He gave up attempting to dissuade Salomé and picked her up carefully, settling her on his lap as he propped the ledger against the edge of Crabtree’s desk and tried again to make sense of the figures. Eventually, however, he had to give up. “What happened in 1994?”
“That’s the year Billy Senior was killed. In a car accident,” he added, an amused quirk playing at his lips. “A legitimate one, I’m quite sure. But it meant Billy Junior now owned the casino, and this wasn’t a good thing. Billy has no business sense. He treats the casino as one of his playthings. Sometimes it’s a toy moldering in the back of his closet, and sometimes it gets trotted out and banged a bit against the walls. It would have folded long ago, but I’ve kept it propped up, sometimes with my own money.”
Something told Ethan Crabtree didn’t spend his own money lightly. “That doesn’t seem to be doing enough.”
Crabtree snorted. “The current economic downturn is the greatest threat this casino has had yet. I’ve done my best to spur attendance and interest, but it’s as challenging as it’s always been to compete with the big guys on the Strip. Herod’s is an out-of-the-way hole, and the few old-timers who came here just for that reason are either dying out or are sick of Billy’s shit.” Crabtree’s lips thinned into a line, and he leaned over the desk. “I want him out. And I want you to help me do this by walking me through some investments.”
Ethan winced as Salomé dug her claws a little too enthusiastically into his leg. “Crabtree—you do understand I was only a small-time broker? I invested other people’s money into mutual funds. On rare occasions I helped put together some real-estate deals, but nothing like this.”
“You know the business. You know how it works. And more importantly, no one here knows you—and if they look you up, it will appear just as you said. You look absolutely harmless.” Crabtree pointed to a column. “I have authority to manage the income of the casino and hotel and bar. I’m responsible for paying Billy a percentage and nothing more. He owns stock, but not much, and while he is the official owner, he doesn’t have the capital to start any real projects. I’m going to change that.”
Ethan frowned. “You’re going to give him more money?”
“Yes. As he notices he has some money to burn, he’s going to turn to you, the man who has helped me cleverly invest my own money, to help him double it. But there is a catch, you see—he can only work with assets, and all money invested through assets remains with the casino. You will help him clean up his portfolio. You will help him make Herod’s appear to shine, so a buyer might want to buy the casino, because only then will he get to have his money.”
Oh, Ethan did not like the sound of this. “Mr. Crabtree, I don’t have a buyer ready.”
Crabtree waved this thought away with his hand. “Of course you don’t. I do. But you can’t divulge your sources.”
“Why on earth would Billy trust me?”
Crabtree threaded his fingers over his belly. “You bluff, of course. It’s poker, Mr. Ellison—just without the cards. You want him invested deeply in this game. It will be, I suspect, the finest game of poker you’ll ever play, with a pot you can’t see yet but will reward you for many, many years to come.”
“You do understand I’ve only played poker for two days?”
“You’ve played poker a lot longer than that. You just didn’t have a formal strategy. This, son, will swiftly change.”
Salomé licked Ethan’s thumb. He was grateful for the steady, rough brush of her tongue. He turned his palm toward her, and she eagerly gave it the same treatment. He kept his eyes on her ministrations as he spoke. “And if I tell you I wish to decline your offer?”
He waited for Crabtree to say something out of a movie—I would advise against that, or something with more panache, with its own ominous music trailing in its wake. Which was why he was all the more suspicious when Crabtree only shrugged and said, “Then I’ll make this offer to someone else.”
“But I’ll find someone following me wherever I go, and some night my car will stall, and they’ll discover me a week later, nothing but bones in the Mojave Desert?”
“No. If you decline, you’ll return to Randy’s house, unemployed. He’ll probably keep taking you to bed. He’ll definitely keep teaching you poker. And you’ll do all right. You’ll pay him back what you owe him. Perhaps the two of you will even develop some sort of relationship, or at least an arrangement. You’ll get a sedate little condo and a job investing other people’s money, and you’ll play conservative pots in conservative games on the weekends for fun. You’ll meet Randy regularly to fuck. You might be happy. For a while.”
Crabtree’s gaze bore into him, and bones in the desert started to sound pretty good.
Crabtree shook his head. “I have no need to punish you if you refuse. Because I know you, Ethan Ellison. I’ve played poker all night with you, and I know the beast which woke inside you when you left Nick Snow. If you decline my offer and go to Randy’s house, you’ll punish yourself more exquisitely than I could ever hope to accomplish.” He brushed imaginary lint from his sleeve. “Whichever you choose, I must ask you to please move your car. We have a policy about parking for over twenty-four hours, and if it isn’t gone by five p.m. today, I’ll have to have it towed.”
His car—Ethan had forgotten all about it. He patted his pockets in a reflexive gesture. “I think Randy has my keys.”
“I can help you around that aspect.” Crabtree rose. “You’ll want to think about my offer, of course. And you’ll absolutely want to meet my godson first.” He glanced at his watch. “I know just where he’ll be.”
SALOMÉ CRIED WHEN they left the office.
She tried to follow them out, and when Crabtree shooed her in, she began mewing plaintively and scratching at the door. The sound tugged at Ethan’s heart, and he turned to Crabtree, waiting for him to do something.
Crabtree only looked at Ethan with amusement. “What do you propose we do with her? Bring her along?”
Salomé let out another plaintive mew, this one pitching deep and burrowing into the middle of Ethan’s belly. She was on her own outside. She’ll settle down in a few minutes. But the cries still tugged at him. He said nothing, just stood rigid, listening, getting angry at Crabtree for allowing her to cry. Crabtree regarded Ethan with quiet amusement.
The kitten yelped, a sharp, wounded-sounding cry, and though he knew it wasn’t possible, Ethan swore he heard help.
“For God’s sake.” Throwing open the door, he crouched down in time to catch Salomé as she bounded up to him and scooped her into his arms. He stood, holding her close to his chest. “We can’t leave her in there alone.”
“Then I suppose we’ll have no choice but to take her down to the floor.” Crabtree rubbed beneath her chin. “Do you think you can manage her?”
Ethan paused, aware he had somehow wandered into a trap. He stammered. “I—I mean, I don’t know. You mean bring her along? To the casino floor? And I just hold her?”
“I suspect it’s either that or we’ll have to put her in my office. She might as well get used to it. At the shelter she’ll be in her own cage.”
“Shelter?” Ethan recoiled. Salomé used her claws to climb up his shirt and lick the underside of his chin. Shelter.
Of course she was going to a shelter. Where else would she go?
She licked him again, purring loudly. Ethan shut his eyes in a long blink and stroked her.
Crabtree did too. “If it helps, I doubt she’ll be there long. It’s a good shelter. You know I wouldn’t send her to her death.”
Ethan nodded, but he was starting to feel unhinged. It didn’t matter. It was just a cat. A kitten, yes, but—
She nuzzled her cold nose against his chin and brushed a paw along his cheek, and he had to fight to keep himself composed. For heaven’s sake, what was wrong with him?
He didn’t know. What he did know was he could not put her down, and he could not, not for anything, leave her in the office. He didn’t e
ven let himself think about the shelter.
Crabtree glanced at his watch. “We’re going to miss Billy if we stand here much longer.”
Ethan held Salomé tightly, his heart hammering against her small, filthy body. Then something snapped. He looked up at Crabtree, composed and collected, and he nodded. “We should get going, then.” He tucked the kitten into the corner of his arm.
To his intense relief, Crabtree made no additional comment about leaving the cat in the office, and he reached over with a grandfatherly smile to nuzzle beneath her chin occasionally as they rode the elevator to the main floor of the casino.
Despite the shabbiness he’d noticed with Crabtree earlier, Ethan still liked the casino. It felt old and opulent but close and cozy at the same time, and he walked almost in a trance down the long, red carpet leading from the elevator to the slot machines. They headed to the craps tables closest to the door. A large crowd had gathered there, and they were cheering and whooping as a slightly overweight man dressed in white with slicked-back hair shook his hand vigorously before letting a pair of dice fly across the felt.
Another cheer went up, and a man in the center of the table wearing the casino livery boomed out, “Nine, winner in Center Field.” There was more shouting, and other men moved to collect and pass out chips to players. The table was loud, and Ethan worried it would upset Salomé, but she seemed content to settle deeper into his arm.
Crabtree pointed to the man in white. “That’s Billy. He always plays craps at twelve thirty before he goes to lunch. Then he takes the whole table out to eat with him in the hotel restaurant.”
“I don’t know how to play craps.”
“Very simple. If you’re rolling, don’t get a seven. If you’re betting, bet for or against the player to get either specific numbers, specific combinations on the dice, or that he’ll roll the come-out number again before ending his roll by rolling a seven. Or that he won’t. It’s the casino game with the best odds for the player, and it’s the most collegial. Go on. Get your feet wet.” He glanced down at Salomé, then added, “Though perhaps I should watch over your young lady for the moment.”
Ethan handed Salomé to Crabtree and wandered over, slightly dazed. He stood behind a lovely blonde woman at the table, but he didn’t stand there long. When she noticed him, she smiled broadly and nudged over to let him in.
She leaned in close. “Hi. I’m Karen.”
“Ethan.” He took in the sea of words and numbers on the table—Pass, Don’t Pass, 6, 8, Field, Hardways—and he wondered how the hell he was supposed to figure this out.
“I know, it made me dizzy the first time too.” Karen touched his hand lightly. “Here. Let me help you.” She held up her chips then passed them to a dealer. “Five on the Pass Line, please.” She held up another five. “You want in?”
Ethan fumbled for his wallet. “I have—” He pulled out a twenty, then added a second one and laid them down on the felt. A dealer picked them up and looked at Ethan. “Change, please,” Ethan said.
Chips were pressed into Ethan’s hand. They were like the roulette chips, color tailored to him so they could easily identify him as the bettor, and each one was stamped with BILLY’S! He counted out five and handed them to the dealer. “Pass Line.” He glanced at Karen. “Now what did I just bet?”
“You bet Billy will hit the six before he sevens out.”
That made no sense to Ethan at all. “Okay.”
Karen’s eyes twinkled as she held up another stack. “Want to play the Field with me? Or bet on the Come?”
Sometimes Ethan wished there were a sign, some sort of dot or earring or tug of his hair he could give to quietly, gently let a woman know as much as he was flattered, she was wasting her time. He tried to communicate this with a polite, distant smile. “I think I’d best stick with the Pass, thank you.”
She blushed but recovered well and placed two additional bets, one on a series of numbers marked FIELD and the long, curved box labeled COME. Then the man in the middle who did all the shouting called for Billy to roll the dice, and everyone clapped and cheered and urged come on, six as Billy hauled back and let the dice fly. They bounced off the side of the rail and landed before Ethan—a one and a five.
The table went wild, and Ethan rode the excitement too, though he had no idea if he’d won or not. Karen cheered as the dealer passed her chips. Then, of all things, he passed Ethan one too.
He had won. He beamed, laughed, and accepted Karen’s enthusiastic hug.
He bet again.
Under Karen’s patient tutelage and his own study, he began to understand the game. It took him some time to understand the Come bets, but he eventually managed those too. It was fun. It was wonderfully fun, and within four throws of the dice he was suddenly holding eighty dollars’ worth of chips instead of forty.
Then a two and a five landed in the middle of the table, and there was a collective moan as most of the chips they had all placed down were collected and drawn away. Ethan, who had gotten caught up in the spirit of the game and Karen’s infectious enthusiasm, was now down to twenty dollars with one cast of the dice.
“That’s the show, ladies and gentlemen.” Billy held out his hands in casual apology. He pulled back his jacket sleeve and glanced at his watch. “I believe my table is ready. Shall we adjourn?”
Karen tried to take Ethan’s arm, but he glanced at Crabtree for guidance. Crabtree had already fallen in place with the throng, and Ethan realized he meant for the pair of them to go to lunch. Ethan moved closer to the gangster to check on Salomé, whom he found contentedly tucked in Crabtree’s elbow. It seemed to be a place she liked.
Crabtree, however, handed her back when Ethan approached. “And what did you think of craps?”
“A bit compulsive. It’s too easy to get caught up in the crowd.”
“One could argue this is the greater payout than the chips themselves.”
Ethan had a sudden vision of Randy beside him playing craps, throwing the dice, making jokes under his breath about the Come and the Field. He could see Randy’s eyes dancing, and he felt an unexpected sense of loss, because he knew that moment would never happen, not with the way Randy hated all table games but blackjack and poker.
He changed the subject. “So we’re going to lunch with Billy? Are all these people going? Does he actually know them?”
“He knows some. What he mostly knows is they’re all here because of him, eager to be with him, eager to feel they belong.”
“What exactly will we be doing?”
“I recommend you eat. The food here is quite good.”
Ethan looked down at the kitten nesting against his arm. “What about Salomé?”
Crabtree waved a careless hand. “There won’t be any trouble.”
Ethan still wasn’t sure what he was doing or why he was carrying a kitten into a restaurant, but he couldn’t seem to make himself turn around. He realized he was walking the same path through the slot machines he’d walked with Randy, and it occurred to him he’d been wandering helpless then too. He wondered how he had so completely lost control of his life it had unraveled to this strange frayed end.
At the door to the restaurant he discovered Crabtree had lied.
“What is this?” The maître d’ stared in horror at Ethan and his kitten. “You can’t bring that in here.”
Ethan swung his gaze around to Crabtree, who blinked in the worst fake surprise Ethan had ever seen, before he came forward and held out his hands. “Would you like me to take her while you eat?”
“Crabtree,” Ethan called out in a harsh whisper, but the gangster had already taken Salomé from his hands and started down the row of slots. Ethan tried to follow him, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It wasn’t a friendly hand. Ethan turned to see a man who made even Ethan look short, and he wore sunglasses and an earpiece.
“Mr. Herod wants to see you.” The man herded Ethan through the restaurant. Karen waved at him as he passed, and he waved back, a little
weakly, mentally cursing Crabtree all the way to the casino owner’s side.
Billy was chatting up a busty woman who was a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen, and he lingered with her for a minute before turning to address Ethan. He gave Ethan an up-and-down scan. “So you’re working with Crabtree, are you?”
Goddamn you, Crabtree. “Not officially, no.”
This did not have the effect Ethan was hoping for. In fact, it had quite the opposite. “Oh-ho, I see how this is going down.”
“Actually, I don’t think you—”
“Leave him, Arnie.” Billy waved at the sunglassed monster, who released Ethan. Billy pointed to the chair beside him. “Sit, sit.”
Ethan looked meaningfully at the man who was already sitting in the chair.
Billy tapped the man on the shoulder then jerked his thumb to indicate the man should get out. Ethan took the man’s seat after he vacated it.
“So what are you doing for my godfather?” Billy sipped the martini in front of him. A waiter placed a matching drink in front of Ethan.
Ethan ignored it and sipped his water. “Nothing yet.”
Billy looked at him impatiently, and Ethan realized he wouldn’t actually be happy with the truth. He decided he might as well continue letting Billy draw his own conclusions.
“I’m an investment broker.”
Billy laughed. “Oh, brilliant.” He picked up his knife and dinged it so hard on the glass of the man across from him Ethan expected it to shatter across the table. “Joe. Hey—Joe. This here is Crabtree’s investment broker.”
Joe, who had taken up with the busty woman when Billy had abandoned her to talk to Ethan, gave a vaguely interested smile and resumed his courtship.
Billy didn’t notice, too absorbed with the idea that he really had his finger in the pudding now. “I knew he was up to something.” He elbowed Ethan with a broad wink. “So how much you want, huh?”
Ethan couldn’t check the urge to rub his bruised arm. “I beg your pardon?”
A mistake—the elbow came again, twice, and harder each time than the one before. “How much? Come on. You all have your price.”
Double Blind Page 15
