the casino.

  “Excuse me,” I said. “Look for my bill in your mailbox.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” she said. Cody and I followed her for a few steps, then stopped and watched her leave the building and get into a waiting taxi. We stood there for a moment after the cab drove away.

  “Come on, let’s go,” I said.

  “There goes one expensive piece of ass,” he said finally, his face screwed into a grimace.

  Cody checked out of Harrah’s and came to my place to spend the night. He had trimmed his beard and looked somewhat less unruly than usual. We sat at my kitchen table, and he quietly asked for a bottle of whiskey. I wasn’t used to seeing Cody subdued, and I wondered if after a lifetime of bucking the odds, he was facing a time of reckoning. But after a couple of shots, the impetuous fire that was both his vice and his virtue returned, glowing in his eyes like high beams on a dark highway.

  Cody’s best moments were also his worst. The attributes that had made him a great cop also led to his being fired from the force. His intuitions on criminal behavior were uncanny, but were due in part to his own disregard for convention or rules. His parents had considered him incorrigible, and his father had kicked him out of their home when Cody was fourteen. He had forged his way on the street, and he never spoke of how he survived. But there was no doubt in my mind that his juvenile brushes with the law did not reveal the true nature and extent of his teenage criminality.

  When it came to the opposite sex, Cody’s reckless libido and ribald charm attracted the type of women who recognized him as a kindred soul. Females needing to validate their desirability flocked to him. So did wild women who lived on the fringes of society. Stable, mainstream types avoided him like the plague. His first and only wife seemed fairly normal to me, and I can’t account for the chemistry that brought them together. Their marriage lasted two years before she handed him the divorce papers and never spoke to him again.

  “Here’s an angle, Dirt,” he said, pouring me a shot. “Let’s track down Jimmy, and in return for him paying what Sheila owes us, we come clean with him.”

  “Come clean with him? About what, Sheila’s scam? We don’t really know what she’s up to. At least I don’t.”

  “Me neither, but it doesn’t matter. All we have to do is tell Jimmy she’s full of shit, and he’s got nothing to worry about, and we were just a couple private dicks she hired to find him.”

  I rolled the shot glass between my finge
rs, the amber fluid twinkling like a magical elixir. Cody raised his glass and smiled and nodded, as if he had just unlocked a great mystery. I knew better—he was just catching a buzz. But his idea intrigued me, and it reminded me that Cody had not survived living on the edge by accident. His resourcefulness in extracting himself from difficult situations, and righting those situations in his favor always surprised me.

  “You don’t think Sheila really has anything on Jimmy?”

  Cody shrugged. “I doubt it.”

  I raised my glass and toasted Cody in return. “To our partnership,” I said.

  28

  John watched his son’s Lamborghini as he followed it through Stateline, Nevada. It looked like a futuristic dayglow orange toy that might sprout wings and take flight at any moment. John was a bit concerned that the car was an ultimate attention magnet—not a good thing, given their situation, but he resigned himself to not worry about it.

  Jimmy stopped at a bank before they headed around the lake toward Reno, and fifteen minutes later walked out with a large envelope stuffed with cash. “Hey, if I lose you heading up Spooner pass, don’t worry. I’ll stop and wait for you,” Jimmy said. John wanted to tell him to not do anything stupid, but settled for, “Just be careful, okay, son?” Jimmy responded with an irreverent smile.

  Sure enough, once they turned east at Junction 28, Jimmy downshifted and accelerated as if a green flag had waved. He rounded the first sweeping curve, and John saw no more of him. The grade was moderate as the road climbed out of the forest and into the sparse desert terrain of the Eastern Sierra. It was a crisp morning, and winter would probably come early this year, John thought. The Ford labored in the thin air, heading toward the summit at seven thousand feet. John could smell his motor oil burning, and when he looked in the rearview mirror, he saw a haze of white exhaust smoke. It wouldn’t be long before the LTD blew its final gasket and would have to be retired to the scrap heap.

  But John had more important things to consider than the condition of his car. So far, he was pleased at finding his son, and quite pleasantly surprised by their quick and comfortable bonding. And now, they would be staying together, for at least a week, or maybe longer, with a common goal: to eliminate whatever threat Sheila posed. John felt absolute confidence in Lou Calgaretti, but what about after Sheila was a nonissue? Then would Jimmy be agreeable to give John enough money to retire comfortably? When the time was right, John would talk to Jimmy straight out. No bullshit, just the simple facts: John was getting too old to work and had no money put away for retirement. Jimmy would have to be one cruel SOB to not sympathize with that.

  John was doing some financial calculations in his head when he came over the summit and started heading down toward Carson Valley. He steered into a broad right curve, and when the highway straightened, he could see a series of fresh skid marks where the next turn began. The curlicues of rubber were thick and black. He peered through his dirty windshield, a tiny pang of panic growing in his stomach.

  When he came around the bend, he saw the orange Lamborghini on the shoulder of the road. The car looked undamaged but was facing the wrong way. John slowed to a stop. Jimmy was not in the car, but then, John saw him kneeling near the rear bumper.

  “Wow,” Jimmy said, standing. “Too much, man. I thought I was headed to the big bar in the sky on that one.”

  “Jesus Christ, what happened?”

  “I must have hit a patch of gravel. I swear I did two 360s.”

  “Your rim is ruined,” John said, looking at Jimmy’s flattened rear tire. The wheel was dented and bent out of round.

  “I slammed the curb at the turnout back there.”

  They stood looking at the rim. The damned thing probably would cost two grand to replace, John thought.

  “Hey, it could have been worse,” Jimmy said. “I could have ended up down there.” He pointed beyond the guard rail where the hillside fell away into a sheer canyon.

  “You would have been dead,” John said, and he wanted to say more but bit his tongue.

  “Not me, Pop. Lady Luck is watching over me.”

  “Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you can’t die.”

  “No worries. Can you call a tow truck? I lost my charger, and my cell is dead again.”

  “You’re supposed to leave it off anyway. What about a spare tire?”

  “I shit-canned it because I needed the trunk space. Oops.”

  John called an auto repair garage in Carson City and arranged for a tow truck to pick up the Lamborghini. He and Jimmy sat waiting on the heated hood of the LTD. The sun was obscured behind a hazy white sky and didn’t emit much warmth. They sat and looked out over sagebrush-covered hills that rose and fell in a series of undulations until the terrain flattened at the floor of the Carson Valley.

  “You ever think about your future?” John said. “Say, a year from now?”

  Jimmy fired up a Marlboro and leaned back on his elbows. “Haven’t really thought that far in advance.”

  “A man’s got to have some direction in life, don’t you think?”

  Jimmy thought about that for a moment. Besides buying a home and maybe meeting a gal or two to hang with, he hadn’t given much consideration to what he would do. Actually, he thought the answer to the question was fairly obvious. Fancy cars, five-star hotels, hot women, vacations to places most people would never see, liquor and blow—pretty much an endless stream of indulgence. The good life.

  “Pretty simple, Dad. I just want to enjoy myself. Hell, why not?”

  “Well, just don’t get too crazy. You can’t enjoy all that money if you get hurt.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Jimmy said. “I’ve survived a lot of shit.”

  John decided not to say more on the subject. He walked over to the edge of the road to take a leak. With a little stretch of the imagination, he could see Jimmy killing himself by driving like a lunatic, or maybe even overdosing on drugs. But Jimmy was a grown man, and John didn’t think a lecture would be either appropriate or effective.

  Then, another thing occurred to him. If his son was so stupid and immature he went and got himself killed, well, maybe he deserved his fate. Life was a precious thing, especially so if you were granted enough money to enjoy all the finer things without working. But if a person threw all that away by behaving like an idiot, what did you say to that?

  For the first time, John wondered if he would automatically inherit Jimmy’s fortune if his son died.

  They drove in John’s car, following the tow truck to the garage in Carson City. It would be a few days before a replacement rim would be available, so they left the Lamborghini, picked up a couple of greasy cheeseburgers at a local diner, and headed to Reno in the LTD.

  Half an hour later, they went through the arches touting Reno as ‘The Biggest Little City in the World.’ Similar to Las Vegas, without its casinos, Reno would be an anonymous watering hole in the desolate terrain of Nevada. But even the bright lights of the casinos couldn’t save downtown Reno. The city had been built around the old Southern Pacific railroad, and freight trains rumbled through at all hours, blowing their horns and waking outraged hotel guests. Hobos patrolled the sidewalks on the main drag, toothless winos slept in doorways, and even the harsh winter storms couldn’t wash away the squalor and desperation that seemed to funnel into the city center from all directions.

  The real estate office was in a recently developed uptown location. The agent Lou referred them to, a friendly brunette with a chunky figure, greeted them with a smile. She seemed to understand exactly what was needed before John or Jimmy had a chance to explain. They climbed into her big Mercedes sedan, and she drove them to a neighborhood south of Reno, off Highway 431. A newly built community was nestled in the foothills, and at the highest point, atop a broad plateau, a large tri-level stone and timber estate sat overlooking Reno and the desert beyond.

  John and Jimmy followed the agent through the luxuriously furnished four-thousand-square-foot home. The hardwo
od floors were beautifully stained and lacquered, the carpets plush, the bathrooms and kitchen appointed with the most splendid and expensive fixtures and appliances.

  “One of the wonderful attributes of this home is the decking and swimming pool,” the agent said, as they followed her out the French doors onto a huge redwood deck with an unobstructed view of Reno. On the level below the deck, a turquoise pool sparkled next to a manicured lawn surrounded by colorful shrubs and foliage.

  “A computer executive had this home custom built a year ago, but then, he moved to Europe. He’s never stayed here—he just rents it out.”

  Beneath the four bedrooms, on the ground level next to the three-car garage, a gym had been built, complete with a universal weight machine, an exercise bike, and a couple of fitness machines John didn’t recognize. Jimmy patted his old man on the back. “Hey, you said you wanted to lose some weight.”

  Back at the real estate office, John filled out the necessary paperwork while Jimmy walked across the street to a strip mall and drank a beer at a pizza joint. He came back and was puffing on a smoke outside the office when John called him in. Jimmy counted out a month’s payment in advance, plus a security and cleaning deposit. It came to twenty grand.

  The next morning, they drove off in John’s LTD to buy groceries. Jimmy also wanted to buy a computer to check on his Internet dating site. He then suggested to John some new clothes might be in order.

  “And your car—well, it’s an embarrassment.”

  “I told you, I haven’t been doing well. It’s all I can afford.”

  “We’ll have to see what we can do about that,” Jimmy said.

  By midafternoon, they left the mall in Reno and headed toward home. “Let’s get a drink somewhere,” Jimmy said. “Don’t you know—that’s the first things you do when you move, scout out the nearest bar.” They found a sports bar in a shopping complex near their neighborhood and killed an hour playing video poker and watching college football on TV.