At the mention of the total, Krye’s eyebrows raise. “You had better not double-time me, Pan. You in some kind of trouble?”
Always, I think. But not the kind of trouble Krye means. Not this time, anyway. Just two guys we sort of know—Mike and JD, out of Kensington, borderline dirtbags—who happened to get lucky in hold ‘em when the house—meaning Pan—was out of cash. And Pan being Pan, the most valuable thing heownsis a leather jacket. It’s stupid, all told, but most of the things he gets himself intoarestupid.
“Nah, nah.” Pan swipes the air. “Nothing like that. Little underground game is all.”
“Underground game?” Again, Krye looks at me.
“Uh, poker,” I explain. “Cards. Gambling. We run games sometimes for fun.” Well,Panruns them. But still.
“Pan!” Krye shakes his head slowly, throws up his hands for good measure. “Why? This is bad idea.”
“Yeah, maybe if you don’t know how to play.” Pan shrugs, grinning. “But I know what I’m fucking doing.”
Well, so much for not running his mouth. I stuff my hands in my jacket pockets and try to move things along. Get the cash, get the delivery,go.“So?—”
“Itisbad idea.” Krye doesn’t hear me, his voice hard and serious now. “And you know why,mik.”
“Yeah?” Pan chuckles. “Why?”
Krye’s response is one word.
“Hook.”
That.
That, I am not expecting to hear.
That’s a knife, right in the stomach.
Pan bursts out laughing. But I see it more than hear it. My ears are ringing, all the sound thinned down to just a whine and my vision gone wiggly.
“Like he even cares,” Pan says. “I’m not worried about him.”
I’m drowning. I have to—I pretend to scratch my neck, dig nails in harder than I need to, and the pain grounds me.
“He does,” Krye says evenly. “And you should be. Especially now.”
“Why?”
I didn’t mean to speak up.
But I did.
“I just…what makes you say that?” My voice is rough. Maybe that’s for the better.
Krye looks at me. “End of month,” he says simply. “Casino revenue is down, I hear. Hook is on warpath.” He stares at Pan, points with a ringed finger. “And he does not like our friend Pan. Find out he’s cleaning up off-the-books games, and…”
He makes an explosion sound with his lips.
Pan folds his arms. “Weren’t you in a rush?”
Krye laughs, but he finally hands the packages to Pan. “Here. Take. Small one is money for you. Second one, hold on for now and I will text you address when it is time.” He pats his pants pockets and pulls something out: a cell phone, gas station burner, the prepaid kind. He holds it out to Pan, but not all the way. “And youanswer phone, okay,mik? It will always be me, this one.”
Pan holds three fingers in the air, the bundle under one arm. “Scout’s honor.”
Krye frowns. He lifts the phone a half inch closer to Pan, and then, and then, at the last second, holds it out to me.
“Me?”
