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REINA
The bar was exactlyhow I remembered it. Just as bustling and full to the brim as ever. I shouldered between the big, bulky bodies that blocked the way, guiding myself from memory to the bar. At its edge, the bartender nodded at me in a silent greeting before I leaned over the worn wood to shout my order.
“Whiskey, twist of lemon.” He nodded again and set to work. It was strange being able to order without hassle, unlike all the other times I had snuck in here with a fake id with older boys from school. I turned and let my eyes circle the room's length, taking everything in.
If there was something you needed to know, this was the place to come to find your answers. Booze loosened the lips of even the sturdiest man, so finding secrets in this place was like spotting a cloud in the sky. I needed to find out which lips would do the spilling tonight.
“Whiskey, lemon. Ten fifty.”
I blinked at him, shocked by the absurd price for the watered-down piss he’d passed me. When his hand slapped the top of the bar, making me jump with a start, I realized he was serious.
“This shit better blow my panties off,” I muttered as I dropped the money on the bar.
The guy to her left chuckled, “If it doesn’t, I’m happy to give it a go.”
I turned to give him a placid look, almost daring him to make another snide comment. He smirked, meeting my challenge. Grabbing my drink, I leaned toward him, “The only thing getting blown around here if you come near me will be your face being blown off.” I smiled as sweetly as possible before stepping away and weaving my way through the crowd.
Despite my very real threat, I could still feel his eyes burning into my back. My fingers tightened around the highball in my hand as I moved toward the pool table, ringed by a group of guys who looked only a few years older than me. Not that age mattered right now, but I would be able to sweet-talk my way into getting information out of them a little easier than some world-weary and weathered older man.
“Mind if I join boys?” I flashed them a grin, setting my drink on the side of the table before holding out my hand for a cue with a flutter of my eyelids. They sized me up, exchanging a silent question before someone stretched out a cue toward me from across the table. I smiled in a warm and friendly way as my fingers curled around the end.
One of the guys moved around arranging the balls in the triangle before they all turned to look at me. A couple jostled their buddies and whispered something under their breath. No doubt they were making bets on how long I would last or how miserably I would lose. It was all the better for me. The more they decided I wasn’t a threat, the more information I might get out of them.
“Wanna break?”
I bit my lip enough to look naïve and smiled again. “Could you show me how?”
“You have played this before, haven’t you, sugar?” Mr. Dark and Handsome from across the table cocked an eyebrow. Shrugging, I didn’t bother to answer the question but let him imagine their desired answer. That was all it took. The first one to lean forward toward me was a shaggy-haired blonde who grinned like the devil himself.
“I’d be happy to show you how to shoot.”
I nodded. “I’d be ever so obliged.” I laid on a Southern accent thick as batter. He grinned more, looking like he’d guaranteed a one-way ticket into my pants. He came around me and slid his hand along my arm while the other fell to my hip, shifting my stance. I could feel his half-chub rubbing against my ass from this position, undoubtedly a silent proposition of what I could expect if I chose him.
Except I knew his type all too well, and he certainly had no idea what to do with a pussy when he got one.
He talked me through how to line up a shot, take it, hold my fingers, and hold my body. Every instruction spoke in whispers of the sexual promise he had for me, so I carried on with the naïve routine, letting him finish his teaching.
“Gee, you’re so smart.” I grinned, leaning against my cue so I could jut my hips toward him, letting him read my body language the way he wanted to.
“They tell me that.” Several of his companions disagreed vocally behind us, but I smiled at him.
“You wouldn’t happen to know where I might find somewhere to play a bit more serious of a game—do you?” I leaned in closer toward Blondie, letting my chest puff out enough to draw his eye as he spoke slowly.
“Game? What kind of game are you looking for, princess? I can play any kind of game you’d like.” He grinned in what I suspected was supposed to be a charming way as I giggled vapidly.
“Well, I was thinking cards. Or dice even. I’m pretty lucky, or so I’ve been told.” I smiled goofily at him before turning back to the table and taking a shot. I deliberately let the cue slip on the ball, skipping it over the table and whacking another guy standing around the table. “Whoopsie.”
“You wanna get lucky? I can—”
“I’m looking for card games, Lucky.” I cut him off swiftly, “Pool isn’t my thing, I don’t think.” I tried to look sheepish.
“Ah, don’t you worry about it. I’m sure you’re good at more important things.” He ruffled my hair like I was a child. Giggling like an airhead, I tried to play up the fake-bimbo thing so they felt more comfortable divulging whatever secret they held. My gut told me they knew exactly where I might find the illegal game my drunk dad skipped off to tonight. He was gone before I could stop him, hoping to make back all the money he’d lost before the Outfit came for him. But by his state, he was only heading into trouble. If someone needed to play to win back his debt, it needed to be me.
I needed to find out where the hell he’d gone.
Blondie laughed, coming up behind me while someone else readjusted the ball.
“Like this.” He whispered in my ear, the faint smell of his beer wafting around my cheek and up my nose. It twitched in disdain, trying to curl.
“Ohh …” I said with another silly grin before stepping back and letting the next person take their shot. I leaned against the table, watching Blondie watch me before straightening and moving toward him. I bumped my hip against his.
“So, any idea where I might find the kind of game I’m looking for?”
He looked at me, briefly glancing at his companions before our eyes met, “well, between you and me … The De Lucas are running an underground casino out of the Archbishop's Residence.”
My surprise was genuine. The Archbishop was allowing mobsters to run an illegal gambling operation out of his private home?
“The Archbishop’s Residence,” I said carefully, trying to make sure I heard him right over the din of the bar.
“Mmm, yeah. Crazy, right? But I guess the cops would never guess what was going on there, so it’s perfect.” He kept talking, but it was his body language I was interested in. His eyes flicked to the corner of the room where two older gentlemen sat, dressed in tailored suits that were totally out of place in a pub like this. “You need an invite to get in, though. Your best bet is probably to find a Capo or soldier. Like me.”
“Honey, you couldn’t handle me,” I said, bending down and proceeding to pocket every ball, followed by the black ball. Leaning the cue against the table, I picked up my whiskey and finished it off.
“Thanks for the game, boys.” I tipped an imaginary hat at them before sauntering back through the crowd, letting the ripples of anger at being duped follow in my wake.
