Last Call (Last Call 1)

The Hanari body followed them to the driveway and then just stood there holding the gun, staring after them as they hurried across the early-morning pavement toward the two white El Caminos parked side by side in the lot.

Still sitting in the deck chair, Mavranos stared after them, then looked around at Crane.

Crane jerked a hand at him. "Come on aboard, Arky," he called softly.

Mavranos paused in the lounge doorway and looked around the big room, from the wide green felt table to the twitching figure of Doctor Leaky in the wheelchair. The old man was asking over and over again whether anyone else smelled roses.

The table was empty. The Lombardy Zeroth cards were scattered all over the red carpet.

Crane exhaled a hoarse moan. "Help me gather 'em up," he said.

Mavranos walked over by the bar and then crouched to gather cards, and Crane got down on his hands and knees by the table and began scooping up the ones that were scattered there.

Doctor Leaky stirred in his wheelchair. "Climb up on my knee, Sonny Boy," he said.

Crane ignored him. Two of Swords, he thought as he picked up that card, and here's the Ten of Cups …

" 'When … there are gray skies …' " sang Doctor Leaky.

Crane had gathered a good handful of cards, and he shoved them carelessly into his pocket to keep them from getting away, and then scrambled to another spot and started picking up more.

Finally he couldn't stand the uncompleted lyric hanging in the cool air. " 'What don't you mind in the least?' " he recited, through clenched teeth.

" 'I don't mind the gray skies …' " Leaky sang.

Crane crumpled more cards into his pocket and hunched his way over to another cluster of them on the carpet. The painted faces stared up at him idiotically as he scuffled them together and balled them up in his fists.

" 'What do I do to them?' " he said, furious that he remembered the old routine. Six of Cups, Ace of Sticks, the Fool …

" 'You make them blue …' "

Christ, Crane thought, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. " 'What's my name?' " he said dutifully, his voice catching.

" 'Sonny Boy.' "

"I've got 'em all over here," said Mavranos, standing up with two fistfuls of cards. He wasn't looking at Crane or the old man.

"Okay," Crane said, getting to his feet. He spoke levelly. "Bring them to the table here. I'll nail down the ones we've got, and then we can search for any others."

He pulled from his jeans pocket the jackknife he'd taken out of the wall of the tunnel under the Flamingo, and after Mavranos had crossed to the table and laid his cards on the green felt, and Crane had dug out of his jacket pocket the cards he had picked up, he opened the blade and pressed the point against the back of the top card. Then, reminded of the night when he had stabbed his own leg, he brought his other fist down hard onto the butt of the knife, spearing the cards.

The boat didn't shift, no rain pattered against the ports, and no voices spoke out over the lake.

The knife stood upright, its point buried in the wood under the green felt.

"There's more here and there," Mavranos said quietly, "in the corners."

"Let's get 'em." Crane crouched by a half dozen cards against the starboard molding—and he could feel Doctor Leaky's eyes on him, his father's eyes.

He looked across the room and saw the old man in the wheelchair staring at him imploringly.

" 'What will friends do to you?' " asked Crane softly.

His father smiled and opened his mouth. " 'Friends may forsake me …' "

"That's it for over here," said Mavranos, walking back toward the table with another handful.

"And with these," said Crane, straightening up, "I think that's the lot. Here, count 'em all, would you, Arky?" A sob was building in his throat, and he waited until he knew he could speak steadily. "I don't think I can."

"Sure."

Mavranos took Crane's cards from him, and Crane looked angrily over at his father. " 'What will you let them do to you?' " he said.

" 'Let them all forsake me …' "

"Seventy-eight," said Mavranos, his own voice sounding a little unsteady.

"That's it," said Crane. From his inside jacket pocket he took the second deck and laid it next to the first. He tugged the knife out of the table and began cutting all the cards up, sawing and hacking at them.

He thought he felt shiftings and resistances under the blade, muscular flexings of protest and outrage as the steel edge violated the cardboard surfaces and forcibly scraped and scored the paint, but after a couple of minutes the cards were a pile of irregular fragments.

He stood back from the table. " 'What will you still have?' " he said absently.

" 'I'll still have you …' " sang his father.

I suppose you will, thought Crane with bitter helplessness—the piece of me that's still a five-year-old boy, at least.