by Carmen Faye
“I hear that it went well,” he said, nodding at the bag. I rubbed my hands together now that they were empty.
“It did,” I said. I didn’t ask where he’d heard it. I didn’t doubt that he had his contacts with eyes on the games at all times. No doubt every small detail about my game had reached him long before Alex and I had even reached her home.
He leaned forward and opened the bag like the contents meant nothing to him, but the act wasn’t flawless. His eyes glittered with greed. He nodded when he’d glimpsed the notes and sniffed, leaning back again.
“I want you to meet someone,” he said. He nodded toward the door, which opened as if on cue. A man with a black suit walked in, and his presence filled the room until it spilled into the corners. His presence was bigger than he was, giving him the overall look of someone who towered over everyone else, but in actual fact he wasn’t much taller than I was.
He wore wraparound sunglasses even though he was inside, and that made me think either his eyes were extremely good, or extremely poor.
“This is Stanley Donal. Better known as Big Don.”
I could see why. I fought the urge to take a step back when he turned that face to me. The glasses made him look like some kind of killer.
“He’s my brother-in-law,” Tucci said. Right, one of the original brothers. He scared me. I would never marry into a family with men like that, but who was I to judge one of the kingpins of the city?
“Nice to meet you,” I said, holding out my hand. Big Don just looked at me, leaving my hand hanging in midair. After a moment, I pulled my hand back and stuffed it into my pants pocket instead.
“You’re the new rat,” he said. His voice was low and deep and almost as intimidating as his face was. If I heard it over the phone, I would still tremble.
“I am,” I said, not even bringing up that he called me a rat. I glanced down at his knuckles. He had L-A-S-T and S-H-O-T tattooed on his knuckles, and I wasn’t in a hurry to meet them.
He grunted and then turned his back on me, as if I wasn’t a threat at all, before sitting his ass in an armchair opposite Tucci. He dragged the bag of money closer and started unpacking the stacks, ready to count them. I would have preferred them to count it after I’d left.
“We have to makes sure we can trust you, you understand,” Tucci said, and it didn’t sound like a question. Of course that made sense, but I would really have had it otherwise.
With all the talk of contracts and finding me and killing me and all that, I didn’t doubt that Tucci was dangerous in his own right, but Big Don never had to brag about anything when he’d walked into the room. He said it all without opening his mouth, and that, to me, was the mark of a true killer.
There was an awkward silence as Big Don counted and Tucci puffed on his too-big cigar and Harry stood in the room as if he was merely ornamental.
The silence that stretched between the three of us was thick and heavy and filled with dread. I didn’t know what Big Don was going to say about the money, but he was counting it as if it was a huge deal.
And maybe it was, but it made me nervous. I’d pictured the whole drop off different in my mind.
“I want to thank you for the opportunity to play in the game,” I said. I was trying to be polite. I was trying to be proper. I was trying to get rid of the damn silence that was starting to suffocate me.
Tucci looked at me and nodded without saying anything. Big Don didn’t even bother looking up. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the silence falling back where it was like a heavy curtain.
After what felt like hours, Big Don finally stacked the money and carefully put it back in the bag. He handled the stuff as if it was precious, something I doubted I would ever get from him as a person. With him in the room, I got a distinct feeling that I was disposable, and it wasn’t a nice feeling.
Tucci and Big Don looked at each other as if they were communicating with their eyes or something.
“Where did you say you were from, Mr. Reeker?” Big Don finally asked me. Right. Ben Reeker. My alter ego. I had to keep reminding myself that around here I wasn’t Rip Peterson. I couldn’t afford to be.
I cleared my throat and rubbed the back of my neck. “I didn’t really say,” I said.
“Would you care to say now?” Big Don asked, but it wasn’t really as much a question as it was a command.
“I’m originally from Washington,” I said, making up facts on the spot, “but I’ve been all over. I’m really more of a nomad.”
Big Don nodded, and it was impossible to know what he was thinking with those black wraparounds on his face. It made me nervous. Maybe that was the point.
“I’ve never heard your name before,” he said.
I shrugged. I could make a cocky remark and tell him he would have if he was in the right circles, but being arrogant seemed a little detrimental to my health right now. I glanced down at his knuckles again.
“I don’t like you,” Big Don said. I glanced at Tucci who was grinning like an idiot around his cigar. “I think you’re lying to me.”
“What would I be lying about?” I asked. Other than my identity, where I’m from, what I do, and that I work alone, of course.
“I smell a rat. You waltz into my pub and worm your way into a high-ranking game, and then you have the nerve to sit here in my office and be nonchalant about it when there’s money missing?”
Blood drained from my face, and I prayed it didn’t show. I was still working on my poker face.
“It’s all there,” I said, and thankfully my voice sounded calm and steady. I wasn’t feeling calm and steady at all.
“Don’t fuck with me boy. I’m not the kind of person who allows second chances.”
I could believe that, but what the hell was his problem? Or did he just get off on people’s fear? Maybe he liked being the boss.
“The money is all there,” I said. That same calm cool that I didn’t feel. Point for me. Big Don just looked at me. For all I knew, he could be narrowing or rolling his eyes at me under to shades, but there was no way I was going to be able to figure that out. I looked right back at him.
We were caught in an immature little staring competition. Was it first one to blink loses? He was cheating.
Finally Tucci cleared his throat, and I was the first to break eye contact. Or shades contact, as it were.
“We’ll be in touch, Ben,” he said to me, and I took it as a dismissal. I clapped my hands onto my knees and pushed myself up. I walked toward the door without glancing again at Mr. Sunglasses.
“I’m watching you, boy,” he said. I closed the door behind me and pretended I didn’t hear. For a money drop-off, that was a hell of a dramatic show. I sat down at the bar and ordered a beer, wondering if they could get me details for an electronic funds transfer so that I didn’t have to do that again. From what I could tell, this was going to be regular thing in the next couple of weeks, and I wasn’t in the mood to run into Big Don again anytime soon.
Just as I thought it, he appeared from the VIP room and took a seat next to me with one barstool open between us. He didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at him. He ordered rum. We sat side by side, and the longer he sat there staring ahead, the smaller and more insignificant I felt.
I made quick work of my beer, left money on the counter to pay for it, and left the pub as quickly as I could. Big Don was damn intimidating.
The bright, fresh air outside was a welcome change to the dim stuffy atmosphere of the bar, and I took a deep breath. It smelled like the ocean. I hailed a cab and gave the address to get me back to the motel where I hadn’t been in a while.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I hadn’t spoken to Alex since Sunday. I’d taken the whole bag of money with me, and I’d intended to give it to her the next time I saw her. I just wanted to see if I couldn’t make a bit more. I wanted to play with it.
The first thing I did was go to a new motel. I tried not to stay in one place for too long. This place was
a little more expensive because I felt I could treat myself, and it was closer to the coast so that when I lay in bed at night I could hear the waves crashing on the beach.
I made my way to Harlan Gold on Wednesday. I hadn’t been there since the day I’d met Alex. I half-expected her to be there, but when I arrived, I didn’t see her car in the parking lot. I looked around for her classic red outfit when I was inside, but Alex was M.I.A.
That was okay. I didn’t have to be attached to her at the hip now that we were seeing each other in a not completely casual capacity. I still had to take her out on a date, and I wanted to make money for that too so that I could spoil her.
Harlan Gold was like a glittering jewel, and I was swallowed by the red and gold that wrapped all around me and drowned out reality.
I tried my hand at poker. I kept my bets small and tried to remember what she’d taught me. Her voice was a constant in my head, and I could hear it’s velvet finish every time I decided to do something. I managed to pull a couple of hundred at the tables before I pulled out and made my way over to craps and then roulette, playing games I was better at and didn’t have to think so much about.
I lost more than I won, but somehow, I managed to make up for it. It wasn’t a loss, but it wasn’t a win either. After a couple of hours on the floor, I was right back where I started. It put me in a bad mood.
Time for some blackjack. I wasn’t going to jump in and start counting the way Alex had taught me right away; I doubted I was as sharp as she was, and I was definitely not as fast.
But I could stand around the table that was playing and count, see if I was right.
I spent some time there doing exactly that, and found that I was better at it than I thought I would be. I was willing to give it a shot. I glanced around the casino. It wasn’t as if I was looking for her, but I would have liked it if she appeared out of thin air. I also liked making sure that if I was going to cheat by counting, then I didn’t want anyone who mattered to see me.
Like an owner, a security guard, or a floor manager.
I sat down and rubbed my hands together. I started small with just a couple of chips, and I managed. It was great. I got all the numbers right and counted it all out the way I should have.
I won money. Handfuls of chips that made my head spin.
But somewhere I lost track again, and I lost more than half of it in a single go again. That was what happened when you got cocky.
I got up off the table, saving the chips I had left before I made a complete fool of myself.
In the corner at one of the poker tables, a man in an extravagant salmon and black silk suit made a scene of being in the casino. His dark hair was slicked back, and his shrewd eyes flitted all over the place. His face was twisted in a satisfying smile that suggested he just won a lot of money.
Antonio Jerrill really was a sight to behold. He was irritating even when I wasn’t speaking to him, and he had the kind of face that made me want to walk up to him and be a cocky son of a bitch.
I held on though and behaved like a gentleman. I was learning. Alex had taught me more than just how to cheat the system in a classy way.
Jerrill got up and that bodyguard of his flanked him as if he was made of gold. I didn’t doubt someone would want to take him out, even if it was just because he was such an arrogant S.O.B.
His bodyguard bent over and whispered something in his ear and then Jerrill got up and walked out through a private back door that looked to me like it led to a fire escape. Curiosity got me to my feet, and I walked in the same direction.
I managed to slip out of the door without anyone seeing me. The cameras were strategically placed facing away from the door, and that made me want to know what was going down all the more.
I slipped out into the inky night through the fire escape and stayed in the shadows that were cast by a dumpster. The alley was dark and narrow, and I didn’t really want to be caught in there alone. Jerrill stood with his hands in the pockets of his pansy suit, and his muscle leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest so that his arms looked impossibly big.
A couple of minutes of waiting and another character appeared in the alley. He was so thin and reedy he hardly cast a shadow, but he walked up to Jerrill with so much swagger he had to be worth millions in some way.
He didn’t exactly the dress the part, with baggy jeans, an untucked collared shirt that hung underneath a suede jacket with its collar popped up and shades on his head—even though it was nighttime. At least he wasn’t wearing them.
What was it with men who flew beneath the radar and sunglasses? Did it make the police not recognize them, or was it a matter of intimidation?
“You’re late,” Jerrill said, and his voice carried through the thin night air so that I didn’t have to creep closer to know what they were saying.
“I know. Hold up on trade.”
Whatever that meant.
“So, we doing this or not?” Jerrill asked. By the tone of his voice I got the impression he was anxious to get out of there. I wasn’t sure why, his bodyguard could snap the reed in half without blinking the guy was so thin.
“We’re doing this, but I can only offer you half,” he said. “One of my guys ran into trouble getting the art over the border.”
Art? Jerrill was having private back alley meetings about art deliveries?
“We didn’t agree on half,” Jerrill said.
“I know, but you have to respect the system man. We’re all in a pecking order here, and I can’t change how things are. Either you want it or you don’t. If you don’t, I can find another buyer to replace you. I don’t care where the money comes from.”
Jerrill lifted his hand, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if it was to summon the bodyguard for a deal or for death. The reedy guy didn’t seem to know either. He stiffened. But then Mr. Muscle produced a black suitcase and held it out for Reedy to take. The guy was visibly relieved.
“I trust the money is correct?”
“The money is as a good a quality as your product.”
Product, not art. I was willing to bet I wasn’t listening to a trade of oil on canvas. The thin guy nodded, the bodyguard nodded, and Jerrill nodded. Then Reedy handed over a key. The only reason I knew it was a key was because it gleamed when it was passed and nothing else really looked like that.
Jerrill took it and turned. The discussion was over; there were no goodbyes. Mr. Muscle turned and followed Jerrill. I stayed put right where I was. If I moved now, they were going to see me, and I needed to stay out of sight if I didn’t want to get the living shit beaten out of me.
The bodyguard opened the door for Jerrill, and the slick man walked through, followed by his tail before the door swung closed and clicked shut again with a sound that reminded me of an airlock.
I glanced toward the spot where the meeting had happened. The thin guy pulled his popped collar against his neck, fished in his pocket for a cigarette, and cupped his hand around it as he lit it up with a lighter that gleamed like something gold.
I wanted in. I saw a lot of money, and I wanted it. I wanted to do whatever it was that got me that much money.
It wasn’t the plan, Alex and I had an agreement that I had to stick to. If I got into some more shit now, I wasn’t only setting myself up for potential danger, but if it went wrong, it would be betrayal, too.
But it was so much money. The deal I’d seen tapped into my greedy side, and I had to get into that.
I looked over my shoulder toward the door. It was quiet and closed, as if no one had gone through it at all. I swallowed hard and did what I knew I shouldn’t be doing. I got up from behind the dumpster and walked toward the guy who now casually stood smoking.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I walked right up to him and lit a cigarette of my own. I didn’t know how to approach the guy without it being suspicious. He jerked his head around when he saw me. I watched him in my peripheral vision, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
“What are
you doing?” he asked.
I lifted the cigarette to my mouth. “Having a smoke,” I said and took a drag.
“Out here?” he asked. I glanced over my shoulder at the casino’s fire escape.
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”
He shook his head. He had mousy brown hair that was cut in a style that made me think he still wanted to be a teenager. But from up close his threads were nice, expensive. The jeans were designer, made to look faded instead of really being faded. The clothes fit as if they had been made for him, which was a tough one to pull off if you were as skinny as this guy was.
