Starman (22 page)

LAS VEGAS

“Las Vegas! We were on the right train but we didn’t get off in time. We went past Winslow. Way past.”

“What?”

“Don’t you see? We’ve come too far. We’re in the wrong town.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s still the middle of the night. We’ve got time—I hope.”

A couple of porters appeared on the station platform. They were busy talking and didn’t notice the man and woman standing down on the tracks. Jenny grabbed the starman’s arm and hustled him around the side, into an empty storage alcove.

She cautioned him to be quiet and listened to the conversation above, ignoring the stench of oil and grease. Eventually the two porters went away, probably back into the station to wait for customers. She whispered to her patient companion.

“We’ve gone about three hundred miles past Winslow, but we’re still all right. All we’ve got to do is rent a car. With any kind of luck we can still make it back to Winslow before dawn. That means we’ve got to go into town. Just try not to be conspicuous, okay? Last thing we want is to attract any attention.”

He nodded, extracted the baseball cap from his back pocket and placed it on his head. He put it on back to front, the way Scott used to wear it. When he saw the anguished expression this produced he hasted to correct it.

“I am sorry. I was not being thoughtful.”

“Never mind. Just leave it like that, please?” He nodded understandingly. She led him up a service ladder onto the side of the passenger platform. There was no sign of the porters or anyone else. “Come on.”

They hitched a ride downtown and the cheerful lineman dropped them off on Fremont Street. “Thanks for the lift,” Jenny told him.

“Hey, no sweat. I been broke in this town myself. That was ten years ago. Had to get a job to eat and ended up staying. Not a bad place to live. Not everybody here’s a crook or a conman, y’know.”

“Right,” said the starman, giving the lineman the thumbs-up.

“Take care, you two, and hang onto your money.” He waved as he drove off into the glitter.

The starman was absolutely delighted: with the flashing lights, the rippling neon art, the screams of excited winners at the nickel slots, and the echoing bark of the crap-table croupiers. One small casino had a live barker stationed out front, standing and gesturing wildly beneath a sign that spelled out in explosive red and yellow—

WIN WIN WIN
GIANT JACKPOT
$500,000!!!

“Half-a-million dollars, folks. Who’s gonna take it home? Hit the giant jackpot and your troubles are over! Come on, friends, it’s burning a hole in our pockets and it might as well end up in yours. Free drinks and dollar ninety-eight steak dinner, it’s all on us folks!”

The starman looked back over his shoulder at the frantic pitchman until he was swallowed up by the crowd, then down at Jenny. “Define ‘giant jackpot.’ ”

“A giant jackpot is a lot of money,” she explained absently. She was searching the smaller doorways. There should be several rent-a-car places scattered among the casinos and hotels. She’d always heard that people who came to Vegas often ended up selling their cars to pay their debts. That meant they’d need some way of returning home.

Sure enough, a modest sign above a door across the street was flashing:

RENT-A-WRECK—OPEN
24
HOURS,
365
DAYS A YEAR

The starman was still working on her definition of giant jackpot. “Lot of money? Like geetus, bread, an arm and a leg?”

Jenny led him across the street, watching the traffic while hunting through her purse. “Yeah, that’s right, but we don’t have time to fool around with slot machines and stuff. If we’re going to get back to Winslow in time then we . . .” She stopped as she stepped up onto the sidewalk. “Hey, where the hell’s my wallet?”

“What’s wrong?”

She was pawing anxiously through her purse, shoving aside lipstick, comb and brush, safety pins, a stubby pen, finding everything except what she wanted.

“My wallet, my credit cards. Everything, gone. I—oh my God.”

She remembered: Elmo’s, back in Colorado. The phone call, setting her wallet down next to the telephone, the waitress telling her where the starman had gone. Rushing out of the booth and leaving the wallet behind.

That was it, then. It was the end.

She dug through the detritus one last time, found only a quarter, two pennies, and a postage stamp. She turned to face him, stricken. “I left my wallet in a restaurant in Colorado. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

“Is all right.”

“No, is
not
all right! I don’t think you understand. We have no money, no credit cards, nothing. No way to pay for a car. I’ve ruined everything. I could wire Mrs. Gilman for some money, but even if I could get ahold of her it would never get here in time. The banks back home are closed and nobody here’s going to loan me any money without some identification.”

He took the quarter from her hand, inspected it briefly. “Is all right,” he told her again. “I watched as we walked.” He stepped past her, crossed back to the casino with the barker out front. Numbly, she followed.

Through the mirrored entryway, into the back of the casino, past the roulette wheels and crap tables he led her, finally halting in front of a line of quarter slots that were somewhat isolated from the rest of the late-night action. Jenny’s temporary shock dissipated as she realized what he had in mind. She had a clear memory of what he’d done to a certain recalcitrant Coke machine, but it was still a dangerous ploy. Yet she had no alternatives to propose.

She could still help, though, and made him wait until the floorman had walked past. He hadn’t so much as glanced in their direction.

“Now,” she whispered to her companion.

The starman dropped the quarter into the slot, pulled the handle on the side of the machine. He watched the three wheels rotate for a moment, then put a hand on each side of the metal box. A faint humming noise was barely audible above the whirr and clank of the machinery. A pale luminosity emanated from the glass window. The wheels stopped one at a time, left to right. A bar, another bar, and—a lemon.

Jenny slumped. She’d had only the one quarter. She was about to turn away when he seemed to nudge the machine ever so slightly. The lemon struggled with itself and gave way to a third bar. Coins began to pour out of the hole at the bottom of the one-armed bandit, which was ringing wildly.

Someone had left a small plastic bucket atop a nearby machine. It was one of those cheap ice buckets that lower-class hotels and motels supply to every room. Grabbing the bucket she stuck it under the orifice, but it still wasn’t enough to hold the seemingly endless stream of quarters. She dropped to hands and knees and began picking them off the carpet.

“That’s a handy little talent you’ve got there,” she told him, “but let’s spread it around a little. We’d better move to another casino. See, they get curious if you hit too many jackpots in one place. Besides, we’ll only need another couple like this one to . . . hey?”

She rose, cradling the heavy bucket in both arms. Her companion was nowhere to be seen. He could have wandered off anywhere, into a floor show or worse, back out onto the street. She tried to see over the ranked machines, wishing she was taller, when suddenly all hell broke loose. Whistles were blowing, sirens wailing, bells shrilling madly. Above everything a recorded voice could be. heard repeating over and over, with just the right mixture of hysteria and delight:

GIANT JACKPOT
GIANT JACKPOT
GIANT JACKPOT
!!!

“Oh no.” She forced her way through the gathering crowd, ignoring the quarters that spilled from the ice bucket.

Sure enough, there he was, standing glibly in front of the oversized slot machine, wondering at the sudden commotion and bewilderedly accepting the congratulations of enthusiastic spectators. In the big glass window in the middle of the machine five sevens were lined up neatly in a row like so many toy soldiers. People packed in tight around him: women in beehive hairdos, men in slick suits whose true status was revealed by the state of their shoes, all manners of hangers-on who believed proximity to such luck might bring them a little of their own.

Jenny tried to reach him but it was slow going through the dense crowd. From a side door marked
MANAGER
a neatly dressed middle-aged man emerged. He was trailed by an older man carrying a camera.

They were met by another individual almost as big as the two of them put together who had “Security” written all over him.

“What happened?” the manager asked quietly.

“One buck!” The security man was shaking his head in disbelief. “One lousy buck. He changed four quarters for a silver dollar and hit for half a million.”

The manager digested this as he gave orders to his PR man. “Get plenty of shots.” To the security bull, “Is he a mechanic?” The photographer moved around them to do his job while the two older men considered the still growing crowd.

“I can’t make him but—I don’t know. It’s weird, but I’d swear I’ve seen his face before. There’s something familiar about it that I can’t put my finger on.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I guess if I’ve seen it it’s got to be in the weekly casino updates.”

“Well go and find it, and try to make it some time this month.” The security man vanished like a wraith. The manager sighed and began making his way through the crowd. Of all the duties attendant upon running a Las Vegas casino, the task he was about to perform was the least pleasant.

The publicity man was grabbing one picture after another, doing his job, making sure to get plenty of full-face shots. The latter were for the police, not the newspapers. To the manager the lucky winner looked concerned, but not nervous. A mechanic, no matter how carefully he tried to hone his act, would be nervous.

The starman was relieved to see a familiar face pushing toward him through the crowd. “Jennyhayden!”

“Hang on!” A moment later she was standing next to him. There was nothing she could do about the photographer, so she ignored the repeated blasts from his flash. It didn’t matter. By the time any pictures could be developed and recognized, their subject would be long gone.

If they didn’t waste anymore time, that is.

“You went and did it, didn’t you?”

“I did wrong?”

She stared at the five sevens in a row, saw the big “5” beneath it followed by a string of fat zeroes, and shook her head. “It’s not exactly that you did wrong. It’s kind of hard to explain . . .”

Before she could do so the manager joined them, introduced himself with a big smile, and insisted on having formal pictures taken with the lucky winner in front of the traitorous machine. The crowd dispersed along with the initial excitement, taking with them a little fresh hope. If the quiet young man could get rich in one night, so could they. Within the casino the action intensified, the levers of one-armed bandits were pulled with a bit more panache.

The manager delayed as long as possible before handing over the thick manila envelope. He was smiling because it was his duty to smile, but he was anything but happy.

“That’s twenty-five thousand in cash and the casino’s check for the balance. I suggest you sign it first chance you get. Congratulations.” Before letting go of the envelope he glanced one final time toward the back of the room. His security chief was standing outside the office, shaking his head sadly. With a sigh the manager let loose of the money.

The starman accepted it gracefully. He displayed none of the feverish excitement so typical of big winners and only succeeded in piquing the manager’s curiosity further.

“Thank you.”

Loath to loose sight of the winner, much less the half million, the manager made a last pitch for the casino’s services. “That’s a lot of money to be carrying around, sir.” He nodded toward the milling crowd of less fortunate gamblers. “There are those who put their trust in stronger weapons than lady luck. They watch and wait for a big winner like yourself and then jump him once he’s back out on the street.” He gestured with one hand and the chief of security hurried to join them.

“Our security people will be glad to escort you safely back to your hotel. Or if you wish, we’ll be glad to keep your winnings here in our safe until you can make arrangements to have the whole sum transferred to your home town bank when it opens later this morning. You might want to avail yourself further of our facility, try your hand at roulette or baccarat. Refreshments for both of you are on the house, of course, for as long as you’d like to stay and play.”

“No thanks,” Jenny said quickly. “We don’t have far to go. We’ll be all right. Thanks anyway.”

“Good-bye.” Politely, the starman shook hands with the manager. “Yeah, Cornhuskers.”

The manager watched them leave. Not only was he unhappy over the payout, he was an Oklahoma fan.

His security chief stood on his right and strained to remember where he’d seen that face before. Because he had, and not long ago. He was sure of it.

But “sure” ain’t reason enough for calling the cops, and there’s no publicity in Vegas worse than mistreating an honest winner.

The night clerk at the car rental agency didn’t blink when they put down cash for the one-week rental. The starman pulled cleanly out of the garage in a new Cadillac Eldorado and guided the big coupe out of town under Jenny’s direction. They had a new car full of gas, money in their pockets, and a good map, and all was right with the world. If it would only stay that way for another few hours, Jenny prayed silently.

It doesn’t take long to get out of Las Vegas. Before long they were on Highway 93 heading southeast. The first sign they encountered was reassuring.

KINGMAN
75
FLAGSTAFF
256
WINSLOW
292

Jenny used the power control to lower her seat but she still couldn’t relax, unable to believe that they’d made a clean getaway. The digital speedometer showed a reading of sixty-eight.

“Slow down.”

“Why? We have gone faster than this before.”

“I know, but that’s when we were trying to get away from people who were chasing us. Keep ’er at sixty and we’ve got it knocked. The last thing we want now is some zealous highway patrolman pulling us over for exceeding the speed limit.”