Read Online Blackjack Dead or Alive (The Blackjack Series Book 3) by Ben Bequer, Joshua Hoade - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ben Bequer, Joshua Hoade
Ads: Link
rude, but she was a stunner. She was a slim, sublime beauty, probably a fashion model headed to Milan. She wore black leggings and a cream colored leather coat that was modest and sexy at the same time, with a red scarf loosely tied around her neck. Large, wide lensed sunglasses balanced on the edge of her nose, the tint just light enough to see the shadow of her eyes. She had a Bluetooth earpiece, speaking German to whoever was on the other end, ignoring me with practiced efficiency.
Instead of telling her to leave, I sat back and cleaned myself up, brushing crumbs off my coat, and corking the bottle and placing it on a table. She acknowledged my existence with a patronizing smile, but didn’t miss a beat in her conversation, which continued for another ten minutes. I began to pity the poor soul on the other end, as it seemed my new guest did most of the talking. My belly full again, I rested my head against the soft seat back, the train’s rumbling a lullaby that ushered me to sleep.
I woke to the feeling of free fall, and put a supporting arm out. My new guest recoiled a little, but she had obviously shoved me.
“What the fuck, lady,” I said, arms wide with anger.
She dismissed my fury with a laugh, “You snore loud. I’m trying to speak on the phone, okay?”
“I snore,” I said, bewildered, but giving in to my irritation. “You talk loud, goddammit.”
The woman cocked her head in disbelief.
“This is an important call,” she said. “I paid for a private cabin because of my calls; you understand what I’m saying?”
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my ticket, “I paid for first class too,” I said, waving the ticket around. “So fuck you and fuck your calls.”
Her eyes narrowed and I saw a reply form on her lips when her attention wavered from me to the bobbing ticket in my hand.
“Can I see?”
I showed it to her and she laughed, shaking her head.
“That is a first class ticket,” she said.
“What did I just say?”
She drew a ticket from her coat, and handed it to me.
“That is for a private cabin,” she said. “This one, in fact.”
I saw the discrepancy, even though I couldn’t read Italian, it was clear her ticket was a higher class than mine by virtue of her having paid almost twice as much as I had. I had paid for a first-class seat, not a cabin – it was coincidence that the numbers were the same.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” I said and she replied with a cocked eyebrow. “I thought first class was the cabins. I wanted a cabin,” I said standing suddenly and banging my head against the low roof. “Goddammit,” I roared, flinching at the blow. “Sorry,” I went on, walking toward the door.
“It’s fine,” she said.
I opened the door and stopped, “And I’m sorry for insulting you,” I said. “That was out of line,” I said and walked out of the cabin, headed for one of the ushers who were just now finishing a ticket check in the first of the row of cabins.
“Signore,” I said, rushing toward him. “I made a mistake with the tickets. When I bought them, I mean.”
He had a serious face with steely blue eyes and wide shoulders. I was approaching fast, and I could tell he didn’t like it. This guy was used to cowing people, and I had grown accustomed to treading carefully around alpha dogs in their territory. Something about my size was a magnet for little guys wanting to buy trouble.
“See, I bought a first class ticket-“
“This is not first class,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “I mean, I know that now. I didn’t know when I was buying the ticket. I thought first class was-”
“Upgrade is one hundred euro,” he said, again interrupting me.
“Okay, fine,” I said, reaching into my coat pocket.
“But there are no more cabins available,” he said, waiting for me to get my money out, and stepping aside, lifting an arm to guide me to a different car.
“I’ll pay double,” I said, counting off the euros in front of
Instead of telling her to leave, I sat back and cleaned myself up, brushing crumbs off my coat, and corking the bottle and placing it on a table. She acknowledged my existence with a patronizing smile, but didn’t miss a beat in her conversation, which continued for another ten minutes. I began to pity the poor soul on the other end, as it seemed my new guest did most of the talking. My belly full again, I rested my head against the soft seat back, the train’s rumbling a lullaby that ushered me to sleep.
I woke to the feeling of free fall, and put a supporting arm out. My new guest recoiled a little, but she had obviously shoved me.
“What the fuck, lady,” I said, arms wide with anger.
She dismissed my fury with a laugh, “You snore loud. I’m trying to speak on the phone, okay?”
“I snore,” I said, bewildered, but giving in to my irritation. “You talk loud, goddammit.”
The woman cocked her head in disbelief.
“This is an important call,” she said. “I paid for a private cabin because of my calls; you understand what I’m saying?”
I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my ticket, “I paid for first class too,” I said, waving the ticket around. “So fuck you and fuck your calls.”
Her eyes narrowed and I saw a reply form on her lips when her attention wavered from me to the bobbing ticket in my hand.
“Can I see?”
I showed it to her and she laughed, shaking her head.
“That is a first class ticket,” she said.
“What did I just say?”
She drew a ticket from her coat, and handed it to me.
“That is for a private cabin,” she said. “This one, in fact.”
I saw the discrepancy, even though I couldn’t read Italian, it was clear her ticket was a higher class than mine by virtue of her having paid almost twice as much as I had. I had paid for a first-class seat, not a cabin – it was coincidence that the numbers were the same.
“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” I said and she replied with a cocked eyebrow. “I thought first class was the cabins. I wanted a cabin,” I said standing suddenly and banging my head against the low roof. “Goddammit,” I roared, flinching at the blow. “Sorry,” I went on, walking toward the door.
“It’s fine,” she said.
I opened the door and stopped, “And I’m sorry for insulting you,” I said. “That was out of line,” I said and walked out of the cabin, headed for one of the ushers who were just now finishing a ticket check in the first of the row of cabins.
“Signore,” I said, rushing toward him. “I made a mistake with the tickets. When I bought them, I mean.”
He had a serious face with steely blue eyes and wide shoulders. I was approaching fast, and I could tell he didn’t like it. This guy was used to cowing people, and I had grown accustomed to treading carefully around alpha dogs in their territory. Something about my size was a magnet for little guys wanting to buy trouble.
“See, I bought a first class ticket-“
“This is not first class,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “I mean, I know that now. I didn’t know when I was buying the ticket. I thought first class was-”
“Upgrade is one hundred euro,” he said, again interrupting me.
“Okay, fine,” I said, reaching into my coat pocket.
“But there are no more cabins available,” he said, waiting for me to get my money out, and stepping aside, lifting an arm to guide me to a different car.
“I’ll pay double,” I said, counting off the euros in front of
Similar Books
