when I threatened to get on the next plane home, Ben mentioned that Stan was supposedly some kind of pill popper. I still didn’t see what that had to do with Ben, except for the fact that he sold pills for a living, which you’d think would make him less critical of the guy if for no other reason than he might boost Ben’s paycheck in an indirect way. Okay, I was stretching it a bit, but something was off. Why a drug abusing, skirt chasing poker champion would get his back up, I don’t know. Ben was acting like he was employed as the flack for the World Series of Poker. It didn’t make sense and I aimed to get to the bottom of it.
The longer I stood there waiting for the elevator, the further my imagination stretched. Finally, when my mind had drawn a picture of Ben choking Stan to death at the poker table downstairs, I went in search of the stairs. Twenty floors was a long way to go, but at least it was down and maybe the exercise would curb my anxiety. Good thing my Steve Maddens were comfy. I was huffing by the time I got to the tenth floor, so I barely heard the voices over my own wheezing lungs. I paused and bit down on my lower lip to keep from panting out loud. The voices, loudly angry, were both male and drifted down the stairwell from a few floors above me.
“I don’t care what kind of problems you’re having down there right now, Pete, discretion is especially important because of what is happening here this weekend.” A deep bass threatened. “This is very important to the jefe. You cannot talk to him. You cannot talk to me. Got it?”
“But what am I supposed to do if I have problems with a new driver? He walked off the job and I swear he thinks something’s hinky with the operation. We already lost a day because of it and two transfers. We’ll lose money, he’ll get mad,” a whiny tenor proclaimed defensively.
“He’s already mad. You coming up to him in the middle of the casino like that, blowing his cover.”
“It wasn’t in the middle of the casino, I caught him out of the way. I didn’t know that idiot was stalking him or something. How could I know that?” The one named Pete raised his voice in frightened desperation.
“Listen, the jefe is a big deal here. People think he is some sort of a god. So that is why you have to cool it. I don’t know what the stalker idiot heard but now he’s my problem to deal with and I hate problems. If you don’t quit arguing and shut up, I’ll shut you up for good,” a deep bass threatened. I heard thumping and a whimper.
My heart was racing, and not from my hike. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Part of me—obviously the smart part—told me to escape out the door with the big ten on it and run like hell. Some other part of me—obviously the same part that keeps finding the wrong men to date—made me crane my neck to sneak a peek upstairs. A balding head on a neck bulging with a couple of fat rolls hung over the railing. Not on purpose, I didn’t think, since a pair of big hands were buried in those fat rolls, squeezing until the bald spot started to turn red. Rambo-ish dark-haired Bad Guy in a good suit loomed over the pudgy dude named Pete and squeezed harder. He glared at him with eyes so electric blue I sucked in a sharp breath.
Damn.
I shrank back against the wall. I tasted Iceberg Effusion on my tongue and sniffed again. I recognized it because, way back when, I’d spent about three hours smelling every men’s cologne at the Dillard’s counter to find the perfect birthday present for Ben. The crisp, hard-edged, almost threatening scent wasn’t my brother but it certainly would fit the tough guy upstairs. I hoped they couldn’t hear my heart that was now roaring. I swallowed hard and nearly choked. Fine, maybe I would die right there and spare the guy a second victim.
“Did—you— Ack —hear— Blek —that?” Pete forced out of his compressed airway.
Uh-oh.
“What?” demanded Electric Blue Rambo.
Pete
The longer I stood there waiting for the elevator, the further my imagination stretched. Finally, when my mind had drawn a picture of Ben choking Stan to death at the poker table downstairs, I went in search of the stairs. Twenty floors was a long way to go, but at least it was down and maybe the exercise would curb my anxiety. Good thing my Steve Maddens were comfy. I was huffing by the time I got to the tenth floor, so I barely heard the voices over my own wheezing lungs. I paused and bit down on my lower lip to keep from panting out loud. The voices, loudly angry, were both male and drifted down the stairwell from a few floors above me.
“I don’t care what kind of problems you’re having down there right now, Pete, discretion is especially important because of what is happening here this weekend.” A deep bass threatened. “This is very important to the jefe. You cannot talk to him. You cannot talk to me. Got it?”
“But what am I supposed to do if I have problems with a new driver? He walked off the job and I swear he thinks something’s hinky with the operation. We already lost a day because of it and two transfers. We’ll lose money, he’ll get mad,” a whiny tenor proclaimed defensively.
“He’s already mad. You coming up to him in the middle of the casino like that, blowing his cover.”
“It wasn’t in the middle of the casino, I caught him out of the way. I didn’t know that idiot was stalking him or something. How could I know that?” The one named Pete raised his voice in frightened desperation.
“Listen, the jefe is a big deal here. People think he is some sort of a god. So that is why you have to cool it. I don’t know what the stalker idiot heard but now he’s my problem to deal with and I hate problems. If you don’t quit arguing and shut up, I’ll shut you up for good,” a deep bass threatened. I heard thumping and a whimper.
My heart was racing, and not from my hike. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Part of me—obviously the smart part—told me to escape out the door with the big ten on it and run like hell. Some other part of me—obviously the same part that keeps finding the wrong men to date—made me crane my neck to sneak a peek upstairs. A balding head on a neck bulging with a couple of fat rolls hung over the railing. Not on purpose, I didn’t think, since a pair of big hands were buried in those fat rolls, squeezing until the bald spot started to turn red. Rambo-ish dark-haired Bad Guy in a good suit loomed over the pudgy dude named Pete and squeezed harder. He glared at him with eyes so electric blue I sucked in a sharp breath.
Damn.
I shrank back against the wall. I tasted Iceberg Effusion on my tongue and sniffed again. I recognized it because, way back when, I’d spent about three hours smelling every men’s cologne at the Dillard’s counter to find the perfect birthday present for Ben. The crisp, hard-edged, almost threatening scent wasn’t my brother but it certainly would fit the tough guy upstairs. I hoped they couldn’t hear my heart that was now roaring. I swallowed hard and nearly choked. Fine, maybe I would die right there and spare the guy a second victim.
“Did—you— Ack —hear— Blek —that?” Pete forced out of his compressed airway.
Uh-oh.
“What?” demanded Electric Blue Rambo.
Pete
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