In Atlantic City, Ivan entered the casino a half-hour after Jason. Staying
on the perimeter of the main gaming room, Ivan watched the crowd more than
the machine he was feeding. Jason wandered around, winning a little here,
losing a little there. They spent an hour or so before Jason worked his way
toward a special machine that glittered under a spotlight and offered ten
million as the jackpot. He put in a stack of coins and on the first pull doubled
his bet. Ivan concentrated. It took Jason four more pulls before Ivan got
it right, but when he did, bells and sirens set off in a loud clamor that
brought the entire floor to a standstill. Suddenly there was a jam of people
rushing to see who the big winner was and Ivan chose that moment to walk
off the casino floor.
It was hours before Jason could return to the room. First came a flurry
of picture taking, the IRS forms had to be filled out and filed and then came
the royal treatment the casino was noted for. All the time, Jason was being
wined and dined, Ivan sifted the minds of those he read at the casino, especially
the security people. Nothing. Not a hint of suspicion, in fact the jackpot
was overdue. That information came from a floor manager Ivan took special
care to read.
They originally planned to leave right away, but J. T. felt to act
the stunned tourist, he must suffer through one last formality; a breakfast
meeting with reporters, so J. T. stayed the night while Ivan left for New
York. The next afternoon they met at Kennedy for the flight to Mexico City
and from there, on to the Yucatan. The coffers were flush again, even though
it would take ten years to garner it all.
“Do you think we can squeak by on a million a year? “ Ivan was jovial.
Unlike Las Vegas, Atlantic City went smoothly.
“Actually,--- after taxes it's more like $650,000, but it should do.” Jason
smiled, “Haven't had this much fun in years. Say, what if that machine kicks
out another winner in a few days, wasn't it overdue? “
Ivan shrugged,
“I doubt it would drive them to bankruptcy. They'll just change the odds
on the other machines and make it all back in a month. Hey, the casino always
wins.”
“Always?" Jason smiled.
“Well, nearly always.” Ivan conceded. For all his aversion to outright
theft, he had no scruples against taking money from gamblers. It was a stance
the four men totally agreed with,--- a victimless crime as far as they were
concerned.
“With all this gambling fever, I forgot to ask what you think of Ron Harris.”
“He's a fine young man, Jason. A bit of a blue nose in some ways, but he
seems to have mellowed some over the last few years. Why do you ask?“
“Well, Chet mentioned there's a list of possible candidates to the group
and I thought Ron might make a good addition in say, forty years or so.
He's as smart as they come, honest, and I've got a feeling given time he'll
overcome his religious brainwashing.”
“You think he's pretty special, don't you? “
“One of the best I ever trained,--- and the most dedicated, too.”
“Well we can certainly add him to the list of potentials and see what he's
like in a few years. One thing I've learned from you and Chet is age does
bring wisdom.”
Jason laughed heartily,
“It's not wisdom that age brings, only a greater tolerance for the blunders
other's make. You see, by the time you reach a certain age, you've all ready
made all those same mistakes yourself.”
* * * * * * *
Sven was testing his legs, using a cane more for balance more than support.
As he hobbled around the smooth, level concrete of the drive a car pulled
up outside and started unloading passengers.
“Flix!” Sven called out as Ivan came through the gate. ”At last you're
back!” All the questions Felix would supposedly answer welled up within him
ready to burst forth, then he saw Larry walking arm in arm with a black man
and the questions evaporated. Sven knew of Jason Moore, both Charles and
Larry spoke of him constantly, only they never mentioned he was Negro. A
shock ran down Sven's spine. Once, he would have thought nothing of the man's
race. Once,--- before a black-hearted betrayal left him bleeding in a ditch.
Now, all blacks were untrustworthy, lying, thieving, murdering bastards.
Why hadn't Charles mentioned Jason was black he wondered.
Charles came from the house and swept both Felix and Jason into a warm
embrace.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Fine as frog's hair." Ivan replied aloud. ”But Sven nearly had a
stroke when he saw J. T. You were right, this is going to be delicate.
How much have you told him?"
“Nothing. You've been so busy I just put him off. He is, unfortunately,
prejudiced as hell, a Norwegian red neck, if there is such a thing. Have you
warned J. T. what to expect? “
“Yeah, I gave him Sven's memories and pointed out the incident. What happened
was pretty terrible, still, thirty years is a long time to stay pissed off
at more than half the world. Sven's problem is he can't face the fact it
was partly his own fault.”
“Well, being robbed and left for dead by three guys who you thought were
friends is bound to leave traumatic scars. He was young and trusting; now,
he doesn't have a great deal of faith in anyone.”
“Except you.” Ivan replied, “Or at least he did until a minute ago. He's
wondering now, why you didn't tell him about Jason. I think it's time for
introductions. I'll calm him down a bit, his heart's banging away like a
trip hammer.”
Chet grabbed Sven's arm,
“Jason!” He called out, “I'd like you to meet Sven Nordof, our friend I've
spoken about so often. Sven, this is Jason Moore, our dear friend and member
of our clan.”
Quite unexpectedly Sven's thoughts calmed and his panic driven heart settled
down. He didn't even break into a cold sweat when Jason reached out to grasp
his loosely hanging hand. Strange, he thought. All these years he couldn't
stand the touch of a black man and now here he was clasping hands with one.
It seemed odd this particular Negro didn't cause the same clammy reaction
he got around other blacks.
“I'm glad to meet you, Sven. Iv,--- I've heard a lot about you from Felix.”
He nearly said Ivan's name, remembering at the last moment that Sven knew
him only as Felix.
“Ya, me, too.” Sven responded curtly, then turning to Chet, he said,
“Charles, would you help me to the house, my legs hurt, I need to lie down.”
It was a falsehood, but anything to get away. He still felt strangely calm;
yet, there was also an urgent need to put some space between himself and
Moore.
“Man oh man, is he uptight. If I wasn't so pooped I'd start right away.”
“Leave it 'till morning. I'll tell him about the transfusion tonight and
when you're rested you can do your thing.”
He walked Sven back to the house,
“I'm sorry you don't like Jason, he's really a great guy and you two have
much in common, actually all of us do.”
“You mean because we like,--- men?” Sven asked.
“Well, there is that, but there's much more to it. Now that all five of
us are here, I can be totally honest about everything.”
“You've been lying to me?” Sven asked, “About what?”
“No lies, Sven, I would never lie. I just haven't told the whole truth.
Now I can. Sven, have you ever wondered what it would be like to be twenty
years old again?”
“Who hasn't?” Sven replied looking at Charles curiously. ”I'm sure it would
be wonderful if we could keep the knowledge we have now; otherwise, no way,
I wouldn't want to live my first years over.”
“What if all that was possible, only you could never tell anyone and might
have to stay in hiding for years, maybe forever. Would it still look as
attractive?”
Sven thought about it for a long moment. Finally he said, “I guess so,---
yes,--- I'm sure it would. What are you trying to tell me Charles?”
“Only that for better or worse, you are now part of our clan. In about
a year and a half from now you will be twenty years old again or at least
look and feel it. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before and I'm sorry I couldn't
ask your permission. You were in such pain. You'd given up and I couldn't
let you die. I was going to ask you to join us when the Star came back,
but of course you weren't aboard, then everything got rushed,--- and,---
well,--- here we are,---” Chet halted, waiting for Sven's response. The Norseman
just looked at him, then opened his arms and pulled Chet to his chest in
a tender embrace,
“I don't know if you really believe that, Charles, or if it's just a wishful
fantasy, but I'll never forget you came, took me in and cared for me. That
says more than words and it means more to me than being young, even if that
were possible.”
“Oh, it's possible.” Chet replied, snuggling close in the warmth of Sven's
embrace.”There is another thing I have to tell you. My name is not Charles,
it's Chet,--- Chester Latham.”
Sven gave a little start,
“Latham? Latham the rejuvenating man? The guy who was in all the papers?”
“I'm afraid so.”
“But,--- the last I read, Latham died in central Africa.”
“I've never been to Africa. We've been hiding from the government for years,
right here in Mexico. That report was released to put the media off the
scent. When we disappeared it caused quite a stir and the tabloids at the
time were offering a big bonus to locate me. Since the government didn't
want any interference with their own search, they killed me off in the news.
If you'll remember I supposedly died of Eboli and my body was cremated.
All nice, neat and untraceable.
“But, Charles, even if this is true, how would it make me younger?”
“I can pass it on, Love. That's why the government is hunting me. It's
done through a direct blood transfusion, which we gave you in Caracas. It's
the reason you recovered so quickly.”
Sven said nothing for a moment. Suddenly the miracle that bothered
him these last weeks was clear. It was Charles. Chet, he would have
to get used to that name, Chet caused this miracle.
“You called me, Love,” he said, “Was it love that made you do it?”
Before Caracas they had known each other only one day,--- one night to
be more precise. Could one fall in love that fast? Grasping Chet's shoulders,
he pushed him back to look in his eyes.
“Was it really love?” He asked again.
“Yes. It's hard to explain, but you became very important to me.” Chet
responded, then a moment later he added playfully, “Do you think I'd put
up with a hairy old Swede if I didn't care about him?”
“OLD?” Sven pretended shock, “Look who's calling me old, why you must be
eighty at least”
“Pretty damn close.”
“You hide it well,” Sven teased, reaching down to stroke Chet through his
thin cotton shorts.
“So, trying to make an old man horny, are you? Well, two can play that
game.” Chet unzipped Sven's pants and began massaging the man in return.
Sven was hard in a moment. Chet let go of his prize and said in a voice
filled with humor,
“Unless you're prepared to follow through, Love, never mess with a senior
citizen.”