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“I don’t have it,” Greg says. “I... Wait, what about my car? Look, I have the keys right here.”
He starts fishing in his pocket, but Vince laughs. “You don’t own it, man. I bought you that car for the sake of appearances. What, you think it was some sort of gift? Think of it as a company vehicle.”
“But my cards...I have to finish this hand! It’s not fair to take my money without giving me the chance.”
“What else do you have?” Vince grins, gold tooth glinting in the hazy light from the overhead lamp. The smoke from his last cigarette is still drifting up from the green ashtray beside his hand.
I’ve said no loans, but there’s no way I can rule out collateral as well. I’d be pushing my influence to its limits, and it’s clear Greg won’t even thank me. This isn’t my city. Even as the boss, I only have so much power here.
Unless I want to make serious waves, Vince is in charge.
“I can’t put down my house, Vince,” Greg says, even though nobody mentioned it. “That’s where my wife and kid live. They’d be fucking devastated. And...and my daughter too, when she’s...” He falls silent, then tips up the edges of his cards again. They’re not going to change, and I get a feeling he’s about to do something real stupid. “My daughter,” he says, looking up at Vince and gulping, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “She’s, um. She’s back from college. Real good kid. Pretty. Smart, too. Reading business.”
What the actual fuck is going on here?
“What are you offering here, Greg?” Vince says, echoing my thoughts. Only, he sounds interested instead of sickened.
“Nothing. Just... I win, I’ll pay you back right now out of my winnings. And I’m going to win.”
“I believe you. But just for the sake of argument, if you don’t?”
“My daughter, she’s twenty-one. Like I said, real pretty. You want to see a photo?”
I honestly can’t believe what’s happening here. “We playing poker or what?” I ask, trying to deflect the situation. I want nothing to do with any of this. I don’t even want to be in the room. Fucking fuck. “You don’t have the cash, you need to fold, Gregory. Go home to your family.”
Take the fucking hint.
He’s shaking his head, already pulling out his phone. “No, I’m in. Just hold on a second, would you?” His voice is quick, breathy, like he thinks my problem right now is the time it’s taking and not the fact that he’s offering his own fucking daughter as collateral. “Here, Vince, take a look.”
Vince starts laughing before the phone is even in his hand. He whistles, grinning, looking around at the other guys, Turk and Nate. They’re his own little lieutenants and of course they’re going to laugh right along with him. One thing you don’t do is contradict the boss, even when he’s being a total dick.
“She is a sweet piece of ass. OK, you’ve got—”
“I’ll lend you the money,” I interject. “Now play.”
“What?” Vince is on his feet, hands gripping the edge of the table. “Wait, you can’t. You said no loans. Leo, you didn’t even see the photo, man—”
“Mr. Brickhouse.” I growl under my breath, meeting Vince’s eyes with a steady gaze. “It’s Mr. Brickhouse.”
If he wants to come at me right now, let him do it. I am not going to let some poor innocent girl get eaten up and spit out by the likes of him. I know Vince has wanted my job since I took over the family, so if tonight is the night he makes a play then bring it on.
Honestly, if I die tonight at least I’ll know it’s over. Maybe it’ll even make him forget the girl. One good deed against a lifetime of evil.
As his hands come up, my heart rate actually slows. Some sort of fucking calm comes over me, accepting the end of it all. If this is the way it has to be, so be it.
Vince holds his hands up, spreading his fingers, and retakes his seat. “Fine. Whatever.Mr. Brickhouse. It makes no difference to me.”
“So I’m in, right?” Greg stares at me like I’ve just done him a favor, and I want to knock every single one of his teeth right down his throat.
Instead, I nod. “You’re in. You call. Let’s see your cards.”
I turn mine over at the same time he does, and see his face fall. Vince doesn’t even bother, throwing his cards into the center as I stand. I don’t even meet either of their faces, afraid that if I look at them I’ll start throwing punches I later regret.
Grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair, I pull out my money roll and count off a couple of hundreds, handing them to the waitress that’s been serving all night.
“I’m out of here,” I mutter. “Have my chips cashed and sent to my room.”
