Page 26 of Joker's Ghost
I rub my fingers over my forehead, then press the heels of my hands against my eyes. What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve gone through hell and back in my early years, and yet a few words from an ancient Native American is getting up my ass.
I suck in the dry desert air and will myself to get it together. I’d get my shit together, then go back inside and enjoy the night with my beautiful pregnant woman and my brothers. No big fuckin’ deal.
A heavy hand lands on my shoulder, and I flinch. “What the?—”
“Shit, you better cut back on the coffee.” Samson’s giving me his best shit-eating grin, and I try desperately to chill.
“Hey, man.”
He furrows his brow. “You all right?”
Why do people keep asking me that?
“Of course.” I draw in another breath and smirk, determined to steer the conversation in another direction. “Love the whole gladiator look.”
Samson rolls his eyes. “Lisbeth’s idea—she’s Cleopatra.”
I scan the sidewalk. “Where is she?”
“Inside with the other women. I just came out for asmoke.” He sticks a cig between his lips and offers me one, then lights us up.
I draw deep, letting the nicotine do its job.
“I didn’t see you when we first got here. The fuckin’ place is packed.” He eyeballs me. “Then I saw you take off for the door.”
“Got a lot of shit goin’ on.”
“Anything you need help with?”
“No, man, but thanks.”
Samson and I go way back to our cage fighting days in New York basements under the rule of the Russian mob. Brutal, savage and ruthless, but we made it out. I came to Vegas and hooked up with the Serpents, while he escaped the mob and opened up a mega-nightclub in Vegas with his business partner, Nick.
“Gotta say, you look pretty authentic.” Samson motions to my costume. “Wasn’t there some urban legend about Bugsy Siegel using The Gold Mine as a hangout back in the day?”
I pitch my smoke to the curb. “Let’s get a drink.”
We push back through the doors of The Gold Mine and head for the bar. I’m determined to have a good time and leave all this bullshit behind me when Mamba appears at my side.
He and Samson do the male backslap thing, make cracks about each other’s costumes, then Mamba turns to me. “Can I have a word?”
“Go get a drink,” I say to Samson. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Samson heads toward the bar, and I turn back to Mamba. “What the fuck now?”
Mamba cocks his head. “Derek’s here.” Mamba throws up his palms. “Not that I give a shit, but I know how you feel about it.”
I blow out a heavy breath. So much for enjoying the party.
“Where is he?”
Mamba jerks his head to the back of the room. “He’s back there with some of the club girls. He’s dressed like a pirate.”
“How’d I miss him come in?”
“The fuckin’ place is packed.” Mamba jerks his chin to the back of the room. “Why don’t you let the kid slide tonight?”
I pull a face and Mamba adds, “It’s not my business, but I think we both know we were doin’ way worse at his age.”
