Player: Stone Cold MC (12 page)

I hadn’t spoken to Alex since Sunday. I’d taken the whole bag of money with me, and I’d intended to give it to her the next time I saw her. I just wanted to see if I couldn’t make a bit more. I wanted to play with it.

The first thing I did was go to a new motel. I tried not to stay in one place for too long. This place was a little more expensive because I felt I could treat myself, and it was closer to the coast so that when I lay in bed at night I could hear the waves crashing on the beach.

I made my way to Harlan Gold on Wednesday. I hadn’t been there since the day I’d met Alex. I half-expected her to be there, but when I arrived, I didn’t see her car in the parking lot. I looked around for her classic red outfit when I was inside, but Alex was M.I.A.

That was okay. I didn’t have to be attached to her at the hip now that we were seeing each other in a not completely casual capacity. I still had to take her out on a date, and I wanted to make money for that too so that I could spoil her.

Harlan Gold was like a glittering jewel, and I was swallowed by the red and gold that wrapped all around me and drowned out reality.

I tried my hand at poker. I kept my bets small and tried to remember what she’d taught me. Her voice was a constant in my head, and I could hear it’s velvet finish every time I decided to do something. I managed to pull a couple of hundred at the tables before I pulled out and made my way over to craps and then roulette, playing games I was better at and didn’t have to think so much about.

I lost more than I won, but somehow, I managed to make up for it. It wasn’t a loss, but it wasn’t a win either. After a couple of hours on the floor, I was right back where I started. It put me in a bad mood.

Time for some blackjack. I wasn’t going to jump in and start counting the way Alex had taught me right away; I doubted I was as sharp as she was, and I was definitely not as fast.

But I could stand around the table that was playing and count, see if I was right.

I spent some time there doing exactly that, and found that I was better at it than I thought I would be. I was willing to give it a shot. I glanced around the casino. It wasn’t as if I was looking for her, but I would have liked it if she appeared out of thin air. I also liked making sure that if I was going to cheat by counting, then I didn’t want anyone who mattered to see me.

Like an owner, a security guard, or a floor manager.

I sat down and rubbed my hands together. I started small with just a couple of chips, and I managed. It was great. I got all the numbers right and counted it all out the way I should have.

I won money. Handfuls of chips that made my head spin.

But somewhere I lost track again, and I lost more than half of it in a single go again. That was what happened when you got cocky.

I got up off the table, saving the chips I had left before I made a complete fool of myself.

In the corner at one of the poker tables, a man in an extravagant salmon and black silk suit made a scene of being in the casino. His dark hair was slicked back, and his shrewd eyes flitted all over the place. His face was twisted in a satisfying smile that suggested he just won a lot of money.

Antonio Jerrill really was a sight to behold. He was irritating even when I wasn’t speaking to him, and he had the kind of face that made me want to walk up to him and be a cocky son of a bitch.

I held on though and behaved like a gentleman. I was learning. Alex had taught me more than just how to cheat the system in a classy way.

Jerrill got up and that bodyguard of his flanked him as if he was made of gold. I didn’t doubt someone would want to take him out, even if it was just because he was such an arrogant S.O.B.

His bodyguard bent over and whispered something in his ear and then Jerrill got up and walked out through a private back door that looked to me like it led to a fire escape. Curiosity got me to my feet, and I walked in the same direction.

I managed to slip out of the door without anyone seeing me. The cameras were strategically placed facing away from the door, and that made me want to know what was going down all the more.

I slipped out into the inky night through the fire escape and stayed in the shadows that were cast by a dumpster. The alley was dark and narrow, and I didn’t really want to be caught in there alone. Jerrill stood with his hands in the pockets of his pansy suit, and his muscle leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest so that his arms looked impossibly big.

A couple of minutes of waiting and another character appeared in the alley. He was so thin and reedy he hardly cast a shadow, but he walked up to Jerrill with so much swagger he had to be worth millions in some way.

He didn’t exactly the dress the part, with baggy jeans, an untucked collared shirt that hung underneath a suede jacket with its collar popped up and shades on his head—even though it was nighttime. At least he wasn’t wearing them.

What was it with men who flew beneath the radar and sunglasses? Did it make the police not recognize them, or was it a matter of intimidation?

“You’re late,” Jerrill said, and his voice carried through the thin night air so that I didn’t have to creep closer to know what they were saying.

“I know. Hold up on trade.”

Whatever that meant.

“So, we doing this or not?” Jerrill asked. By the tone of his voice I got the impression he was anxious to get out of there. I wasn’t sure why, his bodyguard could snap the reed in half without blinking the guy was so thin.

“We’re doing this, but I can only offer you half,” he said. “One of my guys ran into trouble getting the art over the border.”

Art? Jerrill was having private back alley meetings about art deliveries?

“We didn’t agree on half,” Jerrill said.

“I know, but you have to respect the system man. We’re all in a pecking order here, and I can’t change how things are. Either you want it or you don’t. If you don’t, I can find another buyer to replace you. I don’t care where the money comes from.”

Jerrill lifted his hand, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if it was to summon the bodyguard for a deal or for death. The reedy guy didn’t seem to know either. He stiffened. But then Mr. Muscle produced a black suitcase and held it out for Reedy to take. The guy was visibly relieved.

“I trust the money is correct?”

“The money is as a good a quality as your product.”

Product, not art. I was willing to bet I wasn’t listening to a trade of oil on canvas. The thin guy nodded, the bodyguard nodded, and Jerrill nodded. Then Reedy handed over a key. The only reason I knew it was a key was because it gleamed when it was passed and nothing else really looked like that.

Jerrill took it and turned. The discussion was over; there were no goodbyes. Mr. Muscle turned and followed Jerrill. I stayed put right where I was. If I moved now, they were going to see me, and I needed to stay out of sight if I didn’t want to get the living shit beaten out of me.

The bodyguard opened the door for Jerrill, and the slick man walked through, followed by his tail before the door swung closed and clicked shut again with a sound that reminded me of an airlock.

I glanced toward the spot where the meeting had happened. The thin guy pulled his popped collar against his neck, fished in his pocket for a cigarette, and cupped his hand around it as he lit it up with a lighter that gleamed like something gold.

I wanted in. I saw a lot of money, and I wanted it. I wanted to do whatever it was that got me that much money.

It wasn’t the plan, Alex and I had an agreement that I had to stick to. If I got into some more shit now, I wasn’t only setting myself up for potential danger, but if it went wrong, it would be betrayal, too.

But it was so much money. The deal I’d seen tapped into my greedy side, and I had to get into that.

I looked over my shoulder toward the door. It was quiet and closed, as if no one had gone through it at all. I swallowed hard and did what I knew I shouldn’t be doing. I got up from behind the dumpster and walked toward the guy who now casually stood smoking.

I walked right up to him and lit a cigarette of my own. I didn’t know how to approach the guy without it being suspicious. He jerked his head around when he saw me. I watched him in my peripheral vision, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

I lifted the cigarette to my mouth. “Having a smoke,” I said and took a drag.

“Out here?” he asked. I glanced over my shoulder at the casino’s fire escape.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

He shook his head. He had mousy brown hair that was cut in a style that made me think he still wanted to be a teenager. But from up close his threads were nice, expensive. The jeans were designer, made to look faded instead of really being faded. The clothes fit as if they had been made for him, which was a tough one to pull off if you were as skinny as this guy was.

“I’m not from in there,” he said, gesturing toward the casino. I pretended to be confused.

“What are you here for then?”

He shrugged, and I wasn’t going to find anything out if I kept walking that road.

“You know, Jerrill isn’t the best kind of person to be dealing with,” I said. His guard went up. He took a step away slightly.

“What do you know? Were you following me?”

“Relax,” I said. “I’m on your side.”

His shoulders were still tight, and his eyes flitted around as if he was looking for a way out.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Let’s just say I think we can help each other out. What did you just sell Jerrill?”

He shook his head. “It’s just art, man. He was interested in a new piece that came in—”

“Art in a back alley?” I asked, cutting him off.

He nodded. I shook my head.

“I’m interested in what you gave him. That’s all. Maybe I can get some of my own.”

“You deal?” he asked. I shrugged. Dealing… we were getting closer. I thought of all that money that Jerrill handed over. I wanted that. It was on my mind the way a woman was and I wasn’t going to let go of it.

“I think you and I could make some serious cash,” I said. “You’re dealing drugs, yes?”

He hesitated as if he wasn’t sure if he should answer me. But honestly, how many things could anyone be dealing?

Finally, he nodded. I nodded too.

“Right. Well, this is what I’m thinking. He’s buying a big stash from you, judging by all that cash. And you’re making a quick buck selling to someone who’s responsible for the eventual misfortune of many. So how about we make sure that we double what we’re getting out of this?”

“We?” he asked.

I nodded and took a step toward him. He didn’t back up. Progress.

“You tell me where that stash is. I’ll follow his henchman from the pickup, and we steal it back. You resell that shit to someone else, or even right back to him, that’s just straight profit.”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“You’re going to steal the drugs I just sold to Jerrill back from him?” he asked.

“You catch on quick,” I said and took a deep breath to force the sarcasm back out of my voice.

“What makes you think you can take on someone like Jerrill and his security system?”

I shrugged. This was right up my alley. This was what I was good at. Gambling had been a way to make up the cash I owed the club, and now to pay back Alex. But stealing shit was what I was made for.

“I’m one of the best in the business,” I said.

He took time to think about it, finishing his cigarette and lighting up another one in a promising cancer chain. He took so long I wanted to ask him straight up what he thought when he finally nodded.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “What do I do if Jerrill comes to ask me where his stuff is?”

“I’m not going to steal it before he gets to it. You tell him the truth—you don’t know what happens with the drugs after a delivery, you can’t guarantee the security of the people who buy it.”

He was starting to see the light. He nodded. “And once you have it?”

“Then we do a bit more business, make sure that it comes right back on the streets again, and we split the cash seventy-thirty.”

He frowned. “Seventy-thirty?”

I nodded. “Seventy for me because I’m doing all the damn work. You’re getting thirty because you already got all the money from the first sale, and you’re just going to resell.”

He didn’t seem to like my division, but he must have seen a whole lot of non-negotiable on my face because he nodded and held out his hand.

I took it.

“Nice to do business with you,” he said. “I’m Henry. My friends call me Rat.”

Rat. Well that was accurate.

“Ben,” I said. “Ben Reeker.”

Might as well keep up the alias while I was at it. I wasn’t going to give him my real name.

“So, you want to give me a heads-up on where this stash is before it’s gone?” I asked. He took out a scrap of paper and found a pen, and wrote down the number of a safety deposit box.

“Where is this?” I asked.

“Train station. It’s a system that works. You’re following them from there?”

I nodded.

“Well, you better go now.” He lifted his arm and looked at the face of a golden watch that made my fingers itch. I wanted that shit on my own skin. “He’s probably doing the pick-up in about half an hour. He doesn’t like to wait.”

Which was fine by me. I hated the waiting game, too.

I turned to leave when Rat grabbed my sleeve. I looked at him with my best don’t-touch-me look. He shoved a business card into my hand. At least, the piece of paper was business card size, but it was a blank with only a number written in pen.

“In case you need to get a hold of me.”

I nodded.

I went back into the casino through the fire escape and made my way through the group of people inside. They were high on the possibility of winning, and it fused with alcohol and smoke to make a combination that would never replicate real life. It was addictive in its own way—winning aside.

I hailed a cab outside and got the car to drop me off in front of the train station. I pulled out my phone to check the time. A message from Alex sat front and center, but I closed it without replying. Later. If this worked, I was going to be able to surprise her with a lot more than my quick learning skills.

I found the row of lockup boxes that stretched across the far wall and flipped up my collar. It wasn’t going to hide my face very well, but the wind that cut through the tunnels was cold. I leaned against a wall, hidden mostly in a shadow and kept an eye on those boxes.

And hoped I wasn’t too late.

I waited for forty minutes. I was just about to leave, thinking that I’d missed them after all, when Jerrill’s muscle arrived. The man looked a little lost without his boss to hold his leash, and he glanced around him to make sure there were no prying eyes. He didn’t see me.

I was dying for a smoke, but lighting up now would give me away, so I clamped down on my craving, forcing my body to wait it out.

The box opened, and the henchman retrieved a square brown box that looked like it was the exact size of the lockup. He put it in a black duffel bag and closed the little door again, locking it and dropping the key in his pocket.

When he turned to leave, I waited a couple of seconds to give him a good, unsuspicious head start, and then I followed.

I followed him through the train station. He must have parked all the way on the other side. He looked a lot like the few people that traveled at this time of night, walking around with a single bag. He looked over his shoulder once or twice and I had to jump or turn or hide to make sure he didn’t see me.

Finally, he reached the parking lot on the far side and got into a black Bentley that didn’t suit him at all. I was willing to bet the car belonged to Jerrill. I knew Jerrill wouldn’t be in the car. Mr. Muscle would have been forced to come get the precious cargo alone.

When he got in the car and started driving away, I made sure to get myself a cab again and asked the driver to follow the Bentley the way they did in all those movies. The guy even complied, and I felt like I was a part of an action flick.

We twisted in and out of residential areas, taking a lot of dingy backroads that didn’t go anywhere special and finally stopped in front of an old warehouse that looked two steps away from having a condemned sign slapped onto it.

I got out of the cab and ran around the side to follow the Bentley that had driven around the back.

I got to a chain link fence and found a rusted hole that might have been cut by some trespassing teenager years ago.

Jerrill stepped out of the open warehouse door. He wore the same salmon suit that he’d worn at the club, but he wore a long duster-type coat over it, and he looked like some kind of drug lord. Which fit the whole scenario really well.  Mr. Muscle took out the brown box and opened it. Jerrill studied the contents and then nodded. His henchman walked past him into the warehouse.

I was dying to follow him inside and see exactly where he was stashing the shit, but that was like committing suicide, walking into Jerrill’s turf like that. So I hung low and waited until they were all done and ready to leave before I even started thinking about going in there.

The doors were closed and locked with a padlock and chain as thick as my arm. Then Mr. Muscle got back behind the Bentley’s wheel and Jerrill got in the back, ready to be chauffeured to who-cared.

I waited ten minutes. The place was dark, no lights, and if I didn’t know better, I would have thought no one had been at that abandoned warehouse for years. It sure didn’t look like the kind of place that would have a stash of drugs in it. I crept around the side of the building looking for a way in.

There were small doors along the side, like staff entrances. I tried one door, but it was locked. When I moved down, trying them all, I ended up with a whole lot of nothing.

I stepped back and glanced up against the high brick wall that reached almost four stories up in height. There were windows everywhere, and the second one up had no glass in it anymore. I didn’t want to change anything and make it clear someone had been here. I wanted to leave as little trace as possible.

I walked to the corner of the building. The mortar between the bricks had started to crumbled away, leaving enough space for me to grip with my fingers. It was just the tips, but it was better than nothing.

I started climbing. It hurt my fingers like a bitch. I used to do this with gloves on, and my muscles were screaming at me for the torture I put them through as well. I hadn’t done something like this since Emmett.

I made it to second story height without slipping and stopped myself from looking down. Best way to get yourself distracted and then tumbling in a nasty fall. I reached over with one hand, moving slowly so I didn’t lose my grip with my other hand and my toes. I reached the ledge and then the lip of the metal that used to hold the glass.

A car drove by on the road a couple of feet away from the building and I closed my eyes, praying that whoever was driving didn’t bother looking up. Or worse yet, come into the yard. A few seconds and there was no sound—except my panting. Thank God.

I stretched out my leg and looked for footing. I found a space and hooked the toe of my shoe. I was just about to reposition my other hand and foot when my toe slipped. The momentum yanked my body down, and I lost my grip with my other hand and foot completely.