by KJ Kalis
“Where?”
“The Lakeview.”
“The Lakeview? What’s Vince doing at an abandoned work project this late at night?” Emily said, looking at Mike. “There’s nothing there. The building is pretty much empty. What would he want with the project?”
“I have no idea.”
Emily started to pace in the kitchen, her socks moving silently across the wood floor. Nothing about this case made sense, she realized. Nothing. She had one business partner who was shrieking about the other one stealing all the money when the other partner wasn’t even on the loan agreement or the partnership agreement anymore. The other business partner, after downing beers with his buddies, went to the abandoned project. It was nothing short of strange. Emily stopped for a moment, leaning her hands on the kitchen counter, shaking her head. “I need answers, but I have no idea how to get them.”
15
The drive from the bar to the Lakeview project only took about fifteen minutes. Vince gripped the wheel of his Land Rover. He wasn’t gripping the wheel because he felt drunk or anything, he realized. The call he’d gotten on the way out of the bar had infuriated him. Sure, he had twenty million-plus in the bank, most of it offshore, but it wouldn’t last long if people kept trying to chisel money out of him.
At the abandoned building, he parked his car in the back of the parking lot and waited. The people he was meeting weren’t happy if he was late. Two minutes after arriving at the Lakeview office project, a black sedan pulled into the lot. Bright headlights caused Vince to squint. He got out of his car and slammed the door behind him, pulling his suit coat a little closer to his body. The temperature had dropped in just the last couple of hours. For a minute, he wished he had a heavier coat with him.
The driver of the black sedan didn’t turn off the engine. A shadow stepped out of the side door. It was Sam. As he walked towards Vince, it was clear that Sam wasn’t in a great mood. Lately, it seemed like he never was. “Vince,” he said, walking close to where Vince was standing, but angling his body away as if he was watching the entrance to the parking lot.
“What is so important that we needed to meet tonight?” Vince said, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“It’s about your credit line.”
“I thought we discussed this on the phone?” Anger burned in his chest, running up the skin on his neck. He knew Sam was just the messenger, but the fact that people were putting pressure on Sam meant there was now pressure on Vince.
“We did,” Sam said, tilting his head to the side, the words coming out slowly. “I just want to make sure that you understand the ramifications of what’s happening here.”
Vince sucked in a breath. Sam had called him on his way out of The Fainting Cow not more than thirty minutes before. One of Vince’s side hobbies was playing high-stakes poker. At the moment, he was three hundred thousand dollars in the hole at his favorite weekly game. It was hosted in the penthouse of the Addison Street Hotel, a plush building from the 1920s that had seen its fair share of prohibition, flappers, prostitutes, and now high rollers. Every Tuesday night, Vince skipped going to the bar with his buddies and instead went to poker. Except this wasn’t a regular poker game. Vince thought of it as a networking opportunity. Some of the most notable businessmen in the Chicago area took part in the game. It was hosted by a woman named Rhonda, who had connections. Sam was one of them.
A former investor of Vince’s, Ken King, invited him the first time. “Now, the thing you have to understand is that this is not a normal situation. It’s not like playing poker in your basement or even in Las Vegas. These people are serious about the game, but the good thing is you can make some business contacts while you’re there.”
“What’s the buy-in?” Vince knew the cost would determine whether he would play or not and how much he’d be willing to lose to meet some important people.
“Ten thousand.”
Vince swallowed. Ten thousand dollars as the buy-in to get an invitation to a poker game seemed a little steep. If it was ten thousand just to start the game, the opportunity to lose hundreds of thousands of dollars was a real possibility.
Vince started playing poker in college with his fraternity brothers. It was something they did during late nights, when they’d had too much to drink or after exams. Vince hadn’t played poker before he’d been in college, but he quickly realized the game was easy for him. He was a born salesman, so controlling the movements of his facial expression — called “tells” — wasn’t a big deal for him. He could pretend he was winning as easily as he could pretend he was losing.
And he had been losing…
Rhonda, the hostess of the game, was kind enough and extra pretty, her long legs shown off in a pair of designer heels and a cocktail dress greeting the men at the door every Tuesday. The staff of the Addison hotel always provided hors d’oeuvres and booze to keep them filled with energy to place their bets, the lights in the room dim except around the table. Servers moved silently through the room, their black uniforms not much more than shadows against the plush upholstery and muffled conversations, business deals solidified in the corners of the room. Three weeks before, Vince had been up by fifty thousand. It was a good feeling, knowing he could add to his wealth whenever he felt like it.
But then the bottom fell out.
Two new players came to the game three weeks before. Ukrainians. They were savvier about poker than any other players he’d met. Vince had no idea if they were somehow coordinating their play or not. Rhonda seemed to be fairly good about vetting people, using her sources in the community to make sure that the people who were there to play were as honest as you could expect from a bunch of gamblers.
The first night Vince played with the Ukrainians, he lost seventy-five thousand dollars. The problem with losing that kind of money was that if you didn’t pay it back immediately to Rhonda and the people that backed the game, interest accrued, and it accrued fast, at a whopping twenty-five percent each week, doubling what he owed in less than a month. The following week, Vince showed up to play again. He saw the Ukrainians had already staked out their seats at the table, their chips piled in front of them. Vince swallowed, realizing he might be in over his head. Rhonda sidled up next to him, the waft of her perfume washing over him. “Vince? You okay?”
“Yes,” he stammered. “I’m just going to get a drink before we get started.”
Rhonda nodded and stepped back against the wall, her normal position during the game. It took everything Vince had to sit down at the table, taking his position. A feeling of foreboding washed over him. The seat had never felt so uncomfortable.
What he feared most happened. Within an hour, Vince was down fifty thousand. That put his total losses at one hundred twenty-five thousand. As they were getting ready to start the next game, Rhonda brought him a new drink, “You good, Vince? You can sit this one out if you want.”
One of the things Rhonda was known for was taking care of her gamblers. It wasn’t the same kind of experience someone who got carried away with online sports betting or was an anonymous better in a ratty trench coat at the local racetrack might have. These were high-end people who deserved high-end attention. Rhonda ensured that. Vince glanced at her, “No, I’m good.”
“You know you are one-twenty-five down, correct?” Rhonda tilted her head towards him, catching his gaze.
He nodded. “I’m good. I’ve got the money to back it up.”
It wasn’t that Rhonda didn’t know about his money situation. To join the game, he had to give her information on his financial situation, which included a verification letter from the bank in the Caymans where he’d stashed the Lakeview money. She knew he had more than twenty million to back up his gambling. He just didn’t want to have to pay it back if he lost.
The pit in his stomach growing, he sat back down at the poker table and played for three and a half more hours, placing small bets. At one point he had won seventy-five thousand back. He was on a high. There was nothing like wi
nning and beating the Ukrainians.
But then everything changed.
At about two in the morning, one of the Ukrainians suggested they up the stakes. Everybody was all in for one more game. Rhonda stood at the head of the table, explaining the terms. “If you aren’t willing to risk your money, then this is the time to cash out. No hard feelings. We will see you here next week like normal.” She nodded at each of the players around the table — Vince, a hedge fund manager who was seated to his right, the Ukrainians, the son of a man who held the largest partnership stakes in the Chicago Bulls, and another real estate developer sat around the table. Everyone got up from the table and walked away except for Vince and the Ukrainians, mumbling excuses about work the next morning.
What kept him at the table, Vince wasn’t sure. Was it pride? Maybe. He loved the pace and tempo of the game, the intensity, knowing that there was real money on the line. It wasn’t real money like the twenty million he had stashed in his Cayman Islands account, but still, the idea that he could lose a big chunk of change at any time gave him a high like nothing else.
Even with Rhonda’s warning, he stayed in his chair, his heart beating a little faster, the faint mist of perspiration collecting on his forehead. A half-hour later, he was up by three thousand. An hour after that, he was down by eighty-five. By the time he was down over a hundred thousand he knew he didn’t want to leave the table until he had to. He didn’t want the Ukrainians to win. He was tired of their smug looks and their scruffy faces.
By four o’clock in the morning, the only people left in the room were Rhonda, Vince, the Ukrainians, a dealer, and a bartender. All the other gamblers had gone home, knowing they had work to do the next morning — all of them, except for the son of a guy who held a stake in the Chicago Bulls who was watching off to the side. He was a trust fund kid. Work in the morning didn’t exist for him.
That wasn’t the case for Vince. He knew that every dollar he lost was another dollar that took him farther away from rebuilding his career. Though he’d been successful on some smaller projects, the Lakeview complex had gone south because of Marlowe, her whining and her insistence on making so many changes. Expensive ones. He couldn’t risk losing everything he’d worked for — all the contacts, the hours spent building relationships, the people he had bribed to get inspections passed. It could all be lost in a heartbeat.
The game lasted until five o’clock in the morning. Rhonda called it the minute Vince hit the three hundred thousand mark in losses. He had never recovered after his initial win. “Gentlemen, this ends our game for this evening. Thank you very much for coming and I will see you on Tuesday,” she said, sounding more like a flight attendant ushering bodies off a plane than a woman wearing a pink sequined dress and high heels who was managing a high stakes poker game. She bent toward Vince, a stray wisp of her blonde hair touching the side of his face, “Make sure to see me before you head out, okay?”
She said it respectfully, but Vince knew the conversation that was coming. He stood off to the side while the Ukrainians cashed out. The two of them were joking and laughing, signing Rhonda’s tablet that would transfer their winnings to their accounts. Vince couldn’t tell if they were drunk on whiskey or just on the money they had won. Inside of him, he felt a mixed cocktail of fury and embarrassment. He was furious that the Ukrainians had taken three hundred thousand of his money. He was embarrassed he let it happen. Waiting for them to leave, he found himself balling his hands into small fists, feeling like he could easily punch both of them square in the face. Instead, he walked toward the patio of the penthouse and went outside to get some fresh air.
The morning hadn’t broken yet. It was still a couple of hours away. The lights of Chicago spanned out before him, sparkling almost as much as Rhonda’s dress. From behind him, he heard the sliding glass doors open and close. “Nice view, right?” Rhonda said, standing next to him.
Vince glanced behind him. Only the bartender, a burly guy who Vince was sure worked as Rhonda’s personal security in addition to pouring drinks, was left in the room. He looked up from the table as he picked up a couple of empty glasses and gave Vince a nod. Vince turned back to Rhonda. “I know what you’re going to say, so you can save your breath.”
A half-smile pulled at the corner of Rhonda’s mouth, “Okay, well let me say it anyway. That way I won’t worry there’s been any misunderstanding.” She bent over, pulling off her stiletto heels, shaking her head slightly. “I don’t care how expensive of a shoe you buy, they are all uncomfortable. My feet are killing me.”
Vince knew Rhonda’s comments about her feet were nothing but a distraction, a way to get his mind off of the fact that he had just lost six figures of his own cash. He didn’t say anything, just staring out at the skyline.
Even in the pitch black, Chicago wasn’t dark. The glint of lights was sprinkled through the city. The penthouse at the Addison Park Hotel that Rhonda got for the guys was near the shores of Lake Michigan. Just past all of the lights from buildings and homes that spanned in front of him, Vince could see the inky blackness of the lake. Far out, there were two small lights. Vince guessed they were warning lights from an ore ship that was likely making its way from Lake Michigan down to Lake Erie and then out through the St. Lawrence seaway. Most people didn’t realize that Chicago’s position on the shores of the lake gave them a distinct advantage — not only did they have multiple centers of international business within Cook County, but they had the benefit of the port system. Goods came in, goods came out. Jobs and opportunity, and most importantly, profit, was part of that system.
“Say what you need to say so I can get out of here and get some sleep. I have a long day ahead of me.” Vince wasn’t sure that the long day part or the sleep part was true, but what he was being honest about was the desire to get out of the suite and away from Rhonda and her burly bartender.
Rhonda licked her lips slightly before speaking, “I’m sorry that you lost tonight. It’s never easy for any of our players. I would like to make one suggestion, though.”
Vince nodded, giving her permission to continue, though he knew she would continue talking no matter whether he gave her permission or not.
“I’d recommend you pay off your debt tomorrow morning.” Her eyes flickered for a second, “or, I’m sorry, this morning.” She looked directly at him, “Listen, you’re a good player, but the Ukrainians are a different breed. The interest you’ll rack up from not paying off your debt will be more painful than trying to win your money back over the next couple of weeks. I’ve seen it happen over and over again.” Rhonda shook her head gently from side to side, “I know it’s tempting to wait, but I know you have the cash to cover your debt. It’s just something to think about.”
She picked up her designer heels and walked back into the penthouse, sliding the door closed behind her. Vince stayed outside for another hour, hoping the sunrise would start to break, but it didn’t. By the time he went back inside, there were only two small lamps left on, the poker table had been torn down and stored, the liquor and food removed from the suite. He hadn’t even noticed. Someone had to come in to clean up after the game, but he’d been so busy sulking that it happened without him knowing.
Later that same day, after some sleep and a shower, Vince thought about paying off the debt. He’d even opened his laptop and accessed his bank account in the Caymans. The money had just started to grow in the last couple of months, topping a million dollars in interest. The idea of taking thirty percent of his new growth out of the account and paying it to Rhonda didn’t sit well with him. Vince closed the laptop in frustration. He wasn’t thinking clearly. Whether it was the gambling, the booze, or the lack of sleep, he didn’t know.
By the time the next game rolled around on Tuesday, he still hadn’t paid down his debt. When he showed up to play, Rhonda almost didn’t let him. “Are you sure?”
Vince nodded. “I am. I just need a chance to win the money back. You know how it is.” Although he tried to sound con
vincing, when the words came out of his mouth he knew they were nothing like that at all. Rhonda knew it, too.
That night, luck was on his side. Only one of the Ukrainians showed up, and by the end of the night he was up by two hundred thousand. He applied that to his balance, leaving him only one hundred left to pay off. “See? I told you things would turn around,” he said to Rhonda as he signed off on the transfer back to her account to pay down his debt.
“I hope your luck holds out,” she said, pulling the tablet away from him and checking the screen. Unlike smaller games where the hostesses were always trying to encourage the players to gamble more and to risk more, Rhonda wasn’t that way. Vince knew she was smart. Brilliant, probably. How she got caught up in running high stakes, off-the-books poker games, he wasn’t sure. As Vince took the last sip of his drink, setting it back down on the table where he had been seated, he glanced at Rhonda. It was a shame. Smart and beautiful, but somehow stuck running poker games. How that happened, he didn’t know.
The following week, his luck changed. The game started with him up two hundred thousand over the last week. By the end of the night, it was gone. The next Tuesday, trying to win back what he had lost yet again, he dropped another hundred thousand.
Sam wanting to see him at the Lakeview tower had been a surprise. Vince figured he would just wait until the following week, try to win again and then if that didn’t happen, pay off the debt.
In the faint glow of an overhead streetlight that reached the back of the construction parking lot, Vince could see Sam’s eyebrows furrow. “It’s come to my attention you’ve had a run of bad luck at Rhonda’s game.”
Vince’s stomach clenched into a small ball. The fact that Sam was meeting with him in person wasn’t a good sign, not to mention the conversation they had when Vince was leaving the bar. “You could say that. She’s brought in a couple of Ukrainians. They are giving me trouble.”
