Deep Dark Night

by Steph Broadribb

  The uniformed man behind the concierge desk clears his throat. He’s groomed real nice with a symmetrical goatee and the wrinkleless forehead of a Botox user. ‘Welcome to Skyland Tower,’ he says. ‘Who are you visiting with tonight?’

  I stride up to the counter, tall on my heels. My heart’s pounding in my chest, but my voice is calm and authoritative. ‘We’re visiting suite 6311 as guests of Carmella Davies.’

  ‘Can I take your names, please?’ The concierge’s tone is real polite, but there’s a hint of caution to his smile now, a kind of fixed-ness.

  ‘Lori Anderson, and my associate, James Tate.’

  The concierge checks our names on his computer, then gives us a broad smile and gestures towards the line of elevators on the far wall. ‘Take elevator one to the sixty-third floor, and have a great night.’

  I thank him, then JT and me stride across to the elevators. I press the call button for elevator one. Take a breath and try to ease the pounding of my heartbeat.

  We wait. I face the elevator, staring at my reflection in the mirrored doors. In my high heels, tight black dress and with my hair pinned up into a chignon I look a whole lot different to usual. And although I’d rather be in my Levi’s, I’m hopeful this look will prove a useful distraction to my fellow players and help me get the job done.

  JT faces the foyer, still alert to threats. Taking my cell from my pocket, I dial Monroe.

  He answers after two rings. ‘You okay?’

  ‘I am,’ I say. ‘Things alright with you?’

  ‘Audio and video good.’

  ‘Great.’ I end the call.

  The elevator announces its arrival with a ping. We step inside. On the control panel, the buttons for the sixty-third floor are specific to each of the four penthouses. I press the button for 6311. As we start to ascend my stomach flips.

  JT leans towards me. His lips caress my cheek, and he whispers, ‘You’ve got this. Just stay focused. I’ll be right by your side the whole time.’

  I nod. Try not to think about my last job, and how it turned into a massive shootout between two warring factions of the Miami Mob and the FBI. The walk out of the farmhouse I’d been holed up in, past all the bloodied, broken bodies, will forever be etched on my mind. I never want to be in a situation like that again. Never want to see so many wasted lives. I look at JT. ‘We play poker, get the transfer done and get out. No shooting.’

  JT smiles. He takes my free hand and squeezes it. ‘Deal.’

  I squeeze his fingers. Try not to think about what’s at stake; about Dakota sleeping on Red’s houseboat, and the hold Monroe has on me, and what a dodgy son-of-a-bitch he can be. Instead I think about poker, the chess pieces and staying in the game long enough to go heads-up, one-on-one, with Cabressa.

  I take a breath. Smile at JT. The odds might be against us, but together, I know we can get this done.

  The elevator opens straight into the lobby of the penthouse. If I thought downstairs was fancy, this place is on a whole other level. Black-and-white marble floors, high ceilings with crown mouldings and wood-panelled walls. There’s a hat stand, a coat closet and two heavy-set security guards. They look like a pair of massive bookends. Both are dressed in black with their dark hair closely cropped. Their weapons belts are fully loaded. I eye their guns and feel glad I brought my Taser.

  The guy closest beckons me forward. ‘Good evening, Miss Anderson. Please step this way.’ His voice is soft and friendly, but that doesn’t mean his words are any less of an order. He looks at JT. ‘Sir, if you could unholster your weapon and hand it to my colleague, I’d sure appreciate it.’

  JT glances at me with an ‘I told you so’ expression, and starts to undo the buckle.

  I move over to where the security guy’s standing.

  He’s holding a scanner wand and uses it to gesture towards my carryall. ‘What’s in the bag?’

  I put the carryall on the ground. ‘My buy-in and collateral for the game. There’s a Taser as well.’ I glance over to JT, who’s handing his gun over to the second security guy. ‘I’m guessing you’ll be wanting to remove that.’

  The guard unzips my carryall and lifts out the Taser. He carries it across to his colleague and puts it into the metal box on the table beside him. I notice that the box has the name Anderson written on the front label.

  He returns to where I’m standing. Meets my gaze. ‘Please adopt the stance, Miss Anderson. I’m going to do a sweep.’ His voice remains soft, kind. ‘It’s just a formality, you understand. For your safety and ours.’

  Nodding, I spread my arms wide. Hold my breath. And hope to hell the micro camera is as undetectable as Monroe claimed.

  15

  The wand beeps and the security guard waves it back over the area again. There’s a second beep, followed by a third. Outwardly I stay still and try to act calm. Inwardly, though, it’s a whole different story. If these guards find the micro camera it’s real likely Cabressa will find out. That happens and he’ll be having his people skin my hide and nail it to the barn door.

  The security guy looks across at his pal. ‘Got a problem here.’

  The other security guard steps over to join us. I feel like a minnow beside two sharks. I’m wishing I were a minnow with a Taser.

  I clench my fists. Get ready to defend myself. We can’t fail yet. We’ve not even made it into the poker room.

  ‘Hold still, Miss Anderson,’ says the first security guy. He moves the wand inch-by-inch over me working from the bottom up. The closer the wand gets to my head, the sicker I feel. It beeps as it passes my chest.

  The guy scratches his head. ‘I’m sorry, I’m going to look under your dress.’

  I stare at him a moment. There’s no way of doing this and keeping my dignity. JT looks unhappy, but I can’t exactly refuse. Luckily the material is stretchy enough I can peel it down over my shoulder.

  The guard’s cheeks flush as he slowly passes the wand over my chest again. It beeps as it gets to the bottom of my lace bra. He glances at his buddy and for a minute I think they’re going to tell me to take off my bra. Then he gestures towards my bra and says, ‘You got metal in there?’

  ‘Just the underwire.’

  ‘That’d be it,’ he says. ‘Let me just go over you with the bug detector to be sure.’ He produces a small, silver device from his belt. Switches it on, and passes it over me. He gives me a smile. ‘You’re all set. Sorry about that. But I’m sure you appreciate we have to ensure the safety of all our guests.’

  ‘Of course,’ I say. My body is still on high alert – adrenaline pulsing through me, ready for flight or fight. I clasp my hands together to stop him seeing they’re shaking.

  Having put JT’s gun into the metal box with my Taser, they seal the top and put it on a small trolley alongside six other identical boxes. The security guard hands my carryall back to me. ‘Your weapons will be held downstairs in the security room until you leave. They will be returned to you at that time.’

  I nod and move towards the door that leads through into the rest of the suite. Before I get to it, the door swings open and a tall, beautiful woman wearing a fitted black dress and jacket and skyscraper heels, a leopard-print scarf tied around her neck, steps into the foyer. She smiles at me and then at JT, and beckons us through the door. ‘Welcome, Miss Anderson. Please come this way.’

  I step through the doorway and into the lion’s den.

  *

  The penthouse is more luxurious than anything I’ve seen. Carmella leads us through into the main open-plan living space. The walls are painted pure white. The floors are stripped oak – solid wood not laminate. It feels more like an art gallery than a home, with huge Modernist paintings filling the wall space. I glance at JT and I can tell he’s thinking the same. This place is a whole other world.

  We stop in the living space. The kitchen is at one end, all sleek white units, marble countertops and stainless-steel appliances, with the huge island separating it from the rest of the area. From ther
e it flows through the sitting area, filled with colour-popping modern couches, a white baby-grand piano, and through to the table at the far right of the space. It’s a full-sized poker table, laid out ready for play. I notice the packs of cards, still in their shrink wrap, sitting on the green felt beside a Shuffle Master machine. All along the far wall are bifold glass doors. Half have been opened, and through the sheer white drapes, which are billowing gently in the breeze, I can see a paved terrace area and the twinkling lights of the city beyond.

  Carmella turns to me and smiles. She gestures towards the kitchen, where a young woman in a black skirt and white blouse is pouring champagne for a group of men. ‘Come this way, please,’ she says. ‘Let me introduce you.’

  As I follow her, I see one of the security guys wave JT over to an open door leading away from the living space. I halt, unsure of what’s happening. The security man steps over to us. Looks towards my carryall and then at JT. ‘Please bring the bag this way.’

  JT meets my gaze. I know the etiquette of this game is to be respected. It seems while the players gather in the main open-plan area, have a glass of champagne and get introduced, their close protection take the buy-in money into a side room – a bedroom, I remember from the floorplan – and wait while the cash is counted. I don’t want to be separated from JT, but it seems I have little choice. I pass the carryall to him. Force a smile.

  ‘I’ll be right outside that door,’ he says.

  As he walks away with the security guy, I turn and follow Carmella. Over by the island unit I’m handed a glass of champagne. It’s then, as I feel all eyes turn to appraise me, that I’m hit with it. Aside from Carmella and the server, I’m the only other woman here in the suite.

  ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ Carmella looks at me. ‘And lady. And a warm welcome to this month’s game. As you know the buy-in for tonight stands at fifty thousand dollars. For those who have brought additional funds or have a line of credit with the house, you’re permitted two subsequent buy-ins. While the buy-ins are being counted, please enjoy your champagne. We’ll be starting in a few minutes.’

  The men start talking among themselves. I take a sip of the champagne. It’s smooth and dry, but I’m careful not to drink too much. I’m going to need all my smarts if I’m going to make it through to heads-up.

  Carmella steps towards me. ‘Miss Anderson—’

  ‘Call me Lori, please,’ I say.

  She smiles graciously. ‘Okay, Lori. Can I introduce you to the rest of the players?’

  ‘Thank you, yes.’

  Carmella puts her hand on the arm of a tall black guy whose arm muscles rival those of the security. ‘Otis Valha, can I introduce you to Lori Anderson. She’s a new player joining us tonight.’

  Otis smiles and shakes my hand with his gold-ring-clad fingers. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Lori.’ He gestures to the older, balding, thick-set guy in a blue suit and brown brogues he’s talking to. ‘You come to take Carl’s money off him?’

  I smile. ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Otis clinks his champagne glass against mine. ‘We’ll have some fun.’

  ‘Who’s having fun?’ A red-faced, tubby guy in a red polo shirt and chinos is staring at me. He holds out his hand. ‘I’m Anton Peck.’

  ‘Lori,’ I say as I shake his hand. His palm’s sweaty, and his grip is too firm. He pumps my hand up and down longer and harder than is necessary. I figure that when we first sit down to play, this guy will be one of those who try to dominate the play.

  Releasing my hand, he tugs on the sleeve of one of the men whose back is to me, talking to two others. The man turns. He’s about six feet tall, I’d say in his fifties and looking good on it. Cropped dark hair with a few greys around the temples, black suit, beautifully tailored, and shiny black loafers. When he smiles it’s the mega-watt smile of a movie star. ‘I’m Mikey Fitzgerald,’ he says, taking my hand and holding it in both of his. ‘From the mayor’s office.’

  ‘Lori,’ I say. Damn, this man knows how to hold some intense eye contact. I pull my hand away first.

  ‘And I’m Johnny, Johnny Keto,’ says the athletic-looking guy with a shaved head and a big, bushy beard who’s standing beside Mikey.

  I frown. Tilt my head to one side. ‘How do I know that name?’

  Johnny grins. ‘You a fan of baseball, Lori?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Maybe you’ve seen me in action then.’

  I nod. ‘Could be that I have.’

  ‘Miss Anderson?’ The group goes quiet as the man at the back starts to speak. His Chicago accent is stronger than any of the others. And as he approaches, Mikey and Johnny move aside to let him through. ‘So nice to finally meet you.’

  He looks younger than the late-fifties I know him to be, with gelled black hair and a deep tan. I recognise this man from the pictures Monroe has shown me. He’s got the athletic bulk of a man who boxed in his younger days and carries himself in a way that suggests he still does and rarely loses. My heart rate accelerates but I stand my ground. Hold out my hand and smile, conscious that all eyes are on me. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Cabressa.’

  He grins, laughter lines deepening around his eyes as he does so. ‘Likewise, Miss Anderson. I’m told you play a good game.’

  I fight to keep my smile in place. Despite his obvious strength, his handshake is damp and flaccid. ‘I like to think so.’

  He lets go of my hand, but the smile is still on his lips as he says, ‘Let’s hope that’s true.’

  16

  I’m still staring at Cabressa when the door of the bedroom opens and one of the bookend security guys appears. Seven guys – JT plus six others I’ve not seen before – file out of the bedroom and back towards the foyer. I catch JT’s eye. He looks worried, but I can’t do anything to find out why without attracting attention.

  JT and the rest of the guys exit into the foyer behind the security guard. As the door closes behind them the second bookend security guy appears from the bedroom. He makes his way to the door, then stops and turns towards us.

  Carmella looks at him and raises her eyebrow.

  The atmosphere suddenly feels all kinds of tense. Something’s up. Every player is watching Carmella. I turn towards her as well and wonder what the hell’s going on.

  The security guy gives Carmella a nod.

  There’s an audible exhalation from the players around me. Otis Valha’s shoulders drop as he relaxes. Johnny Keto slaps Mikey Fitzgerald on the back.

  Carmella smiles and raises her glass. ‘Our administration is complete and everything is in order, so let’s play.’

  It’s like a stampede at a rodeo as the men rush to find their seats, racing each other to their favourite spots. I hang back, watching. It’s my first time at this kind of rodeo and I need to learn the way things work.

  I take a seat at the table opposite Carmella and between Carl Reynolds, the banker, and Otis Valha, the boxer. Cabressa has taken the seat at the head of the table – to my left, along past Carl. I notice how Carl and the man sitting on the other side of Cabressa – Johnny Keto, the ball player – slide their chairs a little further from him. Their expressions don’t give anything away, so I can’t tell whether the movement is motivated out of respect, and they’re giving the city’s premier mobster more space, or whether it’s part of the game. At the opposite end of the table from Cabressa is the guy from the mayor’s office, Mikey Fitzgerald. I watch as he takes a pair of shades from the inside pocket of his suit and puts them on. Carmella catches my eye and raises an eyebrow, then looks away and removes the packaging from a fresh deck of cards before loading them into the Shuffle Master. On her right, Johnny Keto, the ball player, is watching her movements like a hawk. To her left, sitting between her and Mikey, Anton Peck, who I learn from the chit-chat around the table is a realtor, switches his cell onto silent before putting it back into the pocket of his pants.

  I glance towards the door to the lobby. The heavy-set security guy is standing with his back to it. The
re’s no sign of JT returning.

  The server leans between me and Otis, and tops up our champagne glasses. Once she’s finished, she positions six full champagne bottles in freestanding ice buckets around the table, and then she leaves through the door back towards the elevator. As the door opens I try to see whether JT is still in the foyer.

  When I realise he isn’t I start to get concerned. I turn back towards Carmella. ‘When do our security people come back in here?’

  ‘They don’t. During the game only the players and myself remain in the suite.’ She gestures to the security guy over by the door. ‘The exception being Thomas who stays at the room for all our security.’

  I frown. Wonder where the hell they’ve taken JT if he’s not in the suite. ‘Did you ask them to leave?’

  She gives a little laugh and shakes her head. ‘Of course not, they’re waiting down on the sixty-second floor, where we have a special room laid out for their comfort. If you need to leave the table for any reason when cards are in play, you can request your security personnel returns to take your seat while you’re absent. Otherwise, it’s just us until the game is won.’