who understood the full meaning of it and was making plans to go to South America for a few months. He would already be there but for an incredible run of good luck at Oaklawn, the nearby horse track. He couldn’t leave now. His angel was telling him to take his winnings and get out now. His devil had convinced him his lucky streak would never end. For the moment, the devil was in control.
Wilfred, his waiter, in a faded black tux, sat a tall Bloody Mary in front of him and said, “Good morning, Mr. Poppy. The usual?”
“Good morning, Wilfred. Yes, please.” He picked up his drink, looked around to see if anyone was watching, then sucked hard on the straw. He smacked his lips, smiled, and waited for the vodka to hurry to his brain and deaden a few cobwebs from the night before. He was drinking too much, but he was also winning. Why tinker with a beautiful combination? He picked up a newspaper, opened to the sports section, and began checking the day’s races. He smiled again. It was amazing how quickly the vodka could travel from the straw to the cobwebs.
Wilfred delivered two scrambled with buttered toast and asked if there was anything else. Mr. Poppy waved him away rudely. As he took a bite of eggs, a young gentleman in a handsome suit suddenly appeared and, without a word, sat down across from him. “I beg your pardon,” Mr. Poppy said.
Nevin said, “Look, Marcus Dean, I work for Lance and he sends his regards. We’ve taken care of Fortier. You’re next. Where’s the money?”
Poppy choked on his eggs and coughed them up. He wiped hisshirt with a linen napkin and tried not to panic. He gulped some ice water and cleared his throat. “The paper said you’re in jail.”
“You believe everything you read in the papers?”
“But—”
“Got out on bond. No trial date yet. Where’s the money, Marcus Dean? Ten grand, cash.”
“Well, I, uh, you see, it’s not that easy.”
Nevin looked around the room and said, “You’re living pretty high these days. Nice place here, easy to see why Al Capone was a frequent guest, back in the day. Rooms are not cheap. Ponies are running every day. You got twenty-four hours, Marcus Dean.”
Wilfred walked over with a concerned look and asked, “Everything okay, Mr. Poppy?”
He managed a hesitant nod. Nevin pointed to his drink and said, “I’ll have one of those.”
Marcus Dean watched Wilfred walk away and asked, “How’d you find me?”
“That’s not important, Poppy. Nothing is important but the ten grand. We’ll meet here for breakfast tomorrow morning, same time, and you’ll give me the money. And don’t do something stupid like try and run. I’m not alone and we’re watching.”
Marcus Dean picked up his fork, then dropped it. His hands were shaking and beads of sweat lined his forehead. On the other side of the table, young Nevin Noll was perfectly calm, even smiling. The second Bloody Mary arrived and Nevin hit the straw. He looked at the plate and asked, “You gonna eat all that toast?”
“No.”
He reached over, lifted half a slice of bread, and ate most of it.
Marcus Dean finished his drink and seemed to breathe easier. In a low voice he said, “Let’s be clear here. When I give you the cash, what happens then?”
“I leave, deliver it to Mr. Malco, the rightful owner.”
“And me?”
“You’re not worth killing, Poppy. Why bother? Unless ofcourse you decide to return to the Coast. That would be a huge mistake.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going back.”
Nevin hit the straw again and continued smiling. Marcus Dean took a deep breath and said, almost in a whisper, “You know, there’s an easier way to do this.”
“Let’s hear it.”
Poppy looked around again as if spies were watching. At the nearest table a couple in their nineties stirred their oatmeal and tried to ignore one another. He said, “Okay, the money is upstairs in my room. Sit tight and I’ll get it.”
“I like it. Sooner rather than
Wilfred, his waiter, in a faded black tux, sat a tall Bloody Mary in front of him and said, “Good morning, Mr. Poppy. The usual?”
“Good morning, Wilfred. Yes, please.” He picked up his drink, looked around to see if anyone was watching, then sucked hard on the straw. He smacked his lips, smiled, and waited for the vodka to hurry to his brain and deaden a few cobwebs from the night before. He was drinking too much, but he was also winning. Why tinker with a beautiful combination? He picked up a newspaper, opened to the sports section, and began checking the day’s races. He smiled again. It was amazing how quickly the vodka could travel from the straw to the cobwebs.
Wilfred delivered two scrambled with buttered toast and asked if there was anything else. Mr. Poppy waved him away rudely. As he took a bite of eggs, a young gentleman in a handsome suit suddenly appeared and, without a word, sat down across from him. “I beg your pardon,” Mr. Poppy said.
Nevin said, “Look, Marcus Dean, I work for Lance and he sends his regards. We’ve taken care of Fortier. You’re next. Where’s the money?”
Poppy choked on his eggs and coughed them up. He wiped hisshirt with a linen napkin and tried not to panic. He gulped some ice water and cleared his throat. “The paper said you’re in jail.”
“You believe everything you read in the papers?”
“But—”
“Got out on bond. No trial date yet. Where’s the money, Marcus Dean? Ten grand, cash.”
“Well, I, uh, you see, it’s not that easy.”
Nevin looked around the room and said, “You’re living pretty high these days. Nice place here, easy to see why Al Capone was a frequent guest, back in the day. Rooms are not cheap. Ponies are running every day. You got twenty-four hours, Marcus Dean.”
Wilfred walked over with a concerned look and asked, “Everything okay, Mr. Poppy?”
He managed a hesitant nod. Nevin pointed to his drink and said, “I’ll have one of those.”
Marcus Dean watched Wilfred walk away and asked, “How’d you find me?”
“That’s not important, Poppy. Nothing is important but the ten grand. We’ll meet here for breakfast tomorrow morning, same time, and you’ll give me the money. And don’t do something stupid like try and run. I’m not alone and we’re watching.”
Marcus Dean picked up his fork, then dropped it. His hands were shaking and beads of sweat lined his forehead. On the other side of the table, young Nevin Noll was perfectly calm, even smiling. The second Bloody Mary arrived and Nevin hit the straw. He looked at the plate and asked, “You gonna eat all that toast?”
“No.”
He reached over, lifted half a slice of bread, and ate most of it.
Marcus Dean finished his drink and seemed to breathe easier. In a low voice he said, “Let’s be clear here. When I give you the cash, what happens then?”
“I leave, deliver it to Mr. Malco, the rightful owner.”
“And me?”
“You’re not worth killing, Poppy. Why bother? Unless ofcourse you decide to return to the Coast. That would be a huge mistake.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going back.”
Nevin hit the straw again and continued smiling. Marcus Dean took a deep breath and said, almost in a whisper, “You know, there’s an easier way to do this.”
“Let’s hear it.”
Poppy looked around again as if spies were watching. At the nearest table a couple in their nineties stirred their oatmeal and tried to ignore one another. He said, “Okay, the money is upstairs in my room. Sit tight and I’ll get it.”
“I like it. Sooner rather than
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