by Hazel Parker
Some short nods came.
“Like the Napoleon of MCs grew up and became a little more aggressive, huh?” Barber said.
“Like he was small and now he’s getting bigger?” Pork said.
“Wasn’t Napoleon aggressive from the start?” Dom interjected.
“Regardless!” I said, commanding attention of the room. “We’re all in agreement that this cannot turn into a cycle. Good.”
However, I was much more worried about this becoming just that than I was letting on. The Degenerate Sinners had always been small game; if they had committed murders in the past, we either hadn’t noticed them, or they had gone for such weak targets that it wasn’t much of anything to pay attention to. But for them to have gone after a prominent gambling boss as they did signaled either a new level of stupidity on their part or an enormously high level of confidence that I hadn’t anticipated.
And if they were willing to do that, who was to say they weren’t also willing to start a little war to get their way?
“However, we need to figure out the best strategy for an actual strike.”
This debate, unfortunately, proved much more difficult than I imagined. I suggested attacking their base, but Mama, and even Pork, feared that would set them off the most. When pressed for a better answer, neither had anything.
The clock neared eight p.m., the time when Dom would go back, bring out our mystery poker guest, and let us win a few hands. It was a tradition that started when Dom, himself an avid poker player, had become an officer. He saw it as a way to integrate the club with the community more, get some interest in The Red Door, and make a few thousand bucks in the process.
I had to admit, as much as I hated the kid’s cockiness, he could work wonders with his charm, both in seducing women and charming businessmen.
Finally, at five minutes till, I commanded the attention of everyone in the room. I slammed my fists, and everyone, even Mama and Dom, shut the hell up.
“We need to come back to this later,” I said. “If we do this impromptu or with a half-baked plan, we’re going to get ravaged. And if there’s one thing that the Savage Saints don’t do, it’s doing things half-assed.”
I looked at Dom.
“Go ahead and bring in the guest of the hour. I’d be curious to see who it is this time.”
“You’ll be a happy man,” Dom said, rising and spreading his hands like a magician showing he had nothing up his sleeves. “He’s someone who very recently expressed interest in who you are. In fact, if memory serves me right, I believe you personally invited him to check out The Red Door.”
“Did I,” I said with a half-yawn. Dom liked to treat his new clients as if he was Bruce Buffer, announcing a new fighter to the ring. So long as it was someone we could stand to be around for four-ish hours, it was all good. “Well, go ahead and do what you gotta do.”
Dom smirked, patted the empty chair, and then headed outside. Mama pulled out a cigarette and started smoking, while Barber leaned back in his chair and Pork watched Mama.
“We’ve gone a long time avoiding the bullshit of jealousy,” Mama said.
It was true; we’d never really experienced any severe violence in the time that I’d been running the club. I supposed there was a first time for everything, but despite all my thoughts, I really wasn’t that worried. Due diligence required a healthy degree of fear and concern, and if I didn’t have that, I never would have made it that far.
“Not with that attitude.”
Pork started giggling as Mama turned to slap him once more.
Pork started laughing like something out of Yakety Sax, with Mama chasing Pork around the room. Barber and I both rolled our eyes, but in truth, I appreciated the lighthearted ridiculousness of Pork sometimes. It kept things appropriately loose at the club.
“Sit your asses down before we scare away our guest,” I said. “Last thing we need is to lose a casino friend and a source of cash.”
Pork and Mama finally sat down, Mama looking like she was about to slap him until he passed out, Pork looking like a school kid that couldn’t stop snorting about what they had done.
Thank heavens Dom walked in the room a second later, trailed by…
Igor?
“Gentlemen, and Mama, may I introduce to you Igor Sokolov,” he said. “Mr. Sokolov came from Russia a few years ago to get into the casino industry and is the biggest international investor in the area. Mr. Sokolov brings a wealth of expertise from his motherland and a keen eye for making clients happy. He is also, rumor has it, a tough cookie at the poker table.”
“Yes, well, I suppose the cards will determine that,” Igor said. “Richard, good to meet you again.”
He extended his hand, which I shook, exaggerating the strength of my grip to make up for the shock on my face. I looked over his shoulder at Dom, who had his arms smugly crossed as he looked at me. Swear to God, if you’re trying to get into his daughter’s pants, Dom, you know I called that one first… you want to start some hell in the club, let’s see what happens.
Igor took his seat after he shook hands and introduced himself to everyone.
“So, Igor,” I said with a gentle smile hiding my surprise. “What’s your background in poker? Texas Hold ‘Em? Seven card stud? Omaha?”
“Ah, I like whatever gets the most money in at once,” he said.
“I like this handsome gentleman,” Mama said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
Igor, though, did not even flinch at Mama’s flirtation. Some guests ate it up, others seemed visibly annoyed by it, but very few had the complete lack of reaction that Igor did. I remembered him being so stoic when I invited him, but this was impressive. Mama had an incredible body, a bit of a hard, blunt personality, and a willingness to flaunt whatever she needed to—in other words, she was perfect for a Russian.
But if Igor didn’t want it, Mama wasn’t afraid to get right into the mindset of poker.
“Let’s play some Omaha then, shall we?” I said. “We play with five-ten blinds. Buy in is up to two thousand dollars.”
“That’s it?”
I smiled. We occasionally had a guest want to play for more, but they usually got along with good banter. To this point, Igor was almost treating this like a business negotiation.
“Alright, call it ten-twenty,” I said. “Max buy-in is five thousand dollars. Depending on how much money gets put on the table, we can raise the blinds to raise the action.”
“That’s it?”
I laughed. Thankfully, even Igor seemed on the joke, because he was smiling too.
“Dom, would you deal for blinds?”
“With pleasure,” he said.
I watched in silence as Mama won the dealer button, putting Igor just behind her and me as the big blind. As that round of cards was dealt and as she dealt the first round, though, I tried to think of what Igor’s presence could mean. I wasn’t getting the greatest of initial gut feelings; no man who had experienced having his brother murdered would want to meet anyone under the guise of just a playful game of poker.
But on the other hand, if I ever wanted to see Natasha again, it was hard to imagine a much better deal than to have her father come over and play high-stakes poker with us. We had invited plenty of guests back, and I felt pretty sure that we could easily swing Igor coming back many times over the next couple of weeks to learn more about Natasha and other matters.
“Hey, buddy?”
“Huh, what? Oh, shit, sorry, big blind,” I posted, forgetting to have done that.
“Drinks?”
The cocktail waitress came by, The Red Door just now beginning to open for business, our first show scheduled an hour later.
“Vodka tonic, double vodka, please,” Igor said.
I’m going to like this guy. If nothing else, feed him more liquor, and he’s bound to be more open and freer than most guests.
For the next four hours, we bantered easily, letting the alcohol and chips flow across the table. Igor loosened up, altho
ugh he still had his very dry, almost stupidly blunt sense of humor to him. When he laughed, it felt like his face never shifted, and when he told a joke, his facial expression also didn’t change. Dom and Pork lost a couple thousand bucks, I made a couple hundred, and Igor, to my delight, walked out with a thousand or so. Of course, a thousand to him was the equivalent of a fast food meal, but that was the point—the focus wasn’t on making money, but on making connections.
“I do say, you all are quite the entertaining group,” Igor said as he sipped on his vodka. It was impressive that that was perhaps his third drink—meaning he’d had six servings of vodka—and yet he otherwise appeared completely unaffected by the amount of booze in his body. “I do wish you were something other than motorcycle enthusiasts. I would enjoy having you at my house parties.”
I didn’t visibly react, but that line frustrated the hell out of me. Did the Russians have some secret trait that made them better than us? Was the fact that we were bikers scary for the rest of the world? It sure wasn’t scary for The Red Door clients when they saw us.
Nevertheless, this was just part of doing business. I understood that we had to sacrifice some things to reach the pinnacle of success that we had, and for me, that was getting upset. I understood, as much as I disliked it, that stereotypes existed, and while those who became long-standing clients of ours understood what we were and what we believed in, I could understand that a person who had only played one night of poker and saw us at the scene of his brother’s murder would probably have his doubts.
“I’m sure that your house parties would be amazing,” I said. “You seem to have a lovely family.”
“Ah, yes, this is true,” Igor said as we dealt out the last hand of the night. “My wife, Anna, is a beautiful woman from Moscow. Truly among the most distinguished ladies I have ever met. And my daughter, Natasha, she is a delight—when she’s not being so damn stubborn.”
I laughed politely at that, but I had to quell it out of fear that I would look a little too interested.
“How so?” Pork asked, almost unassumingly.
“She is of the age where she needs to find someone to marry,” Igor said. “I have tried to counsel her on the value of a man worth her while, but none of the men I give her interest her. It drives me insane, I tell you. Perhaps her standards are even higher than I anticipated, but I have introduced her to the heirs of billionaires, to the sons of politicians, and even to the sons of athletes and celebrities. And still, none of them interest her! It’s enough to drive a man without grandchildren mad, I tell you!”
“I can imagine,” I said with a huge grin hidden behind my hand.
It’s too bad you didn’t see the way she looked at me. I’d give you grandkids, Igor. I’d be glad to help you with that.
“In any case, time is my greatest ally,” Igor said with a chuckle. “Eventually, the girl will wise up and realize that she needs children.”
“Hey now,” Mama said.
I briefly feared a confrontation between the two, but Igor either didn’t catch Mama’s remark or just outright ignored it.
“Richard, thank you for allowing me to come,” he said as he cashed out his chips, leaving me the remaining fives as a sort of tip. “I hope to attend again in the future.”
“Of course,” I said. “Dom has your number. Send a text to him at any time, and we can get something set up with The Red Door or with this poker game.”
Dom looked surprised that I let him have the contact, but it was just my way of telling him I wasn’t worried about his attempts to woo the young Natasha. Maybe I should have been, given his combination of charm and looks, but given what Igor had just said, I didn’t think Natasha wanted that handsome, charming guy. She was probably looking for someone a little rougher and harder around the edges. You know, someone like me.
“Allow me,” Dom said. “The club is in full swing, so we give our poker guests a couple of options. I can guide you out a back door if you wish to avoid being seen, or we can take you through the show.”
“Out the back is fine,” Igor said. “A burlesque show is of little interest to me at this time.”
Dom nodded, walked him through his studio—the only one that led to the back—and disappeared, staying by his side for security until his ride picked him up or he got to his car. It was always a fifty-fifty question, given the wealthy’s propensity for personal valet drivers.
“We have to keep an eye on him.”
“Hmm?” I said, turning to Mama.
“He’s smarter than most of the ones I’ve been around,” Mama said. “Most of the guests we have let themselves be loose. But Igor knows how to make it look like he’s having a good time while being aware. I don’t think he did anything tonight without thinking about it.”
“So…” Pork said, trailing off.
“So he’s got an angle,” Mama said. “I don’t know what it is yet. Could be he just wants to know more about us, or maybe he wants to buy the club. Maybe he’s mad at us somehow for what happened with his brother’s death. I don’t know.”
She sighed.
“But you know how these guys operate. In the shadows, pretending to be your friend, until the last possible second. So let’s keep having him over, but let’s be careful.”
“Definitely,” I said, but as soon as the silence came, my mind shifted to a very different member of the Sokolov family. “Well, let’s go see how the clientele is enjoying the evening, shall we? Mama?”
“You got it.”
“Pork, Barber, go make sure Dom got everything taken care of.”
Mama and I walked in one direction while the other two went out to meet Dom.
It only took me a few seconds of sweeping the crowd before I was staring slack-jawed at what I saw.
Chapter 4: Natasha
I’d spent every day from Monday to this evening doing nothing but working on my father’s business and sleeping.
That wasn’t even an exaggeration, either. My father was interested in purchasing some of the casinos in town, and I was tasked with learning their financial standings and evaluating the risks and benefits of the potential acquisitions. He’d delivered the news to me around seven a.m. on Monday, and thus, aside from sleeping, I spent most of my time in the office.
The only times I wasn’t in my office or in my bed were when I stood up to get the food delivered my way. Otherwise, I just sat… and sat… and sat. It brought me back to my first internship in college, when I had worked as an analyst on Wall Street. One-hundred-hour work weeks were far from unusual then, and it wasn’t uncommon for me to have to fuel my body with a mixture of energy drinks, coffee, and some jumping jacks in private to get the blood flowing.
Thank heavens that life had slowed down some since then. Thank goodness I now had gotten the chance to recover and get my health back.
But it never fully disappeared. And now, with my father having finally taken an evening for himself to attend business meetings, I had time to myself.
I went home around six in the evening, all but falling asleep in the back seat of the car my valet driver, Antonio, drove. When I got home, I passed out on the couch and didn’t anticipate waking up until sunrise the next day.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I woke up to a dark night, only to realize it was not five in the morning but instead just before midnight. I tried to fall back asleep, but it was of no use. My body had gotten wrecked by the previous few days of such little sleep that it had forgotten what a normal sleep schedule felt like, and so I was paying the price with a confused body.
Figuring it was no use, I pulled up my phone and started looking up different things to do.
When I started to type in “sin city activities,” though, hoping it would give me something worth doing on a Thursday night, the first thing that auto-completed on my phone was “Savage Saints.” Somehow, work had buried me so much that I had forgotten my initial promise to myself.
I had sworn that I would head out Thursday to see The Red
Door and discover what was beyond that signature entryway. Even if it was a strip club, I was too intrigued by it and everything associated with the Savage Saints not to do a little bit of investigation on my end. Yeah, Dad would be upset, but that was the whole point of it, right? To rebel just a little bit and to experience life at its more extreme edges.
The only problem with not knowing what was in there, however, was that I had no idea how to dress. I knew blazer and slacks wasn’t the answer—that was too business-like—but a cocktail dress that showed off my body might have been too much if it was a classier venue than I had anticipated.
I ended up swapping my slacks for tight, dark jeans, my flats for two-inch heels, and my suit and button-down shirt for a black tank-top that showed off just a bit of my cleavage, but not so much that it would scream “looking to have fun tonight.” It felt like the kind of outfit that could easily blend in with any environment, and given the shape of the top, I could easily pull it up or pull it down as needed.
I texted Antonio, asking him to come over, with the last words being I would tell him where to go when I got inside the vehicle. He arrived in his limo less than ten minutes later, and I hopped in the back.
“Where to, Natasha Sokolov?” he said, using my full name as he always did with anyone getting in the car for the first time.
“I need you to promise me that you’re not going to spill the beans,” I said.
“I always keep my secrets, Ms. Sokolov,” he promised.
And that he did. I swore that Antonio was like the family therapist—he knew everyone’s secrets and would tell no one. He knew more about me and my dreams of finding a more rugged man than my father or mother would ever know. Whatever my mother told him would probably shock me; and as for my father, while he was a very calculated and hidden man, he had also effusively praised Antonio many times in the past.