Three Deuces Down - Keith Donnelly

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Dinner had been a rousing success. After dinner had been even better. When we had finished the last of the wine I kissed her. Seconds later Sandy and I were hurriedly undressing each other on the way to Sandy’s king-size bed. We had urgent, physical sex followed by a less aggressive period of very tender sensual lovemaking. After a rest and a long conversation about stocks and my case, we made love again. Sandy lay asleep in my arms and I was on the twilight of sleep trying to figure out my next move on the Fleet case. The last thing I remember was thinking that maybe I should find Bud Hoffman.

      I woke to an empty bed and the smell of fresh coffee. The hum of the air conditioning beckoned me to roll over and drift off again. I reluctantly ignored it. Sandy was showered and dressed when I stumbled into the kitchen wearing only the white robe I kept at her place for when I stayed over.

      “Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

      I waved weakly. I prefer total silence between getting up and having my first cup of coffee and a shower, after which I feel human enough to speak. I took a mug of coffee offered to me by a smiling Sandy, added cream and sugar, and headed for the bathroom. Although amused, Sandy understood me well enough to accept my morning ritual. She would wait patiently while the hot water, soap, shampoo, shaving cream, razor, and toothbrush performed their magic and I reappeared a new and more responsive man. Fifteen minutes later I was sitting at the kitchen bar having a second cup of coffee and eating a whole-wheat English muffin.

      “Has Jake been out?” I asked.

      “Of course. We had a very nice walk.”

      At the sound of his name, Jake the dog came over for a morning rub. When he had lost my attention, he went to Sandy for more pampering. When Sandy dismissed him, he went back to his favorite spot and lay down.

      “We have to talk,” Sandy said seriously.

      I stared. Not good, I thought.

      “I’m moving,” she said calmly.

      I was stunned. “Where?”

      “Atlanta.”

      “Why?” I asked, but being the great detective that I am, I was reasonably sure of her answer. Only one thing would draw Sandy away from Mountain Center.

      “I have accepted a new offer of employment,” she said quite pertly.

      “Who with?”

      “Wachovia.”

      “Damn,” was all I could muster as a reply.

      We kept silent as we finished our pseudo breakfast. Sandy had been in my life for a year and I very much liked our arrangement. I enjoyed all of her with no commitment. As the words I’m moving echoed through my brain, I slowly began to realize that maybe I cared for her more than I was willing to admit. I did not want her to go anywhere! I did not want another woman in my life. On the other hand, I did not want to hold back her career. She had obviously given this some thought and decided the move was right for her.

      Or was she giving me an unspoken ultimatum? It was my experience that most women wanted commitment. Was I, a confirmed bachelor, capable of making a commitment? My head was spinning.

      “Atlanta’s not so far away,” I said.

      “No, it’s not.”

      “How soon?”

      “Two weeks.”

      Two weeks, I wanted to scream. Instead I said, “We could see each other a lot.”

      “Yes, we could.”

      “Jake would miss you,” I added.

      “And I would miss him,” Sandy said with a slight smile. She was very mechanical and proper in her responses.

      The next words out of my mouth were supposed to be I’ll miss you too, but what came out was, “I have to get to the office.”

      “Me too,” she said.

      I clicked Jake’s leash onto his collar, gave Sandy a light kiss and headed for the front door.

      “I’ll call you,” I said as I closed the door behind me.

      Jake and I went to the office. Over the last year I had taken Jake to the office on the average of twice a week. Lately, he seemed to be going every day. The building management had not bothered to restrict dogs in my lease since they undoubtedly thought a dog in my office would not be an issue. So far no one on the second floor had complained. In fact the entire female population of the second floor always seemed to come by to pet Jake once the word was out that he was in.

      I parked in my reserved parking spot in the back lot. As soon as I was out of the Pathfinder, Jake jumped out the driver’s side and ran to the back door of the building and waited. He knew the routine. The Hamilton Building was a five-story stone office building built in the 1920s and recently restored to near its original look inside and out. I punched in the five-digit code that gave me access to the back staircase. Jake was at the top of the stairs in a flash. When I joined an impatient Jake at the second floor entrance, I punched in a four-digit code, which allowed us entry to the second floor. Lots of security—the first floor of the Hamilton building was the Mountain Center National Bank.

      Jake’s claws clicked on the marble floor as he cantered the length of the hall to our office. He did his hurry-up spin in front of the office door while he waited for me to get there and open up. Once inside, Jake ran around to inspect both offices and the bathroom to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. He would have inspected the supply room but the door was shut.

      When Jake was convinced all was as it should be, he went into my office to his favorite spot, circled three times and plopped down on his dog bed.

      I went through my early morning office ritual. I turned on all the lights in the front office that were supposed to be on, omitting the glaring overheads. Then I made coffee. As the coffee brewed and the aroma filled the office, I turned on the lights in my office and all the computers and the printer that they shared. There were two desks in the larger outer office with computers and plenty of workspace. There also was a refrigerator, a microwave, a toaster oven, a fax machine, mostly empty filing cabinets, and two large tables for additional workspace should we ever need them. One desk was Billy’s and one desk was for a yet-to-be-hired receptionist. Hiring a receptionist was not so much a question of money but a question of the moral principle of hiring someone knowing they would die of sheer boredom in a few weeks. I was not optimistic that we would ever have a receptionist but it’s the thought that counts.

      As I heard the coffee machine sputter to a stop, I grabbed my favorite cup off my desk and headed to the outer office, inspecting the cup along the way. There was a light brown film in the bottom. I momentarily debated going to the bathroom and washing it but the aroma of the fresh brewed coffee was too tempting. I blew hard into the cup to remove any dust that might have settled there during the few days I had been gone. Clean enough, I thought. I poured my coffee and headed back to my desk and began playing solitaire as I pondered Sandy’s news. I was surprisingly depressed and was confused at my depression. Was I not Mister Love ’Em and Leave ’Em? Solitaire was not so kind today either. One ace up was all I could manage from the first game. The next game I managed to get all four aces and a deuce up, but there were three deuces down and that wrecked the hand. I gave up and logged on to AOL to check the market.

      The bell had not sounded on today’s action as yet and the market was down almost two hundred points from yesterday’s opening. A few years ago this would have constituted a mini-crash. In today’s market it was a common occurrence. I knew the market was heading for thirteen thousand and beyond. It was only a matter of time. Who knew where the ceiling was? Certainly, not I. I did know the waters of the Street were shark-infested and unless you were willing to watch your investments on a daily or even hourly basis, you best stick to good mutual funds and leave stocks to the players. To be a player you had to have good timing, good instinct, lots of money,

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