Just as the one man spoke another reached for the door and opened it wide. I took in the visibly shaken men and spoke a few kind words, which only served to make them angrier. “Well, thank you all for the pleasant conversation not to mention you’re attention to detail.” Striving to not look like I wanted to run for my life, I walked through the door and into the warehouse.
Chapter 3
I knew who the targeted clientele were, but that hadn’t even begun to prepare me for what I saw. If you had blindfolded someone and brought them into this building, they would never have been able to tell they were inside a warehouse. It was as if I had been transported from a seedy neighborhood right into a five-star hotel. There wasn’t a single, typical American warehouse feature anywhere. Granted, everything I knew about warehouse interiors I had learned from television, but the stereotype made sense. I mean where were the unfinished walls and the endless array of shelves with their uniform boxes?
While the boxes and shelves would have had to be moved so we could play, this was just a massive shock to my system. Without looking around I could sense the eyes of all the other players falling on me, sizing me up. I quickly guarded my face as I pulled my eyes away from the unexpected décor. With a mental grimace I hoped that I hadn’t done anything to betray the image that I belonged here. As I began to take in the others I could see that most of them were in the process of looking away from the entrance and me. No one seemed to have noticed my slip so I felt safe for the moment. Is this the natural reaction for first time players?
I eased myself away from the entrance and began analyzing my surroundings. My first thought was that, apparently, Dempsey just didn’t know the meaning of the word restraint. Each of the walls were identically golden. And I don’t think it was gold paint, I actually think it was gold leaf. I would have to touch one of the walls to be sure but it had the shiny factor you would expect from precious metal. The only break in the golden walls was the rose chair molding that, from this distance, seemed to be made of either marble of granite.
It took me a moment to rip my eyes away from the opulent walls, but when I was finally able to do so, I began to gauge the distances. I noticed that the room we were in accounted for roughly half of the warehouse. Well that was my best guess at any rate. Perhaps my recon was good for something after all. Thanks to my prep work I also knew this building only had the one entrance. And that meant that one of these golden walls, most likely the one across from the entrance, had to have doors despite the fact that it looked like an uninterrupted wall.
Well, they were practically uninterrupted, there were a pair of bars built into both corners of the wall opposite of the entrance. The top of those bars were lined up perfectly with that exquisite molding. Image was everything and that encircling piece of stone helped to enforce the whole “there is no way out” thing Dempsey had going. I stopped looking at the decor and shifted my attention to the six individuals sitting at each of the bars and dozen or so others who were milling about the tables scattered throughout the room.
If Dempsey had stopped with just the walls and the two bars with their accompanying stools, the room would have been opulent enough. But I guess it wouldn’t have satisfied the man’s taste for the extravagant if he hadn’t included those tables. Scattered around the interior of the room there were twenty-four circular tables with five chairs pushed under each. From this distance, the tabletops appeared to be hand-sculpted and made from various types of stone, probably some collection of marble or granite. In order to hold their weight, those tabletops needed something serious for legs. Well, wrought-iron columns would certainly do the trick. The chairs were made of the same wrought-iron pattern and were topped with fancy, plush cushions, colored to match the tabletops.
Oh yes, and this gathering looked to be catered, what with all the waiters and waitresses walking in and around those works of art. They all appeared to be genuine, as evidenced by the ease and comfort with which they deposited the food and drinks. With everything I was seeing Dempsey had to be making an ungodly amount of money from these tournaments. There was just no other way to justify showing the players this kind of five-star treatment. Well, I had a part to play and there was no time like the present to play it. So I veered to the left and headed straight for the bar. There were two bartenders so I headed for the nearest one, which happened to be the only one free.
As I drew closer I realized that there was no way this man was an actual bartender. With his build I figured he had to be one of Dempsey’s thugs who just happened to be charming enough to stick behind the bar. Why would Dempsey place a dummy behind the bar? And for the same reason I had pushed my luck with the men at the front door, I decided to ruffle this one’s feathers too. So walking straight up to him I assumed the most cocky and arrogant tone I could muster. “What would you recommend, my good sir?”
The man appeared to be very confused by my open ended question. To his credit, he managed to keep his composure quite well, though there was the ever-so-slight crack in the armor. “Excuse me sir?”
He was providing me with such a great opportunity and I just couldn’t help but have some fun with him. After all he was wasting my valuable time and I had to put up the appropriate image. It was easy enough to keep a straight face, I have had a lot of practice with that, so I repeated my question with even more attitude while looking the man straight in the eyes. Which was quite an accomplishment considering he was about half-a-head taller than me. “What would you recommend for me, my good sir?”
Again this faux bartender impressed me. Despite my abuse, small though it was, he managed to keep his composure as he offered a suggestion. “Whisky on the rocks sir?” I had to give it to Dempsey, he had well-trained men working for him and that was not cheap.
If I had been looking for a drink, I probably would have said yes, but that wasn’t what I was trying to do. What I really wanted was to break his composure. So, just because, I tried to put him into a tough spot, “That could be good, but… but no. I’m not feeling all too good about that option.” Rubbing my tongue around the front of my lips I waited for a second before venturing on. “How about…” I paused, trying to think of a specific drink that would be difficult to make. I was never one to think about what I was drinking. But I quickly thought of a classic and ordered it. “… a martini.”
The fauxtender quickly went to work referencing a sheet and he tried to make the drink. It was fun watching him struggle, but as is true with all good things, this soon came to an end. He quickly excused himself and went over to the other bartender. My bartender communicated the request and the other man simply nodded, issued a few orders that were well within the other man’s capabilities to make and, once satisfied the fauxtender could get through the drink orders on that end of the bar, made his way down to me.
When he came up to me he leaned over the bar and asked, “Sir?”
Seriously, a bartender has this skill too! I mean bartenders are typically good at getting their inquiries across, but come on, does everyone else in the world have that skill mastered? His question was simple enough but it was also all encompassing. He wanted to know if I needed any special liquor or if I had any other instructions. It was apparent that he was top-notch, no fauxtender here. With a smile tugging at the edges of my mouth I answered his question smoothly. “Bartender’s choice will be more than sufficient.”
With a nod he looked me over and went to work, deftly mixing the required alcohol for the martini. And honestly, I was rather impressed with those skills. Once all the liquor was in the shaker he began to mix the martini and, within seconds, had speared one of the olives with a flourish of his free hand before placing it over the glass so he could pour the drink right in.
With the drink made, he placed the shaker down behind the bar before sliding the martini across the counter top to me. I picked up the glass and gave it a cursory inspection before taking the first sip. I let the alcohol flow over my tongue as I absorbed the taste. This was without a doub
t one of the best martinis, if not the very best, that I have ever tasted. If I hadn’t needed a clear head I would have been tempted to empty the glass, but I had my priorities. Either way I needed to compliment this man, so I carefully placed the glass down on the counter and withdrew my wallet. I pulled out a hundred dollar bill and offered it to him. To my surprise, he looked absolutely offended that I was offering him money of any kind.
When it was obvious that I wasn’t going to withdraw the bill, he leaned down to me and in a hushed voice said, “Sir, you do know that prior to the tournament the bars are open, don’t you?”
Actually, I hadn’t known that, so I filed it away for future reference. As it was I did my very best to look downright offended by his reaction. Instead of trying to argue with him I simply reached out and stuffed the bill into his shirt pocket. “I don’t recall asking how much I owed, do you?”
The bartender nodded as I picked up my glass. The drink was truly fantastic but I refused to consume any more alcohol, so I released a little of my body heat into the drink through a focused mental command and just like that, all of the intoxicants were purged from the glass. I have always found that it is very useful to let people think you are intoxicated when you should be. So I gladly took another sip, and was pleasantly surprised when I discovered that the taste had been unaffected, not that I had thought that it would be. I mean I had used that trick many times ever since I had first discovered it and, more often than not, it had no effect on the taste. But with this drink, any change would have been a tragedy.
“I didn’t ask the cost of the drink because that was a tip, nothing more, nothing less. By the way, what’s your name?”
“Simon.” He answered again with that single word, I needed to master that skill. Just like that he let me know that he understood, he knew I was going to ask for his handiwork specifically for the rest of the evening.
I nodded as I kept the conversation alive. “Thank you for the drink, Simon. You’re a magician with those bottles.” With a nod of his head Simon retreated back to his original side of the bar, leaving me to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
Just as I sat down on one of the stools a clipped voice, thick with a Russian accent, began to bark at me from just behind my right shoulder. “You know you just make us look bad.”
Before I could turn around to ask the man what he was talking about another voice spoke up, only this time it came from over my other shoulder. This voice, while smooth, had an accent but not one I could get a handle on. “Wrong, it only makes you stiff-necked and greedy people look bad, and personally I don’t see anything wrong with that. There are those of us who are willing to tip the staff for their hard work.”
Leaning in closer, the man who had leapt to my defense asked me a question, speaking quietly enough so only I could hear the question. “But between you and me that was a hefty one. You didn’t start your drinking before arriving, did you?”
I didn’t need this right now. I just wanted to be left alone for a minute so I could enjoy my alcohol-free drink. Besides I still needed to do what I had been unable to do previously, recon. But I supposed I did have to be at least a little sociable. So with that thought in mind I decided to answer the private question first. Turning towards him I replied just as quietly, “No, I haven’t been drinking. I’m just well-off and the drink put me in a very generous mood.”
I could tell that the answer confused him, but he accepted it. This man was truly one of this societies’, well any societies’ elite. A pompous and spoiled child who never had to work for anything, ever. He would never understand anything other than his own desires. So I dumbed it down for him. “I happen to like swift and confident service, which Simon just delivered, and that tip should secure the same level of service for the rest of the day.”
This explanation made sense to him and he smiled, though still not entirely agreeing with my show of generosity. From behind me all I could hear was a “harrumph”; that first man must have moved in close enough to hear. That or he had incredible hearing. I turned around but all I could see was a slightly stocky gentleman stalking towards the other bar. Presumably to get as far away from me and my ideals as possible. Watching the man stride off, all I could think about was that this was going to be a challenging day.
As I turned back to my drink the other gentleman spoke conversationally, “Don’t worry about Nicolai.”
I quickly turned to face him and noticed that, by the look on his face, he was in the middle of a strenuous mental debate. After a couple of moments he added, “It’s just that his wallet is tighter than an oyster’s shell. He also cannot abide people who freely share their wealth, even if you had a decent reason.”
Looking into the man’s eyes I replied, “He’s crazy. You know that right?”
“Yes, he is crazy. But aside from that he’s mostly a good person.” The man replied while still watching Nicholai’s back. Before I could respond to this apparent contradiction, he moved off and quickly followed Nicholai’s retreating form. Finally left alone, I turned my back on the bar and continued to scan the room. Once again taking in the room and its occupants my eyes fell upon the mystery man speaking with Nicholai and I thought of something that I should have thought of before.
A majority of these people were self-centered, spoiled millionaires, which made them entitled. And that entitlement certainly made them dangerous. Just like a shark in a feeding frenzy these children would never see past their entitlement if their money was stripped away from them. I was going to have to be even more cautious then I thought. That or Dempsey had arrangements to keep their baser desires at bay. That certainly made sense, I just wish I knew what it was.
The spoiled children and scattered professionals could wait, I needed to know about the room I was in. Armed with the knowledge that there had to be at least one door if not a pair I started walking along the wall searching for them. As I walked along the edge of the wall I thought about the way the room was shaped and filled out. There was another reason there had to be a door along this wall and that was because the room was quite simply a lounge. There was no possible way to rearrange the tables here so we could play. Which left me asking a couple of questions. First, where are we going to play? And second, where is that door?
By the time I had given the wall a cursory exam I had found nothing useful so I could do one of two things. Either I could keep looking for the door and announce to everyone that I was up to something. Or I could sit down at one of the tables and study my competition. It was not that difficult of a decision to make, I looked for a place where I could study the competition in relative privacy. Apparently I wasn’t the first one to choose that path.
With plenty of open tables to choose from I found one that allowed me to see a majority of the room, the occupants, and most importantly the entrance. Within moments a waitress came up and asked me if I needed anything. Looking at my glass I saw that it was mostly empty so I told her that I would need another martini from Simon. It took me another moment to convince her that it would be very beneficial for her to take the time to find Simon. I was pretty sure I didn’t actually threaten her, but I may have let her imagination do the work for me, the things I had to do in character.
I didn’t like how I treated her, but I couldn’t afford to make exceptions at least not with the staff. I finished my martini and started to examine the people more closely. I could spot the professionals in an instant. They were the ones drinking as little as possible and what they were drinking was either soda or water. They also blatantly didn’t care what the elite thought of them. In fact the only thing they did care about was collecting the money from the rich patsies. I could tell that a few of them were lumping me into that category, so I made no effort to dissuade them of the misconception. As far as I was concerned it would just make it easier for me to take them out of the game.
The room was just large enough that people would feel they had ample room, even when it was fully packed. That feeling would encourage
everyone, or most everyone to spread out, which in turn would keep me from getting a reliable read on them. Fortunately, I was a jack-of-all-trades, I always knew something about most everything, especially if it had the potential to be useful. But just before I could start another trick the waitress returned with my fresh martini. Taking it I touched the surface of the drink in order to collect a taste. Though that was just for show, scrubbing the intoxicants out of the drink was just too important to forget.
I thanked her for her diligence with a fifty-dollar bill. It is amazing how easily cash can buy forgiveness, she departed with a smile. With my drink in hand I reached into my pocket and withdrew the monocle I kept there. As I poured a little bit of my body heat through a mental image and then into the glass I heard one of the chairs beside being pulled out. While I began to move my head to examine the intruder, I finished the slight transformation.
As far as intruders go I could have done much worse. The woman standing above me was quite striking. She was looking down at me with a very warm smile and before I could say anything she spoke with a silken voice and that contained just a splash of sweetness. “Would you mind some company?”
Chapter 4
Looking up into her grey eyes, I wanted to say no. I needed to use the modified monocle before the transformation dissipated, I had only poured enough heat into it for a little while. I never trusted people’s hands, especially in a place like this, where a single stray hand could broadcast my abilities to the wrong people. So I usually played things close to the chest in these circumstances. But as I took a moment to study those beautiful grey eyes I found my hand sliding the monocle back into its pocket. I didn’t stop the motion, not when the modification would last for only a few minutes. So why not talk to one of the players, especially one so beautiful.
Dead Man's Hand Page 4