they were going and why.
Nick pulled out his phone and pushed the proper button for his cousin, hoping he was just waking up on the East Coast.
Chapter 9
Tommy Bracco sat at the table in the basement of Lloyd’s Poker Housewith a collection of cards he couldn’t believe. Four Aces and a King. They stared back at him, almost gleaming in the dull overhead lights. It was practically seven in the morning, but Lloyd’s didn’t have any clocks to alert anyone of the oncoming new day, so most of the diehards kept the meter running as long as their luck kept going.
“Your bet, Tommy,” a gray-haired man said. He sat slumped over with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a long ash curling from the tip.
The night before there were twenty tables full of lawyers, plumbers, electricians and a variety of business people all there to scratch their gambling itch. Now, there was only one table left. Six players who managed to navigate the pitfalls of card sharks and lady luck.
Tommy bit on a purple toothpick and casually dropped three thousand in chips into the pile in the middle of the green felt table and said, “You’d better run for the hills.”
“Very funny,” a small, round female said while feeding the pot. She was the owner of a very successful chain of dry cleaners around the Baltimore metropolitan area.
One other guy, Richard Olbert, yawned while placing his bet. Everyone else folded.
“How’s your dad, Rich,” Tommy asked.
“Bad,” Rich said, staring at his cards. “He fell and hit his head. He needs a procedure which will probably save his life, but he doesn’t have insurance.”
“You serious?” Tommy asked, putting his cards down in front of him.
“Yeah. His head swelled up and he needs a shunt to alleviate the symptoms. But we’re trying of find some way of financing the procedure.”
Tommy jabbed his toothpick into a back molar and said, “How much is the procedure?”
“Ten grand.”
Tommy looked at the pile of chips in the center of the table. “This pot probably has twenty thousand in it right now.”
Rich looked at Tommy under the glare of the fluorescents and through the cloud of drifting smoke. “What are you saying?”
“I’m just making conversation, that’s all.”
Tommy’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he smiled when he saw who was calling. “Hey,” Tommy said. “Isn’t it like three in the morning in Arizona?”
“Yeah,” Nick Bracco said. “I wake you?”
“Tommy,” the grump with the curled ash said. “Get off the phone and bet.”
“Oh,” Nick said into the receiver, “you spent the night at Lloyd’s.”
“Bingo.” Tommy matched the five thousand dollars that the dry cleaner lady had just dropped into the pot, then added another five thousand in chips.
Rich frowned at the bet. He glanced at his cards, then back to the dwindling collection of chips in front of him. A pure sign of weakness.
“I need some help,” Nick said.
“I’m listening,” Tommy said.
“Work-related help.”
“Yeah?” Tommy said, watching Rich decide how much he should invest in his losing hand.
“Do you have any contacts in Colombia?” Nick asked.
“Hmm,” Tommy said, understanding the need to keep the conversation confidential. “As in the country or the city?”
“The country.”
With a sour look, Rich finally placed chips in the pot to match Tommy’s bet. Then he relinquished his remaining chips to raise the bet another five thousand, leaving nothing but green space in front of him. He looked like a man walking to the gas chamber.
“Of course,” Tommy said on the phone. “I know people everywhere. What kind of help do you need?”
There was a long pause. The dry cleaning lady looked at her cards as if they were disobedient children, then placed them face down and slowly slid them under the large pile of chips announcing her resignation from the hand.
“This is really important,” Nick said. “And really
Nick pulled out his phone and pushed the proper button for his cousin, hoping he was just waking up on the East Coast.
Chapter 9
Tommy Bracco sat at the table in the basement of Lloyd’s Poker Housewith a collection of cards he couldn’t believe. Four Aces and a King. They stared back at him, almost gleaming in the dull overhead lights. It was practically seven in the morning, but Lloyd’s didn’t have any clocks to alert anyone of the oncoming new day, so most of the diehards kept the meter running as long as their luck kept going.
“Your bet, Tommy,” a gray-haired man said. He sat slumped over with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and a long ash curling from the tip.
The night before there were twenty tables full of lawyers, plumbers, electricians and a variety of business people all there to scratch their gambling itch. Now, there was only one table left. Six players who managed to navigate the pitfalls of card sharks and lady luck.
Tommy bit on a purple toothpick and casually dropped three thousand in chips into the pile in the middle of the green felt table and said, “You’d better run for the hills.”
“Very funny,” a small, round female said while feeding the pot. She was the owner of a very successful chain of dry cleaners around the Baltimore metropolitan area.
One other guy, Richard Olbert, yawned while placing his bet. Everyone else folded.
“How’s your dad, Rich,” Tommy asked.
“Bad,” Rich said, staring at his cards. “He fell and hit his head. He needs a procedure which will probably save his life, but he doesn’t have insurance.”
“You serious?” Tommy asked, putting his cards down in front of him.
“Yeah. His head swelled up and he needs a shunt to alleviate the symptoms. But we’re trying of find some way of financing the procedure.”
Tommy jabbed his toothpick into a back molar and said, “How much is the procedure?”
“Ten grand.”
Tommy looked at the pile of chips in the center of the table. “This pot probably has twenty thousand in it right now.”
Rich looked at Tommy under the glare of the fluorescents and through the cloud of drifting smoke. “What are you saying?”
“I’m just making conversation, that’s all.”
Tommy’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he smiled when he saw who was calling. “Hey,” Tommy said. “Isn’t it like three in the morning in Arizona?”
“Yeah,” Nick Bracco said. “I wake you?”
“Tommy,” the grump with the curled ash said. “Get off the phone and bet.”
“Oh,” Nick said into the receiver, “you spent the night at Lloyd’s.”
“Bingo.” Tommy matched the five thousand dollars that the dry cleaner lady had just dropped into the pot, then added another five thousand in chips.
Rich frowned at the bet. He glanced at his cards, then back to the dwindling collection of chips in front of him. A pure sign of weakness.
“I need some help,” Nick said.
“I’m listening,” Tommy said.
“Work-related help.”
“Yeah?” Tommy said, watching Rich decide how much he should invest in his losing hand.
“Do you have any contacts in Colombia?” Nick asked.
“Hmm,” Tommy said, understanding the need to keep the conversation confidential. “As in the country or the city?”
“The country.”
With a sour look, Rich finally placed chips in the pot to match Tommy’s bet. Then he relinquished his remaining chips to raise the bet another five thousand, leaving nothing but green space in front of him. He looked like a man walking to the gas chamber.
“Of course,” Tommy said on the phone. “I know people everywhere. What kind of help do you need?”
There was a long pause. The dry cleaning lady looked at her cards as if they were disobedient children, then placed them face down and slowly slid them under the large pile of chips announcing her resignation from the hand.
“This is really important,” Nick said. “And really
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