Page 14 of Gambler's Conceit
“Oh, good, the real manager. You can explain to me why your staff doesn’t want to pay out my winnings.” He crosses his arms and scowls at me.
“Of course. I’ll take it from here, Grant.” I motion for Grant to leave, and his cheeks flush an even uglier shade of red, but he isn’t going to question me in public. Vortex starts shooing away curious onlookers, and I see the dealer relax now that the commotion has mostly been dispersed.
Once Grant is gone, I turn back to the guest. “Perhaps introductions are in order first? My name is Caleb Spade, owner of the casino.”
The guy shifts uncomfortably, and finally says, “Havoc. You can call me Havoc.”
Another alias. It seems nobody around me enjoys handing out their real names. “I see. Now, Havoc, whatdidoccur?”
Havoc glances at the dealer, then back to me. “I was playing blackjack. I got lucky. You lot owe me five hundred bucks.”
The dealer clearly wants to say something, but I subtly shake my head.
“I’ll get you your winnings,” I say to Havoc. Five hundred isn’t worth causing this much of a stink over. “But let’s both agree that you’re done with blackjack.”
Havoc startles. “What? No. That’s my favorite game.”
I meet his gaze steadily. “You take your five hundred and stop playing blackjack at my casino, or you get nothing and are banned entirely.”
Havoc grits his teeth. He could go to one of the other casinos in town—there are certainly plenty in Calamity City—but in the end the appeal of getting five hundred dollars is enough. He nods, and I direct one of the security staff to help Havoc get his winnings, and leave the poor dealer in peace.
Vortex glances at the dealer then back at me. “All good, boss?”
I nod, then check my phone. As predicted, I’m going to be late to my meeting with Earl, but if I hadn’t stopped down here, the situation between Grant and Havoc would certainly have escalated.
“If anything else happens, text Matthew,” I advise the dealer. I turn to Vortex. “Let’s hope Earl’s already had five drinks so we don’t have to listen to him reminiscing about the good old days.”
Vortex cracks a smile. “Yeah.” He hasn’t had to deal with my uncle often, but even a few times can feel like a few times too many.
The casino bar is packed, but it’s easy enough to spot Uncle Earl sitting at the bar counter, recounting something to an exasperated bartender. She spots me and smiles brightly, probably both because I’m the boss she needs to suck up to and because she knows I’m about to save her from Earl’s drunken stories.
One of the conditions of Earl’s sale of the casino was that he was allowed free drinks and $100 worth of free chips per day. It’s an annoying cost, but it had been the only way to get him to sell the failing casino to me.
“Hello, Uncle,” I say, closing the gap between us. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes!” Earl reaches out to clap me on the shoulders. “My favorite nephew. Or least favorite, when I’m losing at the tables.”
My smile is brittle, and I signal the bartender to get me my usual drink. “Then I’ll have to hope you haven’t been losing.”
The bartender ignores the others, immediately fixing my rum and bringing it over to me. She glances at Vortex, who shakes his head, but she grabs him a glass of water instead.
“Thanks, Patty,” he says, lifting the water in a silent toast to her.
She smiles back at him before hurrying back to deal with the other patrons, seeming considerably perkier now that she’s not dealing with Earl by herself.
“She’s nicer to you,” Earl complains. “Even though I’m not gay. I could give her a good time. Not like you.”
I roll my eyes, used to those types of comments from him. “It’s probably because she doesn’t want a good time from either of us that she’s nicer to me.”
Earl grunts and takes another sip of his drink. “She’s missing out. Half the women of Calamity will tell you that Little Earl is the best cock in town.”
“The other half have actually fucked you and know better,” Vortex mutters.
It takes Earl a beat to realize he’s been insulted, and he scowls, his ruddy face going even redder as he stares at Vortex. “And who the fuck are you to run your mouth?” he demands.
“Sorry,” Vortex says, in a tone that shows just hownotsorry he actually is.
I should chide him, but instead, I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. “Regardless of your prowess or lack thereof, Uncle, what did you need to meet about?”