15
The wand beeps and the security guard waves it back over the area again. There’s a second beep, followed by a third. Outwardly I stay still and try to act calm. Inwardly, though, it’s a whole different story. If these guards find the micro camera it’s real likely Cabressa will find out. That happens and he’ll be having his people skin my hide and nail it to the barn door.
The security guy looks across at his pal. ‘Got a problem here.’
The other security guard steps over to join us. I feel like a minnow beside two sharks. I’m wishing I were a minnow with a Taser.
I clench my fists. Get ready to defend myself. We can’t fail yet. We’ve not even made it into the poker room.
‘Hold still, Miss Anderson,’ says the first security guy. He moves the wand inch-by-inch over me working from the bottom up. The closer the wand gets to my head, the sicker I feel. It beeps as it passes my chest.
The guy scratches his head. ‘I’m sorry, I’m going to look under your dress.’
I stare at him a moment. There’s no way of doing this and keeping my dignity. JT looks unhappy, but I can’t exactly refuse. Luckily the material is stretchy enough I can peel it down over my shoulder.
The guard’s cheeks flush as he slowly passes the wand over my chest again. It beeps as it gets to the bottom of my lace bra. He glances at his buddy and for a minute I think they’re going to tell me to take off my bra. Then he gestures towards my bra and says, ‘You got metal in there?’
‘Just the underwire.’
‘That’d be it,’ he says. ‘Let me just go over you with the bug detector to be sure.’ He produces a small, silver device from his belt. Switches it on, and passes it over me. He gives me a smile. ‘You’re all set. Sorry about that. But I’m sure you appreciate we have to ensure the safety of all our guests.’
‘Of course,’ I say. My body is still on high alert – adrenaline pulsing through me, ready for flight or fight. I clasp my hands together to stop him seeing they’re shaking.
Having put JT’s gun into the metal box with my Taser, they seal the top and put it on a small trolley alongside six other identical boxes. The security guard hands my carryall back to me. ‘Your weapons will be held downstairs in the security room until you leave. They will be returned to you at that time.’
I nod and move towards the door that leads through into the rest of the suite. Before I get to it, the door swings open and a tall, beautiful woman wearing a fitted black dress and jacket and skyscraper heels, a leopard-print scarf tied around her neck, steps into the foyer. She smiles at me and then at JT, and beckons us through the door. ‘Welcome, Miss Anderson. Please come this way.’
I step through the doorway and into the lion’s den.
*
The penthouse is more luxurious than anything I’ve seen. Carmella leads us through into the main open-plan living space. The walls are painted pure white. The floors are stripped oak – solid wood not laminate. It feels more like an art gallery than a home, with huge Modernist paintings filling the wall space. I glance at JT and I can tell he’s thinking the same. This place is a whole other world.
We stop in the living space. The kitchen is at one end, all sleek white units, marble countertops and stainless-steel appliances, with the huge island separating it from the rest of the area. From there it flows through the sitting area, filled with colour-popping modern couches, a white baby-grand piano, and through to the table at the far right of the space. It’s a full-sized poker table, laid out ready for play. I notice the packs of cards, still in their shrink wrap, sitting on the green felt beside a Shuffle Master machine. All along the far wall are bifold glass doors. Half have been opened, and through the sheer white drapes, which are billowing gently in the breeze, I can see a paved terrace area and the twinkling lights of the city beyond.
Carmella turns to me and smiles. She gestures towards the kitchen, where a young woman in a black skirt and white blouse is pouring champagne for a group of men. ‘Come this way, please,’ she says. ‘Let me introduce you.’
As I follow her, I see one of the security guys wave JT over to an open door leading away from the living space. I halt, unsure of what’s happening. The security man steps over to us. Looks towards my carryall and then at JT. ‘Please bring the bag this way.’
JT meets my gaze. I know the etiquette of this game is to be respected. It seems while the players gather in the main open-plan area, have a glass of champagne and get introduced, their close protection take the buy-in money into a side room – a bedroom, I remember from the floorplan – and wait while the cash is counted. I don’t want to be separated from JT, but it seems I have little choice. I pass the carryall to him. Force a smile.
‘I’ll be right outside that door,’ he says.
As he walks away with the security guy, I turn and follow Carmella. Over by the island unit I’m handed a glass of champagne. It’s then, as I feel all eyes turn to appraise me, that I’m hit with it. Aside from Carmella and the server, I’m the only other woman here in the suite.
‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ Carmella looks at me. ‘And lady. And a warm welcome to this month’s game. As you know the buy-in for tonight stands at fifty thousand dollars. For those who have brought additional funds or have a line of credit with the house, you’re permitted two subsequent buy-ins. While the buy-ins are being counted, please enjoy your champagne. We’ll be starting in a few minutes.’
The men start talking among themselves. I take a sip of the champagne. It’s smooth and dry, but I’m careful not to drink too much. I’m going to need all my smarts if I’m going to make it through to heads-up.
Carmella steps towards me. ‘Miss Anderson—’
‘Call me Lori, please,’ I say.
She smiles graciously. ‘Okay, Lori. Can I introduce you to the rest of the players?’
‘Thank you, yes.’
Carmella puts her hand on the arm of a tall black guy whose arm muscles rival those of the security. ‘Otis Valha, can I introduce you to Lori Anderson. She’s a new player joining us tonight.’
Otis smiles and shakes my hand with his gold-ring-clad fingers. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Lori.’ He gestures to the older, balding, thick-set guy in a blue suit and brown brogues he’s talking to. ‘You come to take Carl’s money off him?’
I smile. ‘Let’s hope so.’
Otis clinks his champagne glass against mine. ‘We’ll have some fun.’
‘Who’s having fun?’ A red-faced, tubby guy in a red polo shirt and chinos is staring at me. He holds out his hand. ‘I’m Anton Peck.’
‘Lori,’ I say as I shake his hand. His palm’s sweaty, and his grip is too firm. He pumps my hand up and down longer and harder than is necessary. I figure that when we first sit down to play, this guy will be one of those who try to dominate the play.
Releasing my hand, he tugs on the sleeve of one of the men whose back is to me, talking to two others. The man turns. He’s about six feet tall, I’d say in his fifties and looking good on it. Cropped dark hair with a few greys around the temples, black suit, beautifully tailored, and shiny black loafers. When he smiles it’s the mega-watt smile of a movie star. ‘I’m Mikey Fitzgerald,’ he says, taking my hand and holding it in both of his. ‘From the mayor’s office.’
‘Lori,’ I say. Damn, this man knows how to hold some intense eye contact. I pull my hand away first.
‘And I’m Johnny, Johnny Keto,’ says the athletic-looking guy with a shaved head and a big, bushy beard who’s standing beside Mikey.
I frown. Tilt my head to one side. ‘How do I know that name?’
Johnny grins. ‘You a fan of baseball, Lori?’
‘I am.’
‘Maybe you’ve seen me in action then.’
I nod. ‘Could be that I have.’
‘Miss Anderson?’ The group goes quiet as the man at the back starts to speak. His Chicago accent is stronger than any of the others. And as he approaches, Mikey and Johnny move aside to let him through. ‘So nice to finally meet you.’
He looks younger than the late-fifties I know him to be, with gelled black hair and a deep tan. I recognise this man from the pictures Monroe has shown me. He’s got the athletic bulk of a man who boxed in his younger days and carries himself in a way that suggests he still does and rarely loses. My heart rate accelerates but I stand my ground. Hold out my hand and smile, conscious that all eyes are on me. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Cabressa.’
He grins, laughter lines deepening around his eyes as he does so. ‘Likewise, Miss Anderson. I’m told you play a good game.’
I fight to keep my smile in place. Despite his obvious strength, his handshake is damp and flaccid. ‘I like to think so.’
He lets go of my hand, but the smile is still on his lips as he says, ‘Let’s hope that’s true.’