Chapter 3 #2
“But livers . . .” I tapped my chin. “Those can go for six figures . . . and they regenerate.”
“Small black market goes for under ten thousand. You gotta get in with a high-end organ broker if you want a big payout,” Joel said, as if this was a completely normal conversation.
The kind of deadpan, sarcastic conversations we used to have when we would cut up with each other.
They always ended in fits of laughter. But not this time.
“Then it’s a good thing you know some sketchy people. Give them a call, tell them to slice and dice, and say goodbye to your ability to consume alcohol for the time being.”
“I just need a good win and I’ll be fine.”
“I love you, but you’re a terrible liar.”
Eyes that matched mine locked onto me. “But you’re not.”
I could see the wheels turning in his mind, and I did not like it.
I scoffed. “Just because I know how to stay out of trouble doesn’t mean I’m a good liar. And I don’t know how to play poker.”
Joel’s brows lifted. “Not poker. Blackjack. You could learn.” He pushed up to sit straight but groaned in agony the moment his knee shifted.
His complexion turned an alarming shade of green that had me reaching for a trash can.
Joel swatted it away and looked up at me. “You could play for me. Your semester is over. You’re on break.”
“I don’t know the first thing about—”
“Come on, Mia,” he begged. “You know as well as I do that all it takes is you looking at something for five minutes to memorize it.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with gambling.”
“Blackjack is just probability. You could learn basic strategy in an hour. And with your idiotic memory—”
“Eidetic memory,” I said, drolly correcting the way he used to tease me when we were kids.
But Joel was dead serious. “You could count cards.”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
Joel shook his head, but I didn’t exactly believe him. “Using your brain isn’t illegal. If you get caught, they can kick you out and refuse to let you back in, but it’s not like they can put you in jail. And you’re a girl. I doubt they’d beat you up.”
“You doubt?” I shrieked.
“This is my best shot, Mia.” For the first time, desperation flooded his voice. “It’ll be easy. You’re just playing cards.”
“Joel—”
“What do you have to lose?”
I swallowed. “My brother.”
Saturday, May 17 | 7:34 p.m.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I grumbled as I scrolled through the notes on my phone. I had spent the last twenty-four hours doing a deep dive into the rules of blackjack and how to count cards.
Honestly, learning basic strategy really wasn’t that hard. Had it been under different circumstances, it probably would have been fun. If I got us out of this mess, I might even work it into next semester’s syllabus. My students would probably get a kick out of it.
Joel had played the part of the dealer, practicing different scenarios and even switching up the deck mid-game.
Card counting wasn’t going to be the hard part.
I rarely mentioned it to folks in casual conversation, but I did have an eidetic memory.
It made remembering which cards had been dealt already and were out of play easy.
I could recall hundreds of cards, in order.
That, paired with my statistics background, I was basically a blackjack supercomputer.
But the more Joel told me about tricks dealers used to make sure the house always wins, the more it solidified for him that this was the plan. But the more I learned about the world of casinos, the more I was sure the house would win.
Still, I couldn’t let Joel go down without a fight. I’d never forgive myself for it.
“Remember, nicer casinos use cameras with AI systems to automatically count cards for the entire table. It flags security if it notices you matching the system too much, so it’s okay to lose occasionally. Just make sure you come out on top at the end of the night.”
“Lose. Right.” I let out a sharp breath. “I don’t think I’ll have to try to lose.”
Joel shifted in the passenger’s seat. Dripping ice packs were wrapped tightly around his knee. Thankfully, a neighbor had lent him a pair of crutches.
I had to win tonight. If I came out on top, Joel promised that he would go to the ER. Then again, his promises weren’t guarantees these days.
“I’ll be here waiting until you’re done,” Joel said. “Test the waters tonight and go big tomorrow.”
I glanced at his knee. “Not like you can go anywhere else.”
He rolled his eyes as he reclined the seat for a catnap.
I guessed it was now or never.
The distant din of Atlantic City swirled around as I climbed out of the car and tugged down the hem of the dress I had thrown on.
I wasn’t entirely sure what casino-appropriate attire was, but I was fairly certain it wasn’t the long skirts or dress pants and cardigans I gravitated toward, as evidenced by my closet.
The one and only little black dress I owned would have to do.
Car horns blared and sirens wailed in the distance.
Lovely.
Joel rolled the window down. “Are you just going to stand there all night?”
I glared at him before turning on my sensible heels and making the two-block walk to my first stop—the Ocean’s Edge Casino.
Music poured out of the doors. I jumped back as a horde of tipsy bachelorettes stumbled outside, giggling about the money they had won on the slot machines and squealing about it being “the last fling before the ring.”
Before I could get through the doors, a man in a black polo that sported the casino’s logo stepped in my path. He was built like a refrigerator. Mr. Fridge crossed his beefy arms over his chest and looked me up and down. “No.”
I froze. “Um . . . I’m sorry?”
“What are you going to play tonight?” The Fridge pressed. The wire that threaded up the collar of his shirt to the earpiece he wore probably meant he was security.
“Uh . . . blackjack?”
He cracked a smile and chuckled. “Nice try. Go somewhere else.”
“But—”
Mr. Fridge held out a hand to stop me. “Let me guess. You’re some Ivy League student who watched a couple movies about MIT students and thinks counting cards is a quick way to make some cash.” He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not the first person to try it. Not even the first tonight.”
“I’m not a student,” I blurted out. Honestly, that was more annoying than being turned away.
I had one of those faces that hadn’t aged alongside my peers.
I was constantly mistaken for an incoming freshman when I was on campus before the semester started, even though I always had my faculty badge on me as proof.
“I don’t care,” he said as he waved people in behind me. “You’re not playing here.”
I stood, dumbfounded, on the sidewalk. Joel had warned me about what to watch out for when I got to the table. He didn’t tell me I wouldn’t be able to get in the door.
I made the walk back to the car with my tail between my legs and tapped on the window. Joel unlocked the door, and I plopped down into the driver’s seat.
“Either that was the fastest game of blackjack known to man, or—”
“I didn’t even get in the door,” I huffed. There was no reason to bury the lede. “Apparently I look like a card counter.”
Joel cut his eyes at me. “You do.”
A caustic laugh broke free. I couldn’t believe his audacity. “And you couldn’t have mentioned that before we left New Haven and drove four and a half freaking hours to get here?”
He shrugged. “You would have made a big deal about it.”
I growled and shoved the car door open.
“Where are you going?” Joel said far too casually for his current predicament.
“To clean up your mess!” I shouted as I slammed the door and stomped down the block.
I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, but one thing was clear: Joel was dead to me.
Okay, not really.
I loved him. He wasn’t just my brother. He was my twin. My other half. We had been inseparable since birth. But right now, he was really pissing me off. I didn’t want to play blackjack, but I needed space.
I stormed down the sidewalk. Surely there was a casino desperate enough to let me in.
The bachelorettes were crowded in front of the entrance to a rooftop bar as they tried to convince a bouncer to let them in, even though the bride was swaying more than a Newton’s cradle.
The “Bride-to-Be” sash fell off her shoulder as her plastic tiara slid from her head and rolled off the curb.
I froze and watched for a moment as the bouncer sighed and let them in. Shrieks and peals of excitement filled the night air.
Bachelorettes can get in anywhere . . .
As soon as the amoeba of bleach-blonde party girls squeezed through the door, I grabbed the fallen bride sash and tiara, then dipped into a shadow to don my disguise.
A darkened shop window was my mirror as I mussed my hair and made sure the tiara was crooked.
I donned the bride sash. Someone must have spilled a cocktail on it because it made me smell like I was well over the legal limit.
I rubbed my eyes to smear my mascara, then took in the woman in the window that stared back at me.
She looked like a jilted bride, all alone on her bachelorette.
I’m alone. I have to be sad about something . . .
Best friend slept with the groom. Best friend was the maid of honor. That would explain the lack of a girl squad.
I left the chaos of the block behind and rounded a corner.
A glowing red sign caught my attention.
No bouncer at the door. No line. This was my mark.
I made my way across the street to the Four Horsemen and slipped inside.
There were no giggling bachelorettes. No rowdy crowds excited over winning chump change.
Smoke lingered in the air like whispers of days past. It was like stepping back in time.
The tables were lively, but there were plenty of open seats. I eyed the blackjack dealer, but before I could take a step, a strong hand wrapped around my arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?”