CHAPTER

5

JAMIE STARTED THE engine of Jack’s Taurus to let it warm and crawled over to the passenger’s seat while he locked up the store. Her fingers were freezing but her gloves had gone missing days ago. She stuck her hands in her armpits and thought about the odds of beginner’s luck. It could happen. It’s a long shot, but it only takes one lucky streak. One big hand under the right circumstances could turn everything around.

Mimawa was one hour away. Close enough to be back before nightfall if they got in and out quick. Thinking about the possibility of losing Loyal’s money, she almost changed her mind, but then, as the lights in Jack’s store went out and he came running through the sleet, a little adrenaline kicked in. You got to be in it to win it. Despite the odds, she had to try her luck.

They took the county road south to loop around town and avoid the traffic at the caution light out by the Walmart. A mile from the interstate they passed a series of neon billboards, brilliant and crackling with electricity. It tingled weirdly on her face and she rubbed her cheeks. “Do you feel that?”

“Yeah. Takes some juice to light that much neon. That buzz is why the cows won’t graze over there.” He turned onto the ramp for the interstate. Rain drizzled against the intermittent headlights of oncoming traffic, wipers cutting through the ice thickening on the windshield. “When we get there, I might play some roulette. See if my numbers hit. You know, just get the feel of the place.”

“I thought you’d been there.”

“It’s been a while.”

“What numbers do you play?”

“When’s your birthday?”

They were so new they didn’t even know each other’s birthdays yet. “Seven-ten.”

“Then that’s what I’m playing.” He wedged his cold fingers under her left leg and she shivered from the unexpected chill. “Sorry,” he said. “I left my gloves at home this morning.”

Home. She thought about that word for a moment, then dismissed it. They spent what nights they had together sleeping on the futon in his office, and once, a motel. He hogged the bed so much that at times she almost preferred her cot at the trailer. But Jack had been good to her and now he was trying to help her out of this mess. Secrets like this kept lovers close. Still, her stomach turned every time she thought about having slit open that envelope.

She wished she hadn’t eaten that salami at Angel’s. She dug through her backpack hoping to find some crackers, anything to settle her stomach.

“You got your ID, right?” He gave her a pseudo-daddy look and she huffed. “And watch yourself, okay? At the casino.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m not joking,” he said. “Keep your drink covered and don’t let anyone near it. Guys will slip something in your drink just to get an advantage at the table. Be careful.”

“Okay, I hear you,” she said. “I grew up around Loyal’s crowd. Those guys spend entire weekends blitzed out on crack and weed. I got this.” She wanted to reassure him, needed the reassurance herself. In home games she got away with a lot of tricks, but in a place like Mimawa there’d be cameras and floor bosses, people watching her hands all the time.

He squeezed her leg. “Maybe we should check in, you know, get a room for a few hours.”

“Only if things go well and there’s time. Otherwise, I’ve got to get back for a game at Keating’s.”

Jack turned in his seat. “You’re playing a house game at Judge Keating’s?”

“No, I’m dealing it.” She didn’t look at him but stared out the windshield, hoping he’d put his eyes back on the road.

“Huh. He pay you for that?”

“Yeah, a hundred bucks and the winner usually tips something.”

“You dealing legit?”

“Depends.” She didn’t really want to discuss it. “How far to the casino?”

“Not far,” he said. “You can be hard to read sometimes.”

“No harder than anyone else. It’s called a poker face.” They passed a car in the right lane and water sprayed the windshield, hitting her door. They skidded a little and she held her breath until they were clear.

“You’re getting in a little deep, you know? Your uncle runs a business that might not be suited for a girl.”

“I’ve been around it most of my life. I know how things work. You get the money from my uncle, right? And get it in the bank without anyone noticing? What’s the big deal?” She was crossing a line here, but he’d brought it up and Loyal was so secretive about his business that she wondered if Jack really knew any more than she did.

“It’s a lot more than that, but you don’t need details.”

“Sounds complicated,” she said, hoping he’d continue. Sometimes when she played dumb, he’d brag a little and she’d find out some new detail.

She’d grown up driving around the county with her uncle and Toby, hanging out in the truck while Loyal went inside a store or pub and cleared a machine of cash. Running his routes with him was how she’d learned to drive in the sleet and ice, learned how to take a sharp curve at the top of a rise. She’d been to each location, knew exactly how big his operation was: as wide as the county and then some. Big enough nobody talked about it and profitable enough to pay cops to look the other way.

“People get to gamble, win now and then. Makes them feel good. Everybody gets a cut, everybody keeps their mouth shut,” he said. “But cops can be tricky. New ones come along, old ones get promoted. They get uppity for no good reason and decide not to play along.”

They skidded sideways when they hit a puddle and she decided to drop it and let him concentrate on driving. She worried about the tread on his tires, but she fought the urge to mention it, focusing instead on the droplets of water smearing the windshield, the rhythm of the wipers, the lightning off in the distance. After thirty miles of interstate, they hit a second cluster of neon billboards, the drizzle catching in the light like gems, and then there was the exit for the casino.

The landscape was clear-cut to the point of desolation, as though a bomb had detonated and wiped out trees in every direction for a mile. Inside the gates, though, it was all gloss and shine. Even the rain looked pricey. In the rainy afternoon light, the marquee and its spot-lit fountain glowed like a landing strip. The valet, smiling in his yellow slicker, motioned them to the curb, but Jack waved him off and headed to the five-story parking garage in the back.

Jamie caught her reflection in the window and wished she’d gone with more eyeliner and a different top. She brushed a stray hair off her shoulder, thinking how Angel would be appalled at her for wearing a sweater to a casino. Her hair glistened in the reflection when she swooshed it out from behind her ears and she reminded herself that she wasn’t so plain, that she could be pleasing with a little more effort.

Inside the foyer, Jack put on his sunglasses and pulled his hoodie over his head. The entrance was high and wide with an overblown elegance of marble floors, wood paneling, and brass lamps, attendants in jackets and ties, a chandelier reflecting like firecrackers in Jack’s glasses. Closer to the slot machines, the ceiling dropped low and the carpet got thick, but it wasn’t enough to soften the seizure-inducing strobe lights or drown out the pings and bells and a mechanical voice screaming, “Wheel! Of! Fortune!”

The place was full of wealthy people flaunting their privilege, middle-aged couples on spending sprees and second honeymoons, and losers—the ones on the down and out and pushing their luck: an old woman chain-smoking and camped out in front of a slot machine, an unshaved man wedged in a corner and seemingly asleep. Gambling was a community affair. Lots of people lost so a few could win. Almost everybody left a little closer to broke. The roulette tables were full, so she and Jack walked past the cash cage toward the back. A cover band was set up by the bar and they might have been playing “Hotel California,” but over the din of the crowd, it was hard to tell.

The poker room was tucked in the back of the casino with a velvet rope at the perimeter that kept spectators at a distance from the tables, a security measure to minimize collusion. She knew the story. Players working in teams; a spotter across the room with a cell phone at waist level snapping pictures of an opponent’s hole cards and relaying them to their partner with hand signals.

“God, I miss this. I used to play here sometimes. Watch me and you’ll get the hang of it,” Jack said, and took a seat at a Texas Hold’em table near the front. He tugged his hoodie low over his eyes. Jamie knew his tough-guy look wouldn’t intimidate the half-drunk rednecks who’d been waiting all day for him to show up with his big fat wallet, but he’d brought her here and that meant they were a team. She owed him a little loyalty, so she stood on the rail and watched as he bought in for two hundred dollars.

The cards went flying, and the action opened with Jack. He peeked at his two hole cards and bet twenty. Two players called his bet.

The dealer laid out the flop, the first three community cards, and the beginnings of what might amount to a ten-high straight. Jack raised the pot by thirty and the two players stayed with him. The fourth card was a king and Jack bet forty more chips. The first guy folded but the guy to his right scratched his nose and tensed his jaw, the snake tattoo on his neck twitching as he squelched a smile and called Jack’s bet.

The dealer turned the last card. The action was on Jack and he bet another forty. Mr. Itchy Nose raised it to a hundred. Jack called the bet and turned over his pocket kings, clearly convinced he had the best hand.

Itchy Nose smiled big now and showed the straight he’d caught on the flop. Jack had lost his whole stack in one play. “Fucking hell.” He knocked his chair over when he pushed away from the table.

Shit. This is no way to start the night.

“What was that?” Jamie asked when he got to the sideline.

“Asshole. Who fucking plays a straight like that?” He yanked his sunglasses off. Sweat was thickening on his forehead and a vein pulsed wickedly at his throat. He was angrier than Jamie had ever seen him, but he’d played it all wrong and she couldn’t keep from saying so.

“You should’ve seen that coming,” she said. “He had you all the way.”

“Fucker played a seven/eight against my kings. He just got lucky.”

“He didn’t get lucky; he played it perfectly. He didn’t raise the pot because he had the nuts and he wanted to keep you in the hand. Playing it slow like that guaranteed he’d take all of your chips.”

“What are you talking about?” He took off his sunglasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “No one folds three kings.”

“You should have. It was a bad call. He trapped you and you didn’t even think twice.” Jamie knew she should shut up, but it had been so obvious. “Plus his jaw muscles popped out when you made that bet. He scratched his nose so you wouldn’t see him smile.”

Jack pointed at her with his sunglasses. “So how would you have played it?”

“You bet a hundred and he reraises? You got to look at the board and see he was working a straight. You got to fold that. You got to know right there you’re beat. Fold it and walk away.”

Jack shrugged. “What if he’s bluffing?”

“If he was bluffing he would’ve raised the flop. He was trapping all the way.”

Jack unzipped his hoodie and glared at Itchy Nose. “So, how do you know this shit?”

“Mom taught me.”

“That right?” Jack pulled out the envelope and gave her a hundred-dollar bill. “You think you can beat that guy?”

Instantly, she wished she hadn’t mentioned her mom, the ex-felon. No one needed to know about her and how, when other moms were teaching their daughters to bake, Phoebe was showing Jamie how to peel an ace off the bottom of a deck. They used to stay up all night playing cards. They’d fall asleep at the table, wake up the next morning, and play through another day. Jamie could never get enough.

Kitchen table poker was one thing, but this place was for real, and without the deck in her hand the playing field would be level. This place attracted suckers after a quick fix, dads trying to stretch a paycheck, old-timers hoping to turn a pension check into another month of Early Times and Marlboros. Maybe she was just another chump, but she needed to turn things around and she needed to do it today. Besides, no one was forced to come here and put their money on the table. Luck was just that. It could hit her just as easily as it hit anyone else. She took the bill from Jack and said, “I’ll need two of those.”

Itchy Nose ordered a round for the table. He lifted his glass toward them and downed it.

“Fucker,” Jack said. He took out another bill, and Jamie took the cash. She hesitated, but she had made this mess and he was trying to help. She took the money and the chair opposite the dealer.

“Yo, Hoodie sent his girlfriend,” Itchy Nose said, and the men at the table laughed.

She saw their sideways glances, their subverted smiles, and sensed these guys had a history, that she was an outsider. Her throat constricted. The dealer counted out two hundred chips and slid them to Jamie. Her hands trembled as she collected her chips.

The dealer shuffled the cards and sent them around the table. She lifted the corners of her hole cards. A five/seven off suit. Not worth the cost of a big blind. She fumbled the cards when she slid them back to the dealer and was sure the other players noticed. They’d be watching for any sign of weakness. She jammed her fingers under her thighs and sat on them while the hand played out. The salami rumbled in her belly.

Up close she could see Itchy Nose’s tattoo. It was a colorless black job, cheap, like he’d only paid for the outline. She counted backward from ten to try to slow her breathing. He caught her looking at him and smirked. “Name’s Damon,” he said. “Tough break for your boy.”

Jamie nodded. She didn’t care what his name was and there wasn’t any reason to talk to him. She owed him nothing.

His nails were chewed, the calluses thick but clean, a few nicks on his knuckles. His hair was the color of sawdust and he was jumpy in the forearms. She guessed he worked some kind of labor that needed muscle but didn’t involve grease. He raised the blinds, picked up a few dollars, and watched her watching him.

She ignored the hot nausea burning the back of her throat and waited for the next hand. Playing in a casino was a much bigger rush than playing online where no one could see her face or the movements of her hands or stare stupidly at her. An old guy at the end of the table stared openly at her chest, dropped his hands to his lap, and smiled. She clenched and unclenched her fist, testing her fingers. They were steadier now but she didn’t trust them yet.

“Excuse me, miss?” Itchy Nose was talking to her. “You got a vein, right here,” he said, pointing to his temple. “It’s blue and for some reason it’s throbbing.”

Another player laughed and Jamie knew she was going to blush. In ten seconds her whole face would turn red and there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it.

For her thirteenth birthday her uncle had taken her and Toby hunting. They’d sat in a deer blind for hours, Toby bored and carving his initials on the wall, waiting for the sun to rise. When it did, a buck stepped out into a meadow just fifty yards away. Loyal lined up the shot for her with a new rifle he’d bought from the Walmart and told her not to be a pussy. The buck stood solid and gray, morning dew setting around his flanks, and Jamie saw something she’d never seen before, something innocent, something majestic, something proud. “Now,” Loyal had whisper-shouted and she’d pulled the trigger. The blast crushed her eardrums and ripped a hole in the buck’s neck. He staggered sideways two steps and then his front legs folded. His back quarters hit the ground less gracefully, legs twitching like he was peddling a bike. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, off what she’d done. That’s when the trembling had first started. That’s how she felt now.

The dealer tapped the table in front of her and said, “It’s on you, miss.”

She peeked at her hole cards and found a pair of queens. Another shot of adrenaline hit her bloodstream. She did the math. The right bet was forty. She reached for her chips and knocked the stack over, counted them out, and tossed them to the middle.

Itchy Nose said, “I’ll see the flop,” and he and another player called the bet. It was her hands. They were giving her away. Guys like these would call her all the way to the end, thinking she was trying to outplay them. Heat flushed up to her ears.

The dealer laid out the first three cards, and the ten of diamonds was the highest card on the flop. Itchy Nose bet a hundred and she knew he was trying to bully her. If she called him, she might as well bet her whole stack. Chances were her queens were still the best hand, and besides, if she didn’t have the guts to play queens, she might as well fold and go home to face Loyal. Itchy Nose was staring hard at her and that jumpy muscle in his neck had smoothed out. His eyes went a little unfocused when she stared back. A classic bluff.

She pushed all her chips to the middle and felt the edges of the room tilt away when he and the other guy called the bet. Whether or not she won this hand, she’d never forget these bastards.

“Three all-ins,” the dealer said. “Turn ’em over.”

Itchy Nose flipped over a pair of twos; the other player turned over a jack/nine. They’d pegged her for weakness and come gunning. Idiots. Her fingers seemed like jumpy little animals but somehow she got the queens turned over.

The dealer placed the fourth community card on the table, an ace.

The jack/nine was drawing dead and Itchy Nose needed a two to hit a three-of-a-kind. The dealer turned over the last card, a seven.

“Fuck me,” Itchy Nose said.

“Queens are good,” the dealer said, and slid the pot toward Jamie. The relief was a lot like being high. Too high.

Winning was supposed to feel good, but something dark twisted in her gut. She grabbed her chips and stood up. Part of her wanted to laugh, part of her needed to run.

“Don’t leave now,” Itchy Nose said, the snake tattoo bunching at his throat. “You gotta give me a chance to win it back.”

But she knew better. They’d each taken their chances and it could’ve come out different. She shoved the chips into Jack’s hands and hurried down the hall to the bathroom.

A few minutes later Jack called to her from outside the bathroom door. “You need anything in there?”

Jamie was slumped on the floor. “Got any disinfectant on you?”

“Are you on the floor? That’s gross. Get up.”

Jamie flushed the toilet and pushed herself up. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

She braced herself on the sink and cupped some water to her mouth. The nausea was gone. She bought a disposable toothbrush and some aspirin from the vending machine, ignoring the impulse to stock up on high-priced condoms.

“Babe. Come out here. That was vicious.”

Her legs were shaky but she managed to get out the door.

“You look better, less green.” He pulled her to a quiet spot near the water fountain, his eyes wild like when he was hard. “You won six hundred dollars!” He grabbed her arms.

“I got lucky,” she said, but she couldn’t deny it. She’d felt the rush, too.

“It took guts to go up against that guy. It was more than luck; it was sick. You’re on a heater,” he said. “You need to strike while you’re hot.”

“Maybe.” She leaned against the wall and locked her knees.

Jack said, “We need a plan.”

“Okay,” she said, nodding. The aspirin burned in her stomach, which meant that her headache would let up soon. “Here’s a plan. Those guys I just beat? I made them look like fools in front of their friends. They’ll come gunning for me now. I’ll buy back in and wait for the right moment to raise the stakes. They won’t back down. All I have to do is wait for the right cards to come along.”

“What about Keating?”

“I’ll call Toby. If he asks her, my mom will cover it. I mean, what’s it pay? A hundred bucks? I need three grand.”

She realized if she won enough, she wouldn’t need the judge’s recommendation for Toby. She could pay for the summer camp herself.

“I’m doing this.” She held out her hand. “And I need it all.”

“You’re so hot right now. I love it when you get fired up.” He hugged her then and she felt him getting hard.

She smirked and pushed him away. “Maybe we’ll get that room after all.”

When she got back to the table, Itchy Nose had bought in for another thousand. He joked with the new dealer and ignored her when she took a chair at the end of the table. She slid twenty-five hundred to the dealer, but the limit was two thousand. Already she looked like a rookie, not even knowing the table limits. She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t play the first round, let herself relax and tamp down her nerves, hated it when she saw the ace/king of hearts staring out at her from her hole cards. She was out of position and the first to act and a little horrified when five players called her hundred-dollar bet.

The flop came. No ace, no king, all black clubs. She knew she should bail here, but checking would tell everyone she’d missed. She bet the pot, five hundred and change, and was proud of how still she was able to keep her hands. With nothing to back it up, though, her bet was too large.

“Here she comes again,” Itchy Nose said. He tossed some chips into the middle and called the bet.

It was almost like he knew she was bluffing, and it made her think he’d picked up on some sort of tell. It was possible. She sat still, focused on the center of the table, but couldn’t help cutting her eyes at him to see if he was watching her. He smiled. One other player stayed in the hand. She ran the calculations. There was fifteen hundred in the pot. There was fourteen hundred left in her stack.

The dealer turned the fourth card. A king. She had high pair now, but there were four clubs on the board. She felt calm as she thought it through. Neither of them had bet like they had a flush. This was the perfect spot to front the nuts and back it up with the pair. She’d made this move a hundred times online and it almost always paid off.

“All in,” she said, keeping her hands in her lap.

“I want a count,” Itchy Nose said.

She slid her stack toward the dealer for him to count. Her hands were steady allies now.

“Fourteen eighty,” the dealer announced.

Itchy Nose watched her closely. She turned to face him directly to convey some confidence in her move and felt a little sick when he said, “Call.”

He seemed unfazed. The top of her head went cold when he turned over the seven/eight of clubs. She’d played one hand. She’d lost it all.

Jack shook his head, walked away.

“Let me give you a tip, honey,” Itchy Nose said, laughing and stacking his chips. “It’s your hands. They shake when you got the nuts, but when you bluff, they’re still as pond water.”

She followed Jack through the casino, to the entrance, and out to the parking lot. There was nothing to say. An hour later he dropped her at the curb in front of Angel’s house because there was no way she could show up at that game and face Keating and her uncle.