Page 79 of Kings Against the World

Sugar’s cluelessness at a time where I’m unsure if I’ve been found out or if I’m in the midst of my undercover investigation unraveling almost makes things worse. She rambles on, telling me about how she’d been in room four last night with Chmura and Moe and how both men had been impatient and rude when they asked her to dance for them.

I’m not listening.

I throw a glance over my shoulder.

Boone, Estrada, and Rollins are where I’ve left them, engaged in a conversation among themselves.

I could walk out. I could turn and head straight for the door right now. I’d make it to the elevator before anyone noticed.

But I’ve committed to this investigation. Can I really walk away when things become murky? I promised myself I’d see this through, no matterwhathappened.

“Ready?” Sugar asks.

“Sure, give me one second.” I slip behind the bar counter and pull out my phone, my fingers quick on the keypad. I fire off a message to the number I’ve been given. It’ll go straight to the local police department and the code will communicate this is an emergency situation. Send the reinforcements.

We move from the main floor of the lounge to the corridor that leads into the private rooms. Sugar is still oblivious to my concerns as she asks more about Ozzie and then proceeds to tell me a story about a guy from one of Boone’s past tournaments. He dropped out prematurely too and wound up with both kneecaps mysteriously broken.

“So are you over?” she asks. “Who dumped who?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I bet he had a problem with you doing sex work. Typical club guy,” she says, shaking her head. “He loves us when he’s a client but when he’s the boyfriend, it’s a problem.”

We set the room up like Boone prefers—lights dimmed, TV monitors on with the current game tables displayed, drinks waiting. While Sugar has her back turned, I quickly check my phone to see if I’ve received a message affirming the emergency code I’d sent.

No response.

It’s almost as if the message didn’t even go through. Duchovny said this was the number to contact. Had he given me the wrong number to the local officers on alert?

“Well, look what we have here!”

Boone’s in the doorway, his arms outstretched.

I rush to hide my phone behind my back as I turn around. He steps into the room first, closely followed by Estrada and the man named Nathaniel Rollins.

“We’re not interrupting anything, are we?” he asks suspiciously.

“We were just done,” Sugar says brightly. “Why don’t you boys have a seat and we can entertain you?”

I’m subtle as possible putting my phone down on the credenza table against the wall. I’m facing Boone and the others with my hands behind my back, nudging the phone behind the Aztec warrior figurine on the tabletop. If Boone realizes I’ve brought my phone with me into the private room, that wouldn’t be good.

It would be just another sign that things have taken a turn for the worse.

I’m going to have to get through this as calmly and unscathed as possible. I’ve made it this far. I can last a little longer.

Hopefully backup will come before things go too far left.

Boone and the other two men take their seats and begin talking about the tournament. The TV monitors show the current hand being played and which players have already folded.

“Oz would’ve been killing this if he were here,” Boone says. “It’s a shame he was too pussy to show his face. When’d you last see him, doll?”

“Hmm?” I give him an innocent smile. “He left very early today. I’m not sure where he went.”

Boone doesn’t even pretend to believe me. He strokes his white beard and pops his cigar back into his mouth. “Real interesting he wouldn’t turn up. It doesn’t bode well for him. I don’t take too kindly to people backing out of agreements.”

“Would you gentleman like anything else?” I ask.

Sugar has started gyrating against the stripper pole in the room, doing a few basic moves. Estrada and Rollins seem entertained. But Boone proves more difficult to distract—his dark shades may hide his eyes, but there’s no mistaking the fact that he’s peering at me.

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