Unlucky

by Jana DeLeon

  "Oh no," Harry said, and held up one hand. "You are not leaving that fleabag of yours here with me."

  "C'mon, Harry," Mallory pleaded. "You know T.W. doesn't have any fleas. I don't want to leave him alone all day. He might get bored."

  "Bored! All that damned dog does is eat, sleep and shit. Why the hell can't he do that at your house?"

  Mallory put on her best sorrowful face. "He can't hear a darned thing anymore, except for the dynamite blasts. Coming to the site during the day at least allows him to hear something. Do you really want to deny one of God's creatures in his senior years?"

  "Ha! You're not getting me with that one-I am one of God's creatures in his senior years. Last time I checked, God wasn't calling on me to babysit any of his dogs."

  "He won't be any trouble, I promise. And you can drop him off at my place on your way home. I'll drop him off every morning before the tournament. C'mon, Harry. It's not even a mile out of your way."

  Harry stared at her, trying to keep a stern look on his face, but Mallory could tell he was crumbling. "Oh, crap," he said finally. "Bring me the damned mutt. I guess five days won't kill me."

  Mallory grinned and signaled to Scooter to get T.W. out of the truck. "I really appreciate this, Harry. And T.W. does too." She turned toward the truck just as Scooter placed the ancient, three-legged basset hound on the ground. He looked around for a moment, somewhat confused by his surroundings, but finally spotted Mallory, then sort of limped/trotted in her direction, his tail wagging just enough to throw him off balance and force his trot sideways.

  Mallory slipped the leash from her pocket and cut off the wayward dog before he could veer too far off to the right. Leash in place, she walked him back over to Harry, who was shaking his head.

  She placed the leash in Harry's hand before he could change his mind and hurried across the parking lot. "There's dog food in my office, under the desk. I'll come by Friday night - when I have the money."

  Harry nodded and waved. "Be careful, Mallory. Please."

  Scooter gave her the thumbs-up as she jumped in her truck. "That was way cool with the building, Mallory. There's nothing over a foot left standing. You're getting better."

  Mallory grinned at her friend and turned her key over in the ignition. "I think we have a casino to board," she said, and tore out of the parking lot onto the highway.

  It was a ten-minute drive to the casino that she made in seven. As she screeched to a stop at the docks, she stared at the boat and frowned. "What the hell happened to the casino?"

  "Hurricane Katrina."

  Mallory looked at the floating disaster and didn't even bother to try and hide her distaste. Paint peeled from every square inch of the boat and since the original colors were bright green, gold and purple, the whole thing now resembled a Mardi Gras float with the mange. "Reginald had insurance. What the heck did he do with the money?"

  Scooter looked over at the casino and scratched his head, his brow scrunched in concentration. "I'm not sure exactly. I mean, there was this rumor about a street performer in New Orleans and a midget." He shrugged. "Who knows with your uncle?"

  Mallory stared at Scooter for a moment, not even sure where to go from there but positive she wasn't pursuing the midget angle any further. "I thought we were cruising for this tournament. Does that thing even run?"

  Scooter nodded. "Oh sure, the engine is still pretty sound. I mean, there's a problem from time to time, but that's why Reginald has me on board for the tournament. You know, just in case something breaks."

  Great. She was about to board a boat of criminals that would pull away from the dock and cruise the Gulf for the better part of the day, and Scooter was the only hope she had for returning.

  "You thinking of backing out?" Scooter asked, cluing in on her hesitation.

  "No way," she said immediately. Granted, cooling cards had never really set well with her since she essentially saw it as her uncle's way of cheating people out of what was already an unfair advantage to begin with. But in this case, the players had plenty of money and no scruples. "This is my only shot at Harry's business. It might not be ideal but at least it pays well."

  Besides, there was no cause for all the worry, she argued with herself. This was just another job. Five days of being hit on by nasty men with even nastier employment records.

  But no matter how much she tried to rationalize it, the job made her a little uneasy, and for a woman that lived alone on the bayou and imploded buildings on a daily basis, that worried her. She could have handled a "watch your back" feeling, but the "run like hell" that had washed over her when she parked at the docks was stronger than any she'd felt before.

  "You know," Scooter said, "if you really don't want to go through with this, I can probably get you on with my construction company when Walter Royal fires you."

  Leave it to Scooter to cut straight to the heart of the matter. "I appreciate it, Scooter, but with my track record, do you really think anyone in Royal Flush is going to hire me to build things?"

  Scooter frowned. "I guess not." He brightened a bit and smiled. "I definitely wouldn't want you installing glass, anyway." He pointed to the casino. "There's always cooling for a living. You don't have to do it here. You could move to New Orleans, or heck, go all the way to Vegas. That would be awesome."

  "To hell with that," she said, and grabbed her duffel bag from the backseat. Demolition may not have been her first choice when she was slugging through college but damn if it wasn't what she was best at. "Let's get this over with."

  Scooter nodded. "And don't worry about a thing, Mallory. J.T. ripped me fairly good over telling you about this. I promised him I wouldn't let anything happen to you. If things get out of hand, I can always shoot somebody with my nail gun." He pulled the tool out of his backpack and shoved it over to her for inspection. "It's a real beauty-magnesium housing, adjustable exhaust, and double cams."

  Mallory smiled and jumped out of the truck, waving at her neighbor as she headed across the dock. What the heck-a boat of criminals versus Scooter and a nail gun. They weren't the best of odds, but they were the best she was going to get.

  She put on her poker face as she walked through the sliding doors and into the casino. Might as well get her game face on now. But as she rounded the corner to the ladies' room, her cool and collected plans fell apart in an instant.

  The woman who hurried out of the restroom and collided with her didn't even look old enough to be in an R-rated movie, much less in a casino. "What in God's name are you doing here, Amy?" Mallory used her duffel bag to push her friend toward a private corner of the lobby as more attendants emerged from the ladies' room. "Do not tell me you signed up to play in my uncle's poker scam?"

  Amy's bright blue eyes widened at the tone of her voice and she shook her head with the innocence of a five-year-old, her honey blond bob swinging around her face. "I'm not a player, exactly-I'm a dealer. I tried out last week." She squirmed and stared at the floor. "I was going to tell you, Mallory, I promise." She looked at Mallory with a pleading expression. "It's for my thesis. You knew I was going to do something like this eventually. What's wrong with now?"

  Mallory felt her back tighten and she clenched her duffel bag until her hand ached. "I thought you would finish your thesis by playing a nice round of cards with some businessmen at a large casino in New Orleans. Not sign up as a dealer for my uncle, a man of questionable legal status at best, and certainly not against the players he's lined up."

  Amy blinked, then stared at Mallory in obvious confusion.

  Mallory tossed the duffel bag onto the couch next to them and threw her hands up in exasperation, causing Amy to jump. "He didn't tell you, did he?" She tried to keep her voice low but barely succeeded.

  "I guess not."

  "Damn it to hell!" Mallory ranted, and the other women in the lobby stared at them. Before she caused a scene in front of witnesses, she pointed to the exit, giving Amy no choice but to head outside. "My uncle has lined up a bunch of crim
inals, heavy hitters, for this tournament," she continued once the doors slid shut behind them. "He's up to something and it can't possibly be pleasant. You have absolutely no business getting in the middle of it."

  Amy's eyes widened. "Oh, my God."

  "You have to back out," Mallory said, and yanked her cell phone from her pocket. "Either you call or I will. Pretend you never showed up and get the heck out of here. There's no way I'm letting you back on that floating prison block."

  The expression on Amy's face went from frightened to pure misery in under a second. "I can't back out. I used my tuition money to buy in as a dealer. If I don't make it back, I can't graduate."

  Mallory groaned. "How can someone as smart as you constantly do things as stupid as this? It's like you manage to find the one thing you should never be involved in and you're the first in line to sign up."

  "I'm a math genius, Mallory. I guess that doesn't translate to street smarts, so I'm sorry to have offended your redneck rules of play for criminal activity. This wasn't exactly something my instructors covered in finishing school."

  "They didn't cover it because you were supposed to be married off at twenty to some rich doctor or lawyer or politician and spend the rest of your life folding napkins into swans like your parents intended."

  "My parents don't have a clue what's important to me and never have. And don't tell me I should have fallen into their plans. You, with a master's in engineering, and you only use it to tear things up."

  Mallory opened her mouth to protest but Amy held one hand up to stop her.

  "Let me finish," Amy said, and pointed at Mallory. "You've spent your entire life making your own way exactly how you wanted to and that's why I admire you so much. I'm not going to believe for a moment that you think I should give up my dreams and marry some short, fat, balding man twice my age just to have a `good life' and please my parents."

  Mallory shoved her hands in her jeans' pockets and studied the dark wood floor planks for a moment before raising her gaze back to her friend. "I didn't say you should follow your parents' way, Amy, but c'mon, poker at my uncle's casino? Isn't there another way to prove your genius besides pissing off men who probably won't deal with things by quitting and having a beer?"

  Amy waved her hands in frustration. "You think I haven't already tried? I can't make it through two or three hands at a casino table before everyone leaves. One of the dealers in New Orleans said men generally don't like to play with a woman."

  "Probably not," Mallory conceded. "Especially if the woman looks like she's twelve and is whipping their butts at cards."

  Amy grinned. "They're all going to be very sorry when I'm running the country one day."

  Mallory stared at Amy in surprise. "What the heck are you talking about? You thinking about running for president?"

  "Please, the president doesn't run the country, his economic advisor does. He who controls the money has the power.

  Mallory laughed. "You want to be Alan Greenspan, Jr.? Good God, Amy, it would probably be easier to be elected president."

  "Exactly. Which is why this tournament is not an option. I have to finish my thesis by the end of next semester or I can't apply for PhD candidacy. And that will be a little hard to do without the money to pay for school." Amy shot her one final belligerent look, then shrugged. "Besides, I hate swans. And napkins."

  Mallory was unable to stop the smile that quivered on her lips even though her world had just gotten even more complicated than she'd ever thought it could. "Fine, so you'll deal at the Criminal Poker Tournament of the decade." She stood up straight and stared down at her friend, pointing one finger at her. "But you will be careful-painfully so-and you will not incite any anger whatsoever in these men."

  Amy relaxed visibly as she realized Mallory wasn't going to push the issue beyond a butt-chewing, at least until the tournament was over. "You really ought to be nicer to me, you know."

  "Oh, really? And why would I want to do something like that?"

  Amy grinned. "Because if I wanted, I could be your aunt. Reginald proposed to me after I took him at cards."

  Mallory smiled. "Probably a sure thing compared to that whole Alan Greenspan plan. Let's face it-with the company he keeps, sooner or later someone is going to pop dear Uncle Reginald. And you could inherit all this." She waved a hand at the dilapidated casino.

  "Yuck," Amy said. "Even if your uncle was like, the Robert Redford of Royal Flush, do you really think I'd give it a moment's thought after that whole midget thing?"

  Mallory stared at her friend. "Am I the only person who doesn't know about the midget?"

  Amy laughed. "Probably, but if you Google-"

  "I don't even want to know. You're already in this neck deep. Don't make me change my mind by giving me the gory details of what a perv my uncle is."

  "You're one to talk," Amy shot back. "You stand here telling me to walk on eggshells but since I know you're not here for a demolition that can only mean you're working, too."

  Mallory frowned and shook her head. "It's not the same for me."

  "Why not?"

  "I know how to manipulate criminals. I was raised by them."

  Chapter Three

  Since her run-in with Amy had set her a bit behind schedule, Mallory hurried into the ladies' room and changed her outfit with lightning speed. Fortunately, Reginald hadn't been overly picky about the dress code-any combination of black and something else would do as long as it was thin, clingy and short.

  She still had a black spandex micro-mini from her prior cooling days, and the skirt coupled with a thin lacy tank top and short cropped black jacket did quite nicely. Add to that the reinforced stilettos from the bar and she was ready for action.

  In the looks department anyway.

  She did a quick study of herself in the full-length mirror of the bathroom, then grabbed her long black hair and twisted it into a knot on top of her head. Turning from side to side, she viewed the effect and decided she was satisfied. She could always pull the pin out and let her hair down later if a bit of distraction was needed for the players. In the meantime, she enjoyed the cooler air on her with the thick mass lifted. The early morning humidity was already taking its toll on her skin.

  She stuffed her jeans and T-shirt along with her makeup bag into the duffel bag. But as she lifted the bag from the bathroom counter, the strap broke completely off one side and everything dumped onto the floor.

  Cursing both the handle and the zipper, which had stripped this morning as she was packing, she retrieved her items and tossed them into an open locker along with the semi-destroyed bag. She took one final look in the mirror-dusted some face powder off her shoulders and straightened her skirt hem-then slammed the locker door shut and strode out into the lobby, ready to take on the world.

  Or Reginald St. Claire.

  Her uncle stood just outside the ladies' room and in her rush to make it to the casino, she'd almost run into the cigar he was never without.

  "About time you got out here," he said, frowning. "I need a word with you before we begin. Wanted to make sure we're clear on your payment terms."

  Here we go. Mallory fixed her uncle with a hard stare. "I don't believe I stuttered one bit when we talked. I shut down the table, you pay me ten grand. I don't shut down the table, you pay the same as the other attendants." It wasn't the greatest deal in the world. In fact, it pretty much sucked. But according to Reginald, it was the best he could offer, and Mallory got the feeling that he was telling the truth.

  "I don't have a problem paying the money if you deliver the goods. Hell, you'll save me ten times that. That's not the problem." He puffed once on the cigar, then yanked it from his mouth, his face starting to redden. "That asshole Silas Hebert is here. I'm putting you on his table and I don't care if you have to stab him with a kitchen knife. Just keep him from winning any of my money.

  Mallory felt as if she'd just been sucker punched. Her hands involuntarily clenched, and she could feel her lower back startin
g to tighten. Certainly, she'd been prepared for something to go wrong - this was Reginald St. Claire she was dealing with. But Silas Hebert? How in the world had her uncle allowed that to happen? Surely, he was pulling her leg. But one look at Reginald, puffing his cigar like an asthmatic on an inhaler, let her know he wasn't joking.

  "Why in God's name would you invite Silas Hebert?" Mallory asked.

  Reginald waved his cigar in the air. "I didn't-" Reginald stopped abruptly. "That's not really your concern," he said finally, squaring off his shoulders and pulling himself up to full height. "I'm just giving you warning. I'm not the least bit worried about the rest of the players. You could cool them in your sleep. But Silas Hebert better not leave my casino a winner."

  He shoved the cigar back in his mouth, spun around as fast as his large frame would let him and waved at her over his shoulder. "Come with me. You need to meet your dealer."

  Mallory stared at him for a moment before following. Silas Hebert? Silas Hebert was the closest thing Louisiana had to a professional gambler, and he was all the way at the top of the ladder of professional crooks. Not to mention that her entire family hated the man for reasons she'd never known and never wanted to.

  Why in the world would Silas be at her uncle's tournament?

  She followed Reginald across the casino toward the card tables. He'd started to say something. I didn't. Didn't what? Didn't invite Silas?

  But that would make no sense. If Reginald hadn't invited Silas, he could just ask him to leave. After all, this was a private game. And if he had invited him, why did he seem so angry about it now when he should have known it was coming for weeks?

  I didn't.

  She stared after her uncle and shook her head, somehow knowing already that whatever Reginald didn't do was going to be an enormous problem.

  From his blackjack table across the room, Jake stared at the set of legs attached to the woman talking to Reginald St. Claire and decided they were a work of art. Lean but toned, tan but not that rusty-looking tan. No, this lady had spent some quality time outdoors in regular sunlight. The stiletto heels made the muscle in her calf ripple as she shifted her weight from one foot to another and it pulled all the way up into her rear, the muscles of her nice, round butt flexing as she repositioned.