Page 35 of New Orleans Rush

“Seems that way.”

“You’ll have to get creative.”

The others scrutinized the interaction, eyes darting like they were watching an Olympic ping-pong match. They’d been down this block before. Oliphant lived to taunt Huxley, and the others wanted more loot added to the pot.

This was when jewelry came into play, the watches and earrings and rings allowed if money ran tight. But Oliphant wanted something in particular: a T. rex skull he’d lost to Max Marlow in an epic poker match. Oliphant had used the hunk of bones in a special levitation illusion, and he’d win it back over Huxley’s rotting body. He was the reason Huxley was playing poker and would never kiss Beatrice again. Watching him choke on this loss would provide a shot of pleasure.

Huxley studied his cards. He blinked four times. “I have a T. rex skull. Would that be allowed?”

Oliphant froze, all but his flaring nostrils. “I’ll allow it.”

“It’s worth a lot,” Huxley added, “as you well know.” He looked at Oliphant’s ruby ring, Ms. Terious’s diamond studs, Horatio’s gold chain. “You’ll need to cover my bet.”

Delmar tipped back on his chair’s legs, the furniture squeaking under his bulk. “Glad I bowed outta this one. More fun to watch the carnage.”

“Y’all are pushing me to my limit.” This from Ms. Terious, as she removed her earrings, adding them plus fifty to the pot. She sighed, pretending she didn’t think she had the game in the bag.

Horatio hopped on her bluffing train. “Too hard to back out now.” His gold chain slinked onto the pile with some cash.

“Guess the best player will win.” Oliphant added his stake, trying to sound dejected. He practically frothed at the mouth.

“He will,” Huxley said. With the bet called, he laid out his cards, one by one, enjoying the bulging of Oliphant’s eyes as he realized Huxley’s royal flush had his straight flush beat.

“You stacked the deck.” Oliphant forced the accusation through gritted teeth.

Huxley grinned for the first time all night. “You were all too giddy over your hands to notice.”

Ms. Terious huffed about losing her earrings. Delmar and Horatio grumbled as they left the room. Oliphant didn’t budge. “That skull is mine.”

“That skull was my father’s, which means it’s mine.”

“He won it in a sloppy hand.”

“If it were sloppy, you would have caught him cheating.”

Oliphant jumped to his feet, sending his chair toppling behind him. “You’re as arrogant as he ever was. You don’t deserve that theater, or that skull. I look forward to the day it goes up for auction.”

“Over my worm-infested body.”

Huxley didn’t tell the man he’d witnessed him picking pockets in Club Crimson. Stealing from drunk customers was as low as low got. Stealing from drunk customers in Vito’s club was grounds for insanity. One word to the owner, who made Al Capone look like a teddy bear, and Oliphant would never bother the Marlow family again. But Huxley didn’t want to stoop to Oliphant’s level. He would deal with things aboveboard, as his father would have wanted.

More drained than pleased, he left Club Crimson with double what he’d made last week. Axel’s salacious acts and the current music were bringing in more business, too, and he had eighteen days left to cover what he owed Trevor. The way things were going, he’d have the cash early. He should be overjoyed, thrilled to be upgrading the theater and thwarting Oliphant’s schemes. But the constant ache in his chest quelled his pleasure.

He’d relived his kisses with Beatrice on a loop. Soft. Warm. Watermelon. Woman. If he could have more of that—a semblance of balance in his life—he’d be able to cope with the rest. Find ways to make it all work. Instead he was Curmudgeonly Smurf, his surly status reaching new heights.

His phone rang, and for one sharp breath he thought it was Beatrice calling, because he’d officially lost his mind.

It was Axel. “Who’s that veterinarian you know?”

Huxley didn’t often hear worry in Axel’s voice. “Something wrong with Stanley?”

“He’s not eating, and his gums are red and swollen. He might need antibiotics.”

Huxley didn’t love that old gopher snake, but Axel treated it like his child. “Have you been cleaning his terrarium? Making sure he has fresh water?”

“I’m not ten, Hux. I know how to take care of my fucking snake. But…”

“But what?”