young in my dreams.”
“Thelma, I’m gonna make your dreams come true,” Marty said.
“When I was young, I heard that from men a lot.” Everyone chuckled, though they kept their chuckles to a whisper. “I was smoking hot. Have any of you ever seen a picture of me when I was young?”
“I was ugly as hell when I was young,” Marty said. “I had acne scars, squinty eyes. Aging has a way of evening us all out. It’s very fair that way.”
“Yeah. Now we’re all ugly as hell,” Frank said. “Very democratic.”
“All right, we’re set.” Thelma gripped Marty’s wrist, pulled herself out of the chair.
Marty drew a cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed the only number in the phone’s memory: the Atlantic City Police Department. A woman answered.
“Yes, hi.” He worked to sound breathless, scared. “I’m pretty sure I found a bomb, in the Lifespring Casino.”
“A bomb where, sir?”
“A utility room. I work here, and I snuck into a utility room to, um, smoke a doob, and there’s something new in here, and it looks like a bomb, and it’s counting down.”
“Your name, please?”
“I don’t want to get into trouble. I’m sorry, I have to hang up now.” Marty disconnected.
They waited, no one saying a word, as seconds ticked by. Based on his thirty-odd years on the force, Frank had estimated it would take the average police station less than a minute to get an evacuation under way after a bomb threat.
Despite knowing it was coming, Marty jumped when the alarm whooped. He checked his watch. “It’s twelve minutes after ten.” He had to shout to be heard. “At eighteen after, everyone should be out of the building. At that point we’ll have about three minutes to get down the hall and out of sight before the authorities start to arrive.”
He double-checked Thelma’s bomb. The red readout was at fifty-seven minutes and counting. Out in the hall, anxious voices rose and then fell as people passed, heading for the exit.
At seventeen minutes after ten, Marty signaled to Frank. Frank opened the door a crack; looked left, then right; then waved them out into the empty hallway. Marty led them to the left.
A hundred yards down was the security suite, where they watched for cheaters and filmed everything that happened in the casino. Bill got the door open, disabled the cameras, and wiped the recordings. They were in and out in less than three minutes.
They were two turns and about two hundred yards from the unmarked core. Things were about to get interesting. Marty realized a snippet of song was playing in his head: Now you’re messing with a son of a bitch. Just that one line. He couldn’t remember the rest of the song or who sang it, but it felt right. His subconscious had done well.
“Now you’re messing with a son of a bitch,” he sang under his breath. Balls-up. Nothing to lose, everything to gain.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Bill whispered.
They all stopped. “Jesus. Did we give him too much Kaopectate?” Marty asked. They’d attempted a fine balance that would induce a single bout of diarrhea, but maybe the added excitement…
“I have to take a piss.”
“Holy shit,” Frank said. “Can’t you hold it?”
“He had three shots of Jack at the bar,” Thelma said.
“ What? ” Marty said, struggling to keep his voice low. He glared at Bill “Why the hell would you do that? It’s ten in the morning.”
Bill shrugged. “To take the edge off. I was nervous.”
Marty looked at Thelma. “Why didn’t you stop him?”
She gave him a stern look. “I’m not his mother.”
Marty looked around, trying to remember where the nearest bathroom was on the blueprints he’d studied. The thing was, while he was studying the blueprints, it never occurred to him to note where the goddamned bathrooms were.
“Wasn’t there a bathroom down the last hall we passed?” Thelma asked.
“Yeah. Come on, this way.” Truth was, Marty didn’t know, but he figured the
“Thelma, I’m gonna make your dreams come true,” Marty said.
“When I was young, I heard that from men a lot.” Everyone chuckled, though they kept their chuckles to a whisper. “I was smoking hot. Have any of you ever seen a picture of me when I was young?”
“I was ugly as hell when I was young,” Marty said. “I had acne scars, squinty eyes. Aging has a way of evening us all out. It’s very fair that way.”
“Yeah. Now we’re all ugly as hell,” Frank said. “Very democratic.”
“All right, we’re set.” Thelma gripped Marty’s wrist, pulled herself out of the chair.
Marty drew a cell phone out of his pocket. He dialed the only number in the phone’s memory: the Atlantic City Police Department. A woman answered.
“Yes, hi.” He worked to sound breathless, scared. “I’m pretty sure I found a bomb, in the Lifespring Casino.”
“A bomb where, sir?”
“A utility room. I work here, and I snuck into a utility room to, um, smoke a doob, and there’s something new in here, and it looks like a bomb, and it’s counting down.”
“Your name, please?”
“I don’t want to get into trouble. I’m sorry, I have to hang up now.” Marty disconnected.
They waited, no one saying a word, as seconds ticked by. Based on his thirty-odd years on the force, Frank had estimated it would take the average police station less than a minute to get an evacuation under way after a bomb threat.
Despite knowing it was coming, Marty jumped when the alarm whooped. He checked his watch. “It’s twelve minutes after ten.” He had to shout to be heard. “At eighteen after, everyone should be out of the building. At that point we’ll have about three minutes to get down the hall and out of sight before the authorities start to arrive.”
He double-checked Thelma’s bomb. The red readout was at fifty-seven minutes and counting. Out in the hall, anxious voices rose and then fell as people passed, heading for the exit.
At seventeen minutes after ten, Marty signaled to Frank. Frank opened the door a crack; looked left, then right; then waved them out into the empty hallway. Marty led them to the left.
A hundred yards down was the security suite, where they watched for cheaters and filmed everything that happened in the casino. Bill got the door open, disabled the cameras, and wiped the recordings. They were in and out in less than three minutes.
They were two turns and about two hundred yards from the unmarked core. Things were about to get interesting. Marty realized a snippet of song was playing in his head: Now you’re messing with a son of a bitch. Just that one line. He couldn’t remember the rest of the song or who sang it, but it felt right. His subconscious had done well.
“Now you’re messing with a son of a bitch,” he sang under his breath. Balls-up. Nothing to lose, everything to gain.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Bill whispered.
They all stopped. “Jesus. Did we give him too much Kaopectate?” Marty asked. They’d attempted a fine balance that would induce a single bout of diarrhea, but maybe the added excitement…
“I have to take a piss.”
“Holy shit,” Frank said. “Can’t you hold it?”
“He had three shots of Jack at the bar,” Thelma said.
“ What? ” Marty said, struggling to keep his voice low. He glared at Bill “Why the hell would you do that? It’s ten in the morning.”
Bill shrugged. “To take the edge off. I was nervous.”
Marty looked at Thelma. “Why didn’t you stop him?”
She gave him a stern look. “I’m not his mother.”
Marty looked around, trying to remember where the nearest bathroom was on the blueprints he’d studied. The thing was, while he was studying the blueprints, it never occurred to him to note where the goddamned bathrooms were.
“Wasn’t there a bathroom down the last hall we passed?” Thelma asked.
“Yeah. Come on, this way.” Truth was, Marty didn’t know, but he figured the
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