Read Online Cold Shot to the Heart by Wallace Stroby - Free Book Online

be,” Stimmer said and half-smiled. “That’s the beauty of it.”
    â€œA million plus on the table,” she said. “That doesn’t sound right.”
    â€œThat’s a best-case scenario. Still, between three people…”
    â€œThey have a banker there?” she said.
    â€œYeah. He brings the chips, watches over the money.”
    â€œSo they’ll have some sort of security. Armed.”
    â€œThere’s always a guy with the banker to keep an eye on him, settle any disputes among the players. But it’s usually a quiet game. No women, no posses. Just room service food and booze. They come to play.”
    â€œYou got all this from your inside man?”
    â€œPlus a sketch of the layout. That never changes. Always the same room.”
    â€œHow do we get in and out?”
    â€œThat’s what I need you two to help me figure out.”
    â€œYour insider,” Chance said. “He’ll be conspicuously absent when all this goes down, won’t he?”
    â€œHe hasn’t played in a month. He’s done with it. He wouldn’t mind a little revenge too, for what he lost. He’ll be happy with what I give him though. I’ll make sure of that.”
    â€œWhat do they play?” she said.
    â€œHold ’Em, mostly. No limit. Thirty-thousand-dollar buy-in. Sometimes they alternate. Hold ’Em, Omaha, Stud, and Stud Eight. They hire a private dealer for the night.”
    â€œHow many players?”
    â€œSix to ten,” he said. “Since it’s the last night, probably the full ten. Some of them will want a chance to win their money back.”
    â€œSo at least twelve people in there, maybe more.”
    â€œSmall space, though. Easy to control. We go in heavy, four, five minutes we’re out of there.”
    Chance laced his fingers behind his head, rocked back on his chair.
    She thought it over. If Stimmer’s information was accurate, three might be enough. A small crew, but she’d worked with both of them before, knew they were good. It improved the odds.
    â€œYou say they’re only doing one more game?” she said.
    Stimmer nodded. “That’s the word.”
    â€œWhen?”
    â€œThat’s the complication.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œThe timing. It’s Sunday.”
    â€œShit,” Chance said. “That’s just…”
    â€œFive days,” Stimmer said. “That’s all the time we’ve got.”
    *   *   *
    â€œI’m unconvinced,” she said.
    They were in the bar at a Sheraton off the Garden State Parkway, a half hour’s drive from the farmhouse. She and Chance had gotten a booth in the back. She had a glass of red wine in front of her, Chance a beer, steaks on the way.
    â€œThis was pitched to me as high-end,” she said. “Not some half-assed card game.”
    â€œI’ve heard worse.”
    â€œYou’re liking it?”
    â€œI want to know more,” he said, “but I didn’t hear anything that made me rule it out. Three people, the logistics are simpler. Cut’s better, too.”
    â€œI don’t know.” She looked around the bar, scanned faces. “That much money in play at a single game. Hard to buy.”
    â€œLook at it this way. Even if it’s only half that, it’s a good return. If the setup’s the way he says it is, all we have to do is go in and grab the bank and skedaddle. Hard to pass that up.”
    â€œIt always looks easy until you walk in the door.”
    â€œYeah. But like Wayne used to say, ‘Plan the work…’ ”
    â€œÂ â€˜â€¦ and work the plan.’ I remember.”
    The waitress brought their food. For a while, they ate without speaking, comfortable in their silence. It was good to sit across from him, to know he was alive, still on the outside. He was another connection with Wayne, with the way their lives had