Apocalypse Stone

Chapter One LAS VEGAS, NEVADA Patrick McPherson was looking at the ten of spades and seven of clubs, a total of seventeen in blackjack. He'd bet a thousand dollars. The dealer's up card was the ten of hearts. "I think you've got another face card," McPherson told the dealer. "That'll give you twenty. So the only way I can win is if I can draw a four." The gambler on McPherson's right snickered. The odds were against McPherson. Chances were, if he took a third card he'd bust. Just the same, he tapped a finger on top of his cards, signaling that he wanted another. The dealer slipped one from the red plastic shoe and flipped it over. It was a four. McPherson had hit twenty-one. "How the hell did you know you were gonna draw a four?" the plump woman sitting on his left demanded. McPherson leaned close to her cheek, his eyes falling naturally downward into her bulging cleavage. Why did housewives from Des Moines dress like whores when they came to Las Vegas? he wondered. "I can see the future," he whispered. "You're going to take another card and bust because it will be a queen." She glanced at her cards and then at him. She had sixteen, a lousy hand. Was he joking? No one could predict the future! Ignoring his warning, she motioned for another card. It was a queen. She'd busted just like he'd predicted. But she didn't say anything. She suspected he was cheating or card counting and hoped, if she kept silent, that he would tell her his secret. "You play a lot of blackjack?" she asked. "No," he replied. "This is my first time." She looked down into her purse, searching for a pack of cigarettes, and noticed his left hand, which he had kept hidden under the table. "Oh my god!" she shrieked. "You're bleeding!" The dealer paused. Everyone stared. "No," he said calmly. "It's a birthmark on my palm. But sometimes it looks like blood." He jammed his left hand into the pocket of his tan cargo pants, and with his right hand, pushed every chip he owned to the woman. "Here, you take these." "That's twenty thousand dollars!" she squealed. "Oh my god! Oh my god!" McPherson moved away from the table quickly, exiting the casino through a row of clanging slot machines. How do you hide a murder? Was his secret safe? Did it matter now, really? God knew. Judgment was being made. There would be no escape, no forgiveness, no last-minute reprieve. The biblical scriptures were clear about what God was demanding. "Leave immediately," the verses said. "Go to Sodom and Gomorrah, cities of great wickedness and debauchery. . . ." "Hello?" The woman's voice interrupted his thoughts. "The Federal Express driver picked up your package from the hotel a few hours ago," she said. "It should be delivered before noon tomorrow. Is there anything else I can help you with?" "No," he answered, handing her five dollars. She hadn't done anything out of the ordinary for a hotel concierge, but in Las Vegas you tipped everyone. It didn't matter. Money was no longer important. He walked to an elevat∨ at least, it would have been called an elevator in any other Las Vegas Strip resort. In the Luxor, it was called an "inclinatoEarley, Pete is the author of 'Apocalypse Stone ', published 2006 under ISBN 9780765310255 and ISBN 0765310252.