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of Swiss Re fell prey to a merger, and Judy, riding the bubble, got
her real estate license. Then Cameron came along, numero uno,
and the casino dangled this promotion in front of him the
Don t Look Twice 113
health plan, another twenty grand. Now, years later, he was still
wearing the boxy navy jacket and black tie and going home
wondering what had ever happened to his degree from Wesleyan
and with the sour taste of a futureless career in his mouth.
He knew he was falling behind. His college friends were
doing deals on Wall Street or had become partners in law
practices and he was living upstate in Madison, in a house
Judy had found when the market was soaring, and utilizing
math skills he had mastered in the seventh grade.
Now she hadn t sold a house in months. He still read the
journals. Still devoured the chess column in the Times. He put
aside dreams of going back to grad school or working in re-
search for one of the medical companies nearby. Now they had
three kids. Every night, he just stood there watching the tables,
rolling around in his mind some foolproof way he could out-
smart the house.
He started the car, removing a plastic soda cup belonging
to one of the kids out of the divider.
He never noticed the headlights that pulled out after him.
Keith veered out of the casino onto the highway as he did
every morning, straddling the point where opportunity col-
lided with desperation, his mind a blurring roulette wheel of
red and black. There were ways. Ways when no one was look-
ing. When the cameras were off. So much money, it would never
be noticed. The sky was just beginning to streak with light.
Cam had a peewee hockey game tonight and Ashleigh trum-
pet. He would catch them, help them with their homework,
maybe catch the third period of the Bruins game on cable.
Then it was a quick meal while Judy put them both to bed.
Head back to work all over again.
He was running through his mind how at barely forty-one,
you could feel this old.
114 Andrew Gross
It was all about probability. The probability of ever busting
free from your life. Balanced against the risk. The risk of being
caught.
Everything was always on the pass line. Until you rolled the
dice.
As Keith merged onto 395 South, he felt a little drowsy.
There was a Dunkin Donuts franchise at the intersection. He
stopped there every now and then for a wake-up coffee. He
steered the Voyager onto the ramp and pulled in.
The Escalade pulled in behind.
He took the key out of the ignition and just sat there. His
heavy head came to rest on the wheel. He was tired tired of
falling behind, tired of not doing something. But he knew he
never would. Right, Keith? These were dreams, dreams he
would never act on. Dreams he would roll around in his head
every shift, watching the tables. While he waited for the hous-
ing market to click back in.
He went to open the door, but someone was standing there,
blocking him.
He felt a constriction in his chest that something wasn t
right.
But by then the passenger door had opened and a dark-
skinned man in a hooded sweatshirt climbed onto the seat next
to him.  Yo, Keith . . .
The man removed a strange-looking weapon from under his
top and sent fifty thousand volts streaming into Keith s chest,
immobilizing him, all his dreams suddenly blurring like a spin-
ning roulette wheel. Red-black-red-black.
Red.
Black.
Then just black.
PART TWO
CHAPTER THI RTY- ONE
This was Hector Morales s kind of party.
All it had taken was the right kind of wink to the fox at the
bar, a wink that held the promise of free-flowing lines of blow,
a bottle of Patrón to go along with it, and the lure of whatever
came to mind afterward.
Now they were back in his room, clothes littered on the
floor, her thick blanket of black hair bobbing up and down be-
tween his thighs, her tongue in an adroit rhythm only a sea-
soned pro could devise.
Hector leaned back with his hands behind his head.  You
sure know how to do that, mama.
She rose and crawled on top of him. Her breasts were every-
thing he d imagined when he d pressed up to her at the bar, and
her smooth ass slid easily over his muscular body, straddling
him.  You just wait.
He had been back in the DR for over a week. He knew he
had to keep a low profile, maybe for a month or two. Maybe all
winter. But if this was any indication of what a connection to
the right people and throwing around a little cash could bring,
it wouldn t be torture. He was a big man back here, the prodigal
118 Andrew Gross
son returned home stuffed with dollars, having carved out his
mark in the States.
 Come on up here, mama.
He would show her how it was done. He pulled her up by
the shoulders, hands rubbing hard and possessively across her
small yet perfect breasts. See what s available for just a couple
of lines? They would do anything. Anything for the power it
held.
He had seen it in his own mother. In all his life, he had
known nothing else.
 What does this mean? the woman asked, running her
tongue along the strong, hard lines of his chest and the colorful
tattoos that ran onto his neck.
 This, this is for bravery, he said, pointing to the Komodo
dragon. She kissed it.  This one s for secrecy, he said, pointing [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]