Page 17 of Wrapped in Silver

Commotion surrounds me from each of the card tables. Background noise becomes my playground, because I made a living out of discerning and deciphering all of it. Nikolaj Vikyav has been the current game organizer for the last five or so years… which means he has no idea who I am.

Concealed under a black baseball cap, greased up beard like I just came off a bender, and compression sleeves to taper down my muscles under a long sleeve grey shirt… I’m nobody.

The old instincts lying dormant within me come alive.

My face is deadpan as I accept my chip rack and give them the token that buys me into the casino. It’s a mix of low-to-mid level gangsters from all walks. Grudges and hits are left at the door,no matter what. As my senses heighten, I catch coded talk of the‘pig-load’being transported… I again ask myself…

Why am I here?

Why did I call the tip in to Donny? He was doing just fine without knowing what the Russians were sticking their noses into.

The answer is simple: the young woman weeping on my floor.

Quinn.

Ever since I laid eyes on her three mornings ago, her face has only gotten brighter in my mind. She woke this ghost back to life. Bossing around people on movie sets… intimidating them… it’s a hollow life only to chase one’s power. I miss providing for someone.

Not just someone… I want to protect her.

Because you couldn’t protect them?

I stop the questions cold in my head, casually making way to the table of two muscle-head Russkies in white cut-offs alluding to the whereabouts of her father. They speak a mix of broken English and rough Russian, which is drowned out by the others talking about last hand. Not for me, though. I understand both fluently. My old line of work calls for it.

As I stack my chips and call myself into the next hand, I’m careful. All eyes glance to the new player, and I lift my head to show there’s nothing to hide. But that’s a lie. They’re seeing blond-brown hair brushed over my forehead that isn’t mine. The brown eyes I use to browse the table are fake too. Contacts, hair plugs, a cool demeanor with a few painted scars tells the story of a man who doesn’t exist.

All they’ll know is I’m Italian, Jersey crew. They’ll assume part of one of the families, low level muscle. I’ll have to act a little slow in my voice, because at my age? I should be a capo or at least someone recognizable.

Don’t win too much. Don’t play too smart.

The first deal comes—cards sliding across the black felt table sends a serene tingle through my fingertips. Peeking at pocket kings, I fold them as soon as I’m able. The fastest way to gain attention in Texas Hold’em is to win without using the collective cards. Stay quiet. Stay under the radar.

A few hands go by. The two Russkies stopped tactical talk ever since one of the old-school triads took his seat at the end of the table. Not sure if they’re uncomfortable or what, but I have all night.

There’s some drama with a triad and bratva player one table down, which catches some eyes and chuckles on my end, but other than that, it’s pretty smooth so far. The big guy directly next to me isn’t much for small talk, so I’m left to daydream about the broken woman who’d do anything to get her family back.

Me too, kid.

The way she looked at me from her window, with those fiery dark eyes… I obsess about the moment often. We’re drawn to each other, even if I pretend we aren’t.

Four draws later, and I’m down a cool five thousand. Travel expenses. Donny will understand. And it’s worth the loss, because once the old triad stands up with his cane—cursing at the dealer under his breath—the bratva boys chuckle and pick up talks again.

“Noon the loadidet k gruzoviku,in… in Palisades. Thenshwoop, off to the sea.And we collect, eh?” The bigger of the two uses his hand to signal take off.

“Da. Vremeni.”The smaller one winks.

Loose code. Noon is midnight, which is five hours from now, he’s going by truck to their warehouse near the Palisades cliff in Jersey. Once he’s shipped, they get their big pay day. Shipped where, though? If I wagered a guess, Captain Dall killed or put away someone related to a powerful boss, and that boss wants his revenge.

There’s one thing that doesn’t make sense, though. How—in a time where cameras are everywhere—were these thieves able to transport him so seamlessly? Every PD in Jersey should be working on this one.

No matter. I have to exit this game fast and infiltrate that warehouse.

You’re just supposed to observe, Aros. Technically, you’ve already done your job. Give the information over to the don and wash your hands.

The curious ghost in me wants to know if Captain Dall is dead or alive, however. And more, what are they going to do with him?

A few more hands go by.

“What happens next for pig-load, you think?”The big bratva nudges the smaller when he thinks no one is listening.

---