Chapter 5 #2
"Are ya sure ya want to play? I can think of a few ways for you to earn easier coin," says the man across from me, old enough to be my father, licking his lips in what I can only assume he thinks is a provocative gesture.
"Oh, I'd rather play cards," I say sweetly, earning chuckles from around the table.
I purposely lose the first hand. Feigning ignorance, like I don't know what's really in my hand.
At one point, I get scolded for leaning over to the young man sitting next to me, asking what one card means.
Like I haven't been playing this game since I was five years old.
I slowly start to win rounds, careful not to draw too much attention as my stack of coins goes up.
I opt for a quick out for this game, not losing or gaining any money.
The young man next to me wins, quickly scurrying away with his winnings, and I wait patiently for the next game to start.
To my dismay, the gross guy from before stays at my table, but I get the heavy hitters I want, so I make it work. I sit for one hour, then two. I keep passing and winning until my stack has tripled and several people are out.
I giggle and fake a big gulp of my drink as the game nears an end. The last man, whom I have named troll-man in my head, is clearly getting frustrated. Another hand plays, and he goes all in.
I bite my lip, watching his face as he nonchalantly looks around the room and at his nails, posturing boredom. I know he's bluffing, of course. He's avoiding eye contact, and his eyes dart to the floor every time they float to mine.
"Call," I say somewhat meekly.
The dealer flips the last cards over and they reveal I've won by a landslide.
"Beginner's luck," I hiccup, hoping he buys my exaggerated intoxication. The man, who is now a deep shade of red, stands abruptly knocking over his own drink in the process.
"You bitch. You cheated! I know you cheated. I demand my coin back!" He turns to the dealer now, spit flying out of his mouth as he waves his hands wildly. "Do something! I'm going to report this to the authorities," he shrieks.
I almost roll my eyes. Reporting me here would be comical.
Everyone makes a silent agreement when they sit down at these tables.
The dealers are hired to mediate what happens here, but that's that.
The only authorities willing to do anything about this would be the New Providence officers, and he'd be arrested right along with me.
I give the dealer a sympathetic look as he nods for me to leave. I slip away from the table, troll-man still spewing hateful words behind me.
I watch one of the night workers slipping passed me through the crowd, her gold and black body paint accentuating her already beautiful curves, creating a captivating look. She heads towards the man having an adult tantrum, no doubt having been instructed to calm him down.
I feel a twinge of guilt in my gut, that this woman is going to have to bear the brunt of his foul mood because of me. My hands twitch as I fight the urge to turn around. I force myself to keep going, and hate myself a little for it.
I wander towards the edge of the room, pretending to be interested in the booths, waiting for the best opportunity to slink out towards the door. I don't need to be followed and harassed tonight.
After looking at a pitiful vegetable booth where they are trying to sell what I can only describe as soggy green paper attempting to be leaves, a commotion draws my eyes to a corner of the room.
People from all over dart toward the fighting pits as a giant of a man waltzes toward the ring.
I can't see his face. He's turned away from me, but I understand what all the commotion is about as I watch him prowl towards the gated ring like a beast unleashed. His figure looms, his head lingering over a foot above most of the audience members. The stranger’s body is corded with muscle.
It seems unnecessary, honestly. I can see it rippling as he moves, even from this far.
Tattoos glide up his shirtless torso and over his mountainous shoulders, and I can't make out what they are, only that they make him look that much more intimidating.
I suddenly have the urge to walk over to the pits and figure out what's written all over him.
A tiny shiver cascades down me as I imagine the poor soul about to fight this man.
The crowd goes wild, and I shake my head, snapping myself out of my trance.
I use the room's distraction as the moment to slip out.
My walk home is quick and uneventful. I'm panting from my pace as I unlock our front door.
I scurry inside, grateful for the relatively easy night and ready for a decent sleep. As I turn, I hear a throat clear.
Linden is sitting at the table looking like he's seen a ghost.
"We have a problem," he says solemnly. My heart lurches.
"What do you mean, is Willow OK?"
Linden takes a deep breath.
"She's asleep. She's fine. But there was an announcement at school."
We stare at each other, and I hold my breath; he looks ready to puke, which tells me whatever he's about to say is going to ruin my night.
"Willow's medication just tripled in price. And it's about to become almost impossible to find."
And just like that, the floor seems to crumble beneath my feet.