Page 94 of A Very Daddy Christmas

“He’s a terrible player, but he keeps coming in. They keep letting him in ‘cause they keep cleaning him out,” Bushy Brow says. “I hear he’s desperate enough to wager his wife for the night, if you catch him in a pinch.”

I look at Bushy Brow for a long moment. “Do you have any proof or are you just gossiping like a bored housewife?”

“I got proof,” he replies, nodding.

“I’ll pay you double your winnings tonight if you provide me with said proof,” I say, a shit-eating grin on my face.

“Sebastian, what are you doing?” Waylan whispers in my ear.

“I’ve made about sixty grand so far,” Bushy Brow says. “I might hit a hundred if I catch you at the next river.”

Riggs gives him a cocky grin. “And if you don’t?”

Bushy Brow laughs. “I don’t owe that sleazebag a thing. A man who whores out his wife to settle his gambling debts ain’t a man in my book.”

While Hamilton loses his watch and finds himself unceremoniously escorted out of the backroom, I play Bushy Brow and decide to fold upon the river despite my full house. He bags a total of eighty grand by the end of the tournament. I keep my word and immediately wire him double that amount. Once he checks his phone and receives confirmation of the incomingfunds, he invites us to the front of the restaurant to celebrate his winnings with a few shots of bourbon.

“You’re a man of your word, I’ll give you that,” Bushy Brow says as he downs his drink.

Riggs keeps looking around, worried we might cross paths with Hamilton.

“Relax,” I tell him. “He’s dirt poor. He’s going home, most likely.”

“Nah, he’s headed to the nearest motel,” Bushy Brow mutters. “He always keeps a hundred in cash for a quickie. He says gambling gets him in the mood, but the wife doesn’t put out much these days.”

“I’m not surprised,” Waylan grumbles, “after what he put her through.”

“Speaking of…” I nod at Bushy Brow.

He laughs and sends me a series of recordings from his phone. “I made sure I had proof of his and his wife’s consent before I took her to the hotel that night. You can never know with these folks. I was worried Hamilton might set the cops on me, or the missus might accuse me of awful deeds.”

“So what happened exactly?” I ask him.

“I cleaned him out. Once. Twice. By the fifth night, he was foaming at the mouth, but he still couldn’t accept defeat.”

“On the sixth night, he caved. He was out of cash, out of jewelry, but he was desperate to keep playing. Desperate to win,” he adds. “So, I told him I could do with a little bit of company back at my hotel room. I’d seen his wife around a couple of times. AllI had to do was mention how pretty she was.”

“Hamilton’s wife is about twenty years younger, right?” Riggs asks me, and I give him a slight nod.

“And a slice of hot apple pie,” Bushy Brow chuckles. “Mind you, Hamilton offered her up. I didn’t say I wanted her for the night. He offered her affections in the event of his loss.”

“He’s the one who lost, yet she pays the price,” Waylan sighs deeply.

“Hey, the lady consented.”

“And what do the recordings cover?” I ask him.

“The whole exchange,” he says. “As soon as he mentioned his wife at the table during the last game, I figured I’d cover my ass if it moved forward. Low and behold, forward it moved.” He gives me a hard look. “What’s your beef with the guy?”

“Let’s just say it’s personal,” I respond.

He shrugs, too pleased with the obscene amount he earned tonight for doing practically nothing. “I’m sorry I won’t be seeing him around, then,” Bushy Brow says. “I would’ve loved to clean him out again, but I think he’s already reached the end of his line.”

“What do you mean?” Riggs asks him.

“That’s the problem with degenerate gamblers, fellas. They just don’t know when to quit. They piss the wrong people off and it’s game over for them, one way or another, and it’s usually bad. Like cement-shoes bad, and I’ve heard enough about him and his buddy messing around with that Italian mobster fella to know it’s about to go there.”

Unless they get Denaro his building.

---