Frank sat alone at the rickety wooden table in the Snake Eyes, his gaze fixed on the entrance. This place was grungy like the bottom of an old pair of shoes. An old pair of shoes kept around because they were the soles molded perfectly to the feet of the wearer. Comfortable. In here, unlike the resort across the world in southern Thailand, everybody was old and ugly and broke. Except for Frank. He wasn't that old yet, and he still had some money socked away. He had the rugged good looks of an aging playboy, so he wasn't that ugly yet either, with cropped dark hair just starting to turn grey. He wore a black cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and thick gold chains braided around his neck. A few other tables in the joint were occupied, all by men even older than he was. Several of them called him "Sonny".
"Looks like they're late, Frank," the bartender said.
"Bring it anyway. Shame Jeannie couldn't stick around for this." Jeannie had left over an hour ago.
The bartender set a pitcher of beer down in front of him along with three glasses.
"Your clock is thirty seconds fast, by the way." Frank tossed a twenty onto the tray and eyed his watch. The second hand swept closer to twelve. Three ... two ... one.
The main door banged open.
Everyone turned and gasped. They stared in disbelief as if it were Elvis Presley himself who'd sauntered in, but Frank just sat there calmly smiling and leaning back in his chair, hands locked behind his head.
Robbie and Crazy Eddie. Robbie was everybody's buddy so long as you never got on his bad side. You didn't want to know what might happen then. Crazy Eddie had the demeanor of a police officer or security guard. Or a mob enforcer. Big and burly and with a heavy brow, even when he smiled or laughed he looked like he was real mad at something.
Frank gestured for them to join him. "Robbie. Guess it's been a while."
It had been. Last time Robbie had been in here, Bill Clinton was playing saxophone on David Letterman. The two men made a bee-line for Frank's table. Robbie gave Frank a bear hug and said, "Good to see ya, buddy! You look exactly––look at this guy––hasn't aged a day!" He slapped Frank's back and pulled his chair closer to the table.
Crazy Eddie poured beers for all of them. He never talked much. They clinked their glasses, said "Cheers!", took huge gulps and pounded the table.
"You sneaky bastards." The bartender handed Robbie a glass of whiskey, the whiskey he always used to start the night with many moons ago, back when he called Las Vegas home.
Robbie said, "I see you got a new pinball machine." All four men glanced at the dusty old unit in the corner of the bar––Lethal Weapon III. It had been installed in the early nineties. A decade and a half later, maybe a handful of people altogether had ever played the damn thing.
The bartender crouched next to Frank and whispered, "I thought my present from Europe was gonna be a Russian hooker."
"He was cheaper," Frank said, pointing his thumb at Robbie.
The table was quiet as Frank looked alternately at each of his two old buddies. The tension thickened like black clouds rolling down over the mountains. Jimmy's birthday wasn't the only reason the two men had come home after nearly two decades in southern Europe. Nothing had been mentioned explicitly, but as they eyed each other, they understood. Something that involved "business". Business involving a certain new Casino. The kind of business you only discussed in person well away from eavesdroppers.
Since it was kinda sorta his plan, Frank was the one to break the ice. They knew little of what he was scheming, but they had some idea. "So. How was your, uh, retirement?"
"Southern France was getting a little hot," Robbie said.
"Funny, on CNN they said the Mediterranean is seeing its worst cold snap in forty years."
A cryptic smile crept onto Robbie's face. Yup, they were gonna be on board and he ain't even had to tell them all the details yet. Just like old times. "Well ... when friends like Eddie here come visit, it's easy to slide back into old habits."
"Wrong religion. Don't think I never read the news. I only pretend to be this stupid," Frank said. The second he'd clicked that link on the Pulse 23 News website six months ago, he had a hunch it was them. Eddie had been away a little too long and he wasn't exactly lounging on a beach writing postcards to him. As soon as Frank was halfway through the article in an online copy of Le Monde, all residual doubts he'd had were gone like a puddle under the desert heat. He followed their exploits through five countries: seven bank robberies, two armored truck heists and one pyramid scheme that took down a high-flying tech company executive and almost did in a mutual fund.
Crazy Eddie poured another round of beers from the pitcher while Robbie folded his arms across his chest. He raised one eyebrow. "It was a metaphor."
Frank narrowed his eyes at him. "I knew it. The fuckin' Burka Bandits."
"Technically, they're called niqabs," Robbie said. "I had a Persian neighbor whose daughters were freakishly tall. Unfortunately, the best disguises grab headlines."
Crazy Eddie's upper lip twitched. "That's what Johnny always used to say."
"He woulda phrased it better than me," Robbie admitted. "But yeah."
They sat for a moment of silence. Frank caught the bartender's attention and raised his glass. "To Johnny!"
In unison all four men raised their glasses again. "To Johnny!" They all gazed at the door, as if expecting him to waltz in.
" He is here in spirit if not in person." Frank shifted in his wobbly chair and mused aloud, "I wonder what he'd think of Becks." She was coming now, he could sense it. He and his woman, they had this thing and it was downright spooky sometimes. He could hear the sharp taps coming closer on the sidewalk outside, like a pair of sword tips on concrete. Or a set of stiletto heels.
Every man with a pulse stared in hushed silence as she floated in. Red-haired and ravishing in a flowing red dress, she sashayed up to their table and rapped her rhinestone-encrusted phone on the stained wooden surface. "Figured I'd find you here. Hope our birthday boy doesn't think everyone forgot about him. All day I tried, and he won't pick up his damn phone. No choice but to go there in person now, is there. Can't think of anyplace else he'd be."
Rebecca. Somehow she looked completely out of place but at the same time appeared perfectly suited in here, like garlands at Christmas. Everywhere could be Christmas at the right time of year, even a low-end dive bar like the Snake Eyes.