by Lamar Giles
Oh, I was plenty worried.
More exchanges with more people. Me playing puppet master, yanking on strings that might not be attached to anything at all. It was 4:45 p.m., and there was one more text to send.
Me: are you ready?
Davis: i am.
Me: see you soon.
A parking deck elevator delivered me to lobby level. I stepped from the elevator car and strolled past the same valet I’d seen every time I’d been here. And he saw me, twice. The result of his neck-cracking double take.
That funeral dress Mom bought me was a stunner when you took it out of its intended context. Those bell sleeves were an unplanned bonus, making me think maybe I had some luck on my side. Add in heels that accentuated every hard curve in my field-trained calves and quads, and my hair forming a bouncing black halo around my face, I knew everyone would be looking at all the things meant to distract.
Loose groups approached the revolving-door entrance, and familiar faces were among them. Vista players and their plus-ones arriving for the dinner Davis arranged. They greeted me by name, and we stepped between spinning glass panes that created a fast draft, the mild wind nudging, then ejecting us into the atrium.
Windows taller than my school allowed cascading waves of light inside without the accompanying heat. Dark marble at our feet was polished to a mirror’s finish. Chrome—or possibly silver—sparkled in so many places it was hard to process, like camera phone flashes in a dark concert hall. There were waterfalls. Jewelry stores. A tattoo parlor. A seafood restaurant that transcended vowels, its sign simply reading FSH. Ahead, like the entrance to a forbidden cave, was the shadowed start of a gaming floor that stretched a city block. The lights and lines—the shine—felt like standing inside a diamond.
Dinner was somewhere on the second floor. A pair of long escalators ascended and descended ahead of us, but we did not go. Our host was on his way to greet us.
Davis, dressed in a tailored blue suit that looked simple but probably cost a few thousand dollars, a white open-collared shirt, and a purposely loose tie, rode the scrolling stairway with his hands clasped behind his back. Per my instructions, he was pretty.
The football players emitted warm vibes. Shouts of “Daaave!” and “Carlino’s that dude” had replaced their disdain. Davis shook hands, patted backs, accepted their gratitude, remained fixated on me.
When he got to me, he was no longer the shining host. “Nikki, I can’t have you mad at me. I know what I did was so messed up, but I want to fix it. I mean it. I’ve been keeping tabs on Delano all day. I know exactly where he is right now. Me and you can get whatever you need. Just tell me—”
“That’s not important anymore, Davis.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You remember that day at Caesar’s, when you told me you were in the dark about the things your family was capable of?”
“Yeah?” His inflection cautious.
“Do you really want to help me? Because it may mean learning some things best left in the dark.”
“I do want to help, but you going after my dad scares me.”
“That’s not important anymore either.”
“I’m totally lost.”
I detected movement to my left, by the gaming floor. “Play along and you’ll see.”
Before he could question further, the host I’d actually come to see joined us.
“Nikki Tate,” Cedric said. “So glad we’re finally going to do this.”
Davis remained at my side, silently observing, while Cedric led us across the gaming floor. We came to a corridor blocked by a velvet rope. A stocky black-clad security guard with a nametag that said Kurt unclipped one end of the velvet rope and greeted us. “Mr. Carlino.”
Cedric gave a nod. “Make sure we’re not disturbed.”
He pushed through a set of leathery upholstered doors at the end of the low-lit hall, and we followed. Davis’s fingers grazed my arm, signaling me to slow. “What is this?”
“We’re both going to get answers. If you want them.”
“But—”
Cedric poked his head into the hall. “You two can make out later. Come on.”
We obeyed and entered the Nysos High Roller Room.
High ceilings. A subdued luxury unlike the exaggerated hotel atrium. There were no windows. The outside world could never peer in at the one percenters who visited, and the only view concerning the players here would be stacked directly in front of them. All of it in a space big enough for a half-court basketball game and empty enough to trigger a hotshot of adrenaline. Me. And them. Alone.
“I appreciate you agreeing to poker lessons,” Cedric said. “I believe in paying professionals for their time. We should talk about your rate.”
“I’m not a pro, though.”
“From what I hear, you will be. So how’s this? I front you some chips. Whatever you still have by the time we wrap up, you keep.”
The hustle continues. He needs a coach, even though he was holding his own with the best players in town at, what, fifteen? Sixteen years old? He had no intention of me leaving here with any chips. We were playing the game before the game.
“I don’t know,” I said. “That’s generous of you, but there’s something I’m really more interested in than money. Your brother.”
“Excuse me,” Davis said.
“Oh, yeah?” Cedric’s wide wolf grin and “attaboy” vibes he projected at his little brother were far from subtle.
“He’s always so secretive,” I said, throwing a hand on my hip. “He’s probably got girlfriends back in New York.”
Cedric’s grin shrank, likely considering his Bro Code Liability. “What do you have in mind?”
“It’s this thing Molly and me do. We bet questions. I win a hand, I get to ask a question that must be answered honestly. You win a hand, same deal.”
The gleam in Cedric’s eyes was back. “So the chips would just be symbolic. For bragging rights.”
“I’m a minor; it wouldn’t be legal for me to play for money in a licensed establishment. I’m a stickler for the rules.” See, we could both BS through this.
Davis stepped off the sidelines. “This isn’t a good idea.”
Cedric did my work for me. “Chill, bro. We’re going to have fun.”
“Yes,” I agreed. To Davis, I said, “If you’re up for it, you could even deal.”
“Great idea,” said Cedric. “I’ll get the cards and chips. We’ll use that table.”
He motioned to the room’s center, where a pill-shaped chrome-and-leather table resided.
“Are you going to sit down?” I asked.
Davis seemed deflated. Or defeated. He took the dealer’s seat.
I sat on the opposite side of the table at a slight angle. Cedric returned with an empty card shoe, a bundle of Nysos-branded card desks sealed in plastic, and a rack of chips. He sat on my side of the table, but with two seats between, turning the three of us into the points of a loose triangle.
“I think we’re ready,” he said.
“Me, too.”
“How do you want to start, Nikki? I want to follow the expert’s lead.”
“You familiar with five-card draw?”
He pressed back into his seat. “I am. Not many people play it these days.”
“Since it’s just the two of us, let’s forget about the card shoe. We can use one deck. You’ll learn faster when there are no community cards working for you. That’s how my dad first taught me.”
“Excellent. A lesson in the style of Nathan ‘The Broker’ Tate.” Cedric slid the shoe to the far end of the table and popped the plastic on his card bundle. He removed a single deck and tossed it underhand to his brother, a perfect throw from the former Mr. Baseball.
Davis shook the cards free and shuffled the deck several times while Cedric divided our symbolic chips, all real denominations no smaller than twenty dollars.
“I was hoping the master would take it easy on the student tonight
, but given the stakes, you’re about to run me, huh?” Cedric said.
“You’re probably better than you think.”
“I hope so. Let’s get it started. Ante up?”
I tossed a twenty-dollar chip into the pot. Cedric did the same, told Davis, “Whenever you’re ready.”
The youngest Carlino slung the cards and got us going. And Cedric—the student—won the first four hands.
Heads-up poker was different from playing a full table. When there are multiple people—three, four, five—you have the option of backing off. You can fold more, save your chips when you get garbage cards. When there’s just two of you, it’s the opposite. Every hand you bet. Every hand someone’s losing. That someone was me.
Cedric took another pot with a measly pair of tens. It made his life. “Nikki, I gotta say, you’re bringing out the best in me. I never play this well.”
I was nearly out of chips. Them being symbolic and all, Cedric just shoved some from his pile my way. He was having too much fun for me to go bust. Our real currency was information, and deferring his prize questions to Davis seemed to give him some special brotherly joy.
On Cedric’s first two wins, when he prodded his little brother to ask the won question, Davis softballed it and asked for the name of my favorite restaurant. It’s The Egg & I. Awesome crepes. Cedric threw a chip at his head for that.
“Come on, man. I’m doing all this work for you. Ask something good!”
Davis’s reluctance got the best of him, and he flubbed the second one, too. Where do I want to live after college?
Cedric groaned, took the third question himself. “Not to be rude, Nikki, but maybe your dad would’ve given me a better challenge. Not trying to dis you, I’m just saying, you think I could’ve held my own with him?”
“It’s hard to say. My dad was a pro. And you’re way better than you let on. Ultimately, no. I don’t think you would’ve done well against him. Not without hustling him like you did me.”
His good-natured sheen dulled. He made a show of pushing his winning hand toward Davis for the next deal. “Maybe he wasn’t as good as you thought.”
“World Series of Poker finals twice, that’s as good as anyone thinks. He would’ve crushed you.”
His jaw clenched like a fist. “Bro, deal.”
Davis hesitated, so I nudged. “Cards, please.”
He dealt the hand. Cedric and I bet, and discarded, and drew new cards. When we showed our hands, he was the winner again with three of a kind. “Crush that.”
Davis said, “I’ll take the question this time.”
“I don’t know, bro. You gonna man up and ask something real?”
“I got this,” Davis said. “Nikki, where are we going from here? You and me, I mean? How’s this all supposed to turn out?”
That was three questions, and no good answers for any of them. I settled on the most honest thing I’d done that night, and said, “I don’t know.”
“You think you’re too good for my brother or something?” Cedric was clearly agitated now. Just like I wanted.
I said, “You have to win another hand if you want me to answer that. Play again.”
And we did. All of Cedric’s moves were aggressive and smug. He tossed his chips like a sadistic child tossed rocks at stray cats.
We showed cards. I had two pair with an ace kicker. It was not the hand Davis dealt me—that would’ve been another loser—but while Cedric was distracted by anger, and Davis was distracted by his concerns for me, I used some sleight of hand to improve my situation, easily beating Cedric’s pair of sevens. “Wow, look at that. Must be the start of a comeback.”
Cedric swept up his cards and flicked them at his brother. “Can’t win them all. What are you going to ask him?”
“My question’s for you. It’s a juicy one.”
He laughed, an exaggerated sound. “You girls flatter me. Look, I’ll tell you flat out, Molly’s hot, but I’m aware of our age difference. It was all fun flirting. Nothing else.”
“Actually, I was really curious about why you killed my dad. I’ll let Molly know, though.”
I’ll give it to the sociopath. He didn’t crack. With remarkable dexterity, he danced one of his chips across his knuckles, spun it from his pinky into his palm, repeated the move. Not even a mild tremor in his hand.
“You’re not serious,” Davis said.
I didn’t speak to him. I spoke to the murderer who’d taken so much from my family. “When I realized a baseball bat was used to kill John Reedy, and it was you at the table with them that night, a bunch of things made sense. Not all of it. I don’t know if a sick mind like yours can ever make total sense to anyone sane. Enough, though.”
My blood pulsed so hard through every part of my body, the edges of my vision bounced with each heartbeat. Only sheer will kept me in that seat. I wanted to run, or scream, or fight.
“Say something,” Davis demanded.
Cedric didn’t say a thing. He left his seat with a nimbleness that likely served him well before his forced retirement from baseball. He rooted in my bag before I could do anything but yelp.
“Leave her alone,” Davis said, pushing up from his chair.
Cedric froze him with a finger. “Sit down.”
“Do it,” I said to Davis. Cedric hadn’t hurt me. Didn’t even touch me. He’d taken Dad’s iPhone.
He dropped it on the carpet. Drove the heel of one sneaker into it. His shoe rose and fell a few times, forcing me to flinch away as shards bounced from the impact.
He collected himself. His calm voice was chilling in the aftermath of that tantrum. “Let me guess. You had the voice recorder running. Thought you were going to get me saying something wild.”
Not exactly. “Are you going to answer my question now?”
He crouched by the broken glass, metal, and circuitry. Mocked me by speaking loudly at the demolished device. “Whoever this was intended for, I did not kill Nathan Tate.”
Returning to his seat, he said, “Play another.”
“Sure. Deal, Davis.”
“Really?” he said.
“Really.”
While Davis shuffled, I kept talking, kept pushing buttons. “I watched the security footage a lot. You were going to win that hand, right? Teenage wannabe about to take a pot from a celebrated pro. Exciting stuff, I can dig it.”
Cedric checked his cards, threw three away. I tossed two. Davis replenished our hands.
“Another player caught one of Reedy’s cheaters at the table. Messed up your moment, and you couldn’t let it slide. You caught up with him later and”—I made a swinging gesture with my arms and clucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth—“home run.”
He tossed chips in the pot, as did I. Cedric said, “Show them.”
I won with a straight. “My next question. Did you mean to kill Reedy, or was it an accident?”
He refused to answer. But he didn’t leave. Despite the deep disgust it gave me, I understood him now. Leaving on a losing hand was not an option. He needed to win, needed to be on top. I wasn’t going to let it happen.
Despite his non-answer, we went again. I kept talking. “Here’s the part I don’t get, the cheating ring. That’s what that was when Molly and I caught you getting off that party bus? You were mad at Reedy for doing it, then you start running the same scam. That’s how my dad got your scent, you know, because he saw your flawed little plan, like, immediately. Seems pretty stupid, particularly when you’re ripping off your own casino.”
He showed his cards. He was flush with diamonds and feeling cocky again. Couldn’t keep quiet. “This isn’t my casino yet. I make my own way. Dirty and clean. Show ’em.”
I fanned four jacks and an ace, and his fist crashed into the table, making his chips jump.
“Next question. Did you kill my dad because he was onto your scam or because he knew about Reedy?”
“Deal.”
Davis was a statue in his dealer seat. What was this like for
him? I’d shone a light on all that darkness his family gathered. Shown him what no one wanted to see and it was taking its toll. By my watch, it was 6:01, the football dinner would’ve started, and fear was getting the best of me.
My grand plans and machinations. There should’ve been results by now. But there was nothing.
“Deal!” Cedric shouted.
My father’s killer, seated mere feet from me, was reaching a boiling point.
Davis complied, got another hand going. I played distracted, flicking glances at the only way in or out of this room. When Cedric got his coveted win, would he let me leave?
The hand progressed. At the end of betting, he showed his cards. Two pair, kings and sevens. “What do you have?”
Suddenly the double doors swung open, and Kurt the security guard entered, clearly stressed. “Mr. Carlino, we—”
“Wait!” Cedric popped from his seat, stood over me. “Show yours.”
I did. My highest card was a jack of clubs. A losing hand. Cedric’s whole face lit with sadistic joy.
“You win.” I fought to sound firm, unafraid. “Ask away.”
He leaned close, whispered in my ear, “No question. Just this. Your d-bag dad wouldn’t play me. Not even a single hand for the ultimate bet, my freedom. I always wanted to take down a Tate. Now I’ve done it twice. You got lucky, Nikki. This beating is way better than the one your daddy got.”
He pulled away, wearing a mask of innocence. A salt slime filled my mouth. I’d bitten into my tongue so as not to snap and rip his face off. I’d come too far for it to go down like that.
“You might want to check with your man over there. I think there’s trouble on your floor,” I said.
He faltered, spoke to Kurt. “What is it?”
“The football team event upstairs, it’s down here now. There are a lot of large, angry boys getting rowdy on the gaming floor.”
Davis rounded the table. “What’s going on?”
Coldly, I said, “Wait for it.”
Cedric was flustered with Kurt now, barking at him. “So throw them out.”
“It’s not just them. There are also bikers, and a really aggressive lady threatening to call the FBI. They’re looking for her.”