Chapter Ten
The “great room” in an anonymous McMansion is doing a good job of impersonating a casino poker room. Five top of the line oval game tables and fifty players crowd the space. Players keep their distance from a group of cops, who are busy restraining a man in a Hawaiian shirt.
Bored hands nervously shuffle poker chips. The constant clicking of chips blends with the hum of voices speaking softly, a low, masculine buzz punctuated by the occasional feminine voice. This white noise is broken by the grunts of a man on the floor with a broken jaw.
Alastair and Wes lean over the man, assessing the damage. He’s most likely in his thirties but a baby face hides his true age, blood trickles from a small wound on his chin, sopped up by his black hoodie. The remains of his sunglasses dangle from one ear.
Alastair asks, “Can anyone tell me what happened?”
Jeanette steps out of the crowd. A simple t-shirt and jeans cling to her curves. Long, dark hair surrounds a beautiful but emotionless face. “You know what they say, don’t tap the aquarium.”
Wes doesn’t get it, “Could you translate that into English.”
She responds, “Mister opinionated annoyed the wrong novice player. Who’d of guessed he has a glass jaw. It’s a shame, this is usually a friendly game. I guarantee neither of them will be invited back.”
Jeanette watches carefully as they get their patient loaded onto a stretcher.
Alastair asks, “Is this your place?”
Jeanette blushes with bride, she’s the queen of this particular hive. “All mine.”
Alastair continues, “This is quite a setup, aren’t you worried the cops will shut you down?”
She responds, “When I do something, I go all the way. Besides, some of my best friends and regular players are cops, they know I run a clean game so they don’t bother me.”
The sea of players parts as Wes and Alastair carry their patient out of the home. Jeanette follows closely.
Just as they reach the door, Jeanette decides to raise the bet. She looks Alastair in the eyes, “Did you have a father or uncle who worked at the hospital in the mid eighties, you look like someone my pops knew.”
Alastair nervously shakes his head, “no.” He doesn’t engage her as he guides his patient through the doorway.
One of the poker players slides up to Jeanette, “Can we start the clock, the natives are getting restless.” He notices her focus, still on Alastair, “What’s up?”
She says, “I’m pretty good at spotting a bluff, what’s he got to hide?”
Copyright 2009, Wendy Pierce
