Deep Dark Night Page 4

  I narrow my eyes. Unsure. ‘What if he doesn’t lose?’

  ‘If we’ve agreed he’ll lose then he’ll lose. He’ll fold a winning hand if needs be to get the pieces.’

  I’m more comfortable with this plan, but I still have to wait until we’re one-on-one. ‘What happens if I don’t make it to heads-up?’

  Critten fixes me with a serious stare. ‘Then he’ll be pissed, and you don’t want to let that happen.’

  I swallow hard. Stay cool. The plan works – I’ll get the fee Monroe wants through Cabressa’s eight-hundred-thousand-dollar bet, and I’ll gift him the chess pieces. I nod. ‘Okay, let’s do this.’

  Critten taps his hand against the driver’s headrest and the SUV glides to a stop. The door beside me unlocks.

  ‘Eleven p.m., Friday,’ Critten says. ‘Skyland Tower 6311.’

  I nod and pull on the handle, opening the door – keen to escape the car and these assholes.

  As I turn to get out, Critten grabs my arm, his meaty fingers pinching my bare flesh just below the wound from the bearded asshole’s blade. He looks at me over the top of his shades. His cold, dead eyes bore into mine. ‘The buy-in’s fifty thousand dollars, Miss Anderson. Bring it in cash, and bring the pieces.’

  ‘How am I meant to get that kind of cash?’

  ‘That’s not my concern. Just get it, or don’t bother showing. It’s your choice.’

  ‘I’ll get it, and I’ll be there,’ I say, hoping Monroe can get his hands on some FBI funds fast.

  Critten squeezes my wrist tighter. ‘Don’t fuck it up. Don’t deviate from the plan. The boss doesn’t enjoy surprises.’

  I pull my arm away from him. Meet his gaze with a serious glare of my own. ‘Neither do I.’

  Back on the sidewalk I wait until the SUV has driven away, then call JT. I tell him I’m okay, and he tells me that he’s fine. We arrange to meet back at base. Ending the call I get my bearings and start walking back towards the hotel. I rub my wrist. Look at the red marks Critten left and the long tear in my skin from the bearded guy’s knife. Assholes. If I didn’t need to keep Critten sweet for this job I’d have gotten a whole lot of pleasure pressing my Taser against the barrel of his belly and firing both pins into his domineering flesh.

  I shake my head. Paranoid gangsters are worse than the everyday kind, and from what I’ve heard Cabressa is plenty paranoid, with all kinds of vices. From my conversation with Critten it seems that poker is one of those.

  It’s too bad I’ve never played a game in my life.

  9

  ‘No, listen to me. You do that, you’ll end up in a world of trouble.’

  Cussing, I throw my cards down on the table. ‘I’m never going to get the hang of this.’

  ‘Sure you will,’ JT says. His voice is steady, patient. ‘You just need practice.’

  I’m sick of practising. We’ve been at this for three hours straight and I still can’t play a convincing bluff. ‘I’ve got less than twenty-four hours to get good enough to beat players who spend thousands of dollars doing this every week.’

  ‘We best keep on it then.’ JT’s tone is light, but I can tell he’s as worried as I am. He pours me another two fingers of bourbon and the same for himself. We’re both sore from our run-in with Critten’s men, but we’re trying to tough it out and stay focused on the job. JT takes a swig of his bourbon then collects up the cards, shuffles them and deals again.

  I look at mine: ace of hearts, king of spades. Not a bad hand, but I try not to let my enthusiasm show. Instead I concentrate on making sure I keep the cards on the table, but angled so they’re shielded from the imaginary players around the makeshift poker table we’ve fashioned from the desk.

  JT looks at me. Raises an eyebrow.

  I rap the table with my knuckles. ‘Check.’

  ‘Okay, then.’ He deals the flop – three cards laid face up in the middle of the table: king of hearts, eight of diamonds, four of clubs.

  With the cards in my hand, and the king on the table, I’ve got a pair of kings, ace high. I feel a fizz of excitement; I might be able to win this game. Remembering what JT said about bluffing, I try to keep my expression neutral.

  ‘Lori?’ JT says. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Check,’ I say, tapping my fingers against the table to show I’m not betting again this round.

  He watches me a beat longer, then separates three fifty-dollar chips from his stack and pushes them into the centre of the table – increasing his bet. ‘Raise.’

  I take a sip of my bourbon, fiddle with my chips, and then stare at the board. Act cautious, like I’m dithering about making a bet. I want to bet enough to keep JT in the game but not so much he folds because he thinks I’ve got a winning hand.

  After another glance at my cards, I pick three fifty-dollar chips from my own stack and slide to the middle of the table. ‘Okay.’

  JT deals the turn. It’s the king of clubs.

  I’ve got three cards of the same kind. Again, I try not to let my excitement show. Splitting off another three chips, I push them to the middle of the table. ‘Raise.’

  Nodding, JT matches me.

  He deals the last card. It’s the ace of diamonds.

  I’ve got a full house of aces and kings – a great hand.

  JT looks at me, waiting to see what I’m doing.

  I pretend to debate with myself a moment then push all my chips into the middle of the table. ‘I’m all in.’

  He looks surprised. ‘You sure about that?’

  I nod. I know if he’s got a flush – where all the cards are from the same suit – or a straight of five cards in numerical order he could beat me, but hell to caution, the odds just gotta be in my favour at least once tonight.

  ‘Alright then.’ He downs his bourbon in one, and then pushes his stack of chips into the middle to join mine. ‘Let’s see what you got.’

  JT looks real sure of himself, and for a moment my confidence falters. I turn over my cards and watch his expression as he sees the hand I’m playing. He smiles, and for a moment I think he’s got me beat. Then he flips over his cards – a two and a nine – and I realise he’s got nothing.

  I smile, feeling relieved and exhilarated all at once. ‘I guess that makes me the winner.’

  ‘Good job,’ JT says. ‘You used a smart strategy, getting me to keep betting. Your bluffing is getting better.’

  ‘I’m relieved to hear it.’

  ‘But there’s this thing you do when you’re concentrating, you kind of bite your lip with your bottom teeth.’ He gestures towards my mouth. ‘You need to stop that.’

  ‘I wasn’t aware I was doing it.’

  ‘Yep. Thought that. It’s always when you’re thinking about your bet, if you’ve got a good hand.’

  Damn. ‘Okay, let’s go again.’

  JT shakes his head. ‘It’s late. We can do more in the morning. It’d be good to deal in Monroe as well – get you some practice with more players.’

  ‘I’d rather just practise with you.’

  ‘It’s more realistic if there’s three of us. And you haven’t played him before – it’s a good chance to have a try at reading a new player.’

  ‘I guess.’ It’s hard to put any enthusiasm into my voice.

  JT ignores my druthers. ‘Good. And we can put the blinds into play. You’ll have the big and little blinds in the game tomorrow – the forced bets that have to be made by the two people sitting to the left of the dealer at the start of each hand.’

  ‘So you said before.’

  ‘And they’ll go up at regular intervals throughout the game. They should tell you the timings before you start playing. If they don’t, then ask. That’ll show them you know what you’re doing. Don’t let them intimidate you.’

  ‘I’m a goddamn bounty hunter, and this isn’t my first rodeo. I’m not going to let a bunch of—’

  ‘It’s just us two here, Lori.’ He looks at me all intense. ‘You don’t need to bluff with me.
What happened today wasn’t good – mugging and cutting you, tasering me. These people play by a different rulebook.’

  ‘They’re assholes.’

  JT nods. ‘That they are.’

  I exhale hard. Don’t want to talk about how I’m feeling right now. It’s not just the pressure of learning the game that stirs up emotion, it’s that I’m playing the game that corrupted my ex-husband and turned him from a good man to a compulsive gambler, and from a gambler into a killer. I don’t want to talk about that, and I don’t want to talk about the fear I’m feeling about this job, and my distrust for Monroe. Instead what I need right now is a distraction.

  Moving closer to JT, I run my hands up his chest and bat my lashes. ‘You know you had fewer chips than I did in that last bet.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  I nod. ‘For sure.’

  ‘Seems I owe you a little more.’

  ‘I’d say so.’

  JT looks thoughtful. ‘I wonder how I can make up the shortfall?’

  I give him a playful smile. ‘I got a few ideas.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ he says, moving closer.

  We start to kiss, and the smoky, bourbon taste of him makes my stomach fizz with desire. I slide my hands back down his chest to his jeans and undo his belt. I want him. Need him. He pushes the chips from the table and lifts me onto it.

  The sex is urgent. Passionate. We’ve always been gasoline and fire.

  *

  Later, we lie on the bed naked and sweaty. I trace my finger over the scars on JT’s body. They’re like a permanent reminder of the jobs we’ve done and the challenges we’ve faced, the bullet wounds and the stabbings he’s taken – all in the line of duty. I shiver at the thought of what tomorrow will bring. We’ve lost each other before, but fate reunited us. Now we’re taking on an old-school mobster on his own turf, and our only back-up is an FBI Special Agent who’s unreliable at best, and at worst above the law. The potential for problems is high, and the outcome isn’t guaranteed.

  ‘It’ll be okay,’ JT murmurs in his sleep, then turns over.

  I lie still, wishing I could believe him, and listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. You think I’d be old enough to know that my wants can’t hurt me; but in this life, this world, the threat of hurt is never far away.

  So I don’t want this night to end. I don’t want to risk losing him again. Because, as I think through the job in my head, I see a multitude of ways the poker game tomorrow could play out, most of them bad.

  Moving towards JT, I snuggle close against him and kiss the back of his neck. I slide my arm around his waist and entwine my fingers in his. He squeezes my hand. As I close my eyes I make a vow that I’ll do everything in my power to get the job done right and us out of this goddamn city, away from Monroe and back to our baby.

  10

  Monroe’s pounding on the door by seven. When we don’t open up right away, he thumps again. ‘You in there? We’ve got things to do.’

  I open my eyes.

  Getting out of bed, JT pulls on the jeans he hastily tossed last night, and goes to let Monroe in. As he does, I grab some clothes from the beaten-up leather carryall I always use as my go-bag and head for the shower.

  I close the bathroom door and set the water running. Hear Monroe’s voice, then JT’s. I try to listen, but their words are too muffled by the walls and the water, so I give up. Stepping into the shower, I let it rain down over me, washing away the smell of sex and sleep, and helping me get my head ready for what’s coming.

  Fifteen minutes later I’m dressed and ready. I find JT and Monroe hunched over a stack of papers that they spread out across the desk. ‘What’s that?’

  Monroe turns. His eyes are bloodshot. His suit looks crumpled. He looks like he hasn’t slept a wink. ‘Well, good morning. Nice of you to finally join us.’

  I ignore him and his sarcasm, and focus on JT instead. ‘What is it?’

  ‘These are the blueprints of the Skyland Tower,’ he says. ‘Monroe brought them over. We’re familiarising ourselves with the layout.’

  Hurrying over to the desk, I take a look-see myself. The diagram on the top of the pile shows the floor plan for level sixty-three of the tower. It makes sense to be forearmed with information on the building’s layout, especially if things turn bad and we need to hightail it out of there. I point to a sheaf of transparencies that are hanging down from one side of the plans. ‘What are these?’

  ‘They’re the fit-out details that layer over each of the floor plans,’ says Monroe, taking hold of the top transparency and smoothing it over the plan for level sixty-three. The drawings on the transparent sheet match the layout and add another level of detail. ‘See, they show us the utilities, exit points and maintenance features.’

  ‘Good.’ I nod. We need as much intel on the Skyland Tower as we can get. Prior and proper preparation is key to prevent a shit show. ‘So what have you found out?’

  JT pulls out another sheet of blueprints and lays it alongside the one for level sixty-three. ‘It’s an interesting development. The Skyland Tower has sixty-three levels plus a roof terrace and heli pad on the sixty-fourth.’ He moves his hand from the original sheet to the new one. On it I can see the image of a chopper landing space and a glasshouse. When he layers over the transparency I see the glasshouse has an emergency exit from the penthouse below, and there’s an old-fashioned external fire escape zig-zagging down from the roof terrace.

  I tap my finger against the marking on the transparency for the fire escape. ‘Isn’t this building too high for one of these?’

  JT nods. ‘Yep, it’s all kinds of unusual, but having had a look at these plans it seems the architect has incorporated various, more traditional features into the building.’ He shakes his head. ‘Mind you, you’d have thought an external stairwell from the sixty-fourth floor would be a damn health-and-safety issue.’

  ‘For sure.’

  ‘You need to remember this building is all about luxury,’ says Monroe. ‘They’d have put things in here that you can’t get in any other place in town.’

  JT nods. He’s never cared much for cities or buildings. ‘Seems it’s mainly fitted out as a luxury hotel, but the top ten floors are used as serviced residential apartments.’

  ‘It’s very expensive and very exclusive,’ adds Monroe. He sounds impressed.

  I cock my head to one side. ‘A penthouse in this building seems an odd choice for a poker game. Wouldn’t it be better run out of a club or something?’

  ‘Not really,’ says Monroe. Taking a photograph out of his jacket pocket, he places it on top of the blueprints. ‘This is Carmella Davies. She runs the poker game you’re going to. I met up with one of my key contacts in the city last night, and she told me this Davies woman is a real big deal. Her games are the most exclusive and have the highest stakes of all the games played here, and anyone who’s anyone wants to get in on the action.’

  I guess Monroe’s meeting with his female contact has contributed to his lack of sleep and crumpled appearance. Taking the picture, I look at the woman – Carmella Davies. She’s real pretty – late-twenties at the most, with black hair, olive skin and a smile that reaches all the way to her dark brown eyes. There’s a genuine warmth about her that makes me want to smile back. Instead I look up at Monroe and say, ‘Tell me everything you know about her?’

  He runs his hand through his cockatoo hair. Nods. ‘Word is she grew up in New York City. Started running games at nineteen, working for a big-shot businessman by the name of Linwood Banks. Carmella ran his weekly game for three years while waitressing on the side. Around a year ago she moved to Chicago and started up on her own. She still runs Banks’s game in New York – flying back and forth – but she’s built two games of her own here on Tuesdays and Thursdays: ten-grand buy-ins, no limit Texas Holdem. Three months ago she added a third game, played once a month in a moving location, but always here in the city. It’s higher stakes, higher risk and the players are the cream of Chicago
royalty – politicians, sport legends, mobsters, rock stars, you name it. Believe me when I say, if someone thinks they’re a big deal in this city, then they’re itching to get a seat at the table for her big game.’

  JT frowns. ‘If that’s so, how did Lori get a seat so easy?’

  ‘Because she’s a guest of Cabressa, is my guessing,’ Monroe says. ‘The family is the ruling mob of the city, and my contact thinks there’s some kind of connection between Linwood Banks and Cabressa. If that’s the case, given she still works for Banks in New York, it wouldn’t be smart for Carmella to turn down a request from the head of the Cabressa family.’

  He’s right, but the thought bothers me. Being a guest of a man like Cabressa – a man with protection and enemies – has its upsides and downsides: it can make you safer and more of a target, all at the same time. Right now neither one of those things makes me feel comfortable. ‘What’s the security like?’

  Monroe takes the photo from me. Puts it on the desk and taps his index finger against Carmella’s face. ‘From what I’ve heard, she runs a tight operation. She has her own security to keep people in line, and, as players bring a lot of cash to the table, it’s usual for them to bring along their own security too.’