by Sara Forbes
“So, what does your intuition tell you about me?” she asks with a sly smile.
My intuition tells me she is either going to make me very happy or very miserable. And nothing in-between with this woman. I lean in close. “My intuition tells me that you like the idea of me teaching you. Or should I say…touching you.”
Her cheeks color up enough to give her away. Her lips twitch as if she’s trying not to smile. Her eyes hold that defiant spark that make me want to tease her even more until that spark softens into blatant lust. I’m starting to enjoy this date as a date, and not a fact-finding mission where I have to be on my guard all the time. It helps that she makes me feel like more than a piece of meat. She makes me feel alert and alive.
The waitress returns with our drinks, bursting our little bubble. Gum-chewing, she plants the bottles on the table with a little too much force. A volcano of froth spills over the edge of Cara’s bottle. Unperturbed, the waitress spins around and walks off.
I grit my teeth and wait to let Cara rant about this travesty. Women always find the cattiest things to say in such circumstances. But instead of speaking, Cara brings the bottle to her lips and starts drinking. I watch the tendons of her neck as she guzzles every last drop and plants it back on the counter with a satisfied smirk.
“Needed that?” I venture.
The beer glistens on her lips. The woman is gorgeous with her dark eyes glowing softly in her serious face. And she’s constantly surprising.
“Don’t go thinking I feel the pressure to down my drink as quickly as you did.” I tell her. “I’m not much of a drinker.”
“It wouldn’t bode well for your career if you were.” Her deadpan tone gives nothing away. I suspect she’s already seen footage of my glory days so I may as well stay one step ahead in the honesty department. It might even make her trust me a little bit.
“Okay, I made some bad calls while inebriated in the past. Check it out on YouTube if you don’t believe me. All right, enough skiving, let’s play.” I make my way to the cleanest looking table where three others are playing. We settle in beside each other, Cara sitting on a stool, me standing beside her. In more serious places this wouldn’t be allowed, but this place is beyond relaxed.
“Relax your left arm down.” I say under my breath. “Be ready for my signal.”
The first round of poker is straightforward. She’s got three queens, so my intervention is hardly necessary but it serves as a useful warm up. As I pretend to look at something in the opposite direction, I lower my hand so that our arms dangle an inch apart. I stroke her wrist with two fingers—a quick caress between the two bones. Then I let go and place my hand on the table raising my thumb. She smirks and plays the cards right, winning the round.
“See? That works,” I whisper as she pulls in the chips
She rolls her eyes.
“Relax,” I tease. I scan the surroundings for cameras but there are none. This place is not high security like the bigger casinos. We can get away with almost anything.
“You’re the one who needs to relax,” she says.
She’s right. I’m tense, and beads of sweat are tickling my forehead. Cheating feels weird, even in a no name place like this. But I want her to win.
In the next round, she’s indecisive. I can tell by the way she cocks her head even before the tiny frown appears. She sways closer to me, nervous now that she needs my input, nervous that I’ll let her down. But I won’t. I lay a single finger on her wrist and press two fingers on the table. She pulls the Jack and ten of Spades out and throws it down. Her jaw is clamped. She doesn’t believe it’s the right move but I know it is.
The dealer takes all the discarded cards. As he shuffles the deck, I slip in closer and casually drape my arm around her waist. I guess I’m the image of the protective boyfriend, hoping his girlfriend doesn’t bet all her money away. She allows it for a second before wiggling away.
She gets dealt two nines that match the one she’s holding along with two queens. Full house. I think she hates that it’s right and yet it’s not the move she’d have made herself.
Her face is unreadable as she fiddles with the chips, refusing to look at me. I don’t need to tell her to go all in, raising the stakes.
Soon she’s pulling in the chips. “Happy now?” she asks.
“Ecstatic.”
We continue like this. Anyone seriously watching us would know what we’re playing at, but this isn’t exactly world class poker here.
Notwithstanding one false move, where she misinterprets my two fingers for one, we’re a thousand up. It feels weird to be playing for such a small pot. I just multiply the figure by a thousand in my mind to keep things more real.
“Three o’clock,” she says at the end of a play, touching my arm with all fingers. “Don’t look. They’ve been there five minutes, hovering. They recognize you. Taking photos.”
“Time to go,” I mutter.
She gathers up all the chips, dumping them in her purse. We nod at the other players and leave the table. We’ll cash in another time. Or never. I don’t want to see this place ever again.
We walk briskly, her training evident in how she keeps her focus on the exit not even glimpsing in the direction of the unwanted attention.
When we’re safely back in the car she checks the rear-view mirrors in deft movements you’d only catch if you were looking out for them. And I am. I can’t seem to take my eyes off her for a second.
“Thanks,” I say.
“For what?”
“For back there. For spotting the fans quickly enough. Another ten seconds and I’d have been a goner. I’m terrible at that. I always get embroiled in conversations I don’t want to have.”
“You’re welcome. I want to thank you, too.”
I turn to her. “You do?”
“Well for helping me win, of course.”
“That was nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, it’s four thousand dollars, Felix. I’ve never won anything in my life!” She drums her fingers against the dashboard like she’s playing a fast Chopin number. “It feels weird. And thrilling, like we’re in a heist movie. Like we stole it and the casino personnel were going to come running after us. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Don’t worry,” I say with a laugh. “Those casino security guys didn’t look capable of walking, let alone running.”
“Oh, you noticed that too?”
“I always notice casino security guys.”
At the next traffic light, I get a proper look at her. Her excitement is infectious, her eyes still shining, a smile lingering at the edges of her lips. She’s more animated, unable to sit still. And it’s at that moment that I know. I want more of this side of her. I crave it. This is the best date I’ve been on in years, or ever. I don’t want it to stop.
I know it’s partially her training. She’s character profiling me or whatever, and she needs to find something beyond my shallow exterior. But I’ll be damned if it isn’t something more. She responds to me, well, her body does, in an honest way that she just can’t hide.
She’s not all about the money either. It’s not her motivation in chasing me. It’s something else driving her. But what?
“Glad you enjoyed it,” I say, revving up the engine more than necessary just to show off the lovely sound of it. I don’t know where we’re going and I don’t care as long as she’s sitting there, being excited, and enigmatic, and utterly enchanting. I mean, I love women, but this is something on a whole other plane. I’m out of my comfort zone but I’m loving it.
“Another casino?” She’s got that manic look that beginners get when they win for the first time.
“Let’s just quit while we’re ahead,” I say. “That’s the first rule of professional gambling.”
“Uh, yeah.” She blinks as if waking from a trance. “Investing too, I suppose?”
And just like that the whole atmosphere changes. She’s back to business mode, fishing for information.
>
“Same principles,” I say lightly.
“What will we do with the winnings?”
“We? It’s your money,” I remind her.
“No no, it’s fifty-fifty. You helped me.”
“Okay, but we don’t have anything yet. Last I checked, plastic tokens are not legal tender in Vegas.”
“Yeah, even more useless than Bitcoin,” she muses.
I grimace. “I really don’t want to talk about the viability or otherwise of cryptocurrencies.”
She’s staring at me. I know she has a million follow-up questions to that statement, but she’s not asking.
“Well, I’m going back there later to cash them in for good old greenbacks,” she says finally. “Even if it’s just small change for a millionaire like you.”
I give her an enigmatic smile. “Sure, but let me drive you. I can’t have a lady walking around on her own with four thousand dollars in her purse.”
“Oh, I’ve no intentions of being on my own,” she says, flashing me a look that makes a bolt of happiness shoot through me, warming me to my core. Is there any way we can put aside our missions for a while and just enjoy each other’s company? Egan gave me two weeks to discover the identities of the people she works for…why rush it?
5
CARA
WE’RE DRIVING VERY SLOWLY on Tropicana Avenue as the traffic is chock-a-block. I don’t mind. It’s kind of fun seeing people gaze jealously at the car—not a feeling I’m familiar with. And I’m comfortable sitting beside Felix, watching his arms flex as he drives and fiddles with the controls in a way that tells me he hasn’t owned this car long.
What a pity he’s so damn charming. And intelligent. And fun. And sexy as all hell. And all the damn things on the list of desirable traits. And yet, his whole life has been built on top of the losses of others. What a waste.
I mean, fuck this lambo. My father helped pay for it.
He’s a crafty one, giving me a taste of winning. I can see how it would be addictive. How it could skew your whole value system.
I feel ashamed now for my earlier excitement. Ashamed for feeling heated around him. I should know better than to let him get to me especially when that’s exactly what he’s excelled at his whole life—getting people to believe in his false persona, charming women into bed with him. I need to get control back of this situation and fast. What a dumb idea, going to play cards with him. I should have taken him up on the Stratosphere idea. Less dangerous.
I hate to admit it even to myself but I’m out of my depth. I never thought that this type of espionage would be so difficult, and so nuanced. I was stupid enough to believe that just by flirting with him, he’d let something massive slip. Goodman contributed to that misconception by harping on about how well I’d managed to deceive Jack. But deceiving and entertaining into a confidence with someone are two very different things.
“You’re quiet,” he says, switching gears as we turn onto East Tropicana Avenue, now clogged with evening traffic.
“That’s how I roll.” I sink back against the luxurious leather. In all the time we’ve spent together this evening, he’s still not giving me any clues about his business. People usually let their real motivations slip if you just hang out for long enough and remain observant, but that’s not happening with him. You’d swear he didn’t even have this whole other manipulative side to him. He shows genuine enjoyment of the little things. He’s slicker than I thought.
I need to be equally crafty. How far do I have to go with him to find out his deepest secrets—what he’s holding in Bitcoin and whom he plans to screw over, and when? Anybody’s guess.
I’ve cracked a criminal cyber-ring, I’ve patched-up seriously compromised data systems for a local governmental organization and. I’ve even taken down two assailants bare-handed one time in Mexico. But I’ve never done anything like this before. Even when I tailed Jack last year, it was immediately obvious how into Mia he was, right from the outset, so all I had to do was stay close to her to get my information. I didn’t have to flirt with Jack. I barely even made an effort to make it seem like I liked him, which I didn’t. But I always felt that if I really had to, I could turn on the professional charm. But now with Felix, it’s starting to feel…low and dirty.
But what alternative? I go back to Goodman and say I couldn’t play the high stakes game? Admit that I’m not ready for the big league? That I was hanging off the coattails of my father and still am? I need his business and the business that his connections bring in. Cryptocurrency manipulation is an area of work I want to get more business in, not just survive in, this one time.
Bottom line, I can, and I will, outsmart Felix Palmer. Just like I outsmarted his brother.
“There’s an open-air concert on the way back to your hotel,” Felix says. “We could stop at a burger joint grab a bite and cruise past the concert. We can jump out if the music sounds halfway decent.”
“A burger joint?”
“Why not?” he asks.
“I thought fine dining would be more your bag.”
“Hate it. With a passion.”
“So, what do you eat?”
“Well, take-outs mostly, and,” he laughs, “when I can, Jack’s cooking. I always plan my visits to him around dinnertime. Although I suspect he’s caught on to that little trick by now.”
This makes me smile. “Jack cooks? This doesn’t gel with my image of him.”
“I know, right? But once he’s surrounded by his herbs, spices and sharp knives, he tends to let his hair down. He’s fantastic. You should taste his gumbo, and the lasagna is to die for.”
It’s a real struggle to rearrange my mental images of Felix and Jack to incorporate them into a cozy domestic setting, sharing dinner. With Mia, too, of course. It was much easier to picture Felix at high class restaurants guzzling five-hundred-dollar bottles of Pinot Noir with vacuous supermodels for company. It made him easier to hate. It begs the question of what he does spend his money on, apart from cars.
Felix is rambling on happily. “Jack’s been cooking for us since we were twelve. See, Dad was always away and Mom was always working, making sure there was money in the account at the end of the month to pay the rent. So, Jack took it into his head to learn cooking after watching Dinner Rush.”
“What does she do, your mom?”
“Admin for a pharmaceutical company. Pretty boring, but she was determined to have a steady job to compensate for my dad, who as you know, was a gambler.”
“Yeah, Jack mentioned your father,” I say, in case he thinks it’s because I compiled a file on him which I totally did, but it seems distasteful to mention. Right now, I’m not fishing for information for Goodman’s sake. I want to know to satisfy my own curiosity.
“Well, in case you hadn’t guessed, I take after him and Jack takes after mom.”
“Nothing’s black and white,” I say. “I’m sure there are bits of your mom in you too. And as for Jack, I’d say he has a bit of a gambling streak in him. You can’t be a Hollywood producer otherwise. The whole profession is a bet on which movie’s going to win.”
He frowns and seems to swallow what he had been about to say. “Never thought of it that way. Anyway, enough about me. What about your folks? You take after mom or dad?”
“Dad, definitely. He was a PI too.”
“Was?”
“Died a year ago.”
“But wasn’t that when—?”
“When I met Jack, yes. It was just after Dad’s funeral.”
“I’m so sorry. Were you close?”
“Very. I mean, he wasn’t a lovey-dovey kind of man, he was tough on me, more so than on my three sisters, but it was only because he knew I could take it and that I’d need it in his profession. Little did I know how much I’d be tested when he died suddenly and I was the only daughter earning money in the family.”
“You’re supporting them? All of them?”
“No.” I smile at his stricken face. “Just Laila, the next el
dest who’s in college. The other two are in high school. They stay with our aunt.”
“That’s where the resilience comes from. What about your mom?”
“She died when I was very young.”
“Rough growing up without a mom,” he says.
“It’s been okay.”
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He flashes me a tender smile.
I nod. The weird thing is, I do want to talk about it even though I never usually talk about family to strangers. Not even with friends. There’s something just so non-judgmental about him and I love the way his face lights up when I tell him something new. Talking to him is easy in a way that it normally isn’t with other people. Maybe it’s precisely because this isn’t reality. What does that say about me?
Still, we keep talking. If this is what’ll get him to trust me enough to allow me to hang around then fine. It’s making me feel good, being listened to. I talk about my life, my dead parents, my three sisters, my tiny group of friends none of whom live in California, my work-focused life. I don’t even have to lie…much. And he doesn’t show the slightest sign of being bored. Quite the opposite.
Far more interesting though, is when he talks about his mom whom he doesn’t see as often as he’d like, about Jack and Mia, and about his travels to tournaments—he’s been everywhere.
“Except Cuba, I need to get there some day, just on a holiday. They don’t take kindly to gambling in Cuba. Europe’s gambling-friendly, the Middle East isn’t, and Asia keeps changing depending on where and when you are, so you really have to watch your step there.” He lets out a laugh and tells me about his exploits in Singapore, Japan and Thailand.
His stories are still ratting around in my head as we slow down at the venue of the open-air concert that I really have no desire to attend. Felix rolls down the windows so we can hear the music. Thumping bass and melodies that could best be described as Hip-hop fusion. We turn to each other and simultaneously say “no.”