I glanced over at Heather. She had said nothing. She just stood there staring at the President.
I sat back and tried to think.
I had been convinced that the President had been working with Steven. It was no wonder there had been no one watching us at the bank, no threats in the last three days, nothing. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t been directing Steven in the first place.
“Sir,” I said, “with this murder cover-up in your past, what made you think you could become the President? Didn’t you realize that someone would use it against you?”
The President laughed. “Son, don’t you play the hands that are dealt you? I didn’t plan to become President. I just got on the crest of a really big wave and let others push.”
I glanced at Annie, then back at Heather. Both of them seemed to be in deep thought. I wanted to believe the President, that he too had been working to stop Steven. The facts seemed to fit that, but the phone records also fit the other theory, that he had tried to use Steven to round up the keys to protect his career.
I needed more information.
“Sir, can you tell me what happened that night in 1982?” I asked. “Who really made the threats against the families?”
“Mostly Nyland, but eventually a few others joined him on that,” the President said. He looked directly at me. “Carson wanted nothing to do with it, and neither did I. But Carson was the most vocal. Neither of us would help bury that damn cheater’s body. It was Nyland and R.A. and Jeff Taylor who had killed him, they buried him.”
“Tell him,” the President’s wife said when her husband stopped for a moment and seemed to get lost in the past. “In case he doesn’t know. He was too young to remember.”
The President looked at me. “Your mother was beaten and in the hospital before we left R.A.’s the next morning. Carson talked to her over a short-wave radio. He got so angry, I thought he was going to tear Nyland apart. It was R.A. who stopped him.”
The President took a deep breath, glanced at his wife for support, then went on. “Nyland said that the next person would be killed, not just beaten, and it would be you, Doc. And then someone each of us cared for. That pretty much convinced us all to go along with them. I couldn’t risk the life of my Penny,” he said, touching his wife’s hand.
The First Lady looked at me. “And your father couldn’t risk your life any more either, or your mother’s. That was why he left.”
“This has been our biggest nightmare for all these years,” the President said, “just as it was your father’s and mother’s.”
I sat and thought as silence filled the big room. He had given me the same story as the others, no different. He was as much a victim to Nyland, and Steven as the rest were.
And now we were finishing the game that Steven had started by asking him to resign. And I wanted nothing to do with Steven’s sick game. I just wanted it over.
“I’d like a moment to talk with Detective Lott and Agent Voight,” I said.
“Please,” the President said. “Take your time.” He chuckled to himself. “I don’t think I have anything that might be more important than this.”
The First Lady put her head on the President’s shoulder as Annie and I stood and moved back to the door to talk to Heather.
As we got close, Heather whispered, “He’s a good man, and a good president. I believe him. I would not be respecting all the work Paul did if I asked him to resign now.”
I nodded.
“Annie?”
“I agree with Heather. All my police instincts tell me he wasn’t involved with Steven, other than how he said. He was used. And right now, we’re still being used by a dead man and I don’t much like it.”
Neither did I. “So we take back our demand?” I asked. “And we destroy the paperwork, all of it?”
“We do,” Heather said.
Annie nodded.
We turned back to the table. This time Heather joined us, sitting down next to Annie.
“We have changed our minds,” I said. “We would like to retract our demand that your resign.”
Now the President looked puzzled and the First Lady let out a deep breath of relief.
Before he could say anything, I kept going, “When we leave here and return home, we will destroy all copies of everything. There will be no more evidence of that game in 1982.”
“Just ugly memories,” Heather said.
The First Lady stared at me.
The President opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.
No words came out.
“I loved Paul,” Heather said. “I know you did as well, as he loved you. You need to stay here, finish his work, fight the fights he wanted you to fight, the reason he pushed you into this job.”
From the look in the President’s eyes, I would never doubt that we had made the right decision.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Las Vegas, Nevada. September 14
THE EARLY MORNING was cool for this time of the year in Vegas, with the temperatures getting all the way down to the low seventies. It was still a little too warm for a fire in the fireplace, but I didn’t care. Mother turned up the air-conditioning as I started a fire in Carson’s fireplace.
Annie had come over. She had the envelope I had given her from the bank. She had sealed it and never looked at it. She said she didn’t need those images in her head.
When I had come up with the idea of a special burning ceremony, I had called Heather. She had told me she was about to go get the documents from Director Smith and destroy them. I told her my plan and she got the time off work. I sent my plane for her. Mike went along for the ride and to keep her company on the way back.
So now there were seven of us in the living room of Carson’s home, plus there were soon to be two special guests.
Ace and my mother sat on one couch. Annie and I had the other. Fleet had a chair, and Mike and Heather were manning a special video hook-up beside Carson’s big television, working together like they belonged together. I had no doubt that Heather was going to be spending a lot of time in Las Vegas in the future. It would take her some time to get over Paul, but I had no doubt Mike would help her in any way he could.
“You ready?” Mike asked.
“As ever,” I said.
Mike signaled he had a connection. We all faced the camera sitting on top of the big television.
“All together now,” I said, “Good Morning, Mr. President.”
There was a very familiar laugh from the television as the image cleared and we were facing the President and the First Lady. They both looked years younger than just a few days ago and were smiling.
“Good morning, everyone,” he said, smiling.
I stood and held up my envelope. “Before we cook in here from this fire, let’s get this over with. These are the originals that had rested in that damned box in Seattle since 1982.”
I held them up, then tossed them into the fireplace.
Everyone cheered. I think the President was the loudest.
Annie stood. “My copies, sir. Please don’t tell anyone I’m destroying evidence of a crime. It could be bad on my poker career.”
Everyone laughed, then cheered as she tossed the envelope into the fire and we watched it catch and burn quickly.
Heather moved toward the fireplace. She looked at me, then at Annie. “Thank you both for tracking down and killing the bastard who shot Paul.”
All I could do was nod.
“My pleasure,” Annie said.
Heather turned to the camera. “And thank you, Mr. President, for continuing the work you and Paul started. It’s all I ask. It’s all he would have wanted.”
With that, she tossed her envelope into the fire as we all cheered.
I couldn’t imagine the weight that was lifting from the President’s shoulders. As President, he didn’t need any extra. He had enough.
“Thank you,” the First Lady said, “for finally ending this nightmare.”
&nbs
p; On the couch, my mother and Ace were both just smiling and nodding.
“Yes, thank you,” the President said. “I can’t imagine how I could ever repay you all for this.”
“A larger Social Security check would be nice,” Ace said.
“Honestly,” I said after the laughter stopped, “just do the best job you can in there. And come and play some cards some time.”
“I just might take you up on that,” the President said, smiling. “Thank you.”
The screen went dark.
With that, the game was over.
At least it was over for as long as the President kept his word. There was an old saying. Never trust a poker player. He’ll lie to your face and take your money with a smile.
The President was a poker player and a politician, the worst combination. I believed him, but I didn’t trust him.
Annie stood and went to stir the ashes, to make sure every scrap was burnt.
I watched her as she dug at the flames with a rod. I had discovered over the last few weeks that I liked watching her no matter what she was doing.
I liked arguing with her, kissing her, just being with her. That felt new and different to me.
My mother went back into her room.
Heather and Mike worked to gather up his equipment and then started taking it out to his truck.
Ace and Fleet began talking about an investment property in Boise and went into the kitchen, leaving me and Annie pretty much alone.
She kept stirring the fire.
I said nothing.
Then, after a moment, she glanced up at me with a puzzled look on her face. “You didn’t...” she whispered.
I only shrugged.
She smiled, then shook her head, clearly understanding.
She went back to stirring the ashes, making sure every scrap was gone.
She knew I hadn’t burnt the originals from the ashes and paper in the fire. There were no actual remains of photos in there, just paper. I had those originals stashed in a very safe place, where they would only be found if I died. I had no plans of telling anyone where they were. Not even Annie.
I hoped to live at least as long as the President was in office, then I would destroy them myself.
I had a hunch the President knew as well that I hadn’t destroyed everything. He wasn’t stupid, and he knew I was a poker player.
He understood that I wouldn’t just hand over the game to him. As long as he kept his promise and left everyone alone, that’s how this game would end up.
Even.
A chopped pot, with both of us taking the prize we each wanted.
“So, what would you like to do now?” I asked Annie.
“Honestly,” she said, standing, “go down to the Bellagio, sit in a hot poker game and try to take as much money from as many people as I can.”
“And forget about the President and being a cop?” I asked, smiling at her.
“Absolutely,” she said. “Forget about everything. I just want to play cards. Let the world take care of itself for a day or so.”
“No wild bunny sex?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face.
“Afterwards,” she said. “Afterwards.”
“Spoken like a true poker player.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Considered one of the most prolific writers working in modern fiction, USA Today bestselling writer Dean Wesley Smith published far more than a hundred novels in forty years, and hundreds of short stories across many genres.
At the moment he produces novels in four major series, including the time travel Thunder Mountain novels set in the Old West, the galaxy-spanning Seeders Universe series, the urban fantasy Ghost of a Chance series, and a superhero series starring Poker Boy.
His monthly magazine, Smith’s Monthly, which consists of only his own fiction, premiered in October 2013 and offers readers more than 70,000 words per issue, including a new and original novel every month.
During his career, Dean also wrote a couple dozen Star Trek novels, the only two original Men in Black novels, Spider-Man and X-Men novels, plus novels set in gaming and television worlds. Writing with his wife Kristine Kathryn Rusch under the name Kathryn Wesley, he wrote the novel for the NBC miniseries The Tenth Kingdom and other books for Hallmark Hall of Fame movies.
He wrote novels under dozens of pen names in the worlds of comic books and movies, including novelizations of almost a dozen films, from The Final Fantasy to Steel to Rundown.
Dean also worked as a fiction editor off and on, starting at Pulphouse Publishing, then at VB Tech Journal, then Pocket Books, and now at WMG Publishing, where he and Kristine Kathryn Rusch serve as series editors for the acclaimed Fiction River anthology series.
For more information about Dean’s books and ongoing projects, please go to www.deanwesleysmith.com, www.smithsmonthly.com or www.fictionriver.com.
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Table of Contents
Introduction
Nonexistent No More
ONE
TWO
THREE
In the Shade of the Slowboat Man
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
An Easy Shot
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Standing in Line at the Intersection
It’s a Story About a Guy Who…
THE FIRST START
REALITY
SECOND DRAFT
REALITY…PART TWO
Dead Money
Dedication
Dead Money Definition
SECTION ONE
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
SECTION TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
C
HAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
SECTION THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR
SECTION FOUR
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
CHAPTER SEVENTY
CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
CHAPTER EIGHTY
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
CHAPTER EIGHTY-THREE
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FOUR
CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE
Subscription Information
About the Author
Acknowledgements
Copyright Information