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He smirks. “Oh, this is great. I thought for sure someone would have told you by now.”
“Tell me what?”
“Come on, Luca. You didn’t really think Mo was the one killing all those men, did you?”
His eyes dance with satisfaction that makes me want to punch him. The thing is, I have wondered how my cousin has done my bidding. As my righthand man, it often falls on his shoulders to take care of loose ends. Maurice has never enjoyed killing, but when the bodies turn up in the lake or were never found, I just assumed he was doing what needed to be done.
“So the Brute still lives?”
Henri rolls his eyes. “What was it Grandfather used to say? The Beast was only one-third of the machine. Face it, Luca, you’ve needed me all along, even if you didn’t know it.”
“I guess we’ll see.” I stand. “Let’s go hunting.”
All doubts about Henri telling the truth leave my mind when I see him shift into killer mode. Grandfather used to say watching Henri turn it on was an art form. In my youth, I never saw it. I understand what he meant now. Henri Gastov is no longer standing before me. No, in his place is the Brute.
“Come, cousin. Let’s put this game into action.”
My plan was set to go into motion tomorrow, but every good game master knows that you can’t control everything and that you have to adapt to the current situation. In fact, this may be the opening I’ve been looking for. David Potts is a dead man walking, and tonight I put him on notice.
Outside, my car is waiting. My driver, Pierre, looks surprised to see Henri with me, but I shake my head, letting him know that this is fine. We’re both silent as we ride to the casino. My word is law around here, so when I said I wanted David Potts found, I know it will be handled by the time I arrive.
At the casino, we enter through a private door. One of my pit bosses waits for me.
“Potts is at the blackjack table.”
“How much has he lost tonight?”
“Two thousand.”
“How much in total does he owe us?”
“Six.”
I nod. “Up the ante. Invite him to a private poker game on the second floor. Give him three orange chips to entice him.”
“Will do.”
I turn to Henri, motioning for him to follow me to my office.
“How long do you think it will take him to blow through the money?”
I smile. “Not long. I’ve watched him play. He always thinks he’s going to win, and he gets cocky. I’ll make sure he wins one hand, and then his ass is mine.”
The feeds from the casino floor pop up on several TV screens. My pit boss finds Potts, slapping him on the shoulder with a smile. I see the moment he’s told about the private game. He nods, taking the chips. Fool. He’s just sealed his fate. Upstairs, the game starts, and, like clockwork, Potts wins the first hand. When he loses the next one, he orders a drink. The second loss has him visibly sweating, but he’s still not ready to call it. Not that quitting would save him. Nothing is going to save him.
Lifting the phone on my desk, I dial the game room.
“Offer him a loan of 30k.”
“Yes, sir.”
The dealer relays my message, and Potts nods. And now he’s just signed his death warrant.
Two games later, Potts has lost everything. Two guards stand behind him in case he tries to run. When he says he can’t pay, he’s led to an elevator.
I stand. “Ready?”
Henri doesn’t answer, but follows me to the holding cell. The room is usually used on people who get handsy or with people who try to cheat. Sometimes it’s used for moments like this, where someone is about to take their last breath.
