––––––––
What on earth was the dress code for an illegal high-roller poker game? Loretta had no idea. She thought about phoning Jordan to ask his advice, but she still couldn’t quite believe he was going along with it. Better to leave him alone than risk him changing his mind.
For that reason, she spent most of Sunday flicking through her wardrobe wondering if jeans would be too casual or if a trouser suit would be too much. She was too nervous to start trying things on. Knowing her luck, she’d find the perfect outfit and then the stress would make her throw up on it.
A dress seemed the safest bet. Something not too showy. There were a fair few knee-length ones in the closet. She pulled out a burgundy number with a neckline just below the collarbone. Feminine without being vampy.
With that decided, she played a few practice hands online. She knew she was good – better than she’d let Jordan know – but it didn’t pay to get over-confident. Games on the computer were completely different to games round a table, but a few wins settled her down.
Knowing Jordan had an ace up his sleeve was a big help too. She would have gone ahead anyway, but she felt safer having him as back up.
The night began at ten, so she pulled out of her drive at just after eight thirty. Ursino had briefed her about where she was going, but the word ‘mansion’ didn’t quite capture the enormous pile she drove up to. Architecture wasn’t something she knew much about, but the white building was of a size that demanded you started talking about wings and hiring staff to manage the other staff.
There was some serious money in the air. And she was going to do her best to get hold of a chunk of it.
She parked up out front in a clear open spot. It was never a bad idea to be cautious. There was a handful of people heading up the steps to the door. Apparently arriving on time wasn’t cool – only four other cars were sitting outside.
Loretta followed the others into the house. The entrance hall was dominated by a chandelier hanging low from the ceiling. The wood panels, the stairs, the floor – everything was polished to within an inch of its life. If the lighting hadn’t been so muted, they would have all been blinded.
A silver-haired gent in a sharp black suit was taking coats, but she’d left hers in the car. After the expected pleasantries, he patted the men down. The women were turned over to a hostess in a neat black cocktail dress for the same treatment. This was a world away from her university poker nights.
The early arrivers were directed through to a room filled with dark coffee tables and wing-backed chairs.
“Drink, madam?” The waiter standing at her shoulder made her jump. She hadn’t heard him walk up to her.
“What is it?” Alcohol wouldn’t be a good idea.
“Champagne or orange juice.”
She took a glass of the latter. “Thank you.” Now what was she supposed to do until things got going? She couldn’t imagine what would pass for small-talk in this sort of company.
***
Jordan bit down on his bottom lip as the doctor examined his leg. Gina had seen fit to call him after she left. She’d even forwarded an apology.
“You were lucky. It’s gone straight through. I’ll give you a couple of stitches.”
Lucky wasn’t what he’d call it. “Have you got any painkillers?”
The doctor gave him a fatherly look. “Stick to what you’ve got in the bathroom cabinet. Apart from that, all you need is a few days’ rest.”
He shook his head. “I’ve got things to do. Tonight.”
“Whatever it is will have to wait. If you burst those stitches you’re going to be worse off than when you started.”
Jordan rolled his eyes. A tense silence descended, punctuated by the occasional sharp intake of breath as the man got to work.
“I know you guys think you know everything, but trust me on this. Go to bed. Watch TV. Stay off your leg.”
“Yes, Doctor.” But he wasn’t fooling anybody.
He left without handing out any pills. Jordan didn’t even get the chance to rifle through his bag when he wasn’t looking. Fortunately, he had other connections.
Ten minutes and a phone call later saw him holding a blister pack of the finest pain relief money could buy. He didn’t take any yet. He’d do as the doctor said for as long as possible, but when midnight rolled around he’d be knocking back pills and heading out the door. Loretta wasn’t going to be alone in that hornet’s nest. She was more important than a few burst stitches.
***
The mingling and drinking came to an end and it was time to sit down at the game tables in the adjoining room. It turned out mob associates chatted about the weather just like everyone else. Loretta carried her chips over to one of the less prestigious games and waited for the seats to fill up.
The first few hands were far from taxing. She made some small gains without drawing attention to herself. Enough to let her relax. The play was seductive. She listened to the banter, not getting involved herself. It was obvious who shared history from the way they pushed each other’s buttons. Her strategy was to be as inscrutable as possible and throw out the odd false tell to muddy the waters. It worked well enough to get her onto the next tier of tables.
She was building up a very nice collection of chips. It was too early to start thinking she was even halfway home, but the signs were encouraging. Her next few hands added to an already generous stack of winnings.
As the columns of chips grew in front of her, it got harder to stay detached. There was really a chance this might work. Jordan could be free to live an honest life.
They could be together. Properly.
If that was what he wanted.
She played on, taking smaller risks as her winnings piled up.
“Excuse me madam, would you come with me?”
She looked behind her at the tap on her shoulder. A very large man with a shaved head and one of those black suits that marked him out as part of the security team waited for her to leave the table. “Is there a problem?” She sounded a lot calmer than she felt. Jordan’s words rang in her ears. They’ll eat you alive. She’d been thinking of the other players, but it could equally apply to the people in charge.
“If you’ll come with me?”
Pushing her chair away from the table, she stood up and reached for her chips.
“You can leave those here.”
That was when she really started to worry. She’d won a good five times what she’d come with and he was telling her to leave it all on the table? It didn’t bode well at all.
There was nothing she could do but follow him out of the room. Her mind ran at double speed. Had Jordan arrived yet? Was this part of his plan B?
They went back through to the entrance hall and out along a corridor on the opposite side. It was quieter in this part of the house. The peace did nothing to dispel her worry. “Have I done something wrong?”
“Through here, madam.” He opened a door and stood aside.
She looked at him, hoping for some indication of what was going on. He gave nothing away. She had no option but to step inside.
***
The most useful thing about shady outfits like the one running the poker game was the abundance of disgruntled employees. Jordan was a friendly guy with a lot of contacts in a lot of places. It wasn’t too hard for him to find an in at the poker mansion. There was no other way for him to make a discreet entrance. He definitely wasn’t in any state to go climbing through windows, even if he’d somehow managed to track down a gap in the security.
He was ushered in under cover of darkness and pulled on his trusty balaclava. Ever since that day in the bank, he hadn’t been able to put it on without thinking of his first kiss with Loretta. He hoped it would bring him luck.
Following the directions he’d been given, he limped down the corridor towards the game room as quickly as he could. Outside the door, he took a breath and blew it out. The hole in his leg was already catching fire again. After dry-swallowing a couple more pills, he opened the door a crack and waited for someone suitable to walk by. It wasn’t long before a woman with an elaborate hairdo and a very short skirt wandered past.
He threw open the door, grabbed her and dug his gun into her side. “Keep your mouth shut and you won’t get hurt.” She gasped, but stayed quiet.
The painkillers hadn’t kicked in yet and the throbbing from his leg was bringing up prickles of sweat under his mask. He focused on the gun in his hand and pretended there was nothing wrong. The armed robber couldn’t have a limp – it would be too easy for someone to put two and two together.
Once he’d mastered the pain as much as possible, he pulled his poor hostage down the corridor. He didn’t have time to hang around and let someone stumble across what he was doing. The cashier was supposed to be a couple of doors along. He burst in, taking advantage of the element of surprise. The girl at the desk jumped and began to reach behind her. The muscle standing in the corner did something similar.
Jordan put the gun to the woman’s temple. It made him feel like scum, but there was no other way forward. “Hands where I can see them,” he shouted.
The girl jumped again and did as she was told. The guy was slower to act, but once he’d looked from Jordan to the woman with the gun at her head, he decided to play along.
“Fill this.” He threw a bag on the table. The girl took it and looked at her back-up.
“Don’t look at him. Look at me.”
She turned her eyes to the front.
“Fill the bag.”
Slowly at first, she started to load bundles of cash into the bag.
This had to go smoothly. Running away was a luxury that wasn’t available to him.