with faded green felt and wells to hold each player’s chips.
When Mahannah ushered Cape in there, the man sitting on one of the couches came to his feet as if he were spring-loaded. Andrew Vanowen. Cream-colored cashmere sweater, pearl gray slacks, Gucci loafers—the image of casual elegance. Mahannah’s clothes were equally expensive: tailored chinos, a hand-knit shirt. Cape’s off-the-rack slacks and pullover seemed tawdry by comparison. Once he would have been a little intimidated in the presence of men like these, surroundings like these. No more.
He acknowledged Vanowen, received a curt nod in return. The drink in Vanowen’s hand might have been laced with lemon juice, as tightly puckered as his mouth looked.
Mahannah said to Cape, “Help yourself at the bar.”
“No, thanks. I don’t drink before I play cards. Or during.”
“Is that right? Neither do I.”
“I can hold my liquor,” Vanowen said argumentatively.
“Sure you can, Andy,” Mahannah agreed. “Nothing against you.”
Vanowen’s narrowed eyes were fixed on Cape. From the flush on his cheeks, he was holding plenty of liquor already. “Enough small talk,” he said. “Tell us about the woman, Cape. This Tanya.”
“I put the gist of it in my message last night.”
“I want to hear you tell it. In detail.”
Mahannah said, “Go ahead, humor us.”
Cape related the incident, all of it from start to finish. The name Rollo meant nothing to either of them, or so they claimed. “Sounds like a phony name to me,” Vanowen said. He was still argumentative; Cape’s answers to his questions, more or less the same ones Lacy had asked, didn’t seem to satisfy him. He kept digging, kept repeating the same damn questions.
“Now, look,” Cape said when he’d had enough. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t have any more idea of what’s going on than either of you.”
“Don’t you?” Vanowen said.
“I just said I didn’t.”
“Bullshit, Cape. You think we’re stupid?”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning enough game playing.” He waved his glass, yanked at his lower lip, shifted his feet, flapped his arms; it was like watching a marionette being manipulated by invisible strings. “Why don’t you just go ahead and make your pitch, get it over with.”
“What
pitch?”
Mahannah said in neutral tones, “Andy thinks you’re not the good Samaritan you pretend to be. He thinks you have an agenda.”
“I think you’re looking to shake us down,” Vanowen said, “that’s what I think.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
“Look at it from our point of view,” Mahannah said reasonably. “You show up in Tahoe with a batch of photographs that no stranger should have in his possession. You tell us an unlikely story about a pair of grifters that can’t be corroborated, people we’ve never seen or heard from even though you say they’re now in our backyard. Then you tell us another story that also can’t be corroborated about the woman showing up in your hotel room and taking a potshot at you. Wouldn’t
you
be suspicious if you were us?”
Cape said, thin and tight, “Come over to the Grand with me, and I’ll show you the bullet hole in the carpet.”
Pig snort from Vanowen. “That doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. You could’ve put it there yourself.”
“For what reason? How is that supposed to help me shake you down?”
“You tell us.”
“I’m not going to tell you anything else because there isn’t anything else. I don’t give a damn what you think or what the Judsons’ game is or if one of them walks up someday and shoves you in front of a bus. I’ve had it. I’m out of here.”
He spun on his heel and went.
Mahannah caught up with him as he was pulling the front door open, gripped his arm. Cape fought loose and started out.
“Hold on, will you?”
“Why should I? I’m all through talking to you people.”
“Even if I say I don’t share Andy’s opinions?”
“I don’t care if
When Mahannah ushered Cape in there, the man sitting on one of the couches came to his feet as if he were spring-loaded. Andrew Vanowen. Cream-colored cashmere sweater, pearl gray slacks, Gucci loafers—the image of casual elegance. Mahannah’s clothes were equally expensive: tailored chinos, a hand-knit shirt. Cape’s off-the-rack slacks and pullover seemed tawdry by comparison. Once he would have been a little intimidated in the presence of men like these, surroundings like these. No more.
He acknowledged Vanowen, received a curt nod in return. The drink in Vanowen’s hand might have been laced with lemon juice, as tightly puckered as his mouth looked.
Mahannah said to Cape, “Help yourself at the bar.”
“No, thanks. I don’t drink before I play cards. Or during.”
“Is that right? Neither do I.”
“I can hold my liquor,” Vanowen said argumentatively.
“Sure you can, Andy,” Mahannah agreed. “Nothing against you.”
Vanowen’s narrowed eyes were fixed on Cape. From the flush on his cheeks, he was holding plenty of liquor already. “Enough small talk,” he said. “Tell us about the woman, Cape. This Tanya.”
“I put the gist of it in my message last night.”
“I want to hear you tell it. In detail.”
Mahannah said, “Go ahead, humor us.”
Cape related the incident, all of it from start to finish. The name Rollo meant nothing to either of them, or so they claimed. “Sounds like a phony name to me,” Vanowen said. He was still argumentative; Cape’s answers to his questions, more or less the same ones Lacy had asked, didn’t seem to satisfy him. He kept digging, kept repeating the same damn questions.
“Now, look,” Cape said when he’d had enough. “How many times do I have to say it? I don’t have any more idea of what’s going on than either of you.”
“Don’t you?” Vanowen said.
“I just said I didn’t.”
“Bullshit, Cape. You think we’re stupid?”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning enough game playing.” He waved his glass, yanked at his lower lip, shifted his feet, flapped his arms; it was like watching a marionette being manipulated by invisible strings. “Why don’t you just go ahead and make your pitch, get it over with.”
“What
pitch?”
Mahannah said in neutral tones, “Andy thinks you’re not the good Samaritan you pretend to be. He thinks you have an agenda.”
“I think you’re looking to shake us down,” Vanowen said, “that’s what I think.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”
“Look at it from our point of view,” Mahannah said reasonably. “You show up in Tahoe with a batch of photographs that no stranger should have in his possession. You tell us an unlikely story about a pair of grifters that can’t be corroborated, people we’ve never seen or heard from even though you say they’re now in our backyard. Then you tell us another story that also can’t be corroborated about the woman showing up in your hotel room and taking a potshot at you. Wouldn’t
you
be suspicious if you were us?”
Cape said, thin and tight, “Come over to the Grand with me, and I’ll show you the bullet hole in the carpet.”
Pig snort from Vanowen. “That doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. You could’ve put it there yourself.”
“For what reason? How is that supposed to help me shake you down?”
“You tell us.”
“I’m not going to tell you anything else because there isn’t anything else. I don’t give a damn what you think or what the Judsons’ game is or if one of them walks up someday and shoves you in front of a bus. I’ve had it. I’m out of here.”
He spun on his heel and went.
Mahannah caught up with him as he was pulling the front door open, gripped his arm. Cape fought loose and started out.
“Hold on, will you?”
“Why should I? I’m all through talking to you people.”
“Even if I say I don’t share Andy’s opinions?”
“I don’t care if
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