Page 32 of Wild Card (Advantage Play 1)

With my focus on a mass of numbers, I answer it. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Boss. You got a sec?” It’s Diece.

“Not really. What is it?” My tone is sharp. To the point. I’ve got shit to do.

“Lou just gave me an updated registration list for the tournament.” Lou is a fucking computer guru. If I need something that can be found on the internet, he finds it.

Tugging on the tie around my neck that feels like a noose more than an accessory, I ask, “And?”

“As far as I can see, there aren’t any traffickers other than Burlone who are planning on participating, which means he’s only trying to cover his own ass with this stunt and not anyone else’s.”

“Good,” I grunt. “So there’s no one of interest who’s registered so far?”

With a subtle clearing of his throat, an uncomfortable Diece continues, “A few rich boys from the South, a bigshot entrepreneur from the East, a professional poker player who thinks he stands a chance against Burlone from the West, and….” His voice trails off, piquing my curiosity.

“And?” I sit back in my chair, giving the conversation at hand my full attention.

“And your little spy. Is there a reason she registered an hour ago?”

With flared nostrils, I try to maintain a semblance of control. “Can you repeat that, D?” My white knuckles squeeze the phone in my hand, threatening to break it.

“Yeah. Acely Mezzerich registered for the poker tournament an hour ago at Sin. She used an alias, Macey Johnson. But the fake name wouldn’t hold up for more than five minutes for anyone who was looking. She must’ve bought the fake ID from an inexperienced junkie, though I doubt she could afford a good one. Anyway, I had Lou pull up the security tapes, and sure enough, it’s your girl. By your reaction, I assume you didn’t know she was planning on participating?”

A low growl rumbles in my chest as I grit out, “No. Seems my little wild card and I need to have a chat.”

With a click, I disconnect the call.

Chapter Nineteen

Ace

With a pep in my step, I round the corner and duck under the chain-link fence before tossing a few twenties at Eddie.

“Yer in a good mood today.” His voice is slurred, making me pause.

“Eddie, did you have something to drink?” With a tilted head, I assess him. He’s nothing more than a crumpled mess on the pavement. His jaw is slack, and his eyes are glassy.

Shit.

“Just a bit, Ace. Just a bit.”

“Where’d you get it from, Eddie?” Squatting down, I gently press on his shoulder in hopes of encouraging him to lay down. Thankfully, he obliges, resting his head against an old backpack with his personal stuff tucked inside of it.

Eddie gives me a grin, showcasing his stained teeth. “The liquor store, Ace. The man at the counter said they were overstocked, so he gived me a discount. Ain’t that so great of him?”

I see three giant bottles of alcohol nestled between his things as if they’re his most prized possessions, and the sight makes me want to cry. I’m always careful to give him just enough cash to buy him a burger here or there, but not enough to give him the opportunity to save it for a rainy day because I always knew how he’d prefer to spend it. Looking down at the bottles of alcohol, it confirms my theory.

Stupid discounts. Stupid addictions. Stupid vices.

“Ya look sad, Ace. Here, have a drink. It’ll turn that frown upside down in no time.” Raising his arm, he offers a nearly empty bottle, and I take it before setting it back onto the asphalt.

“Oh, Eddie.” The defeat weighs heavily on my shoulders as I grab his threadbare blanket and toss it over him. “Get some rest, okay?”

“Okay, Ace. Night, Ace. That really is a weird name, Ace.”

A strangled chuckle slips past my defenses as I watch him drift off to sleep.

Wiping a tear from beneath my eye, I release a sigh then search his things for any more alcohol. When I find two bottles of bourbon and one of whiskey, I confiscate them with a heavy heart.

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