Chapter 9
Savvy
“Okay, you’ve delayed long enough. I want the details.” Cassie waves down the bartender at Lucky Stripes, one of our usual hangouts.
We’ve spent the whole afternoon shopping for the perfect interview outfit. Our feet and wallets hurt, so we decided to heal up with a few cheap beers and a game of pool. If the table ever opens up.
“Details about what?” I grab our beers, she snags the nachos, and we find a table along the wall. We’re regular enough that Josh, the bartender, only needs to see us to know what order to put through.
“Savvy.” She tips her chin and raises her brow in her best mom look. One day she’ll make a great mother. And if she ever finds a man who knock down the cement wall she’s built around herself, it might actually happen.
Whatever crap I’ve been through in my life, she’s been through worse. And most of it at the hands of people who were supposed to be taking care of her.
“Cassie.” I try to mimic her tone but end up laughing it off. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“First of all, are you sure you’re safe there? I mean, he did kidnap you. Twice.”
“I’m not sure you can count the second time, as I did my own packing.”
She deadpans. “I’m being serious, Savvy.”
“I know,” I say around a tortilla chip. “I’m fine. I’m looking at it like it’s a long term, on-location job. That’s all. I’ll do the work, and when it’s over, I’ll go back to my normal life.”
“Do you have any idea who this man is?” She asks with suspicion laced through her tone.
“What does that mean? Yeah. He’s some low-level mafia guy. From the look of his house, he’s doing really well. Maybe once this is over, I’ll do a few more jobs for him and make some good cash.”
Or I’ll see about hypnosis. I wonder if they’re able to wipe memories clean. Then I can pretend all of this mess never happened.
“You said his name is Gabriel Valenti, right?” She pulls out her phone and swipes across the screen. A few more taps and then she turns it to face me. “This is the guy I saw in your apartment yesterday. That’s him, right?”
I take the phone from her and check out the picture. It’s him, all right. He’s standing beside that smartass of a brother and another man with the mayor in the middle shaking his hand.
“So he’s not mafia?”
“Oh he is.” She plucks up a chip that’s dripping with cheese. “He’s the head of the Valenti family, but the city conveniently ignores that fact because in the last five years he’s brought in huge business.”
“Are you telling me the mobster is a businessman?”
“I’m telling you he and his family own one of the largest logistics firms in the country. At least the largest in Illinois.”
“Valenti Logistics.” I mutter, the pieces finally clicking.
“Yes. Valenti Logistics. They just announced a major shipping hub on the south side. It’s a five-hundred-million-dollar investment into the city.” She snags her phone back and swipes to another article. “See?”
Quickly, I read up on my new boss and sink into the booth as the weight of the power he holds comes to light.
“How did you know all that?”
She chomps on another chip while shrugging. “The lawyer I’ve been working with has done some work with them. They have their own firm on retainer, but I guess one of them got divorced a year ago and needed outside counsel to help deal with his crazy ex.”
“Why would a man like him need someone like me? He’s got to have his own people that can do what I do.” I take a long sip of my beer, suddenly wishing I’d ordered a few shots.
“That’s my question.” She takes her phone back and tucks it away. “Hey, the pool table opened. Let’s grab it.”
She carries our beers, and I bring the nachos and set up at a high table beside the table. The men who just finished their game linger at the bar, watching us as we rack the balls.
“You go first.” I chalk my stick while she takes position to break.
As much as I try to focus on the game, I keep thinking about what I’ve just learned about Gabriel. There is no reason for him to be holding me to this little deal we made. Not when he has a huge company and organized syndicate behind him.
I’m small potatoes.
Not even potatoes. I’m the root of the potato that a potato grows from.
“Hit the eleven-ball into the fifteen, you’ll tap your four into the corner pocket.” A smooth voice says from over my left shoulder as I inspect the table.
He’s right. It should be an easy shot, so long as I don’t hit too hard and scratch.
“Thanks,” I throw over my shoulder, taking a beat to appreciate the handsomeness of the man giving the advice. He’s walked over from the group at the bar but stays a respectable distance from the table.
His smile is warm, casual. In every aspect, he’s insanely good-looking.
Chocolate brown hair, soft caramel-colored eyes and a chiseled chin GQ would pay big bucks to have on their front page.
But my first thought is he has no beard.
Gabriel has a beard. It’s short, more a five o’clock shadow, but it’s rugged and rough and sexy as hell.
This guy is clean-cut. Standard hotness.
“You gonna shoot or what?” Cassie nudges me.
“Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.” I bend over the table, taking aim at the striped ball. It hits perfectly, knocking into the four ball and rolling it in.
“See. Perfect shot.” Mr. Hotness walks over to us. “Can I get you girls another round?” He offers, gesturing to the bottles on our table.
“Sure.” I smile. A free beer is a free beer.
By the time he comes back with our round, it’s my turn again. This time, he places his hand on the small of my back and leans over the table with me.
“Go for the three. You’ll have to bank it, but I think you can do it.” He points out where to aim my ball, and I let him think he’s doing me a big favor.
I glance up at Cassie, and her eyes light up. It’s been a while since we hustled pool. Lucky Stripes is our go-to hang out. Mostly everyone here knows us, but these guys must be new to the area.
“Real soft,” he coaches me. I hit the cue ball too hard, and it smacks into the wall just beside where he pointed then rolls straight into the corner pocket.
“Oh no!” I stomp my foot.
He laughs and walks around the table to retrieve my cue ball.
“Let me show you how to do it,” Cassie nudges me with her hip and plucks the cue from Mr. Hotness. She makes her first shot but blows the second.
Mr. Hotness has a friend. A curly blond with deep set blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. He hands out beers while introducing himself as Stanley. Mr. Hotness apparently has a real name, Benjamin.
“When you’re done, we’ll grab next game.” Stan picks up the chalk on the small chalkboard hanging beside the cues and scribbles his name.
“You could just play with us if you want.” I chalk my pool cue. “I mean we’re not that good, but we have fun.”
“Yeah, we can play girls against boys,” Cassie chimes in, taking a long sip of her beer.
Stan and Ben give each other a quick glance before both agreeing. “Sure. Let’s play.”
It’s a dance Cassie and I perfected years ago. With just the right number of flirtatious smiles and touches, mixed with the occasional pout when scratching the cue, we’ve lulled the boys right into our trap.
“Maybe we should make it more interesting. Put some money on the game,” Cassie offers after the boys buy a new round of beers to celebrate their win.
“We couldn’t take your money,” Ben says, handing me a fresh bottle.
“Why? I could take yours.” I wink and bump him with my hip which makes him laugh. Ugh, it’s just too easy with some men. Raise the pitch of your voice, lower your IQ a point or two, laugh at all of their jokes, and they’re putty.
“Okay, but only ten dollars. Does that sound good?” Stan pulls out a ten-dollar bill and places it on the rail.
“We can do that.” Cassie reaches into her purse strapped across her chest and matches his bet. “Can I break? I love breaking.”
Stan chuckles. “Sure, sweetheart, you break.”
We lose the first game in under five minutes after Cassie “accidentally” sinks the eight ball.
Then another and another. The boys get a little cockier and more flirtatious with each win.
Every round of beers loosens their wallets a little more.
Every game Cassie nudges the bet a little higher until there’s a pile of twenties sitting on the rail.
The last game goes a little longer. I nail a good shot.
“Your game is getting better all of a sudden, huh?” Ben teases.
“My luck is finally kicking in.” I shrug. We almost win the game. Just enough to boost our confidence.
“Let’s just go all in.” She grabs my hand. “I think we’ll get them next game.”
“There’s a hundred sixty there.” I dig through my wallet. “I’ll need to hit the ATM.”
Ben shares a look with Stan, probably wondering if they should take more money from the innocent women who don’t seem to know what they’re doing.
“I need some cash too. What do you say guys? You boys game?”
“Yeah. But if we win, you two join us for dinner. We’ll use the winnings to pay.” Stan winks.
“Sure. If you win, dinner’s on you,” I agree. “I saw an ATM by the bathrooms.”
“I’ll grab another round while you’re doing that.” Ben squeezes my hip and goes to the bar. Counting the empty bottles on the table, he’s had four beers. Not enough for him to get drunk, but I don’t know him well enough to be certain. And drunk men are not reasonable men.
“Last game. Stan’s had six beers,” Cassie whispers to me at the ATM.
“Ben’s had four, so yeah, last game.” I agree.
When Cassie and I come back, Stan’s racking the balls, rolling them forward and back half a dozen times before settling them in the center.
“Can we break?” I ask, picking my pool cue back up.
“Of course. Ladies first,” Ben grins, propping a hip against the table and resting his chin on his clasped hands atop the pool cue.
“Cassie, do you want to go first or should I?” I offer the table, but she shakes her head.
“No, you can do it this time. I did it last time.”
I think a moment. “You’re right. You did.”
“Did what?” Stan moves closer to Cassie, but she moves to lean back against the wall.
“Okay. I’m ready.” I bend over the table.
Crack.
The eleven ball disappears into the back right corner pocket.
“Nice break,” Ben slides along the table with me for my next shot.
The fifteen ball kisses the side rail, cutting across the table and dropping into the front left corner pocket.
“Huh.” Ben’s smile falters. Stan straightens and steps closer to the table to watch.
“This one’s a little ugly,” I say, bending over the table and taking the shot. The cue ball taps the twelve-ball, sending it into the right-side pocket before drifting perfectly into position for my next play.
The small crowd from the bar has moved over to watch, making a half-circle behind Ben.
I look up at Cassie. “You sure you don’t want a turn?”
“Naw, but I’m hungry so let’s hurry this up.” She laughs, folding her arms over her chest when Stan turns a sharp glare on her.
I bank the nine ball off the far-right rail into the back left corner pocket. Then I sink the thirteen-ball into the left side pocket, leaving only the eight ball.
“What is happening right now?” Ben shoves his hand through his hair, his eyes wide.
I point my cue at the back right pocket, calling my last shot.
“She won’t make that.” Someone from the bar crowd mutters.
I send the cue ball three rails around the table before it kisses the eight ball with just enough force to send it rolling. It slows, teeters on the tip, then disappears into the back right corner pocket.
The doubter at the bar whistles. “Holy shit.”
Then someone else barks out a laugh. “They hustled you!”
I pick up the four hundred dollars on the table, count out half for Cassie, then pocket the rest. Not a huge pot, but we’ve been out of practice for a while.
“What the fuck?” Ben’s eyes harden and he takes a threatening step toward me. “You’ve been letting us buy you drinks and shaking your ass at us so you could hustle some cash from us?”
“We didn’t ask you to buy us drinks.” I point out. And if he’d been paying any attention at all, he would have noticed most of them have gone untouched. I’ve been nursing the same bottle for the last two games.
“Enough fun, give us the money back,” he demands.
I laugh. “You don’t ask for the money back after you’ve bet on a game.”
He grabs my arm, digging in his fingertips.
“Get your fucking hand off of her.”