Cold Deck: A Novel

30

||| 135 ||| 30 I walked into the break room at the Le Grande and looked around for an empty table. This was my last shift before two days off, and I wanted to be alone with my thoughts. Somehow I had to take my life back and do so without endangering Beth. Six weeks had passed since the phone call, and though Gabe Blitzstein’s threat was beginning to seem all bluff, it still unsettled me, owing to my lack of circumspection at the start of all this. Dad had mentioned his being propositioned from time to time when he was a dealer and later as a boss. He’d said that casino scams weren’t uncommon, that wherever so much money passed through so many hands, scams were inevitable. I’d asked why he never went for one. “Thieves,” he’d said. That was all. Now I was one, caught in my own trap. I was sure, if he were alive and aware of what I was involved with, Dad would have been disappointed. I found little consolation that tonight I’d pick up an envelope stuffed with my weekly take. At the cost of my daughter’s safety? The profit-to-risk ratio was widely disproportionate. A daughter for a dollar? For a million? Ten million? Dad wouldn’t be disappointed in me. He’d be ashamed, just as I was. At the Le Grande, we worked staggered shifts. Usually, a few empty tables were available in the break room, but today most dealers from the early shift were on break at once and spread around the room. The few tables where dealers from my shift sat were full. I wove a path through the narrow aisles until I spotted two empty chairs where Norma sat. She saw me at the same time and signaled me over. Jesus and Eric, both blackjack dealers, sat with her. Over the weeks, I’d made friends with Norma and often sat with her if we were on breaks together. She was witty and sometimes flamboyant. She had a self-deprecating sense of humor and was quick with a turn of a phrase when telling a clever anecdote. What she never was was boring. She could spin a piece of gossip without seeming mean-spirited and color a superficial conversation with images that kept others engaged. In short, she was entertaining and I needed to be entertained. On the other hand, I also figured that inside that shell of easy humor was someone substantial, someone I might under other circumstances want to know better. “Have a seat, handsome,” she said. “We’ve got news.” I looked around, pretending it wasn’t me she meant. “It’s okay, Jude. You have my permission to sit until someone handsome shows up. Hell, look at the company I’m keeping.” I nodded to Jesus, a nice guy who’d fled El Salvador during the civil war, then to Eric, a pretty-boy type about thirty, too impressed with being a Strip ||| 136 ||| dealer for my liking. I turned a chair around, swung a leg over, and crossed my arms on the back. “What news?” Norma knew how to string an audience along. “You have to guess.” “Were tokes a new record low?” “No.” “The casino is going into bankruptcy?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Okay, I’m no good at guessing,” I said and sipped my coffee, admiring her red hair and hazel eyes as I did. “It must be big if it trumps bad news about tokes.” “You worked at the Monaco, didn’t you?” “Guilty.” “Its casino manager quit.” I said, “The dealers there will celebrate.” For an instant I was pleased, at first thinking that perhaps Hefty might end up in an unemployment line, but then I thought, so what? Management in casinos changed as often as chefs switched aprons. It was the nature of the business. There had to be something more to this; otherwise, why mention it? “Well, we won’t,” Eric said. “He quit to come here. Starts next week as casino manager.” I gagged on my coffee, set the cup down, and wiped my chin with a napkin . Gradually, I cleared my throat as the others stared at me. “You guys are putting me on, right?” Norma raised an open palm as if swearing an oath. “On my mother’s head.” As I slowly digested it, I found the news amusing. I grinned as I picked up my cup. Hefty...