It seemed like such a tiny thing, but it would have to do. I took another shower and got ready to fight.
#
I rang Artie’s doorbell at five minutes to seven, and he opened it so fast he must have been standing just on the other side.
“Hey, hey!” He beamed, pulling me into an awkward hug. “Look who’s here, the man of the hour!”
I’d been patted down by professionals. Artie’s clumsy slapping at my hips and back, disguised as a friendly greeting, was anything but. No, I’m not carrying a gun, I thought. Why are you worried that I would be?
I did have a sealed puffy mailing envelope tucked under one arm, with a blank DVD inside. Artie eyed it greedily as he stepped back.
“Is that it? The real deal?”
“Real as a heart attack,” I said, patting it. “I’ll show you thirty seconds of the footage, from anywhere in the video, to prove it’s legit. If you like what you see, we talk price.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, leading me into the living room, “but first I hope you’re ready to play some serious poker.”
A professional-grade poker table took a place of honor in the heart of the room, the sofas and chairs pushed back against the wall. My psychic senses strained in vain, but the Black Eye was back in place around my neck to protect me from Nicky’s seer. The Eye’s power weighed against my lungs, a constant suffocating pressure, the kind of frustrating ache that keeps you from getting a moment’s rest. If I needed to use the chip in my pocket, the Eye would have to come off first. On the other hand, if things went that far sideways, crossing Nicky Agnelli would be the least of my problems.
Kaufman’s buddies were the kind of low-rent hoods you’d expect to see brewing meth in a trailer park. One wore a pair of amber shades and a visored cap, like he thought he was competing in the World Series of Poker. The other one couldn’t keep still for five seconds at a time, his head and hands constantly twitching. Whatever he was on, it wasn’t the expensive stuff. Shades and Twitch gave me lethargic waves from the sofas, then looked at Kaufman as if waiting for a cue.
Caitlin emerged from the kitchen, saloon-style doors swinging behind her, and the breath caught in my throat. She wore a green satin gown that clung to her body like a raindrop to a leaf, scooped dangerously low in the back. It matched her eyes. She handed me an open bottle of beer. Her touch lingered just a moment longer than it needed to.
You’re not seeing what you think you’re seeing, I told myself, remembering Bentley’s warning. It didn’t help.
Artie came up behind her and grabbed her ass. I almost recoiled from the sudden look in her eyes, a glare of pure burning hatred. I saw how fast it melted into a charming smile as she turned to face him. I fought my overwhelming desire to take my bottle and smash Artie’s face in. Woman, demon, I didn’t care. This was wrong.
“Do you require service, Master?” she asked him.
“No, but I sure as fuck do,” called out Detective Holt as he stomped his way up the hallway. “C’mon, we got time for a quickie.”
“No, we don’t,” Artie said. “Game’s starting, everybody to the table.”
Carl’s brow furrowed. He tugged off his jacket and tossed it onto the back of a chair, openly wearing his shoulder holster, before closing in on Artie. “Sorry? Didn’t hear that.”
“Later. You can have her after the game.”
Carl hissed through gritted teeth, “We have a deal, Artie.”
“We talked about this last night,” Artie said, pitching his voice almost too softly for me to hear. “We agreed—”
“Fine,” Carl snapped, throwing up his arms and dropping into his chair at the poker table. “Fine, be that way, fuck it. Everybody, get your asses over here. Let’s get this over with.”
I concealed a smile and sat down opposite Artie. My theory was right: Carl acted like a heroin addict jonesing for a fix, which made Artie his dealer. Whatever Caitlin did for the detective behind closed doors, it had long since warped from a desire to a desperate need.
That wasn’t good news for me. The only thing more dangerous and unpredictable than a junkie is a junkie with a loaded gun.
The five of us paid cash into the pot, and Artie dealt out stacks of plastic chips. There were a few too many back-and-forth glances between him and his two friends for my liking. I saw a setup coming from a mile away, but with the Eye weighing down my neck like a millstone I couldn’t do anything but watch close and try to stay sharp.
Half an hour later, I was down by three hundred dollars and looking for the number of the truck that hit me. Lady Luck was colder than a woman scorned, but I’d figured out why. As expected, the bastards were hustling me. They’d worked out a system and kept it tight. A tug of the ear here, an anxious finger tapping on the emerald felt there, little signals to help them work with a singular purpose: burning me down. I figured they’d split the take after they sent me home empty-handed. That was their plan, anyway.
Carl didn’t seem to be in on it. He was too impatient and distracted to be any good, burrowing down to his last stack of chips even before I did. He’d take himself out of the game soon enough. I deliberately threw the next few hands, watching every discard, working out the nuances of their system. It didn’t hurt that Twitch barely knew what game he was playing, and Shades couldn’t keep himself from grinning like an idiot every time he caught a decent hand. If not for the hustle, this would strictly be amateur night.
I sank down in my chair like a whipped dog, digging into my pocket and tossing a handful of crumpled bills onto the felt. “I shouldn’t do this,” I said. “I really shouldn’t do this, but count me in for another three hundred.”
“The table turns fast,” Artie said with a wolfish smile. “You can still go home a winner.”
“I’d better, this is my rent money.”
“Gonna have to blow your landlord again,” Carl muttered, then slapped his cards on the table. “Fold. And I’m out.”
Now it was the four of us, and Artie and his buddies were happy and complacent. Just where I wanted them. Twitch was the weakest link. I decided to take him out first. I waited until he signaled to the others that he’d been dealt a great hand, and then I waved Caitlin over.
“Another beer?” I said.
When she came back, I took the bottle with an outstretched hand and “accidentally” dropped it into Twitch’s lap. He jumped up, spattering beer onto the felt as he dropped his cards, yelling louder than I’d dared to hope despite my oh-so-sincere apologies. Artie got up to find a towel. Caitlin bent over to pick up the bottle from the floor, stealing everybody’s attention, and I had two seconds to switch my useless seven of hearts for Twitch’s ace.
When things finally settled down, Artie and Shades folded their hands like clockwork, confident that Twitch had this round locked up. The look on their faces when I beat him with a lousy two pair was priceless. A tiny victory for a tiny hand, but the real reward was making Twitch look like an idiot incapable of managing a grade-school hustle. He blew the next hand all on his own, too flustered to pay attention. Artie and Shades froze him out by silent consent after that, leaving him to dangle even as he kept signaling his hands, telling me exactly what he was holding.
Off balance and out of the loop, Twitch went into a nosedive. We whittled him down, dividing up his stake until he barely had any chips to his name. I kept my victories small, occasionally tossing a hand to Artie or Shades on purpose, wanting them to stay confident.
The shoe came around the table and it was my turn to deal. “I don’t know about you guys,” I said, “but I’m starting to feel lucky.”
13.
Luck comes naturally when you make it yourself. I palmed a couple of cards from the shoe as I dealt out the next hand, slipping them up my sleeve and wedging them against the band of my wristwatch for safekeeping. Then I took the kid gloves off and started winning.
Twitch dropped first. Cleaned out and withering under his buddies’ glares, he mumbled something about nee
ding to get back home and skulked out the door. Shades was next on the chopping block. I cut into him again and again, my stack of chips growing. He winced at each loss like I’d leaned across the table and gut-punched him. He suddenly remembered it was getting late and he had to be at work in the morning, offering limp apologies as he chugged down the last of his beer.
“There you go,” Artie said from across the table, forcing an enthusiasm into his words that his eyes didn’t match. “Like I said, you could make some money tonight.”
“Night’s still young.”
He slapped a roll of bills onto the table. “Any objections?”
“None.”
He paid into the bank and gave himself a fresh stack of chips, mirroring mine. Meanwhile, Carl watched Caitlin like a cat eyeing a mouse in a cage. He suddenly slapped his palm against the table, making the chips jump, and stood up.
“Have to make a phone call,” he snarled and stomped out of the room. Artie and I shrugged at each other and got down to business.
With the signals from his partners gone, so was my biggest advantage. We went back and forth for a few hands while I looked for a way into his head.
“Sorry about your loss, by the way,” I said as I laid down a winning hand.
His cheek twitched. “What loss?”
“That girl, what was her name, Stacie Velour? Heard she drowned. Damn shame. You must have been broken up over it.”
“Barely knew the bitch,” he said, staring hard at his hand. “We just worked together once or twice.”
I tossed some chips into the pot, raising the stakes, keeping my tone conversational. “Weird rumor on the Internet. Somebody said there’s a version of her autopsy report floating around, claiming she drowned two days before the rainstorm. Strange, huh?”
He nearly bent his cards in half.
“Internet’s bullshit,” he said, a faint stammer in his voice. “Bunch of pencil-neck geeks sitting in their mommas’ basements, making shit up.”
“Yeah.” I nodded slowly. “That’s what I said too. Still, I heard they’re going to assign more cops to the case, give it another review. Just to be safe.”
That was all it took. Flustered and nervous with his thoughts a mile away from the table, Artie made mistake after mistake, and I punished him for each and every one. I cut into his stacks of chips like a surgeon with a scalpel fetish, the clock ticking just shy of midnight by the time I finished cleaning house. I didn’t know exactly how much was in my pile, but it was a hell of a lot more than Artie had planned on losing.
“Sure you can still afford the video?” I asked, taunting him a little. It wasn’t bravado; I needed him angry and reckless for what I had in mind.
“I’m good for the money,” he growled.
“I’m sure you’re good for it, but do you have it? In cash? I don’t take checks.”
Carl came back to the table, thrusting his phone at Artie. “It’s your brother.”
He took the phone. I couldn’t make out the words on the other end, but I could hear shouting.
“No, look.” He could barely get a word in edgewise. “No, I understand how important he is to…no, that’s not…yes, I know how serious this…all right, all right, fine. Goodbye.”
Carl beamed with triumph as Artie handed the phone back.
“You’re an asshole,” Artie snapped.
Carl pointed at Caitlin. “I get her how I want, when I want, where I want. That is the deal. You don’t like it, I can stop holding up my end of the deal and we can have this conversation someplace a lot less friendly. I want her now.”
“Fine,” Artie said, throwing up his arms, “fine, take her in back. Just don’t cut her again, Christ. Or at least clean up after yourself this time. I’m not your goddamn maid.”
I should have been jubilant. Artie was out of his mind, easy to wrap around my finger, and Carl and Caitlin were about to step out of the picture. I had every advantage, every card in my favor. Everything was going according to plan.
I looked at Caitlin. She stared at Carl, dead eyed, resigned.
Fuck the plan.
I picked up my padded envelope and dropped it on the table, pushing it to the middle along with my pile of chips. “I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “One more hand. If you win, you get all my winnings, and the video, and I walk out of here with empty pockets.”
“And if you win?” Artie asked.
I pointed to Caitlin. “I get her.”
The room fell quiet. Artie looked at me for a moment, squinting. “You know what she is?”
I reached around my neck, unclasped the Black Eye, and put it on the table. The sudden rush of power, the whirl of sensations and currents, rode in on the pounding of my heart. I’d have to answer to Nicky if his seer was watching, but that was the least of my problems right now.
“I’m sure you recognize this symbol,” I said, knowing he probably had no idea what he was looking at. “I’m an adept of the Golden Dawn. We’ve been watching you for a long time, Mr. Kaufman. You’re obviously a magus of great power, but we didn’t know until now just how much respect you deserved.”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly, “I—I do. I do deserve respect.”
“This is bullshit,” Carl said. “You can’t be taking this seriously.”
Freed of the Eye, I stroked the envelope with my fingertips, tracing the sigil of Pluto across its face and flooding it with a stream of energy. You want this. You NEED this. A simple trick, but with Artie confused and pulled in four directions at once, the crude enchantment drew his eyes like a mound of diamonds.
“Unless, of course, you’re not allowed to wager her,” I said with a pointed glance at Carl.
“She’s mine, and I can do what I want with her,” Artie said, getting up from the table and walking into his bedroom. Carl followed him, arguing at his back, utterly ignored. Artie came back with a sheaf of papers in his fist. He dropped it onto the center of the table.
The contract could have come from any courtroom in the country, though this one appealed to a very different set of laws. I flipped through it, nodding. Bound for eternity in the name of the thirteen forgotten martyrs, witnessed by the emissary of the Lucifuge, oath of dire perdition for any who might sunder these chains, etcetera, etcetera.
“Signed in blood,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Nice touch.”
“You can’t do this.” Carl glowered. “You can’t let him take her!”
Artie slid the shoe over to him. “I’m not losing. Now deal for us.”
I stood in the middle of a three-way crossfire. If I lost this hand, it was all over. Artie would figure out my “snuff movie” was a scam, and either he’d kill me or he’d order Caitlin to do it. Meanwhile, Carl looked like he wanted to put a bullet in both of our heads. This ride was out of control with no happy ending in sight.
My heart sank at the smile on Artie’s face. Our last round was a straight-up showdown, no room for tricks or bluffs, best hand wins. I had a literal ace up my sleeve, but with all three of them watching me like hungry hawks I had no way to get at it. I was going to die from a simple twist of bad luck. That, and sticking my neck out.
Caitlin sauntered over to the table, stroking Carl’s shoulder like a lover as she leaned down to whisper in Artie’s ear.
“Break him, Master,” she purred, punctuating her words with a flick of her tongue against his earlobe, “or let me do it for you.”
He turned his head, startled, while Carl stared at them like a jealous lover. It was all I needed. I slipped the ace from my watchband, palming a worthless card in its place. I pretended to rub my neck and dropped the spare card down the back of my shirt.
“I think we’re done here,” Artie said with a smile, laying down a gleaming span of cherry-red diamonds. A queen-high flush. Good hand.
“Agreed,” I said, showing him three sevens and two beautiful little aces. Full house.
That’s when everything went wrong.
Carl’s pistol cleared
his holster in a heartbeat, the barrel aimed right between my eyes. His grip was as shaky as his sanity, but at this range he’d blow my brains all over the shag carpet without even trying.
“You can’t have her!” he shouted, spittle flecking the table felt. I squeezed the arms of my chair, trying to keep my cool with the gun barrel hovering inches from my face.
“Easy pal,” I said. “I’m not the one you should be aiming that piece at. Your friend sold you out.”
“What are you talking about?” he said, his gaze wavering between me and Artie.
“Stacy Pankow. You think it’s a coincidence I’m here tonight?”
“Who the fuck is Stacy Pankow?” Carl said.
“You knew her as Stacie Velour. You know, the girl whose body you dumped in the storm tunnels? The murder you covered up? You’re an accessory.”
“He can’t prove anything,” Artie stammered.
“He offered me a trade,” I said, “yesterday, before you showed up. My movie for his. I turned him down because I needed the cash, but man, did it sound juicy.”
“What movie?” Carl said, looking at his partner in crime. “What’s he talking about?”
I rested my hands on the table. “The video of him murdering Stacy. What, you didn’t know? You didn’t know he kept a souvenir?”
“He’s lying!” Artie said, but the gun wavered in Carl’s grip.
“Am I? Am I lying about the DVD in your safe? The one that pins you with a murder rap? Think about it, detective. He goes down, you go down with him. You know what happens to cops who get sent to Ely Prison? It’s not pretty.”
That was a lot of hunches, and if I was wrong on a single one of them, I was good as dead. I didn’t even know for a fact that Artie had a safe in his office, except I knew he’d be keeping Caitlin’s contract somewhere out of harm’s way and it was a likely bet.
The Shadow Box: Paranormal Suspense and Dark Fantasy Thriller Novels Page 230
