Marsha Quickly wasn’t happy. She’d been doing so well, and just like that it had all gone south. The pit boss blamed her for losing the high roller. She’d been out on the town, living the high life, drinking champagne, and right in the middle of the meal the guy got up to go to the bathroom and never came back.
It had taken her a while to realize it. She sat there at her table, sipping her drink and feeling like a queen, till finally, even in her tipsy state, she noticed that the gentleman had been gone an awfully long while. Now, how was that her fault?
As far as the pit boss was concerned, it was an unpardonable sin, and whether she was too standoffish or whether she’d had too much to drink, or whether she’d actually slapped the guy’s face for being fresh, it didn’t matter. He’d entrusted her with a precious jewel, and she’d tossed it away.
Immediately after that she found herself demoted. Not officially, she just started getting assigned the worst shifts, the worst tables. In short, she was working longer hours for less money. And there was no way of getting off the shit list. She couldn’t appeal to Pete Genaro. Pete never bothered with the bar girls, except to cop a feel, and he wasn’t going to offend his pit boss, not with everybody defecting to Sammy Candelosi.
Ginger, one of the girls she worked with, mentioned she was going to check out the rival casino. Marsha’s loyalty to Pete Genaro extended only so far, and that was as far as it benefited her—there was no point in staying without the plum shifts. And rumor had it that Genaro wasn’t going to be running the place for much longer anyway. If Pete was going down, Marsha wanted out from under him.
When Marsha got off her shift, instead of changing and going home, she slipped out quietly in her bar girl uniform and made her way next door to the Promised Land, Sammy Candelosi’s casino.
She came in and walked the floor, hoping to see a pit boss she knew or a bar girl who’d give her a tip. Of course, she saw no one.
And then, miracle of miracles, there was Sammy Candelosi himself, weaving his way through the slot machines and out onto the floor. What a stroke of luck. A chance to impress him as an attractive woman with a winning personality.
Marsha was working her way across the floor in his direction when she noticed the man with him.
Her mouth fell open. She grabbed a passing bar girl with a tray of empties. “Hey, sister, do me a favor. Who’s that guy with Sammy Candelosi?”
The bar girl chuckled. “Him? Scary son of a bitch, isn’t he? I’d stay away from him. That’s Slythe, Sammy Candelosi’s personal bodyguard.”