“Do you have the registration card for the person in the photo?”
The manager smiled triumphantly and handed him a fresh copy. “Keep it,” she said.
He scanned it quickly. Outi Ranta of Gladstone, and her address was correct. The box for a comp was checked and on the line beside reason someone had scribbled, “Gold Feather.”
Service looked at the manager. “Gold Feather?”
“A special group of guests who spend at least two weeks a year at our hotel.”
“High rollers?” he asked.
“Something like that,” Liksabong said before she walked away.
Monica Ucumtwi leaned close to him and whispered, “Vendors.”
Ranta and her husband had been in the hardware business for a long time. Service had never known they were gamblers. “Like hardware?” he asked.
“Personal service vending,” the tribal deputy said.
Service was jolted. “A pro?”
Ucumtwi smiled. “The casino certainly doesn’t comp amateurs.”
It was 2 a.m. and Service was too tired to head back to Gladstone. He looked at Simon. “Okay if I bunk at your place for a few hours?”
Simon and Grinda exchanged a glance, and Sheena said, “You can crash with us.”
Service looked her in the eye and she began to smile.
“Us, eh?”
She nodded and kept grinning.
25
Service was first up in the morning, made a phone call to Walter, and started preparing for breakfast. Grinda and del Olmo came through the kitchen in sweats and running shoes. “Don’t play in traffic, kids,” Service said with a chuckle.
When they came back they showered while he started pancakes.
They were in uniform when they sat down at the kitchen table, their clip-on ties side by side between them. “A regular family breakfast,” Service said.
“We’re pleased to be the source of your amusement,” del Olmo said.
“My, we’re touchy today.”
Grinda smiled. Service had no idea what was between them, but whatever it was, it seemed to agree with Sheena.
The three of them stood by their trucks in the early morning sun. “The light’s getting flat,” Service observed. “Winter’s coming.”
He didn’t ask what they were going to be doing. Officers were expected to know their areas, make their own plans, and follow their own instincts.
Walter was waiting on the sidewalk outside his dorm, a backpack slung over one shoulder as he slid into the truck and looked at his father’s face, flashing a questioning look.
“I know,” Service said. “I know. S’up?”
Walter laughed, closed his eyes, put his head back. He seemed both relaxed and tense. “It’s hard here. I’m in the books all the time.”
“Are you feeling all right?”
“I’ve never studied so much or skated so hard. I can’t keep up with these guys.”
“You will,” Service said.
They ate sandwiches at a shop near the campus. “You aren’t saying anything about work,” Walter said.
“There are more important things than a job.”
“What I meant is that you aren’t talking at all.”
Service looked at his son and saw himself looking across a table at his father—in a bar, his father drunk and surly and putting him down whenever he tried to speak.
“Food, us, that’s enough.”
Walter nodded. “Gestalt.”
Service said, “I didn’t sneeze.”
Walter laughed. “You can be funny.”
“It wasn’t a joke.”
“That’s what makes it funny,” his son said.
Service started to say something, but Walter stopped him. “I know,” he said. “It’s cool. Is Maridly still flying?”
“She comes home Friday night.”
“I like her,” Walter said.
“It’s mutual,” Service said.
He took his son to a building on campus. They shook hands in the truck. “You all right for cash?”
Walter said, “Too busy to need money.”
Service tried to hand him two twenties, but Walter pushed them back. “You know that commercial on TV?”
“I don’t watch much TV,” Service said.
“The punch line is ‘priceless.’ When you see it you’ll know what I mean.”
“Mar and I will call you Saturday.”
“Make it afternoon. Rocky and I have a practice with our kids in the morning.”
“You like working with him?”
Walter smiled. “He’s different. He loves to get in the net to stop shots. I do all the power skating work. He’s like an overgrown kid.”
Father and son looked at each other, said in unison, “Goalie.”