“We’re good here, right?” Big Ben confirmed. “You got your free drinks, and I got my girls back?”
They both nodded and took nervous sips of their Manhattans. Big Ben sauntered over to the bar, smiling as if nothing had happened.
Macy eyed Quin. “So, Ben tells me you’re a wolf hunter.”
“Not really a hunter,” Quin said. “A tracker. I help the DNR keep track of the wolf population up north.”
“That’s awesome,” Macy said.
“Yeah that’s cool,” Candy said. “I love the outdoors.”
Big Ben smirked. “You love the outdoors? You’re as urban as they come.”
“I’m not saying I like to hunt or fish,” Candy said. “But if I could have a summer job working outside, that would be awesome.”
“You spend half your summer topless,” Big Ben said. “I’d like to see you tracking wolves without your top.”
“I bet you would,” Candy said, as if she were flattered by Big Ben’s attention.
She tugged on Quin’s coat, drawing him closer, and he went with it, but Zoe flashed in his mind. Quin scanned the bar to see if he recognized anybody from campus, but it was near closing time and most of the patrons were executives.
Quin went with the small talk. “What kind of work are you in, Candy?”
“I’m between jobs right now,” she said. “I’m a freshman at the U.”
The U was a big school and Quin didn’t recognize her, but these days everyone was a click away from a mutual friend. He probably knew somebody who was friends with her.
“My girlfriend is a freshman too,” Quin said as Big Ben handed him a Summit Winter Ale. He really wasn’t interested in Candy, and this was the least awkward way to make it clear that he had a girlfriend.
“Really? What’s her name?”
“Zoe Shands,” he said.
She thought about the name and sipped her drink. “Hmmm…she sounds familiar, I guess. But you’re off leash tonight, right?” she asked with a devilish grin.
“Hey, finish your drink,” Big Ben said. “Don’t tempt him like that.”
“He’s hot. Why are you tempting me like that?” Candy said to Big Ben as she pointed at Quin.
“You tell him, girl,” Macy said.
Quin sipped his beer and watched the flirting. As long as they were joking, the awkwardness was at bay.
“Take a few minutes to finish your drinks while Quin and I talk.”
Big Ben pulled Quin away from Candy, and the men stood together at the bar next to their dates.
“First we talk business, then we talk about the girls,” Big Ben said.
“Cool. What do you want to discuss?” Quin asked.
“I know it’s only been a few days,” Big Ben said, “but I like your style.”
“Thanks,” Quin said.
“Most of selling is charisma, and you got it,” Big Ben said. “I could teach you the entire business if you’re interested.”
Ordinarily Quin would’ve been extremely interested in a job where he could make more money, but now that he knew how Big Ben preyed on people, he had no interest in the business.
He faked enthusiasm. “Yeah, it seems like a great career.”
“It’s not a career, it’s a way of life. You can make millions as a death broker. You like money, right?”
“Yeah, who doesn’t?” Quin said, laying it on thicker.
“I don’t,” Big Ben said.
“You don’t like money?” Quin asked, searching for the sarcasm on Big Ben’s face.
“Money in and of itself means nothing to me. But it’s what money can do, the power of money, that interests me.”
Quin sipped his beer. “Sure. Money is a means to an end.”
“Exactly, Quin. Money is powerless until you put it into action. Our clients have life insurance policies that have value, but those clients will never see what their money can do until they sell their policies to us.”
Quin pondered Big Ben’s philosophy. “Spend it or invest it.”
“Right, keep the money moving,” Big Ben said. “And you’re young, Quin. Money likes youth because young people need money.”
“Do you miss your college days at Harvard?” Quin asked.
Big Ben looked left and right, as if he were revealing a secret. “I do miss them. I partied all through college and even while getting my MBA. Enjoy it while you can.”
“I’m not a big party guy,” Quin admitted.
“Good for you,” Big Ben said, “Now about tomorrow, play it social with Rebecca. There’s no need to present our offer right away. Get to know her as a friend.”
“Sure, I’ll take my time,” Quin said.
“She likes art and theatre,” Big Ben said. “Go online tonight to get familiar with the shows in town, the art exhibits. Never bring up the topic of dying,” Big Ben. “It kills the mood, no pun intended.”
“I hang out with her and then present our offer at the end of the meeting?” Quin asked.
“Right. Don’t lead with business, lead with social banter, and when it feels like the meeting is nearing the end, hand her our offer.”
Quin knew his real goal was to stall her from accepting Big Ben’s offer. He and Stray Dog would make their own move.
“You can get money for this deal, right?” Big Ben asked. “Your tribe has money?”
“I’ll do my best. But–“
“Can we go out to the casino?” Big Ben asked, as if he were suddenly inspired. “I want to see it.”
Quin wasn’t in favor of this idea. It was bad enough that Big Ben had found his apartment, but to bring the big bad wolf to the reservation seemed irresponsible.
“Ah…sure, we can make a trip this weekend or next week,” Quin said, stalling.
“Why not go right now?” Big Ben asked. “Aren’t casinos open twenty-four hours?”
Quin felt invincible in the driver’s seat of the Fisker; he drove 75 mph as they headed south out of Minneapolis. Candy rode shotgun while Macy and Big Ben cuddled in the backseat.
“What’s with all of this eighties music?” Candy asked Big Ben.
“I like retro music; leave it,” he said.
She fiddled with Big Ben’s phone, searching for better music. “Can I download something from the twenty-first century? Tokyo Police Club or Foster the People?”
Quin could see Big Ben in the rearview mirror. His boss was lost in a deep kiss with Macy.
“That’s a yes, right, Quin?” Candy said.
“Download as you wish,” Quin said.
Quin punched it, and they drove south as the Minnesota River Valley faded into the distance. Quin exited onto a two-lane highway flanked by cornfields.
“Where are we?” Big Ben asked.
“Shakopee,” Quin said. “The reservation is south of here.”
“Are we driving to Mystic Lake?” Macy asked.
“We’ll drive right by it,” Quin said. “My reservation’s casino is beyond Mystic.”
As they passed Mystic Lake Casino, Big Ben sat up. “Whoa, a casino in the middle of a prairie. Look at all those cars.”
Quin maneuvered around traffic, slowing to enter the casino parking ramp, and then sped beyond it.
“Our Prairie Sun Casino is much smaller but more exclusive,” Quin said.
“Must be cool to be an Indian,” Candy said.
Quin and the others burst into laughter.
“What? I like their jewelry,” Candy said.
“We’d be happy to sell you some in our hotel gift shop,” Quin said.
He arrived at his reservation, slowed Big Ben’s car, and turned right onto a dark, two-lane highway. There were no crowds or traffic jams waiting to get into the Prairie Sun Casino. The landscape was rolling hills of pine and oak trees casting long moon shadows.
“We’re on tribal land,” Quin said.
They ascended a hill, and the Prairie Sun Casino radiated on the horizon. A jet lifted off from a single runway while another made its
approach for a landing.
“There she is,” Quin said.
“It’s beautiful,” Candy said. “There’s an airport here?”
“A landing strip for private jets. On most nights we have as many jets as cars,” Quin said.
“I’ve never heard of this casino,” Macy said.
“It’s been here for ten years,” Quin said. “It’s exclusive. You have to be invited to gamble here.”
“Sounds like my kind of place,” Big Ben said.
Quin hated to insult his boss, but he had to reset Big Ben’s expectations. “I can get you in, but I can’t guarantee they’ll let you play cards.”
Big Ben leaned forward between the two front seats. “Why not? I have money.”
“When we get inside, you’ll see what I mean,” Quin said.
He pulled into the entrance and drove through a stand of oaks. Here there were no bright lights as there were at Mystic Lake Casino, but visitors knew they were on expensive property. The hotel entrance was a large split-log cabin, and behind it was a three-story, all-glass hotel reflecting the moon and shadows from the oak trees. Quin slowed the car near the valet stand and lowered his window as a young Hispanic kid approached.
“Good evening,” the valet said. “Oh hey, Quin. Nice ride.”
“Hey, Ramon. I have a few guests. We won’t be here long.”
“I’ll park this baby in the garage to keep her warm,” Ramon said. “Hey, how’s your mother?”
“She’s great. Thanks for asking.”
Quin led Big Ben and the girls up the red carpet to the lodge entrance.
“He didn’t seem Indian,” Candy said.
“Indians own the casino, but they don’t work in it,” Quin said.
“Why did he ask about your mother? Is she ill?” Macy asked.
“No, she’s in prison,” Quin said.
They stepped through revolving doors into the main entrance. Quin pointed to a fieldstone fireplace in the center. It stood a full thirty feet, reaching the beams in the ceiling.
There were leather couches and chairs on both sides of the fireplace, and Quin noticed a patron sharing a drink with his date.
Beyond the fireplace were seven card tables. All of them looked full, not an empty chair in sight.
“This is terrific,” Big Ben said. “Very authentic.”
“Authentic would be a teepee,” Quin said.
“Ben, we’re not gambling, are we?” Macy asked, already bored.
“If we can get in at a table, we’ll play a few hands. How about you ladies find yourselves a drink?” Big Ben said.
Quin pointed to a large bar with flat-screen TVs off the lobby. “We’re strictly no alcohol on this reservation.”
Macy rolled her eyes and looked to Candy. “Say what?”
“Alcohol has been a problem for our tribe. We have chosen to not profit from it,” Quin said.
“That means we won’t be here very long,” Big Ben said.
Candy made the best of the unfortunate situation. “C’mon, we’ll sip virgin margaritas and hit on young studs.”
Quin watched Macy and Candy walk arm in arm toward the bar, their butts swaying. He noticed Big Ben watching, leering at them.
“Just a few hands and we head back to town.”
“I’ll see if I can get us into a table,” Quin said.
Quin scanned the room, looking for a dealer who might know him. None of the dealers lived on the reservation, but many had close ties with the tribe. The dealers knew most of the gossip on the reservation, and Quin was concerned what they’d think of his bringing an outsider into their private poker world.
“Notice anything about the room?” Quin asked Big Ben.
“Except for the dealers and two other people, everyone is Native American,” Big Ben said. “These are your tribal members?”
“Yes and no. They’re mostly Indians from other tribes around the country,” Quin said. “These are wealthy casino owners who would never gamble in their own resorts.”
Big Ben’s eyes darted from one table to another. “Amazing. These are the super-rich, and this is their playground.”
“Exactly, and they’re not friendly with outsiders.”
“You certainly have access to money, Quin. There’s no doubt that this is a group of potential investors that I could tap into for even the largest polices.”
Quin had known Big Ben would look at these players this way. It was a huge risk bringing him here, but he knew these casino owners didn’t need Big Ben’s investments. They made their millions every night on the living dead, zombie white people who played dollar slots and blackjack until sunrise.
“Remember how you told me to not talk business with Rebecca Baron until I connect with her socially?” Quin asked. “The same rule applies here.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Big Ben said.
Quin scanned the room again. Two of the tables were loud with men shouting and ribbing one another. He noticed a quiet table with only four men playing. The dealer wasn’t familiar, and that was probably a good thing. Many residents of the casino considered Quin an outsider. When his mother had returned to the reservation after it successfully launched gaming, many in the tribe considered her and Quin opportunists. He hoped the dealer hadn’t heard about that gossip.
He approached the heavyset white dealer. “Hey, do you mind if a friend sits in?” he said, nodding to Big Ben. “He’s a potential casino investor.”
The dealer turned to Big Ben and then to the men at the table. “You want company?” he asked the players.
Two of the men sat hidden behind their dark glasses counting their chips. They shrugged, and the other two old guys made a joke that Quin couldn’t hear.
The dealer shuffled. “You’re in.”
Quin walked back to Big Ben, relieved but also now nervous about how his boss would handle himself. “You have a seat. I won’t play. It’s too rich for me.”
“Why, what’s the opening bet?” Big Ben asked.
“Full blind $2,000, and it climbs quickly from there,” Quin said.
“Damn!” Big Ben said. “Let’s play a few hands. I’ll give you money so you can play too.”
Quin and Big Ben sat at opposite ends of the oval table. They watched the hand in play, waiting for their turn to get in. Chips were piled in the center of the table, and only two of the four men were still in. The two with sunglasses fiddled with their chips and checked their phones.
The two men still playing this hand were older; Quin had watched them in the past. They were seasoned players who were so rich they played aggressively. The skinny one called the flabby one, and the dealer burned a card before revealing fifth street.
“Dios mio,” the skinny man said in mock Spanish. He pushed away from the table.
The flabby man howled. “It’s always a pleasure, my friend, always a pleasure,” he said, raking the chips with his big arms. “Now $22,000 richer. Like that makes any difference, eh?”
“I’m starving,” the skinny man said. “You pay for breakfast.”
The dealer exchanged the smaller-denomination chips for larger ones, and the flabby man followed his friend. Quin studied the two younger men remaining at the table. They were in their thirties; one had black shades and his head was covered with a black hoodie, the other mirrored silver shades and ear buds, his head bouncing to the beat of rap music. Each of them had tall stacks of chips with at least $15,000. Quin and Big Ben had only $5,000 apiece, and Quin sensed this might be the only round they could afford to play.
Silver Shades was to the left of the dealer, and he opened with $1,000. Black Shades added the full blind of $2,000. The dealer tossed each of them their two hole cards, and Quin lifted his cards to reveal junk, a three of spades and a five of clubs. He noticed Big Ben glancing at the shaded twins.
Big Ben opened the betting by raising to $2,500, and Quin matched him. Why not? This was Big Ben’s money. The dealer burned a card and placed the flop. Quin read the queen of diamonds,
jack of spades, and eight of diamonds. Silver Shades raised to $3,000, but Black Shades folded.
Big Ben smiled. “Out so early?” Black Shades couldn’t even hear him over the heavy bass in his ear buds.
Big Ben raised to $3,500, smiling at Quin.
Quin’s hand sucked, but he raised to $4,000. He wanted to get out of the casino as soon as possible and head back home.
Silver Shades folded, and Quin thought it might have been in protest. Silver Shades treated Big Ben like an outsider, not worthy of this table.
“It’s you and me, Quin,” Big Ben said.
The dealer burned a card and placed fourth street. He added the queen of clubs to the queen of diamonds, the jack of spades, and eight of diamonds.
Quin had a junk hand and only $1,000 left, but he went all in.
Big Ben clapped. “Here we go. You think you can beat me, Quin?”
“I like playing with other people’s money,” Quin said.
“Well, you’d like viatical settlements then. I play with other people’s money all day long.”
Big Ben put in his remaining chips to call. Quin revealed his cards, and Big Ben showed his hand. He had a queen three-of-a-kind to Quin’s junk hand.
“Holy crap, you like to bluff,” Big Ben said with laughter as he grabbed the chips.
Quin was tired. “It’s late. Let’s head back to the city.”
“You’ve got a good poker face,” Big Ben said. “You had a shitty hand, but I almost believed you. Don’t lie to me in the office, though.”
Quin felt edgy. “Why would I lie to you?”
“With a poker face like that, the question is why wouldn’t you lie to me?” Big Ben stood with his chips. “I’ll cash these in and meet you and the girls at the valet.”
“About the girls,” Quin said. “I appreciate you trying to set me up with Candy. She’s beautiful, but I already have a girlfriend.”
“You thought I brought you Candy? No, my friend, both of those girls are with me.”
“Oh, she seems kind of into me…” Quin said, waiting for Big Ben to say he was joking. Was the wolf really a greedy pig who needed two girls?
“Yes, Candy likes you,” Big Ben said. “How come all the women like you?”
Big Ben drove the Fisker north as a red sun peered over the horizon. Macy tinkered with his phone from the passenger seat, searching for a new song, and finally landed on “Sunday Bloody Sunday” by U2 as Big Ben pounded his steering wheel like a drum.
In the Company of Wolves: Thinning The Herd Page 12
