Aces and Knaves

what he said about it.
    The bidding was already at several-hundred-thousand dollars, even though the card had only been listed for two days. It would go higher before it was over. I couldn't bid on this card, of course. Some day I would. Reluctantly, I clicked to another page.
    I made myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and thought about Ned. Arrow wouldn't really be able to dig into his financial situation until Wednesday, after the funeral. One of the puzzles that remained was what he was doing at the casino, apparently losing thousands of dollars, when everybody said he wasn't a compulsive gambler. At least everybody except James. And was James reliable when it came to talking about Ned?
    In searching for answers, I remembered Elma saying that Ned had been involved in getting financing for a casino. Any lead was better than none. I called Elma's number and caught her at home. She couldn't come up with a name, but she said it was an Indian casino on the road to Palm Springs. Bingo.
    ***
    It was a great day for a drive. It was a great day not to be tied down with responsibilities such as a family or having to sit at a desk all day. The sun was shining; it was a day for extolling the wonders of Southern California.
    I drove the Jaguar, not only because it handled so well but also because it was the only car we had with a manual transmission. Shifting gears made me feel as if I were accomplishing something—actively driving the car instead of having it drive me.
    I took Pacific Coast Highway to the 110 Freeway, aka the Harbor Freeway, because it goes to the Los Angeles Harbor. Giving it a number to replace the name de-romanticized it, made it mundane. I headed north, away from the harbor, and bore right on the 91 Freeway, which was called a variety of names, depending on the year and where you were on it.
    Traffic was moderate, meaning it was moving at 65 miles-per-hour or higher. The Jag rode effortlessly at 70, but I refused to go faster because exotic red cars attract the attention of the California Highway Patrol. We were in synch, the car and I, as it responded to my every touch. We passed from Los Angeles County into Orange County. Miles and miles of well-groomed stucco suburbs. Then Riverside County. Through Corona, once a farming community, now motels and fast food.
    As we approached the Inland Empire city of Riverside I headed east on Route 60, through the Moreno Valley, one of the fastest growing communities in the state. Wound through foothills and down to the floor of the Coachella Valley and Interstate 10, the east-west artery that is often followed to LAX by planes coming from the East.
    I got a close-up look at massive Mt. San Gorgonio, all 11,500 feet of it, which was visible from my window at home on a clear day, and Mt. San Jacinto, less massive at 10,800 feet and not visible from home because of intervening mountains in Orange County.
    But Mt. San Jacinto has the advantage of the Palm Springs Tramway, gliding almost straight up to 8,500 feet. From there, the peak is a breathtaking but not arduous climb of five-and-a-half miles. I did it every year.
    The speed limit here was 70. I eased up to 75 and was passed by little old retirees doing 90 in their Cadillacs. The huge statues of a Tyrannosaurus Rex and a Brontosaurus just off the Interstate at Cabazon told me I was almost there.
    I exited I-10 at a sign for the casino, crossed over the freeway and coasted into the parking lot. Monday afternoon is not what I would consider prime gambling time, but judging from the number of cars in the huge lot not everybody agreed with me. I guess gamblers know no time limitations.
    The sun was warm and friendly as I walked 100 yards to the casino. I felt sleepy from the drive, and the heat didn't alleviate this condition. I knew the casino would be air-conditioned and figured a blast of cold would wake me up.
    What woke me even faster were the noise and the cigarette smoke. Arrow had been correct in her description; if anything, she had understated the case. I had forgotten how awful the environment was inside a casino.
    Look on the bright side; at least I didn't have to work here like the ladies of indeterminate age, dyed hair and short skirts who served drinks to the fatties emptying their bank accounts into the slots, or the neatly dressed dealers and croupiers at the blackjack and craps tables who were being watched along with the patrons through one-way mirrors in the ceiling. James's pretend casino