Page 32 of Forgotten Deal

“Probably,” I admit. “But my body wouldn’t. There are a lot of repetitive motions when dealing; tons of workers comp issues in my industry. My body already gets so tired after a long shift, I can only imagine twenty years down the road.”

“What would be your nickname if you were a pit boss?” Fabio wonders.

“Honestly, I haven’t thought about it. Not Kitty Kat,” I tell him with narrowed eyes.

His lips quirk. “No, that pet name is just for me and you.”

“We don’t have pet names, me and you,” I warn him.

Fabio arches an eyebrow. “Don’t we, Kitty Kat?”

Before I can set him straight, we arrive at the Italian social club, and Fabio parks and helps me out of the vehicle. He grasps my hand tightly—I am his pretend “date” this evening, I remind the silly butterflies in my stomach—as he leads us to the back door.

He scans a card opening the door, and I follow him inside and down a long hall. We stop at another door, this one with a muscled-up bouncer ready to intercept us. The men fist bump and exchange something in Italian before the bouncer nods at me and opens the door.

We enter a large room with men seated at felt-top tables playing cards. Taking stock, I lean over to Fabio and whisper, “I see your first problem: you need to either add a table or take one away.”

“Why?” His lips brush the shell of my ear, and I try not to squirm.

“You have thirteen tables. Woo-woo shit,” I whisper back.

Fabio smiles as he gives my hand a squeeze, which makes my stomach do another flip-flop. He leads me to the bar tucked away in a corner. We order, and the bartender presents me with a cranberry juice; I don’t want alcohol dulling my senses.

A man motions for Fabio, and he leans over and whispers, “Just hang here and observe while I’m gone.”

He walks to the back, and I sip my drink, trying to casually look around the room without drawing suspicion. Glad to see all the dealers are using the same brand of cards we use at The Diamond.

“You gonna play, doll face, or just sit around all night looking pretty,” an older man calls to me from the nearest table as the dealer calculates the rake of the hand just played.

Fabio told me to hang here; he didn’t specify where “here” is. I make a show of finishing my drink, and as I stand, I pretend to stagger just a bit as I giggle, walking over. “Can’t win if I don’t sit at the table. Isn’t that how it goes?”

“You got it, doll face. Do you know how to play Texas Hold’em?” The man asks, pulling out a chair beside him for me.

“You gonna teach me?” I counter, having a seat.

The man gives me a patronizing smile. “We’ll all teach the little lady, won’t we?”

“Sure we will. Always room for more fish at the table,” another player chimes in. I try not to do a double take. It’s the same dickhead player from the party I worked at Ace’s, and seated next to him is his little buddy. They must not recognize me all decked out and with straight hair.

The men at the table all have a good chuckle at my expense; I just smile. We’ll see who’s laughing when this little fish—slang for shitty player—swims off with the chips.

“How much does it cost to play?” I ask, sounding unsure.

“Buy-in is five hundred,” the dealer tells me.

I reach into my purse and grab the cash, handing it to the dealer, and he slides over my chips. Fabio better reimburse me for this “business expense.”

“Now we’re cooking,” the man beside me says, rubbing his hands together.

My first hand is dealt, and I check out my hole cards and eye the face up community cards. When the bet comes around, I fold.

“Not off to a good start, doll face,” the man next to me chides.

I shrug. My hand wasn’t terrible, but I’m more interested in learning who’s the sucker at this table.

A few minutes into action, I can already tell the man beside me is good, but too bombastic and emotional—either he’s gonna win big, or he’s going to lose big. The dickhead from Ace’s, I already know he’s a little bitch of a sore loser, and his buddy is just more there to stroke his friend’s dick. The man on the opposite end of the table hasn't said much; he’s the one I’d watch out for.

Several hands are played, and when it comes back to me, I go all in; otherwise, it would look too suspect. I haven’t caught anyone counting cards; everyone looks to be on the up and up. The dealer’s not the smoothest, but he’s dealing clean.

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