Step to the Graveyard Easy (4 page)

The fight stayed with him that night, into the next day. The depth of his anger, the capacity for violence—he didn’t like that hidden side of himself. He would have to be careful to keep it
caged. Still, there was cold comfort in knowing that if he needed it, had to depend on it in a tight spot, it was a coiled and powerful part of him.

San Francisco.

And in San Francisco, he met Tanya and Boone Judson.

He bumped into her in the ornate lobby of the Sir Francis Drake. Literally. He came wandering in there; the marbled and muraled expanse was crowded with people wearing badges, somebody yacking and not paying attention stepped into his path, he veered to avoid collision and had one anyway. They caromed off each other, not hard. She smiled ruefully; he did a small double take.

In that first quick glance he thought she was Anna.

Same long, lean body type. Blond hair cut short and side-swept across the forehead. Hollowed cheekbones, wide mouth, green eyes. He blinked—and she wasn’t Anna anymore. Younger, her skin browner, the eyes more hazel than green, neck longer, ears set more closely against her skull. The resemblance, once he’d gotten a good look, was no more than superficial.

She looked at him looking at her, head cocked quizzically to one side. “You think you know me?” she asked.

Cape said, “No. Sorry,” and stepped around and away from her. He made his way through the crowd into the lobby bar. Small and packed solid. He came back out again. A billboard wall sign caught his eye: STARLITE ROOF, and the words “Dining, Dancing, Cocktails.” He’d come into the hotel looking for a drink; he didn’t want
to go out and look someplace else. He rode one of the elevators up to the Starlite Roof.

Big rambling room in the same Renaissance style as the lobby, ringed with tall windows that provided sweeping views of the city and the Bay. Not nearly as many people here: early yet, a little after four. Cape found an empty table, ordered Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. He’d spent most of the day walking around North Beach, Chinatown, the downtown area. Tired now, and his back ached. He needed some downtime as much as he needed the drink.

He’d been there about five minutes when the blond woman walked in. Alone. She stood glancing around the room; her gaze touched him, lingered briefly, moved on. There was one window table left, and she claimed it. Male eyes followed her across the room, Cape’s among them. She had that kind of figure, that kind of bearing.

Cape sipped his drink, admiring the cityscape. When his attention shifted, he caught the blond peering his way. It happened again, twice. The third time he quit watching the view, watched her instead. She brushed off two men who came to her table. Her drink was something dark with fruit in it; she worked on that for a while. Then her head came up, and she was looking at him again.

He got up and carried his drink over there. Nothing in her expression welcomed him. Cool, aloof. He said, “You think you know
me
?”

It wasn’t what she expected. The edges of her mouth twitched upward. “I guess I was staring, at that.”

“Payback for downstairs? Or some other reason?”

“Not the kind you’re thinking.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“You’re a man, aren’t you?”

“Not all men are the same.”

“They are in my experience. I’m not looking for company.”

“Then why the long-distance appraisal?”

“I suppose because of the way you looked at me in the lobby. It made me curious.
Do
I remind you of somebody?”

“Superficially. My soon-to-be-ex wife.”

“Oh. I see.”

“I don’t think you do,” Cape said.

“Not carrying a torch? Well.”

“Is it all right if I sit down?”

“I told you, I’m not looking for company. As a matter of fact, I’m waiting for someone.”

“Husband, boyfriend?”

“It might not be a man, you know.”

“With you, I’ll bet it usually is.”

Two-thirds of a smile this time. “I thought I’d heard all the lines. That one’s not bad.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I really am waiting for someone.”

“If it’s your husband, I’ll go away quietly.”

“I’m not married,” she said.

“Fiancé? Lover?”

“My brother.”

Cape waited, one eyebrow raised interrogatively.

“Well, all right,” she said. “Just until Boone gets here.”

He sat down. The afternoon sunlight slanting in through the windows showed tawny flecks in her hazel eyes. Cat’s eyes, frank and direct.

“My name’s Matt. Short for Matthew.”

“Matthew what?”

“Cape.”

She said immediately, deadpan, “Hatteras or Kennedy?”

It wasn’t funny, but he laughed anyway.

“Tanya Judson.”

“Interesting name. Tanya.”

“My mother’s family were White Russians.” She sipped her drink. “You don’t look like you belong here, Matt.”

“No? How do I take that?”

“I mean,” she said, “you’re not wearing a badge. I take it you’re not part of the convention.”

“What convention is that?”

“Million Dollar Round Table. Insurance agents who’ve written a million dollars or more worth of business.”

“Not hardly. Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes and no. I’m not a Round Table agent, but Boone is. My brother.”

“And you’re his date for this convention?”

“His wife couldn’t get time off from her job. I happen to like San Francisco. So yes, you could say I’m his date.”

“No trouble getting time off from your job?”

“I’m a computer graphics designer. Freelance.”

“Not married, you said.”

“I was, once. First, last, and only time.”

“That bad?”

“That bad. And don’t ask me if I’m involved with anyone or how I feel about short-term relationships. The answers don’t concern you.”

“Then why let me sit down?”

“I’m easily bored. And you seem like you might be interesting to talk to for a while.”

“Uh-huh. As long as the conversation doesn’t get too personal.”

“Intelligent, too. Another point in your favor.”

Cape nibbled sour mash. “Where do you and your brother live?”

“San Diego. Where do you live?”

“At the moment, a motel on Lombard Street.”

“I meant—”

“I’m from the Midwest,” he said, “but I don’t live there anymore. I don’t live anywhere anymore. Here a while, there a while.”

“Ah. Drifter.”

“Road warrior. Sounds better.”

“How long have you been living that kind of life?”

“Not long enough.”

“You must have money. Or do you just move from job to job?” He shrugged.

“Or maybe you rob banks in your spare time?”

“Too dangerous.”

“I know—you’re a professional gambler. You’ve got that steely-eyed look.”

“Wrong. But I wouldn’t mind being one.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Gambling’s an interest of mine.”

“Really? You do much of it?”

“Now and then,” Cape said.

“Good enough at it to make a living?”

“Don’t I wish. I lose as often as I win.”

“Blackjack, roulette?”

“Poker, mainly. That’s my game.”

Tanya smiled and then laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“Well, it so happens—Oh, here’s Boone. I’ll let him tell you.”

The man who came up to the table was about Cape’s age. Round-faced, on the pudgy side, losing his dust-colored hair on both sides of a long centerpiece like a skinny peninsula in a pink sea. Conservatively dressed: blue suit with a convention badge pinned to the coat pocket, white shirt, blue-and-white silk tie. He didn’t look much like Tanya. Except for the smile he wore: sunny, showing a lot of white teeth.

“Sorry I’m late, kiddo,” he said to Tanya. He ran liquidy, bright blue eyes over Cape as if he were examining a plate of unfamiliar food. “Who’s your friend?”

She introduced them. “Matt’s not with the convention,” she said.

“Figured that,” Boone said cheerfully. “No badge. You’re lucky, Matt, you don’t got to wear no stinking badge.”

“That’s right. I’m lucky.”

“Local? Or visitor like us?”

“He’s a road warrior,” Tanya said.

“A which?”

“His home is the open road.”

“Oh, a free spirit. Now I really think you’re a lucky guy, Matt. Wish I could live that kind of life instead of being tied down to a nine-to-five.”

“You seem to be doing pretty well at your nine-to-five.”

“Can’t complain, can’t complain.”

Tanya said, “Matt was just telling me he likes to gamble.”

“Is that right?”

“Guess what his game is?”

“Not poker?”

“Poker,” she said, and Boone laughed with her this time.

Cape said, “How about letting me in on the joke?”

“Not a joke, just a funny coincidence.” She laid cool fingertips on the back of Cape’s hand. “My dear brother happens to be a poker nut himself. He also happens to be getting up a game tonight. You haven’t filled all the seats yet, have you, Boone?”

“One left,” Boone said. “Interested, Matt?”

“Depends. Where and when?”

“My suite at the Conover Arms. That’s a couple of blocks away, on Geary—we couldn’t get in here at the Drake. Nine o’clock.”

“What kind of poker?”

“Stud and draw. Keep it simple, that’s my motto.”

“Wild cards?”

Boone looked offended. “No way. I hate wild-card games.”

“So do I. Stakes?”

“Table stakes. Five-dollar ante, twenty-dollar limit, no limit on raises.”

“How many players?”

“A full seven, if you’ll join us.”

Cape asked Tanya, “Will you be playing?”

“Me? God, no. Boone’s the only gambler in our family.”

“That’s too bad.”

“I’m sure you think so.” Her smile held mock sympathy.

“The others are all conventioneers like me,” Boone said. “Dilettantes bit by the gambling bug, you might say.” He paused, measuring Cape again with his liquidy gaze. “Strictly a friendly game.”

“No sharks allowed.”

“No, sir, no sharks allowed.”

“Suits me. I like swimming in safe waters myself.”

Boone beamed at him. “Count you in for the last seat, then?”

“Count me in.”

Boone Judson’s two-room suite at the Conover Arms was on the small side—just enough space in the sitting room for an oblong table and eight chairs provided by the hotel staff. The lighting was weak, two lamps and a ceiling globe. On the table: wheel carrier of red, white, and blue chips and four sealed decks of blue-backed Bicycle cards. On a sideboard: plenty of liquor, ice, snack food.

“Only thing we haven’t got,” Boone said through his sunny smile, “is naked babes. You gents’ll have to make those arrangements for yourselves.”

Everybody laughed, Cape included. Five of them there now, just before nine o’clock, clustered around the sideboard waiting for the last two players to show up. Drinks in hand, chattering, eager to get started. The conventioneers drank Scotch or bourbon; Cape drank plain soda over ice. They accepted him anyway. He knew how to blend in with salesmen; he’d been one himself for too many years, gone to his share of conventions. Memorize names and hometowns, use them often. Joke, glad-hand, pretend interest in dull banter. Drop names like Emerson Manufacturing into the conversation.

The last two insurance agents trooped in twenty minutes later, half in the bag and spouting excuses. Everybody got acquainted, freshened drinks. Then they took seats at random around the table.

“Virgin decks, boys,” Boone said. “Matt, you do the honors. Pick one and pop its cherry.”

Cape slit the cellophane, broke the seal, shook the cards free, and removed the jokers. He gave the deck seven or eight hard shuffles to take out some of the stiff newness. Dealt one card to everybody, face up. Scott from Cleveland caught a deuce and grumbled about it; banking would interfere with his concentration, he said, as if the liquor he was knocking back wouldn’t. He was one of the latecomers.

Buy-in was five hundred. Cape took the minimum. Most of the others took a thousand, and Joe from St. Louis laid out fifteen crisp hundred-dollar bills. Fat wallets, all the way around the table.