Even When You Win... Page 17

  “I just need to get moving.”

  Chapter 39

  I was on the road by noon, driving the SUV I’d rented in Elliotsville. I hadn’t driven more than a mile when I heard Andrea’s voice as clear as if she were in the back seat, “How you doin’, Jim?” I looked around for the source of her voice, but I couldn’t see anything. “Where are you?”

  “About four cars back, but we have a beacon on that vehicle that tells us where you are, and if you play the radio, we can hear it and your voice. We’ve got you covered, big guy.”

  She continued, and it felt weird to hear her voice and the voice of a radio announcer at the same time. “I just talked with Rita; they haven’t heard a thing today. Ed had nothing on his trail cams. Rita spoke with Cindy and told her you were coming to visit. She agreed to have Gene there.”

  “Where will you be while I’m meeting with them?”

  “Nowhere you, or anyone else, can see us or connect us to your meeting.”

  I pulled up to the Hastings’ home and sat listening to the neighborhood sounds, checking my center, making sure I was ready for what might be a vital moment in my quest for Jan.

  Cindy came to the door and tried to smile, her smile was a bit off center as she let me in. I greeted her warmly, keenly aware that she was uncomfortable.

  “Hi, Cindy.”

  “Hello,” she said as she turned and started towards her kitchen. “Gene’s not here yet, but he said he’d come home to see you.”

  “Where are the kids?”

  “Donna’s at the neighbors. Junior is asleep upstairs.”

  “I appreciate you seeing me on short notice.”

  “Mom explained why you were coming; why you were here before... Mr. Stanton, I feel absolutely awful about Jan... I really like her...” She struggled for control, and one tear escaped and trickled down her cheek, she wiped at it with her fist, and then she turned to hug me. I could feel her crying. I said nothing, just stood there holding her gently.

  After a few minutes she pushed herself away, turned to the kitchen counter and pulled a tissue. She honked into it a couple of times, pulled another and wiped her eyes. When she turned back to me I could see pain and embarrassment in her face.

  I turned to a chair and sat, giving her space and time to compose herself. As I waited, I heard a car pull into the driveway. I heard a step at the back door and found Gene letting himself in. He saw Cindy’s face and hurried to her, “What’s wrong?”

  He turned to me, “What’s going on?”

  Cindy stepped between us, and put her hands on his chest. “Mr. Stanton is here to discuss with us the disappearance of his wife, Jan.”

  The aggression I’d seen on his face melted away into concern. “There’s news?”

  Cindy pulled him to a chair across the table from me, and sat herself at his side, both were facing me.

  I started, “I’m sorry to come crashing into your world today, and I really appreciate it, Gene, that you could break away and give me this time.

  “The weekend we met you, Jan and I were interviewing all of you kids in an effort to help your folks understand a threat they received just after Mother’s Day involving their winning the sweepstakes award.

  “The threat involves the entire family. As you know, Ed has to name someone, like an heir, to receive his weekly cash payments after his death. The threat is that if he doesn’t name the right heir, they... the threat people... will kill that child, and then another and so on, until he gets it right.”

  I let that sink in, and watched as comprehension was replaced by pity which then transformed into fear as the full impact of such a threat hit them.

  Gene recovered first. “What’s the deadline for him to name the heir?”

  “For the sweepstakes company, it’s July first; for the threat, it was last Thursday.”

  “And when that didn’t happen, they kidnapped Jan?”

  I shook my head. “They kidnapped Jan to make a point with your folks. They somehow found out that the FBI was involved in the case, something they’d warned your folks against, and they also must have figured that the FBI had been my idea, so they took Jan to send us the message that any further involvement by the Feds would result in action against one of the grandchildren...”

  “Oh, no!” Cindy blurted. “Who’s doing this?”

  But Gene was all business. “You’re here today, so you want our help someway, right?”

  I nodded. Cindy leaned over to me, “We’ll do whatever we can, and you can count on it.”

  “Let’s not get too far down the road here,” Gene said, his lawyer instincts kicking in. “We better hear what Jim needs before we commit to something...”

  “I agree. Before we get to what I want, I think I’d better bring you up to speed on what I know and then what I think we can do with that knowledge.”

  “Go ahead,” Gene said. He was sitting leaned into me, his hands clasped in front of him on the table. I read nothing furtive or fearful in his body language. Cindy, for her part, was still battling tears, but she was also attentive.

  I filled them in on what the FBI behaviorists had concluded, and what I’d heard from Alvin Cartwright in San Diego. At the mention of Elvis Dumont’s name, Gene stiffened, but if it was fear or anger, I couldn’t tell, nothing had reached his eyes in any event.

  “Listen,” I said looking as deeply as I could into his eyes. “During our interview sessions, the Feds were combing the backgrounds and lifestyles of each of you kids. I get braced in San Diego by a wannabe hood with ties to illegal gambling just before I learn that Peter has a gambling hobby, but...” and I put lots of emphasis on this, “...he’s not one of those plungers who stoop to betting baseball if you know what I mean.”

  It was if I had slapped Gene’s face. He went white and leaned away from me. Cindy turned to him, “Plunger?”

  He was shaking his head, “Guys who can’t help themselves but bet.” He focused on me, “I don’t know where you get off with that kind of shit, Stanton. I bet all kinds of stuff, including baseball, when I see odds I like... I don’t ever gamble more than I can afford to lose out of my play money. I never, ask Cindy, I never dip into important money for my gambling. Never.

  “I like the action, no doubt, but I’m no plunger. Here,” and with that he pulled open a drawer on his side of the table, and retrieved a spiral notebook. He opened it up, thumbed through a few pages, and then turned it around so I could see. “This is a record of every bet I’ve made, including a deuce I put on the Cards last night – which paid off at two seventy five.

  “The numbers down the right side are the year’s running total. If that number goes negative, I’m concerned; if it goes beyond four digits negative, I quit. That’s never happened in the years we’ve been married.”

  He turned to Cindy, “Ask her. She keeps the house, retirement, education accounts and I never make a bet that isn’t open for her to know about. I play; I’m not an addict or a plunger.”

  I let that sink in, and then, “So who else but you in the extended Sweet family would constitute a ‘financial interest’ to Elvis Dumont?”

  He opened his hands on the table, “I’ve got no idea.”

  I nodded back to him, “And I’m not surprised. I had no idea if you were gambling sanely and open or what, but I always thought that you’d have no idea of Dumont’s interest.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” he scoffed at me. “So where’s this leading?”

  “I always thought you might be willing to visit Mr. Dumont with me and let me put that question to him.”

  I could see that idea confused him a bit, and he decided to buy some time. “I’m in need of caffeine; can I get anyone some tea or make some coffee?”

  “Jim?” Cindy broke in, “I’ll get it, hon.”

  “Whatever you guys are drinking is fine with me, but caffeine always sounds good to me.”

  Cindy got up, “I’m going to have coffee; it only takes a minute, this time of day we brew it one
cup at a time.”

  “I’d love coffee, just a little cream.”

  “Tea for me, Cin,” Gene said over his shoulder. Then, looking back at me, he lowered his voice, “Dumont may be a problem, Jim.”

  “How’s that?”

  “It’s not like he’s running a casino on the river or something. He’s a street hood with a reputation for being very tough and very fair. I never deal with him. I want to make a bet, I make a call; if I win or if I lose, a guy named Marcus Miller shows up at my office. If I’m payin’ I have a check made out to cash in an envelope waiting at my receptionist’s desk; if he’s payin’ he leaves an envelope with cash at that desk. I haven’t exchanged more than fifty words with Miller in the five years I’ve been playin’.”

  “Who do you talk with when you call?”

  “Always Dumont; I asked him once how he put this all together. I was thinking about getting started systematically, and so I called him. I’d heard he was as legit as this game can be. His odds are in line with USA Today’s Vegas odds – I’m guessing they come from the same sharps, you know?”

  I nodded to keep him going.

  “Anyway, I asked enough questions that he finally suggested I come to East St. Louis and meet with him. But first, I had to make a bet. I took Notre Dame and the points against USC. The Irish covered the points. He called me, set a date and place – a cafe in National City on the Illinois side.

  “I went over, we chatted, and he laid it out plain and simple: He pays and collects regardless. He tells it straight when people ask about the odds, and he shares the information about why the odds are what they are if he has it, but he never embellishes or misleads. As he explained it, the big shiny buildings in Vegas and Atlantic City were built by the odds makers. He didn’t feel a need to needle them to improve his position, and he didn’t have a good enough memory to lie.

  “He likes to think he’s an honest businessman in an illegal business.”

  “You think he’d take a meeting with you today?”

  Cindy came back with our drinks. She had obviously been listening. “I think you’d better at least ask, don’t you, Gene?”

  For an answer, he picked up his phone and found the number on his speed dial.

  “Elvis? Hastings here. I’ve gotta guy I’d like you to meet. No, I don’t think he’s going to be a customer, but you never know. I have a problem, and he’s trying to help me with it. We’re pretty sure you might be able to help us if you’re willing.” He sat there, listening, nodding a bit at times.

  “I’m pretty sure he’s not a Fed and I know he’s not a local. This problem I have involves my kids, and your name came up...” He listened again.

  “I’m sure you don’t,” he resumed, “but my thinking is that you might know something you don’t know you know... you know?” That brought a smile to his eyes.

  “Same place as last time?

  “Sure, but when?”

  “We’ll be there in...” He looked at his watch, “We’ll be there just after four. And, thank you.”

  He picked up his tea, “I’ll drive.”

  I said quickly, “Let’s take my vehicle; I’ll feel a lot safer.”

  “But I’ll still drive,” he said with a smile. “We’ll get there quicker and safer.”

  Chapter 40

  Elvis Dumont sat at a table in the corner of the restaurant as if he owned it. A large, round table that would easily seat eight had only three chairs on the cafe side; the corner side was all plate glass with a built-in padded bench and backrest where the bookmaker was seated.

  On the table in front of him were a three-ring binder and his cell phone. There were no placemats on the table, and it looked as if food had never been served there.

  As we walked up, he pushed the table out and stood. I don’t get to feel tiny very often, but Dumont was an exception.

  Standing six-feet, ten-inches tall, he probably weighed in at around two hundred seventy pounds. Dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a grey St. Louis University tee-shirt, it didn’t appear he had more than a small percentage of body fat on him. His head was shaved and there was a goatee on his chin. He had no visible tattoos, but he wore a huge gold necklace, a watch the size of a small dinner plate, and two diamond rings, one on each hand.

  When he looked up at us he smiled, and the smile did go all the way to his eyes, and I thought it might be the way a fox would smile at a chicken that had wandered into his den.

  When Gene shook the proffered hand, his own hand disappeared. I shook with him, and found his grip solid, but relaxed. “Nice to meetcha,” he said in a bass voice. “Have a seat. You boys want anything? They won’t come to find out if we don’t ask.”

  “I’m good right now.”

  Gene nodded, “Me too.”

  “So, how is it you think I might help you, Mr. Stanton?”

  “First, let me tell you that I’m working with the FBI in their quest to find my wife and to protect the Sweet family’s grandchildren from a threat. This is the full extent of my participation with the Feds. They, of course, have a real interest in your known activities, but as yet, you don’t seem to be starring on their radar. I’m assured that with your cooperation today, that status won’t change because of anything you say.”

  “You wearing a wire?”

  “I am.”

  His eyes went wide at that, and he immediately looked at Gene with a cocked eyebrow. I kept talking, “Gene was not aware of this fact until you asked. I wasn’t going to make a big deal about it, but I don’t believe we can work together on this if I’m going to start out by lying to you.”

  He nodded, “Ballsy. Can you turn it off?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’d prefer you take it on faith that I’m not going to ask you questions that will lead you to incriminate yourself, but if I venture into an area that makes you uncomfortable, you just shake your head and we’ll move on.”

  “Let’s try that on for size.”

  “Did you have any reason to contact Alvin Cartwright in San Diego to warn him that I might be coming to visit him, and that he should meet with me and scare me off from further contact with the Sweet family?”

  “I know of Mr. Cartwright, but I’ve never met him or spoken to him.”

  “Would it be your style to send that message via a go-between?”

  “Naw, Mr. Stanton; I make it a business policy to do my dealing direct, ya dig?”

  “Like now.”

  “Exactly; so tell me about this threat to the Sweet family.”

  I explained the whole set-up as I understood it.

  “No shit, Gene. Does this mean you’re going to be able to play more and more often?”

  “Come on, Elvis,” Gene replied, “this is not funny. It doesn’t matter which kid is named to this thing, all that money is going to be split up among all of them. None of us kids needs that kind of money... Hell, Ed and Rita have already started building college funds for each grandchild... by the time they’re ready to go, there’ll be plenty of money for each of them.

  “I know if Ed named Donna or Junior, we’d take it as a sacred trust to care for all those kids. Anyone who knows us would know that’s how it’d be handled.”

  “But you, Elvis,” I picked up the thread, “were you identified to Mr. Cartwright as having a ‘financial interest’ in the Sweet family?”

  “Mr. Stanton, my financial interest in the Sweet family is limited to Gene here, and it’s purely a sporting one. He’s about as close as I have to a break-even bettor. What was it last year, Gene? I don’t recall off hand, but what, did you win a hundy or lose a hundy when it was all over?”

  “I won the hundy last year, but that was the first year in the black ever. But the most I’ve ever lost since we started was less than five hundred.”

  Dumont looked back at me with a big smile spreading across his face, and he canted his head at Gene, “And this guy plays baseball, can you believe it? Luckiest guy I know.”

  I could see that he was en
joying this bit of byplay, and so was Gene when he said, “Yeah, you know what they say, ‘The harder I work, the luckier I get.’”

  “I can’t help you, Mr. Stanton,” Dumont said, returning to complete sobriety. “I was aware that your lady was taken, but only through the media. I know nobody in that racket, and I wouldn’t hesitate to blow the whistle on such a sonovabitch if I did know. As far as pitching threats at youngsters for money, hell that too is way off my base. I’m among the leading funding sources for youth sports in this part of the world. I’ve dedicated my life to providing the kids here today with opportunities for the straight life I never had.”

  He shook his head, and I got a glimpse of true sadness in his eyes. “I wish I could help y’all, but I have nothing to give. If something comes my way, who would I call?”

  I reached into my pants and pulled my wallet. “Here’s my business card; the cell phone and e-mail are both current.”

  He took the card and read it. “You write books? Hell, I’m a big time reader; take my Kindle everywhere. You on E-books?”

  I nodded.

  “Look, Mr. Stanton, I know nothing, but I’m thinking you folks are all dealin’ with some kinda nut, you know? A sociopath, I think. I make it a point not to deal with those fuckers, you know? But I’ll keep an ear to the ground.”

  We thanked him, walked out, and got into my rental. “Well, what do you think?” Gene asked.

  “I don’t know. Andy?”

  “I thought you blew it, Stanton, when you gave up the wire,” Hurst said through the radio. “I really thought you’d gone over the edge. What were you thinking?”

  “Rapport,” I said with a sigh. “Rapport.”

  Chapter 41

  As we drove back to Columbia, I started talking strategy with Gene. He was not a happy dad when I got to the part where we identify one of his children as the next heir.