by Mark Stone
“I’m not quite sure,” Maxwell said. “To be completely honest with you, I’ve never been too interested in poker, or any card games, for that matter. They were never my speed. They just always seemed so wasteful.”
“I get that,” I answered, still moving toward the crowd. “Still, even an Army boy has to have a good time every once in awhile.”
“I’ll take my chances with tequila and Monday Night Football,” Maxwell answered.
“See?” I said, grinning and shaking my head. “I knew we’d be friends.”
“As far as I can tell, Shades showed up last year,” Maxwell said, moving on from my comment and explaining about poker’s new phenom. “He was so good so quickly that a lot of people in the industry assumed he was counting cards. Or at least, that’s what I’ve gleaned from the conversations I’ve heard from clients aboard this ship.”
“Something tells me that none of your clients are as cool as me,” I said, almost sarcastically.
“How could they be?” he asked, matching my sarcasm level and raising me some.
“ A question for the ages, Max,” I said.
“Maxwell,” he corrected.
“Really?” I quipped. “That’s not one too many syllables for you?”
“I’m a big boy. I can handle it,” he replied.
“Have it your way,” I said, coming up to the jam-packed table.
“Anyway, the guy is a big deal,” Maxwell said, his tone flat as we settled in front of the table. I saw him there at the end, a pudgy guy with slicked back hair and dark sunglasses covering his eyes. Even if we weren’t inside a ship, even if there wasn’t anything close to natural sunlight coming into this room, I’d have still found the shades to be pretentious. They were a gimmick. They were branding, and coming from a guy named Lucky who’d won the lottery, I knew just how far branding would get you.
“Guess you don’t have to be in fighting shape to be a poker player,” I muttered, taking in the sight of the soft man. Still, something about him pulled at me and I couldn’t exactly figure out what.
“It’s a sedentary occupation,” Maxwell said, still using those big formal words that seemed so out of place to me. “Besides, he has bodyguards too.” Maxwell came up beside me just long enough for me to see him motion to the pair of large men standing at either one of his shoulders.
“Two?” I balked. “Why does that guy get two?”
“I think we both know the answer to that,” Maxwell said. “You put your best hands around your most valuable asset. ESPN is here this year. That wouldn’t be happening without Shades.”
“ESPN?” I shuffled a little. Wendy didn’t tell me that. In fact, it didn’t bode well for anything about this. Would people really be brazen enough to gamble over government secrets with one of the country’s top cable channels in spitting distance?
“Well, ESPN 3,” Maxwell corrected himself.
“Oh,” I muttered. “That makes more sense.”
“In any event, Shades is their big guy, and big guys get top of the line treatment,” Maxwell continued.
“Really?” I asked. “And what do guys like me get?”
“A retired soldier who still has shrapnel in his leg,” Maxwell answered. There was something like sadness, something like regret in his voice. I wanted to smack that right out of him. I wanted to remind him that what he did, what he sacrificed, was more important that anything two healthy bodyguards could do in the casino of a cruise ship, but the crowd shuffled and a loud voice boomed from the table.
“There’s an empty chair, folks!” Shades shouted, and as he did, something about his voice also pulled at me. “Anybody feel like trying their luck?” His head craned and turned to me. “What about you? I hear you’ve gotten pretty lucky lately.”
All eyes turned to me, which was something I was more used to than I cared to admit at this point.
“I don’t think so,” I said, shaking my head but plastering on a requisite smile. “I’m still kind of settling in here.”
“Really?” Shades asked. “Not even for an old friend?” The pudgy man pulled his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, revealing his face in full. Suddenly, I knew exactly why this man’s voice (and the rest of him) seemed so familiar to me. I knew him. Shades wasn’t Shades. He was my friend. He was someone I knew long before the Army and then for a little while after.
My eyes went wide, and then with a dry mouth, I muttered, “Scottie?”
16
“Dude, what the hell are you doing here?” I asked my friend, pulling him into the hugest of bear hugs. It had been the better part of a year since I’d seen Scott. Though we had been friends growing up, and though he’d gotten me a job or two as a favor when I returned home from overseas, we had drifted apart when I took the job as a trucker and hit the road. It didn’t mean I thought any less of the man or that he and I had some beef. Nothing could have been further from the truth. There was a big soft spot in my heart for the lug. It was that we were grownups, and sometimes, that’s what grownups do.
“Getting paid, buddy!” he answered, squeezing me tightly and actually lifting me off the ground. Scott had always been bigger than me, and even though one look at him told me his new lifestyle had come complete with a couple of extra pounds around the midsection, the man still had no trouble tossing me around like a ragdoll.
“I can see that,” I said, slapping him on the shoulders, motioning for him to let me down. As he did, I shook my head, taking the bear of a guy in. “From what I hear, you’re cleaning up around these parts.”
“I’m not doing too bad for myself,” Scott said, practically beaming. “It’s been a wild year.” He gave me a big pat on the back. “For both of us, obviously. The lottery, dude? Seriously? You’re like famous now!”
“Me?” I balked. “I’m not the one who’s surrounded by a throng of admirers.”
Scott looked around, his face contorting as if he were just seeing these people for the first time. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “They are kind of a nuisance, aren’t they?” He slapped me on the shoulder again. “Wanna take a walk? We can go up on deck and get a little peace and quiet.”
I looked over at Maxwell, who was now joined by both of Scott’s bodyguards. “I’m not sure peace and quiet is in the cards for us at the moment, Scottie,” I muttered.
“These guys?” Scott said, almost chuckling as he turned to them. “I’m heading up. Go get lunch or something.”
The two bodyguards seemed unaffected, though they didn’t move. Maxwell, on the other hand, seemed visibly jarred at the suggestion.
“Tacos, burritos, I even hear they have some decent ‘non-Mexican’ food onboard this thing,” Scott said, waving his hand at the guards. “Take five. We’ll be fine. I’m not going to ask again.”
Without even a hint of surprise, his guards turned to go.
“I don’t think so,” Maxwell said, standing his ground. “I’m here to do a job, and that job entails—”
“You seem like a bucket of laughs,” Scott interrupted. “And while I’m sure your specific brand of droll would really add to the experience, my friend and I would like to catch up without the assistance of a babysitter.”
“Again,” Maxwell said, clearing his throat and digging his feet in, “my job is quite simple. I’m to stay with John Lucky at all times. I always do my job.”
“Even if there’s a wall of men between the two of you?” Scott asked, motioning to his guards, who were still standing there.
“No offense to your men here, but don’t let my stature fool you. I could take them apart in ten seconds if I had to,” Maxwell said.
“You know what?” Scott chuckled. “I was wrong. I think you would be fun, after all. I mean, you still can’t come, but I’m a fan.” Scott pulled something out of his pocket. One look told me it was something like a walkie-talkie. “And while I’m honestly really curious to see if you can put your money where your mouth is, I’m thinking a fight between bodyguards isn’t going
to go over well. So, let me deal with this a different way.”
“A different way?” I asked, my eyebrows narrowing at Scott.
“He always does his job,” Scott quipped, shrugging. “So, let me just change what his job is.” Bringing the radio up to his mouth, he muttered, “Ollie, this is Shades.”
“Yes sir,” Oliver answered quickly. I could tell the nasal quality of his voice instantly.
“Hey, buddy boy. How’s it hanging?” Scott asked.
“I’m not sure how to respond to that, sir,” Oliver admitted.
“Fair enough,” Scott said. “How about this? Lucky John’s bodyguard is really cramping my style. Can you tell him to get lost for a few before he really starts to piss me off?”
A beat of silence passed before Oliver answered. “Mr. Shades, I’m afraid there are very specific reasons that John Lucky has been outfitted with a security detail.”
“There also might be very specific reasons I get food poisoning and can’t compete in the tournament tomorrow. You understand what I’m saying?” A sly smile spread across Scott’s face. He was forcing Oliver’s hand and he knew it. Threatening to pull out of the tournament would be unacceptable to someone in Oliver’s position. He couldn’t be responsible for that.
“Maxwell, take a ten-minute break,” Oliver said.
“You sure about that, sir?” my bodyguard asked.
“It seems I am,” Oliver answered.
Maxwell shot me a stern look. Then, nodding, he headed out, taking the other bodyguards with him.
“So,” Scott said, nudging me with his elbow. “How about we grab one of those burritos I was talking about? I’ve talked myself up quite an appetite.”
“It’s so wild seeing you here,” I said, shaking my head as I kept pace with Scott as we circled the deck. Night was falling over the Gulf, and the heat of the day was starting to give way to a cooler, if still warm, breeze. More than that, the sky shone an amazing mixture of orange, red, and pink over our heads. It was like God himself had splattered paint down, and the artistry was perfect.
“You’re telling me,” Scott said. “They told me you were going to be here a few hours ago, and I couldn’t believe it. I meant to make a point of seeking you out, but you know how it is when you’re busy. People are always pulling you in a million different directions.”
“I do know this,” I said, nodding in agreement. “Still, I can’t get over just how big a name you seem to have made for yourself. I mean, the way you handled Oliver was really impressive. I couldn’t get anywhere with the little bastard. You must have this entire ship under your thumb.”
“They’re fans,” he admitted, practically beaming. “And as for Oliver, he’s just doing what he’s told. These ships live and die by reputation. That’s why I hit him with the whole ‘food poisoning’ thing. The idea of a star poker player not being able to do what he loves, what people bought tickets to this cruise just to see, because of the food they serve would be just shy of disastrous.” Scott shrugged. “Besides, I’ve missed you, and I wanted to get caught up properly.”
“With tacos and tequila?” I asked, looking down and alluding to the contents of both of my hands.
“Can you think of a better way?” Scott asked.
“Not if you gave me a million years,” I admitted, chuckling.
“So, how are things? I saw your girl with you on the news. She’s a looker,” Scott said.
“My girl?” I asked, wrinkling my forehead. “You mean Charlotte? She’s not my girl. Hell, I’m doubtful that she’ll even talk to me at this point.”
“Sounds like every girlfriend I’ve ever had,” Scott admitted.
“Fair enough,” I said. “But Charlotte and I never dated. We . . . had fun shortly after what happened at the truck stop, and I felt like I owed her a piece of the lottery winnings, but we’ve never been in a relationship or anything.”
“Like me, you’re not really the relationship type,” Scott said. “But, I mean, no one is until they are, right?”
“I guess,” I said, shrugging at him. “I honestly don’t know what that means.”
Before Scott could answer, I heard the shout from behind me. Looking back, I realized the entire deck was nearly empty. There must have been a lot to do inside, because Scott and I had the entire place to ourselves. Well, almost.
A woman ran across the lower deck, her high heels in her hands, screaming with tears running down her cheeks.
“Help me!” she yelled, her eyes moved up, locking with mine. Behind her, a man rushed toward her, gaining on her with every passing second. “Help!” she begged.
“Scottie,” I said, throwing off my coat. “Hold this and stay here, okay? This shouldn’t take long.” And with that, I jumped into action.
Untitled
Looking over the situation, I decided there wasn’t time for me to get to the lower deck the old-fashioned way. The staircase leading down sat a few hundred feet away, and if I took the time to use it, who knew what would happen to that poor woman? More than that, I wanted to be able to keep the pair in my line of sight. This ship may have been a glorified oblong circle, but it had more twists and turns in it than one of John Grisham’s thrillers. No. I was going to have to get creative. Luckily, this wasn’t my first time with this kind of thing.
“Actually, I’m going to need that back,” I said, grabbing the coat away from Scott. Wrapping the ends of either sleeve around my hands, I flung the body of the coat over the bannister, and shortly after that, my own body followed. Pushing off the floor of the upper deck, I went sliding across the railing, my feet dangling carelessly in the air as my eyes stayed trained on the pair.
The woman was still running, and the guy was still gaining on her. Not only did that make what I was working with a ticking clock, but it made both of them moving targets. And if years of watching the NFL had taught me anything, it was that when both those things were in play, even Tom Brady had trouble with it every once in awhile.
The railing on the upper deck of the Diamond Mine was a sloping thing, and like a train track, when it hit the piece where the stairs were, it diverged, splitting into two railings. I needed to flip from the railing I was on to the one I needed to be on. That would take a bit of finesse and perfect timing. Unfortunately for me, though, I might have had luck on my side, but those other things had never come easy for old John Lucky.
More than that, as I slid across the damn thing, I could hear my jacket starting to rip. That was troubling on a couple of levels. Number one, I really liked this jacket. It was cool, and even though it was also old, which was probably the reason for the tearing that was happening right then, I didn’t like the idea of letting it go. Of course, the more troubling and perhaps pressing reason I didn’t want the jacket to rip was because if that happened, I would be immediately deposited on my ass on the lower deck of the ship. And all things considered, I’d rather not go through the rest of the cruise with a broken tailbone.
Still, the damn thing was tearing apart like a New Year's Resolution in the middle of March. As it stood, I had one option. Since I wasn’t going to be able to make it to the staircase railing, I was going to have to take the plunge. Doing so meant I needed to find something to break my fall. Luckily for me, there was a bastard-shaped landing pad chasing after an innocent woman right below me. Unluckily for me, there was that whole ticking clock–moving target dynamic at play that I wasn’t a fan of.
Looking at the pair, specifically the man, who was seconds away from grabbing this lady, I tried to time things. A second too late, and I’d overshoot him and probably break every bone imaginable upon impact. A second too soon, and I’d crash into the woman and hurt her, which would be the opposite of what I was trying to do.
“Come on, Brady,” I muttered, shooting up a prayer to the man upstairs to help guide the dismount.
Taking a deep breath, I flung my body forward, arching myself in the direction I knew the guy would be in just a few seconds. As I moved through th
e salty air of the Gulf toward my intended target, I realized I had been thinking about this the wrong way. I wasn’t Tom Brady in this situation. Tom Brady never had to do this. No. I was the damn football, doing everything but spiraling out in the open as I rushed through the darkening sky. Still, with the Brady analogy fresh in my head, I couldn’t help but wonder . . . if I was, in fact, the football, was I properly inflated?
I never got the chance to answer that question because as soon as the ridiculous thought formed in my head, I crashed hard into something. It took an instant for me to realize it wasn’t the floor. What this was gave way, falling forward. A second later, my nose filled with the scents of musk and tobacco. While I didn’t like to generalize, I had never known a woman to smell quite so pungent. So, it was no surprise to me that once I hit the person, tackled him to the floor, hit hard, yelped a little, rolled off, and looked at the creature I’d just slammed into like a flying brick wall, it was the guy and not the terrified woman.
Taking a couple of deep breaths, I pushed past pain that ran up my and down my back in waves so big they would have jostled this ship. Taking the guy in, I saw that he wasn’t a very big guy. With piercing blue eyes and a close-cropped haircut, he sneered at me as he jumped to his feet.
“I think,” I panted, “the lady . . . said . . . no.” I swallowed hard, standing up myself. “Or, at least, that’s the impression I got, judging by the context clues.”
“You’re going to wish you’d minded your own business, Lucky John,” the man said in a very thick Russian accent that made him sound like a cross between one of the original Bond villains and the short guy with the mustache from Rocky and Bullwinkle. There was, of course, the fact that he knew who I was. That could have just come from whatever fanfare might have preceded my arrival here, though. So, it didn’t bother me too much. What did pull at me was the idea that this guy, whoever he was, might be involved in the real reason I was here. Wendy said there were international terrorists looking to get their hands on the Linchpin. And while just having a Russian accent didn’t make him a terrorist, it did likely make him international. I needed to keep that in mind.