by Jana DeLeon
Mallory absorbed his ramblings for a moment, then smiled. "So you vented the bathroom into the hall, right?"
"Exactly."
Amy frowned. "So anything Reginald does in the bathroom is vented into the hall? That's gross on so many levels I'm not even going to get into it."
"It's not so bad," Scooter said. "His office is on a dead-end hallway between the storage rooms." He grinned at Amy. "No one really has any reason to be back there, and the stock probably won't complain if Reginald eats beans for lunch or anything."
"That," Amy said, "was entirely too much information."
Mallory laughed but then grew serious as she thought about the conversation Scooter had overheard. "I think a trip to my uncle's vent may be in order. Scooter, why don't you pay the kitchen a visit and see if Reginald's left yet."
"No problem." Scooter rose from his chair and ambled off into the kitchen. A minute later he poked his head out and gave them a thumbs-up.
"I guess that means Reginald is done eating," Mallory said, and rose from her chair.
"Or that he's still in the kitchen knee-deep in a twenty-ounce steak," Amy said. "What if Scooter misunderstood?"
Mallory shrugged. "It's a chance I'll have to take. Besides, what's Uncle Reginald going to do? Fire me?"
Amy pulled her napkin from her lap, folded it into four equal squares, and placed in on the table next to her plate. "Then I'm going with you."
"Oh no-"
Amy held up a hand. "Don't even argue. I've put you in a bad position by being here at all. The least I can do is help out. Besides, I'd like to hear firsthand what I've gotten myself into."
The hallway to Reginald's office was dimly lit and at the very back of the casino, which suited Mallory just fine, since it cut down on the chance of being seen. She slipped down the hallway, Amy close behind, and hoped that whatever Reginald had retired to his office for was still happening when they got there.
Directly to the right of her uncle's office door, Mallory spotted the vent Scooter had mentioned. It was too high on the wall to stand next to, but there were several empty wooden crates stacked across the hallway next to the warehouse door. Mallory snagged one and placed it below the vent, then kicked off her shoes and stepped carefully onto the platform, placing her ear against the vent.
It took her a second to realize that noise she heard was a shower running. Then she heard a series of beeps, like someone punching in numbers on a phone. Someone was definitely in the bathroom. Someone who was making a phone call while pretending to shower. Someone she hoped was Reginald.
She motioned to Amy to step onto the crate and moved over to the side to ensure her friend could join her on the platform without making any physical contact. Amy nodded and stepped gently onto the crate, carefully balancing herself on the other side.
Someone coughed on the other side of the wall, and Mallory heard Reginald say, "I'm getting a bad feeling about this. I don't think it's going to work."
She wished they could hear both sides of the conversation and not just the one.
"I've got everything I own and some things I don't riding on this," Reginald said. "If it doesn't come off like you said it will, I'm a fifty-four-year-old man with no viable skills, legal ones anyway, starting over in life."
Amy stared at Mallory, her eyes growing wider as Reginald spoke. Mallory placed one finger on her lips.
"No, God damn it!" Reginald shouted, and Mallory sucked in a breath.
"I don't prefer the alternative," he continued, "as that leaves me with nothing, too. What I prefer is to go back to my life the way it was before you showed up and ruined it."
Mallory pressed closer to the wall until she was almost flattened against it, but not a peep came from the bathroom except for the spray from the shower. Several seconds passed and Mallory was just about to motion to Amy to leave when she heard an explosion of plastic against tile. Assuming her uncle had thrown the phone against the shower wall, Mallory decided about right now would be the perfect time to get the hell out of there.
She motioned to Amy, who carefully backed off the crate. Mallory waited until she was clear, then took one step away from the wall and directly onto a section of rotten board. The board split instantly from her weight and her foot went crashing through, scratching the heck out of her ankle as it went. Amy gave her a horrified look as Mallory tried to yank her foot out of the crate.
It took two tries before she pulled it free, and already she could hear Reginald yelling in his office. Any second now, they were going to be caught.
Without a moment to spare, Mallory pushed open the storeroom door and Amy ducked inside. Mallory spun around to face her uncle's office just as he yanked open the door and glared.
"What the hell are you doing out here, Mallory? Sounds like you're tearing shit up. This ain't one of Harry's sites, you know?"
Mallory took a quick breath and tried to regroup. "I needed to speak to you about a couple of things and banged my foot on one of those crates when I walked up." She twisted her foot to the side, hoping her uncle wouldn't notice the tiny trickle of blood running down her ankle.
Reginald glanced down at her feet, then shook his head. "You shouldn't be walking around without shoes on. Jesus Christ, Mallory, you weren't raised in a barn. So what do you want?"
"I'm a little concerned about my table."
"What's the problem? Your table is running fine."
"For now. But just how long do you think Father Thomas is going to make it without telling everyone at the table, or the tournament for that matter, that I'm a cooler?"
Reginald pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket and lit it. "Father Thomas gave me his word he wouldn't say anything about you. It was the only way I would agree to let him play at your table."
Mallory threw her hands up in frustration. "His word? For Christ's sake, Reginald, he made a promise to God not to repeat things said in confession and he does that on a regular basis. Why in the world would you think he'd keep this a secret just because he promised you? And why would he want to be at my table anyway? He's got to know he's going to lose if I'm there."
Reginald puffed once on the cigar, then yanked it from his mouth, his jaw set in a hard line. "The old fool wanted a crack at beating Silas Hebert at the poker table, so that's what he got. You were part of the deal and he knew it up front. I'm not going to waste any more time on this conversation. Just do your job and your table will be fine."
Mallory narrowed her eyes at Reginald. "I'm trying to do my job, although I'm beginning to wonder if you even want your dealer to win. What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Reginald? This whole tournament seems too much, even for you."
"What I do in my casino is none of your business."
"It is if the fallout is on me-and Amy and Scooter. I've already got a bad feeling about all this. I need to know exactly what I'm worried about."
Reginald stared at her for a moment as if trying to decide what to say. Finally, he puffed once more on the cigar and shook his head. "The only thing you have to worry about is shutting down Silas Hebert. The rest will take care of itself. And believe me, you and your friends are perfectly safe in the casino. You have no idea just how safe." That said, he stepped back into his office and slammed the door behind him.
What the hell? Mallory stared at the closed door, not knowing what to think.
Finding a new job was starting to look less complicated by the minute.
Jake stood on a balcony just off the back of the restaurant and pulled out his cell phone. There was a cool breeze blowing off the Gulf and he leaned over the railing, hoping to catch a bit more of the refreshing air. He had two phone calls to make-one he was dreading and one that he hoped would be good news.
He decided to bet on the good news first. The phone had barely started ringing when the young man he had been hoping to reach picked up the call.
"Jake, is that you? Man, I been trying to find you. You out chasing the ladies?"
Jake smiled. "Hell
o to you too, Brian. And to answer your question, no I'm not chasing ladies-I'm out of town on business."
Brian laughed, fully aware of Jake's job and what his "business" probably consisted of. "Man, you make it sound like a bankers' convention."
"As far as you know, it is. I don't have very long, but I wanted to check in with you, see if you had some news yet."
There was a couple of seconds' pause and Jake could feel the energy from young man, even across the phone line. "Yeah, I guess you might call a full scholarship to Georgetown some news."
Jake felt the grin spread across his face. "That's fantastic! I hate to say I told you so-"
"I know, I know. But you gotta admit, it was a long shot for a guy like me."
"It was never a long shot. You just didn't believe that."
"I know, but you believed enough for both of us. And Mama prayed enough for all the saints to hear. I appreciate what you've done for me, Jake. Helping me see the things I could accomplish without the risks I was running. Let's face it, I was headed down a whole different road before I met you."
"Maybe. Or maybe you were just taking the scenic route."
Brian laughed. "Yeah, it didn't look so scenic from the backseat of a police cruiser, but since I won't be taking a chauffeured ride with the Atlantic City PD again, I'll just have to live off the memory."
"Maybe that's a memory better forgotten."
"No way, man. That ride plopped me straight down at the youth center and on the other side of your desk. You are one hard dude, but you're making a difference here."
Jake's voice caught a bit. "I sure hope so."
"And I know so. You better get back to catching those men that I'm never going to become thanks to you."
Jake felt his pride in the young man swell even more. "You got it."
"And Jake-be careful. I'd like to have you around when I get that diploma."
"I wouldn't be anywhere else."
He pressed the "end" button and scrolled down to the number he'd been putting off for the last few days. Taking a deep breath, he forced his mind into a calm, collected state.
"Jones - it's Randoll," he said as his captain answered.
"Is it safe for you to talk?" Jones asked.
Jake looked out across the miles of open water. "Unless you're worried about the fish overhearing, it's as safe as cell phones get."
Apparently satisfied, his captain launched into his Q&A routine. "Is everything in place? Did you pull Silas's table? Is the bastard there? Why the hell haven't you checked in before now?"
Jake took a deep breath, forming answers to the onslaught of questions, his hope of finishing this phone call in time to grab some lunch evaporating in an instant. "I got the dealer slot at Silas's table, and yes, the bastard is most certainly here. Smug as ever. And I haven't checked in before now because I wasn't sure about player placement and there hasn't been a way to call without being overheard since the tournament started."
"Did you get the money scanner past the metal detectors?"
"Yes, sir. Security thought it was a regular laptop, just like I thought they would. I'll keep it in my locker. Testing the money in the dressing area shouldn't be a problem. No one's in that room except for first thing in the morning and right before we leave.
There was a pause on the other end and Jake knew his boss's mind was whirling with every possible scenario this sting could take on-both good and bad.
"Why do I get the idea you're not telling me everything?" his captain finally said. "Your voice is strained."
Damn it. The man could pick up tension in -a corpse.
"There's nothing here I can't handle, sir," Jake said.
"Why don't you let me be the judge of that," his captain shot back. "What's the problem?"
"There is no problem. Merely a small inconvenience, and I'm handling it."
"What inconvenience?" his captain asked, not about to let it go.
Jake gritted his teeth, knowing he was about to have the very discussion he'd been hoping to avoid. "St. Claire's niece is the attendant at my table so I have to be extra careful with my actions. And before you ask, there's no getting rid of her. St. Claire detests Silas and doesn't want him to win a dime. St. Claire put her at my table specifically to shut down Silas. This niece and St. Claire both have some nutbag idea that she can cool cards."
"Can she?"
Jake paused for a moment, not even sure how to reply. "Sir, you're not serious. There is no paranormal ability to cool cards that I've ever heard of in my life."
"I didn't ask if you'd heard of it. I asked if she could do it. How many hands have you won so far?"
"All but one," Jake mumbled. Not counting the three I threw.
"What? I can't hear you. You're cutting out."
"All but one," Jake shouted.
"And you think that's normal?" his captain asked. "I don't care if she's clouding his judgment with perfume or goosing him under the table. Results are everything and sounds to me like she's getting results."
Jake shook his head in disbelief. "Sir, she's not getting anything but rounds of drinks. You can't possibly buy into this bullshit."
"I didn't say I was buying into anything, except the fact that whatever she's doing is apparently working. The key to success here is figuring out how to turn everything to your benefit."
"As far as she's concerned, I'm already benefiting," Jake said, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. "If Silas doesn't win a hand or two soon, he will guess the fix is on and leave before I can get an exchange. Even if I were going to believe that this woman has some kind of supernatural ability, she's not helping me at all."
"Well, then I suggest you start by getting on this niece's good side. Treat her with that can't-be-bothered attitude you take toward most women and you're likely to create a problem you can't fix. I don't think I have to remind you what's riding on this. Or that this is our last chance."
Jake clenched the balcony railing with one hand and stared out over the glistening water. "No, you don't have to remind me."
"If you were any other single agent, I'd tell you to romance her, but you take avoiding women to new heights. So I suggest you start with being friendly. And don't tell me you can't. I know your mother, and I'm certain she raised you with manners or you wouldn't have seen adulthood."
"Yes, sir," Jake said, trying to figure out how the hell he was supposed to be friendly to a woman that frustrated him with her odd beliefs as much as she stirred other feelings in him that he'd shut down long ago. It wasn't possible. Keeping Mallory Devereaux at a distance was the only way this was going to work for him. Just the fleeting thought of having her closer to him had his mind swimming, unorganized, unfocused, and that was something he couldn't afford regardless of his captain's advice.
"One more thing, Jake," his captain said. "That hand you lost - was the niece at the table then?"
The line went dead, and Jake flipped the phone shut and shoved it in his pocket. He leaned over the railing again, letting the cool Gulf air blow across his face. It didn't mean anything that she wasn't at the table.
Not a thing.
It was about ten minutes before play would start again, and Jake stood at his table, removing cards from the shoe and shuffling them, his boss's words still ringing in his ears. He was just trying to make up his mind how to approach the afternoon of play - and Mallory Devereaux-when the object of his thoughts stepped into the casino and headed for his table, her full hips swinging as she walked.
"Hi there," she said as she stepped up to the table.
Was it possible that her top was lower cut now than it had been this morning?
Jake held back a frown and managed an unenthusiastic "hello." Being friendly to Mallory Devereaux just wasn't going to be possible-not without his train of thought wandering to things best left alone.
Her smile faltered a little at his weak greeting, but she pointed at the stack of chips in front of him, by far the largest stack on the table, and tried agai
n. "It was a great morning, huh?"
"Oh, yeah," Jake muttered. "It was a fantastic morning." If you consider that Silas Hebert thinks I'm cheating and is probably planning to cash in his chips and leave.
Mallory frowned at his sarcasm. "Surely you weren't expecting to take them all the first day? That would take a miracle. I'm good, but I don't do miracles."
Jake stared at her a moment, an idea forming in the back of his mind. Sure, the whole card cooling thing was bullshit, but what would it hurt to test it out? "Then maybe you should talk to your friend, the drunken priest. Anything he could work up would make as much difference as you do."
Mallory's face flushed with anger. "You still don't believe, do you? Even after almost every hand this morning went your way. Even though some of the hands you pulled on the draw go against the laws of nature."
Jake shrugged, knowing it would only goad her more. "Whatever you say."
Mallory threw her hands up in exasperation. "You don't honestly think you're that good of a player, do you?"
Jake stared at her for a moment, then held out one arm. "Prove it."
"What?" Mallory looked down at his bare arm. "Are you insane?"
Jake laughed. "As far as I'm concerned, my sanity is not the issue here. Your touch is supposed to bring doom and gloom, so prove it."
Mallory shook her head. "No way. My job is to shut down this table. I can't do that with you losing."
"You say I will lose. I say it won't make a bit of difference." He looked her straight in the eyes, challenging her. "So assuming you're right, what's the worst that can happen? I lose a few hands before you switch things back the other way? What's the big deal? Unless of course, you're lying."
Mallory bit her lower lip, the indecision on her face clear as day. He knew she wanted to prove him wrong and by God, for the first time since the tournament started, he hoped she could. If only she'd touch him. Just one tiny touch. Enough to keep Silas around for another day.
