“How terrible for you, baby.” Priscilla covered Byron’s forearm with a large hand bedecked in glittering cocktail rings. “At Christmas, too.”
The Colonel lifted his hat and scratched his nonexistent hair. “I’ve got a buddy in Mississippi who told me a similar story. Hit and run games all over the area.”
“Any idea who it could be?” I asked.
He shook his head and readjusted his hat.
“We’ve got to do something,” I said. “If not for Byron, for his kids. They’re forever going to associate Christmas with their momma kicking their daddy out of the house.”
Much like memories of my own Christmas past when my Momma took off to God Knows Where after my Daddy passed and leaving me, my sister, and brother to be raised by my grandparents. Celebrating Christmas in Vegas had sounded like a great idea this year.
“I’m desperate here,” said Byron. “Todd, you’re pretty lucky. You think you could put some money down at the track for me and I’ll pay you back when I can?”
“I’m better at cards than picking odds,” said Todd. “Maybe I could try and win some money back for you, though. Colonel, do you think you could get me into some games?”
“That’s a real sad story, Byron.” The Colonel pulled a thin cigar from the inside pocket of his jacket and rolled it between his fingers. He studied Todd for a long moment. “Do you think it’s wise to risk your money, son? Don’t you need it for your Vegas tourney?”
“I don’t think I’ll play well in Vegas knowing I didn’t try to help out Byron. And I don’t know any other way to raise money for him.”
“I could try and sell some sketches for you, Byron,” I said and noticed no one jumped on that idea.
“What d’ya think, Priscilla?” The Colonel and Priscilla shared a quick meeting of the eyeballs.
“Sounds like a good time to me.” Priscilla fluttered her extra-long lashes at Todd. “I’m sure the boys and girls would love to get in on playing an amateur on his way to Vegas.”
The Colonel pointed his cigar at us. “Let me make a few calls. Fact is, Priscilla and I get better odds in the Memphis underground than over in the legal, civilian joints in Arkansas.”
Between sips of beer, Todd’s gaze flickered over the Colonel. “Actually, I think I can win more money in one game with a large pot limit than trying to hit a bunch of tables in a weekend. Any big games tomorrow?”
“Not sure about that.” The Colonel shifted his gaze to the end of the bar.
“Can you set up a game?” said Todd. “Maybe y’all know some players with deep pockets who’d like a little risk? We could give the house’s cut to Byron.”
The Colonel and Priscilla exchanged a sly smile.
“Honey, we can set you up easy. We know people,” said Priscilla. “Consider it a Christmas gift to your sorry excuse of a cousin.”
“Hey,” said Byron.
“You think you’re good enough to hang with some big dogs?” asked the Colonel. “They’ll think it’s a dream table.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Todd. “Maybe those crooks will show and I can beat them at their own game.”
“We can’t count on it, but just in case, Byron better hang low so they don’t spot him.” The Colonel examined the cigar he rolled between his fingers. “That’d be an interesting development, though. And very risky for you, Todd.”
“Sugar, this sounds all kinds of fun,” said Priscilla. “We’ll split the table charge?”
“No, we give it to Byron to save Christmas,” I said. “I suspect everyone involved wants to spread some good will to men during this season? Even gamblers like y’all?”
Priscilla wandered off to check on her performers and the Colonel snuck to the back to make his calls.
“You were real convincing, Todd. You, too, Byron,” I whispered. “I think they went for it.”
“I just wish the story weren’t true,” sighed Byron. “Now that part is done, I’m going to need more alcohol.”
The lights flashed. The floor show began on the small stage across the room. Byron and I turned on our stools, and Todd slid off his to stand next to me.
“Todd,” I said, relaxing into his shoulder. “If you win a lot of money in Vegas, what will you do?”
Todd twirled my poinsettia necklace around one finger. “Spend it on you, I guess.”
“You have the chance to make some serious cash. Do you want to keep driving a delivery truck in Halo?”
“I like Halo,” he said. “I don’t mind driving a truck. It gives me time for my other pursuits.”
“What other pursuits? Poker and drumming?”
“Maybe I’d use the money to buy a mess of paintings. That way I could support your interests.”
“Somehow I don’t see you as an art collector, Todd, but that’s sweet of you to say.” Too bad the man didn’t have more ambition, but I snuggled into his arm and enjoyed the feel of his brawny body against my back.
On the stage, a jowly seventies-era Elvis in shades, white cape, and Santa suit grabbed the microphone. With a few preliminary hip thrusts for the crowd, he broke into Blue Christmas. Behind him, a vertically challenged man in a tired looking elf costume began some moves evoking the Temptations.
“Would you look at that. An elf who can dance,” said Todd.
“That singer looks real familiar.” Byron squinted. “But I’m seeing two of him.”
“Byron, that’s not really Elvis,” I said. “And no more Rock-a-Hula cocktails for you.”
“I think this plan is going to work just fine. Like Priscilla said, these kinds of hustlers will be interested in playing an out-of-town player. We should reel them in that way.” Todd leaned over to kiss me on the cheek, causing a rush of heat to prickle across my skin. “Especially if those con-artists are local like you think.”
“And the way the Colonel and Priscilla started salivating over the idea, I think they won’t even need to throw a wide net. Todd, while you work on winning back Byron’s money, I’ll work on figuring out who the hustlers are.”
“Getting rich is the best way to get even.”
Byron’s blue eyes snapped from their Rock-A-Hula haze. “Messing with these guys is dangerous, Cherry.”
“Byron, you’re forgetting my grandpa’s best friend is Forks County Sheriff. Uncle Will was as much a part of my raising as Grandpa Ed and my Grandma Jo, bless her soul. I picked up plenty of ideas from Uncle Will. Hell, I used to do ride-alongs for kicks.”
“We could be walking into a very serious trap. Or get caught by the cops.”
“Have some faith. It’s Christmas.”
We watched the show, and as the Elvis wannabe broke into Merry Christmas Baby, the Colonel returned. We turned to face him, hugging the pleather bar to hear the Colonel over the screech of the hot mike on the stage.
“The fix is in,” said the Colonel, “and the game is on. Honey, looks like you were right about gamblers wanting to spread a little Christmas cheer.”
I smiled and slapped Byron’s shoulder. “See Byron? We’ll get you that frozen turkey and find a way to get your wedding ring back.”