“Do you know the game?” I ask.
Pete nods. “Got any coins with a bull on them?”
I choke back a smirk because he’s played right into my hands. This is:
The Rope
Pull the mark in but let them tie themself up.
My eyebrows raise, and I make sure my glance over to my bag is brief but noticeable.
“I don’t see any here.” I nod to the coins in front of me.
Pete grunts and hikes up his pants. “First round free?”
I smile and start shuffling the coins. Pete’s eyes are intent on my hands.
“Most people don’t ask about the bull,” I say.
Having a bull obol would get Pete into Ferrymen territory, which, frankly, would be a stupid move on his part, given that they just killed him and made sure he wasn’t buried with any on him. They can’t kill him twice, but there are things in the Afterlife that will make him wish they could.
I clear my throat, and in the brief moment Pete’s gaze flicks up to mine, I switch out the star obol with another skull coin. I’ve been practicing for almost a year and still only have a 95 percent success rate. With cards it’s down to 80 percent. Anything biggerthan that is anyone’s guess. My hands are small. Stubby fingers, short palms. I wasn’t made for sleight of hand, but sometimes you’ve got to work with what you’ve got.
Fortunately, this attempt goes off without a hitch, and by the time Pete’s eyes are back on my hands, I’ve already made the swap.
I pull back from the coins and nod to them. Pete points to where the star would have been if I hadn’t changed it out. I flip the coin over, revealing the skull.
“Bad luck, sir,” I say.
Sure, luck.
With most marks, I’d let them win the first one—get their confidence up a little. But I’ve taken a calculated risk based on what I know of Pete. He doesn’t like to lose, but he also won’t step away from a bad situation until he can prove he can win.
I pretend I’m not holding my breath as his face turns red and his jaw works. My gaze flicks past his shoulder, suggesting impatience. Really, I’m just keeping an eye out for the unwanted guests that should be showing up any minute.
Finally, Pete says, “Let me try again.”
I shake my head. “Only first round’s free. You’ll have to put down a wager.”
He pulls out his wallet from his front jacket pocket and flips through the cash inside. He puts down a twenty.
“Another round.”
I give him a patronizing expression, a delicate balance between a scowl and a smirk. “Money’s no good here.”
He knows this. He was counting on menotknowing.
Pete pats down his pockets, but it appears Charon was thorough. He buried Pete with nothing but a few twenties and the clothes on his back.
And on his wrist. Pete pauses at his watch, and I let my eyes go out of focus, make my breath last for a count of ten. But he doesn’tremove it. Instead, he reaches into his jacket, snaps through the seams in the lining, and pulls out a human finger bone.
I did not see that coming.
My eyebrows raise, but I don’t let myself hesitate before I say, “That’ll do.”
Anyone would kill, metaphorically speaking, to get their hands on that much organic material in the Afterlife. I would be a fool not to jump at it, so I plaster on a grin and start to shuffle the coins, but Pete stops me.
“I’ll only put this down for a chance at the bull.”
