Page 7 of Triplets for the Russian Boss

Kostin

Jerry, the beady-eyed manager, has a lot to lose if he can’t hold his cards. I, on the other hand, have nothing to lose. That’s not because I don’t have money, but because the money I have means nothing to me. It’s a drop in the bucket, after closing the Russian weapons deal.

Still, I like teaching overconfident club owners a lesson, when they try to talk shit about me having a smoke indoors. In a room full of sinners and druggies, who the fuck cares if I light up a little tobacco? This world is backward as hell, but I’m about to fix a small part of it.

Who knows, maybe I’ll even take Bubbles home in the process. She looks like a woman who knows how to ride a cock. Hell, maybe she has fucked me in the past and just doesn’t want to admit it. I wouldn’t remember. The past few years have been a slosh of vodka and a fog of smoke.

Jerry leads the three of us into a curtained champagne room. It’s larger than the rooms for private dances, and I suspect much more goes on here than anyone is willing to talk about. Every club has its policies on touching, but with an owner like Jerry, I doubt there are many here.

Regardless, I came to play, not to lay down thousands of dollars for a hand job. I was originally okay with losing money, but now I see that I can win something much more precious if I play my cards right.

“Blackjack is simple enough, but we’re going to let Bubbles be the dealer tonight. She’s neutral,” Jerry explains, as we come to a glossy black table between two red couches.

“Naked,” I say, looking at Bubbles.

She frowns. “Am I getting paid for this?”

Jerry laughs. “You are, if I win.”

“Keep the lingerie on,” I say, annoyed by Bubbles’s apparent obsession with money. It’s clear she’s not here for any other reason. Sometimes, you need to let go and have some fun.

She shrugs. I would think a woman working here would be more eager to drop her panties if it meant getting extra, but Bubbles is different. I don’t know why, but I still like her - even if she has an attitude.

“One card up, one card down. Let’s go,” Jerry says, slapping a standard Bicycle deck down on the table before clapping his hands together. He’s way too excited about this and probably thinks I’m already wasted.

The joke’s on him. I am, and that makes me that much more dangerous.

The cards are a bit blurry, with how much vodka I’ve downed, but I manage a quick peek at them after Bubbles deals. I like the way her small fingers flick the cards down on the table between us. She could be a pro dealer, with hands like those. I’d take her to Vegas in an instant.

“Hit me,” Jerry says, slapping his cards and bouncing on the cheap springs of the couch.

I already hate him, but I know that he’s going to lose. Gambling is the surest way to get burned, aside from love. That shit will rip you to shreds and eat your insides like spaghetti. At least gambling only takes your money. Love will take your soul.

Bubbles forces a smile and flips a card to Jerry. His shit-eating grin immediately turns to a frown. I know he’s busted before he even flips his cards up.

“That was a practice round,” he says, pushing the cards away from himself.

I shrug. “Fair enough. The stakes haven’t been officially set yet. What do you say… five hundred, and if I win, I get the rest of my drinks for free?”

“Deal,” Jerry says, nearly jumping out of his seat as he extends his hand.

He must think I can’t drink much more, and five hundred is a lot for him. In reality, I’m just warming him up for much higher bets. I have my mind on a bigger prize tonight.

Bubbles lays down more cards, as I shake Jerry’s sweaty hand. I grimace at the clamminess of it, but I wait until I’m seated again to discretely wipe my hand off on the faux leather of the couch.

“Alright, we’re warm enough, right?” I ask Jerry, as he looks at his cards.

“Oh yes,” he says, his eyes lighting up. He must have something good.

I don’t care. I don’t have to win this hand. In fact, it might be better to let him win it, to get him feeling lucky. Then, it’ll be easier to work him up to a higher bet.

I look at my cards, flashing a smirk toward Bubbles. “Hit me.”

She flicks another card down, and I’m right at twenty-one. Either I’ll win this, or it’ll be a tie.

“Stand,” I announce, leaning back from my cards.

Jerry squints at me. “Let’s see them.”

---