Page 11 of O'Mega's Revenge
“Sold? I won her fair and square.”
Crete leaned in, “I thought I heard you cheated.”
I laughed. “Hell no. Was supposed to lose that hand.”
Jackson pointed at me with his beer. “‘Told him, better fucking lose. And the asshole pulls a two and a fucking five. Nonno here had a King, and what the fuck was that card?”
Nonno smiled. “King and a queen. Then pulled a seven. Fucking shit.”
“Wolf here gets the three. A whole mess of suits, so he’s got shit, but the possible straight, so he tosses his balls on the table and shoves everything into the pot, including all the shit he won off me, because I know better than to fucking win when playing Nonno here.”
“Naw, you’re just a shit player,” Nonno pointed out.
Jackson didn’t miss a beat.
“So, Wolf goes and pushes everything in, including the keys to his fucking bike. Who was it, Ice? Yeah, that’s right, the fucking Iceman, never seen him blink or say boo, is waving his hands and shaking his head behind Nonno’s back, telling Wolf he’s got a pair of kings, and Nonno here, he doesn’t give a shit, tosses his bike key into the pile.”
“That was a sweet ass Heritage,” I said. Knowing full well that Jackson was telling the story much better than I could have.
“Well, shit gets tense. Nonno drops the two kings, the lady, his fucking seven, then holds up the last card and lays down a queen. Sweet set, right?”
I smiled, remembering the rush of that night. But it wasn’t because I was enjoying myself. Nope. It was because I’d been in the game. The real game. Win or lose, I had a goal in mind that wasn’t winning Nonno’s bike. Tits was hanging in the middle of the Buffalo clubhouse in a fucking birdcage. Human-sized, but still a fucking cage. She’d been abused and dripped blood on the floor. Not enough to warrant immediate attention, just a macabre stain that turned my stomach.
Ice and I were just a year, maybe a year and a half out of the prospecting phase. He had gained a reputation as a shooter, and I had begun enacting my upward move. Both of us took one look at the blood, the girl, and the number of men who would kill us seven ways from Sunday and did that thing that drove the nurses at Walter Reed nuts when we both were down there for rehab. It started with a look, then a nod, and Ice held up two fingers. I put up three. We walked around the room, scoping out every exit, listening to the talk, figuring out weaknesses, and planning.
Exactly three hours later, I was the last man at the poker table against Nonno himself. Ice put on a show, protesting my stupidity, but he’d also fed me an ace from the table two hands before. I had the two, a three, and a five. The mate to the ace stared at me from the card I picked up, and I was either resigned to plan B or wouldn’t have to cheat at all.
As the last card was dealt, Ice shook his head. He didn’t see what I had.
The weakness. Nonno and I shared a passion for games. Odds meant nothing, and attitude was everything. Nonno wanted to win, but he also wanted to be challenged. That was what made him happiest. An opportunity to live on the edge of losing everything. There he thrived. I threw my key in, letting the crowd crow over Nonno’s hand. Dealt with the laughter and the crude comments about my shitty hand.
Nonno stared into my eyes and tried to read the game there.
I didn’t even look down when I flipped the card.
Ice’s ace fell to the floor in the ruckus, and the hollers grew as someone counted off my straight. It didn’t matter. What really mattered was that I’d challenged Nonno. He smiled.
“Whatever you want. Name it. But you can’t ride two bikes home.”
I tossed his key back at him and left the cash on the table. That’s when I pointed at Meghan and made a decision that changed my life. “Her.”
The room fell silent.
“And then the son of a bitch points at this hooker in the cage and says, ‘her.’ Mother fucker left Nonno’s Heritage and about seventeen grand in cash sitting on the table.” Jackson laughed along with everyone else.
“Was she worth it?” Crete asked, his tone holding innuendo.
Nonno stood up abruptly. “You crude mother-fucking son of a bitch!” He took a step and cocked his arm back to catch Crete in a wild right hook. I caught his arm and started talking low in his ear. Jackson stepped between Nonno and Crete and began placating his guy.
Meanwhile I said a lot in Nonno’s ear. “I got her cleaned up. Stitched up. Sent her to some folks so she could disappear, like you asked, man. She wasn’t supposed to come back. But she did. It wasn’t me, swear to God, it wasn’t me. She did it all on her own.”
He clutched my arm and bent his head to mine. “I’m a fucking dead man ‘cause of you. You know that?”
“No one knows, Nonno. No one.”
“She was supposed to die, Wolf.”
“I know, Nonno. But you know she couldn’t, right? She had too much fight in her. She wouldn’t die.”
