by Carolina Mac
“Have you heard that he’s back with the gavel in his hand?” asked Farrell.
Vargas raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t heard that. What do you know?”
“We set the Rule—new and improved San Antonio version—up for the ATF a few days ago, and Dougie was large as life in that bunch of vermin posing as the enforcer. Our surveillance told us all of the Rule members were required to ride to Houston to fight for their shipment of guns and take back what was not rightfully theirs—and they all rode east—except for the Dog, who rode west.”
“And you know for certain he went west?”
“Absolutely.”
“Fuck that,” said Vargas. “The club has been relatively quiet since he left.”
“Waiting,” said Farrell. “They were waiting.”
Vargas sucked in a breath. “What were they waiting for?”
“Farrell thinks Dougie got rid of the Rule to take over all their territory and their gun and drug trade with the Mexican cartel.”
“And is your brother, usually right?” asked Vargas with a smirk.
“I don’t like to admit it, but yeah, he is most of the time.”
“Good to know, even though it sounds like more work coming our way, if there’s increased activity.”
“Can you draw us a little map to show us where the B’s club house is?”
“Sure can,” said Vargas, “You planning anything major on my turf?”
Blaine grinned. “Not yet and not without giving y’all a heads-up ahead of time.”
Big-D Limo Service. Downtown Dallas.
TRAVIS and Fletch stood at the counter of Big-D Limo asking to speak to the manager.
“Manager don’t work on Sundays,” said the dark-haired girl. She blew a bubble then popped it.
“Maybe you can help me, Miss,” said Travis. He pushed a slip of paper towards her with the tag number written on it. “I need to know who rented this limo.”
“I don’t think I’m supposed to give out that information.”
Travis opened his cred pack and showed her his badge. “What’s your name, Miss?”
“Holly, Holly Noel.”
Travis nodded. “Has a seasonal ring to it.”
“This is a police investigation, Miss Noel, and I need to know who rented the limo.” Travis tapped the paper. “This limo.”
“Okay, if y’all are the police, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell y’all.” She managed a few keystrokes on her computer, stared at the screen like she’d never seen it before, then said. “That vehicle was rented day before yesterday by Bob Barker and the Price is Right Gang.”
“Right,” said Travis. “How did Bob pay?”
“Credit card.”
“Give me the number.”
Bellagio Hotel. Las Vegas.
ANNIE slipped into the new black dress she’d purchased at Prada in the Fashion Mall two hours earlier. At Cartier, she’d picked up a couple pieces of turquoise jewelry, her favorite, because she hadn’t brought anything dressy with her. She sprayed Light Blue liberally, then sat on the end of the bed and pulled on patent leather boots with medium heels. The Dog wasn’t too tall, but he certainly had other assets where it counted, and he was one of the best lovers she’d ever had.
Am I in love with him? I’m not sure.
She picked up her purse and was about to leave the suite when Blaine called. “Are we on for dinner?”
“I have a dinner date, then Dougie and I are playing at Club Poker. They have a big game tonight.”
“What are you doing, Mom? I’m afraid to ask.”
“I’m having more fun than I’ve had in a year.”
“Dougie is dangerous, don’t forget that.”
“Don’t worry, honey. I won’t forget, and I’ll text you later to tell you I’m okay.”
“Please do.”
Doug Robertson’s Residence. Las Vegas.
DOUGIE showered and dressed in his new clothes. Armani slacks, a black silk shirt and a cashmere jacket. He’d bought a tie too, just in case. He took the tag off, put it around his neck and let it hang loosely. He’d do it up if he absolutely had to. The new look cost a bundle and a half, but it was an investment. With luck and mostly skill he’d win the money he needed to make up the shortfall for the club. They could pay him back when the goods were sold in a few weeks. His VP, Henley Rice, thought the plan was solid. Rip had voted in favor too. It was unanimous.
He lit up a smoke and paced in his sparsely furnished living room while he watched out the front window for Annie.
He’d had a beer earlier, but it hadn’t done much to calm his nerves. He’d have a bourbon when he got to wherever they were going. Annie had power, he was sure of it, but he hadn’t figured out why. Had to be money. Money was power.
Headlights pulled into the driveway. He shoved his house keys into his pocket and locked the door on the way out.
“Ooh, you look good,” she said as he slid into the shotgun seat of the Cherokee. “Smell good too.”
“Where are we going?”
“I tried a few spots. It was late to get seats, but I got us into a private club.”
“How’d you do that?”
“Talked nice to the guy on the phone.”
“I think it takes more than talking nice,” said Dougie, “They have to be reasonably sure you have enough loot to play.”
“Have you got a buy in?” she asked.
“Sure.”
Annie giggled. “You sound nervous. Is this your first big game?”
“Not my first big game, but my first huge game.”
“You a good player, Dougie?”
“You saw me play.”
“Only a couple of hands and that’s not enough to tell. You need to be consistent and able to wait it out. Wait for the big hand, then play it to the max and take all the chips.”
“Maybe you should be playing for me.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“I won’t drink too many free drinks.”
“Good plan. That cuts in on your profit in a big way.” She reached over and took his hand. “I want to touch you.”
“I want to touch you, too, baby. I love you so goddam much, I’m almost out of my mind.”
“One word before we start. When I’m at the table, I dress sexy, show cleavage, flirt and do whatever it takes to put the men off their game. It’s my style of play and nothing more. I have no interest in anyone but you.”
“Okay, got it. No jealous bashing of heads.”
“You laugh, keep your cool and raise while they think I’m hot for them.”
Poker Club. Downtown Las Vegas.
AT THE CLUB, Annie gave the Cherokee keys to the valet and Dougie escorted her inside the club. A gentleman in the foyer asked for their names, then consulted a list.
“I’m Annie Powell and this is my escort, Doug Robertson.”
“Have a lovely evening,” he said, and opened the glass door into the club.
The Club Grille was on the first floor to the right of the elegantly appointed lobby. Annie had made a reservation after Dougie had suggested they have dinner together before the game.
They stopped at the maître ’d’s station and Annie gave her name. The slim man in uniform with the manicured nails smiled at her. “How lovely to finally meet you, Mrs. Powell. Welcome to our humble club.”
“Thank you, Mark.” Annie took Dougie’s hand and they followed Mark to their table.
“Have you been here before?” He asked after Mark left them with menus.
Annie shook her head. “No, never.”
“How does the door guy know you then?”
Annie shrugged. “People recognize me sometimes.”
“Why?” Dougie was annoyed and didn’t try to hide it.
“I have a big company and people think it’s a big deal. But it’s not. I’m a regular person. Nothing fancy.”
Before Dougie had a chance to argue, a waiter named Franklin stood smiling down on them, speaking with a phony
French accent and giving recommendations from the wine list. Annie ordered beer. Dougie ordered a bourbon on the rocks and Franklin was noticeably disappointed.
Dougie wouldn’t let it go. “What’s the name of your big company?”
“Do we have to talk about it?” Annie’s eyes narrowed, and her voice took on an icy tone. “I thought we were here to have some fun. I hardly ever have fun anymore.”
Dougie smiled. “We had fun in the canyon.”
“Now that was fun,” said Annie but she didn’t smile.
The drinks came, they ordered—prime rib with baked potatoes and Caesar salad.
After the waiter left, Annie held Dougie’s hand across the table. “Tell me all about Dougie the Dog. Did you grow up in Vegas like Race did?”
He nodded. “We went to the same high school. Race was big and strong at seventeen. He played baseball and he was so fuckin good, it was unbelievable. He won a scholarship.”
Annie nodded. “He told me about the scholarship. Jackson wants to be a baseball player too.”
“Is Jackson Race’s kid? Tell me the truth.”
Annie took her phone out and scrolled to Jackson’s picture—the one where he and Race stood on the riverbank of the Colorado holding up fish.
Dougie looked long and hard at the picture, and when he looked back at Annie she was crying.
“Jackson misses his Daddy so much it’s heartbreaking.”
“Jesus, Annie, the boy looks exactly like Race.” He leaned over and stroked her hair. “I don’t know how to make you feel better.”
Annie dabbed at her eyes with a napkin to save her mascara.
THE POKER ROOM was on the second level.
When they stepped off the elevator, they were face to face with the host who stood behind a lectern and verified the authenticity of the players and their bank accounts.
“Good evening,” he said.
“Good evening. I’m Annie Powell and this is my guest Doug Robertson.”
“We’re honored to have you with us, Mrs. Powell. See Joaquim at the podium and he’ll seat you.”
Annie smiled and nodded. She looped her arm through Dougie’s and marched him across the two-inch thick carpet to the poker boss.
The room was well designed. Tables nicely spaced, with comfortable seating and phone chargers available for every seat. Along a wall hung with heavy velvet draperies was a mile-long buffet, filled with gourmet offerings. A fully stocked bar sat at the end of the room with a uniformed bartender in attendance.
Joaquim, a short Hispanic with dark eyes and a very white smile greeted them. “Ah, Mrs. Powell, you look beautiful this evening, and we’re pleased to have you here. Let me show you to your seats.”
Dougie gave her the what-the-hell eye and followed behind.
Annie had requested seat seven and that was the seat the club had reserved for her. Dougie preferred nine and that’s what she had requested for him. The poker boss waited while they got comfortable then introduced the new players to the rest of the table. Not something done in a regular casino game, but a courtesy in a big money game.
Joaquim flashed his brilliant smile and began, “Mrs. Powell is joining us in seat seven and her guest Mr. Robertson will be sitting in seat nine.” Then he went around the table. “In seat one, Frank Vitali.”
Annie had played with Frank before, and if memory served her, Frank was a litigation lawyer with tort money spewing out his ass. Joaquim continued around the seats in order and Annie knew Judge Rumford in seat three, his regular seat, and Darryl Wise in seat five. The rest were strangers.
She bought in for five hundred thousand, Dougie watched her and bought in for three. Annie didn’t know if that was all the cash he had or if he was being cautious.
Annie was stacking her chips when Judge Rumford spoke to her. “Lovely to see you, Annie dear. Where have you been hiding?”
Judge Peter Rumford was retired and pushing seventy, but he played poker almost every day. He won, he lost, but he enjoyed the game.
“I haven’t been to Vegas for a while, Pete, but I was missing you and made the trip. You on a big winning streak?”
“Hell no. I just come for the food, then I don’t have to cook anything at home.”
Annie folded her hands for the first half hour, then she had jack ten of clubs, which wasn’t a power hand, but it was her favorite hand, so she called the blind. The guy sitting next to her in seat eight folded. Dougie was next and he raised. Three times the blind—sixty thousand. Everyone after Dougie folded around to Daryl Wise, who looked like a redneck in his plaid shirt but was in reality a shopping mall mogul from one of the Carolinas. Daryl called.
Thinking Dougie had a hand better than hers, Annie folded.
The flop came ten, king, four. Two hearts—king and four. Daryl was first to act, and he bet seventy-five. Dougie raised to one fifty and Daryl called.
The turn card was the Ace of hearts. Annie put Dougie on big slick, but he could have had a big pair.
Daryl shoved and Dougie insta-called.
“Turn em over,” said the dealer. A big Hispanic guy with black sideburns. His nametag said he was called Mateo.
Daryl turned up the flush. He had ten, jack of hearts. Almost a straight flush.
Dougie turned up Ace, queen for the straight. He was drawing dead.
Mateo burned and turned up the river card and it was a brick—two of diamonds.
Dougie headed for the men’s room.
Annie left the table and strolled over to the buffet. She ate a profiterole then picked up a napkin and dabbed at her lips while she waited for Dougie to calm down and come out of the bathroom. His neck was still hot pink from frustration when he stood beside her, barely able to speak.
He’s too emotional for Hold-em. Who knew?
Annie spoke to him in a low voice. “Need money for more chips, or are you okay?”
“I’ve never borrowed money from a woman in my whole fuckin life, and I don’t want to start now, but I have to get that money back. It belongs to the club.”
“I’ll get you more chips at the cage.”
“Are you sure you can afford to?”
“Pretty sure,” said Annie.
“I’ll pay you back,” said Dougie, looking a little pale. “I swear it.”
Annie ran a hand down his face. “I believe you, but I want you to do something for me.”
“What? Anything, baby.”
“After I buy the chips, carry them to the table and set them down, then go downstairs, stand outside and smoke for ten minutes before you play again. Okay?”
“I see where that might be a good idea. I’ll do it.”
Annie sat at the table and played a couple of hands before Dougie returned from his smoke break. He smiled at her as he sat down and started over. By three a.m. Dougie had won back the money he’d lost, the money he owed her plus another three hundred thousand.
“I’m tired and not getting any hands, I think I’ll call it a night, gentlemen.” She racked her chips and walked across the room to the cash cage, hoping Dougie would take the hint and cash out while he had the money he needed.
He was only a few steps behind her. He cashed out, shoved the money in his pants pocket and escorted Annie out of the room.
As they waited for the valet to bring her car around, Annie did a three sixty on the lookout for Dougie’s men. She spotted two of them watching for him and making sure he was safe.
Doug Robertson’s Residence. Las Vegas.
DOUGIE had never been more worked up in his life. Anything club related was part of the job and he was cool as ice. Emotions never entered into his day-to-day. Tonight, playing for that kind of money, he was wired. So wired, he almost lost it when he lost the big hand. He wanted to fly across the table and kill that redneck asshole with the heart flush.
Annie reached over and patted his leg. “You calm now, sugar pop?”
“I am, girl. Thanks to you. If you hadn’t sent me outside to smoke, I wouldn’t have sett
led down and won my money back. Our money, in truth. I’ll give you yours as soon as we stop, and I can see to count it.”
“I’m happy you accomplished your mission, sugar.” Annie turned into his driveway and didn’t turn off the engine.
“Can’t you stay?”
“No. The boys will be worried.”
“They’re sleeping,” said Dougie, “they won’t know you didn’t come back.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Get some sleep.”
Dougie leaned across the console and kissed her. “This was the best date I’ve ever had.”
“It was fun.”
He put a roll of bills in the cup holder and went inside. After Annie left, he spread out the money he’d won on the kitchen table, counted it, bundled it up and put an elastic band around it.
Maybe I’ll set the club up and retire. I’m tired of being number one.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Monday, February 2nd.
Gaming Control Board. Las Vegas.
BLAINE had a nine o’clock appointment with Mr. Paul Nethercott at the Gaming Control Board. Farrell found the building with little problem on Washington Street, but the parking lot was full and by the time they found a spot a block away, they were almost late. Almost.
With five minutes to spare, Blaine gave his card to a dark-haired receptionist and she pointed to a row of chairs against the wall.
“I didn’t see any coffee machines,” said Farrell. He’d looked through the magazines on the table and none interested him. From a kid who’d barely attended school, Farrell had developed into a voracious reader.
“We won’t be here that long,” said Blaine. “You had coffee at breakfast a half hour ago.”
“I pissed it out already.”
Blaine chuckled at his brother and his phone rang. Travis.
“The limo was rented by a guy named Warren Palmer. Lily pulled up an address on him and I’m heading there now.”
“You have backup?”
“Fletch is with me. Greg and Hammer are behind in another vehicle.”
“Be careful. Is Chief Calhoun aware of what’s going on with Mrs. Bromwell?”
