Cashing Out

by Pierce, Nicolette

  “But when he found out, the veins in his neck began twitching, didn’t they?”

  “He nearly bit off my head.”

  Frankie smiled. “You can thank me later.”

  A smile played across Gwen’s perfectly structured face with perfectly applied makeup. “I’d like to stick around and see how this plays out. Unfortunately, I need to find my husband. It seems as though I’m always one step behind.”

  I was reminded of the man from Sierra Leone. “There was a man here looking for Ian. I think Ian might be in trouble.”

  “Did he say what he wanted?” Gwen asked.

  “He said Ian stole a necklace.”

  Gwen was thoughtful for a moment before saying, “It might be true.”

  “I can’t believe it. Not that I know him well enough to make a judgment one way or another, but I’d like to think he’d steer clear of illegal activities with David as a brother.”

  “David can be a formidable older brother. His heart is in the right place. It just makes it more imperative I find Ian. Did Ian happen to leave anything behind?”

  “No. He was never here.” I watched her features as her composure remained calm and impassive. How could a wife find out her husband married another woman and stole a necklace, and not want to punch someone? “I didn’t mean to marry Ian. I don’t even think we slept together. I mean, we slept in the same bed, but I don’t think we actually did . . . this is awkward.”

  “I don’t hold it against you, Nadia. I married Ian knowing full well his faults. If he gets in touch with you, please give me a call,” Gwen said, handing me her card.

  “I will,” I said. “If you didn’t know Ian married me, how did you know to come here?”

  She smiled and headed to the door. “He leaves bread crumbs wherever he goes. And I know he was here.” She slipped on her sunglasses and stepped out the door.

  I glanced down at the card, flipping it over a couple of times.

  Frankie peeked over my shoulder. “Classy. Is that extra-heavy card stock?”

  “I don’t want to call her.”

  “You probably won’t hear from Ian. Why would he come back to wife number two when wife number one is on the hunt?”

  “True. I guess I should talk to a lawyer to make sure I’m not married. But,” I said, glancing at the card. “I think I’ll call Mya and see if she knows anything about Gwen.”

  * * *

  “What do you mean he’s already married?” Mya screeched. “How is that possible?”

  My eyes darted around the café. No one seemed to notice the high-pitched outburst. “She said her name is Gwen Miller and she’s married to Ian. And she’s not the first person to come looking for him.”

  “I just can’t believe it!” She shook her head. “I was so excited that you were my sister-in-law. Now I have a different one?”

  “I think you’re missing the point.”

  “No, I’m not. I want you as a sister-in-law.”

  “It doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. I’m going to annul the marriage.”

  She sipped her tea. “There’s still Greyson.”

  “No. Greyson nearly ripped my head off . . . again.”

  “He just needs time to process everything.”

  “Have you heard from David?” I asked, switching the subject.

  “No. I’m going to yell at him when he comes home. He runs off to play GI Joe and forgets about me.”

  “Do you know anything about a necklace?”

  “David scolds me for having too many.”

  “That’s not what I mean. But I’m sure he’s right.” I smiled when her mouth popped open. “A man from the Sierra Leone government is looking for a stolen necklace. He thinks Ian stole it.”

  Mya gasped. “I can’t believe it. Ian wouldn’t steal a necklace.”

  “With David as a brother, I wouldn’t think he’d attempt it. But there’s one thing that keeps bothering me. How can he afford to travel? He doesn’t work, does he?”

  Mya’s mouth twisted in a thoughtful pout. “I’ve never heard of him working. But he must get money somehow.”

  “By stealing valuable objects?”

  “I refuse to believe Ian stole a lousy necklace so he can travel.”

  “According to the man, it’s not a lousy necklace. It’s rare and worth fifteen million.”

  Mya’s mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish. “I . . . I might be able to believe that.”

  “That he stole a fifteen-million-dollar necklace instead of a lousy one?”

  She nodded. “It’s not that I think he would steal normally, but if that necklace was dangled in front of him, he might swipe it. Heck, I might swipe it too.”

  “I don’t think it was dangled in front of him. It was an engagement present to some hoity-toity woman.”

  A smile formed on Mya’s lips. “Then I know he stole it. He can’t resist women. Add the expensive necklace and he’s bound to make a move. I don’t know Ian as well as his brothers, but I do know he likes to collect rare items.”

  “Where does he keep it all?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “I wish I knew. I have a card for him every Christmas, and I never know where to send it.”

  “Well, it seems as though it’s out of our hands. I’m sure David will be able to help.”

  Mya laughed. “I don’t think Ian will want David’s help.”

  “Probably not. But at least we won’t have to worry about him.” I peeked at my watch. “I have to be at the lawyer’s in a few minutes.”

  “Lawyer? I hope it’s not bad.”

  “No. With Gwen in the picture, I don’t know if I’m married or not. I don’t want any surprises down the road. And, it’s time to end the marriage. I was too angry before; now I just want my freedom.”

  “I understand. Call me and let me know how it goes.”

  I nodded and stood to leave. I hesitated as a thought swirled. “Mya, does Ian send you postcards?”

  “No. I wish he would. It’d be fun to see where he goes. But I’m sure he knows it’s one more way for David to keep track of him.”

  * * *

  I sat cross-legged in my living room, pondering Ian’s postcards that were spread across the floor. There were at least twenty, each with a different African animal. Why would he send these? I turned over the giraffe. Besides my address and a stamp, there was only a letter B. I turned a few more over to find letters and numbers. Only the zebra had a message. It was the first postcard I had received from him. I read the message again, looking for some kind of clue.

  My sweet wife,

  I had to leave. I’ll be home soon and make things right.

  Yours, Ian

  Frankie burst through the door. I jumped at his sudden intrusion, flinging the postcard across the room.

  “Knock next time,” I scolded, clutching my skipping heart.

  “This is too important. Look what I have!” He bounded over the postcards and shoved a card under my nose.

  “All Celebrities Chapel Frequent Marriage Rewards Card,” I read. My brows furrowed. “Why would anyone need a frequent marriage rewards card?”

  “It’s perfect for everyone. Look . . .” He pointed to my name written on the card. “I started one for you and gave you credit for Ian. Now all you have to do is get hitched one more time and you’ll get the third marriage for free.”

  “No one wants to start out their marriage thinking they’ll divorce and actually use this card. It’s like giving them bad news on their wedding day.”

  “We both know the divorce-rate statistics. And we both know our clients are drunk ninety percent of the time.”

  “Still . . . it’s bad juju.”

  He turned the card over. “That’s why I’ve added renewing vows. So those that are delusional will keep the card. When are you divorcing Ian?”

  “I met with the lawyer today. There should be cliff notes for lawyer lingo. All I know i
s that she’s going to fix it and send Ian the bill.”

  “Where did you tell her to send the bill? It’s not like you know where he lives. Suitcases don’t come with addresses.”

  I grinned sheepishly. “I gave her Greyson’s address.”

  Frankie’s eyes bulged. “Do you have a death wish?”

  I chuckled. “Perhaps I do.”

  “Pushing buttons until you get a response, huh?”

  I shrugged. “I guess. I’m still angry. I want him to be angry too.”

  “You’re poking a hungry lion. By his reaction at the fight, he already wants to take a chomp out of your hide.”

  “And after he’s done his worst, he can help Ian.”

  “Is that what this is about? Getting Greyson’s attention or to help his brother?”

  “Look at these postcards. No one else has received any. Just me. Why would he send me all these blank postcards when he’s on the run?”

  Frankie flipped a few postcards over and puzzled. “Why does this one have a number three and this other one has an ‘R’?”

  “Exactly my point. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “They look like they’re all sent from the same post office.”

  “If they’re mailed from the same place, maybe that’s where he’s hiding.”

  “Are you going to tell anyone?” he asked.

  “No. Ian sent these to me on purpose. He obviously doesn’t want anyone else to know.”

  “What are you going to do? Buy a plane ticket to Africa and try to find him?"

  “There’s no way I’m traipsing through Africa looking for a married thief. But I will try to figure out this riddle then let David sort it out.”

  “I’m not good at solving riddles. Maybe put them in order by date and see if they spell anything.”

  “That might work.” I scooped up the pile and began sorting.

  Frankie’s pocket crooned with a song I didn’t recognize. He pulled out his phone and scanned it. “That damn frog has higher numbers!” Frankie gasped.

  “Frog?” I eyed Frankie as he paced the floor. He shoved the phone into his pocket only to pull it out and scowl again.

  “Charming sent over his numbers. They’re beating us! How is that possible? Our numbers were great, and you distracted him long enough for Lenny to fill a bus.”

  “He had the rest of the night to lure other couples. Are you sure those numbers are accurate? Maybe he’s lying to you?”

  “I don’t think he would lie. He knows it would spur me into action. That’s the last thing they’d want if they were behind . . . which they’re not. With numbers like these, he doesn’t consider us competition.”

  “We could lose gracefully. Maybe he won’t proceed with the billboard if we end things amicably.”

  “Not likely. Along with the numbers, he sent me the preliminary billboard design.”

  “Let me see.”

  Frankie passed his phone to my outstretched hand. I suppressed a smile when I saw Charming’s booted foot on a subdued Lenny ogre while his sword jutted upwards, piercing a vicious Frankie dragon. Frankie’s face was twisted in agony at the deadly blow. I was depicted as the saved maiden kneeling at Charming’s feet, bosoms pressed against his thigh, swooning at his broad, sparkling smile.

  “It’s not bad,” I said, ignoring my churning stomach. “You’ve told me there’s no such thing as bad publicity. I’d rather not be clinging to Charming, but there are worse fates.”

  “He put my face on a dragon and skewered me!”

  “Would you rather be the ogre? I’m sure he’d allow the switch. Personally, I think Lenny is more of an ogre.”

  “I don’t want to be either.”

  “Then you’ll have to be the maiden.”

  Frankie mumbled.

  “I didn’t hear that.”

  He mumbled again. I picked up the word “maiden.”

  “Frankie!” I peeled with laughter. “Do you want to be the maiden?”

  He bristled. “No, I want to win! I refuse to have this billboard go up!”

  I watched his face turn crimson as he resumed frantically pacing back and forth.

  I’ve never seen Frankie worked up into such a tizzy over something so silly. “You have a crush on Charming, don’t you?” I asked in wonder.

  He stalled and turned to me. “I don’t have a crush! I don’t want to be a dragon or an ogre . . . or a maiden! We are going to win this stupid challenge, even if it kills us! Be prepared to work around the clock,” he barked and stormed out.

  Interesting.

  I turned my attention back to the postcards and laid them in order. It only confirmed my suspicion: These postcards are useless!

  Gus waddled over and plopped down, sprawling across the postcards.

  “Do you need attention or food?” I asked. Since he never moved for something as trivial as attention, it must be food. “Do you want more diet nibbles?”

  He played dead . . . except for a scowl that I’m starting to think is permanent.

  Chapter 8

  I stood in front of the Dirty Flamingo. The cracked building facade was just the beginning of the possible horrors that lie within. Roy told me to meet him here. I’m doubting his judgment.

  I glanced at my phone to see Caleb’s number flash across the screen. I pressed ignore for the third time since the other night. I didn’t trust myself to talk to him even though I’d promised I would. The million-dollar wager simmered through, calling to me. I shook my head. I could easily slip into the role of Caleb’s girlfriend. It would be easy. Too easy. And too easy for things to go horribly wrong.

  Would Caleb let me out of the relationship if it went sour before the year was up? What if it was great and I wanted to keep the relationship going but he didn’t? I couldn’t ask him to stay because the relationship was only based on a wager.

  What the hell am I thinking? I can’t accept Caleb’s wager either way. And what kind of gambler thinks of the loss and not the win? The one-million-dollar win!

  Oy!

  “Hey, short stuff!” Roy called from the door. “Are you coming inside or what? I’ve got two seats saved at the donkey table.”

  I followed him into the smoky building. We wove around a bar wrapped in shag carpeting, surrounded by an island of slot machines. They had to be from the seventies. Not one new item graced the Dirty Flamingo.

  “Why are we here? Is it safe?” I asked, keeping only a half-step distance between us.

  “They have the best hold’em tables, and the action is hot at the donkey table. You’ll see.”

  “If it’s so hot, why didn’t you tell me about it sooner?”

  “You were happy at Lost City. I didn’t have to worry about you there.” He waved at a man in a threadbare Hawaiian shirt. A black flamingo emblem was peeling off the front. The man gave a nod and pointed to a table at the far end. “Our table is ready. He’s a genius when it comes to setting up a proper table.”

  “How does he know the player’s style?”

  “There are a lot of regulars, but this guy has a sixth sense,” Roy stated in near awe. “He can predict day to day what a player’s stack will be."

  “Why is he so amicable and giving you the donkey table to prey on?”

  “He owes me. And it’s not preying if the players are too stupid to know when to lay down." A smile slid into place as we approached the table and took our seats.

  Roy was two spots away. I, unfortunately, was wedged between two large burly men who crowded my space with tank tops and exposed armpits. If the action wasn’t free flowing, I was out of there. No money was worth this torture.

  The men surrounding the table broke into wide grins as I was dealt in. I held back a smirk. If they think I’m the donkey of the table, they have a surprise coming.

  Donkeys can be easy pickings. They play emotionally and can’t throw down a good hand when it’s clear someone has a better one. It’s easy to get sucked into their playing style and lose money. I just have to remem
ber to play by my rules and keep my wits.

  However, I can help them stumble. I winked at the player with the largest wolfish grin. His eyes widened. Roy grimaced. He might not be a fan of my tactics, but we’ll see who walks out with the heaviest pockets.

  “Why do I only have two cards?” I mumbled audibly as I gathered the cards from the table and held them, exposing the hand to prying eyes behind me.

  Roy shot a warning look. My lips tilted into a smile that made Roy rub his chest as heartburn crept in.

  * * *

  “That table was hot!” Roy said with a full-tooth grin as he cashed in his chips. “I’ve never seen such action.”

  The thick bundle of cash in my pocket had me grinning ear to ear. “I’ve never seen players toss chips at each other. Not only did they play like donkeys, they were so on tilt they couldn’t see the cards in front of them.”

  “You started it. They thought you were going to be easy pickins. I wouldn’t attempt it again. If the players found out, you wouldn’t be able to come back here without an altercation.”

  “I won’t. That was a one-time show. And now I have enough to pay rent for two months. That was an awesome haul.”

  After Roy collected his money, we walked to the parking lot. “We should leave while we’re still able. A few of those men looked ready to skin us alive when we took our chips and walked.”

  “They should think before they put their money on the table.”

  Roy’s eyes flicked over. “Get in the car!”

  I turned to find the two large men I was crammed between coming at us. One cracked his knuckles while the other pulled brass knuckles from his pocket and slipped them around his fingers.

  “Holy . . .” Words were lost as Roy and I scrambled to his car.

  We jumped in and slammed the doors as one of the men closed in. With brass knuckles, he bashed Roy’s window, shattering it.

  “Go!” I screamed over the breaking glass as Roy revved the engine.