Authors: Kay Keppler
“That low-down, lying, stealing, son of a—” Marty caught Hope’s glance.
“Snake,” he finished. “You’re
sure
you don’t want me to kill him?”
Hope grinned weakly. “He’s got a kid,” she said, “so, no. The weird thing is, Marty—”
“What?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it. Tanner cheated, I saw him. How he picked up the discards and culled the high cards and then did that riffle shuffle, when he palmed the cards—everything. But he wasn’t benefiting from the cheats. Or not by much. He
was
ahead of me in the chip count, but mostly Big Julie benefited.”
“Big Julie benefited? You’re
sure
?”
“I know what to look for, Marty. I know what I saw.”
Marty crossed his legs and took another sip of brandy.
“
Big Julie
was the chip leader.”
“Yes.” Hope wondered what Marty was thinking.
“Huh,” Marty said.
“What?” Hope asked, finishing her brandy.
“Nothing,” Marty said. “I don’t know. You’re right, it’s strange.”
After three brandies in the VIP lounge, Hope was feeling quite a bit better, and by the time Marty called the other uncles in to share a lunch of beer with potstickers, Mongolian beef, garlic spinach, and long-bean prawns, she was feeling almost optimistic.
“Next time you’ll take Tanner,” Marty said confidently, when the story of Hope’s loss and Tanner’s cheating had been told again to the shock and disgust of the rest of the uncles. “You’re plenty good enough.”
“Bing-bing-bing!” Sharp Eddie said, spearing his fifth potsticker.
“You had a hell of a week,” Isaiah Rush said. “One for the books.”
“Truly brave and brilliant play,” Weary Blastell said, pouring beer for everyone.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Pete Wisniewski said.
“Your tremendous aptitude for the more esoteric points of play are indicative of a truly strategic style,” Jim Thickpenny said. “Should you ever contemplate undertaking a career in professional gaming, we have more than creditable evidence that you will find optimal success.”
“Thanks, you guys,” Hope said, draining her glass and setting it down with a thump. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me all week, more than you know. Coming out here—everything.” She beamed fuzzily at the uncles.
“To Hope!” Weary said. All the uncles raised their glasses, while Hope, humbled and grateful, felt tears spring from her eyes.
“Come on, now,” Marty said, handing her a clean paper napkin. “Don’t get weepy. I’ll drive you home. You’re
skunked
.”
The uncles had made her feel a lot better, so after Marty and Weary took her home, Hope decided she could start her most difficult moving task. She had to find a place for the horses. She sat down and picked up the phone.
Hope sold Banjo with her first call to the riding stable down the road. Banjo would hate all the amateur riders sawing at his mouth and kicking him in the ribs, but his new owners were decent people and knowledgeable about horses. And she could still go out and ride him sometimes.
After promising to deliver him in two weeks, she hung up and cried.
But Blondie and Ralph were much harder to find homes for. Blondie was gentle and good with children, but she was old and needed frequent veterinary care. Ralph didn’t have a mean bone in his body, but his bouncy gait made him almost impossible to ride. Who but the McNaughtons would want a horse no one could ride? Hope spent three fruitless hours calling ranches, stables, and riding clubs. No one would take the horses.
She buried her head in her arms and cried again, defeated. These animals were like family to her. Blondie and Ralph looked to her for comfort and attention, and she was betraying them. She was terrified to think about what might happen to them if she couldn’t find homes for them.
Faith set a sandwich on the table next to her. “I’m sorry about the horses,” she said.
Hope nodded and sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I’m sorry about the farm.”
They were silent a moment, thinking about their losses.
“Your cell phone’s been ringing all afternoon,” Faith said finally. “Want me to get it for you?”
“Sorry,” Hope said. “I thought I’d turned it off. It’s probably Tanner.”
“He sure wants to talk to you.”
“And I sure don’t want to talk to him.”
Faith eyed her sister. “You know, he might have had a reason for cheating in that game.”
“Maybe he did. Derek always did.”
“Hope—”
“I can’t talk to him, Faith. The ranch is gone. Whatever he wants to say, the ranch is still gone. Anyway, he’s Derek all over again. A slick card player. I just can’t.”
“You like Marty. And the rest of the uncles. They’re card players.”
“But the uncles are all business. They’re stand-up guys. They’re
pros.
”
“Tanner’s a pro.”
“Tanner’s more of a professional con artist. And—” Hope couldn’t bring herself to say the words. She stared blindly at the red and yellow flowered oilcloth that covered the table. Faith pulled out a chair and wrapped her arms around Hope’s shoulders, and Hope crumpled under the weight of her sister’s sympathy.
“I like him,” Hope said, her voice breaking. “Tanner, I mean.
Really
like him. He’s sparkles and chocolate. For a little while, I just—I thought—I just wanted—” She reached blindly for a tissue and Faith pushed the box closer.
“I
knew
it was a bad idea,” Hope said, wiping her eyes. “I just couldn’t seem to stop myself.”
“Oh, Hope, I’m so sorry,” Faith said as Hope trembled with loss.
“I’ve known him for a
week
,” Hope hiccupped. “And since then, between him and Derek, we’ve lost the ranch, the vegetable farm, the horses, and we don’t have a place to live. Imagine if I’d known him a
year
.”
“We’re not doing real good right now,” Faith agreed. “It’s not all Tanner’s fault, though.”
“It’s not just that Tanner lied and cheated,” Hope sniffled. “That was bad. Really bad. But it’s not just Tanner.”
She blew her nose. “It’s me.”
Her head felt thick and heavy. “I bet a half-million dollars on a throw of the card. A half-million dollars, Faith! On one hand. Think what we could have done with a half-million dollars.”
“You didn’t steal the rent,” Faith said. “Anyway, Big Julie wouldn’t have let you cash out of that game. He wouldn’t have let you come home with the half-million. And Hope—” She stroked her sister’s hair until Hope met her eyes.
“The ranch is gone,” Faith said. “But if you wanted to earn more money for yourself—for us—you could keep playing cards. Turn pro. You burned up the tables this week.”
Hope sniffed back tears, squaring her shoulders, facing facts.
“Tanner’s not the only one who’s just like Derek,” she said. “I am, too. I liked it, playing like that. I liked it too much. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to be addicted to cards or casinos or anything like that. And Tanner brings that out in me.”
Faith looked doubtful. “Well, it seems a shame to give up the sparkles and chocolate and whatever made you sing during the dishes on Saturday night. Are you sure there’s not some way you could—work it out with him somehow?”
Hope sighed, wiping away the last of her tears.
“I don’t see how. We’re oil and water. Card players and chief financial officers. They don’t mix.”
Faith stood up. “Well, let’s think about it,” she said optimistically. “Even if we’ve lost the ranch, I’m not sure you should have to sacrifice Tanner, too.”
“It’s not a sacrifice,” Hope said, trying not to sound woebegone. “It’s self-preservation.”
Faith looked at her sister with sympathy. “Speaking of self-preservation, you look beat. You got in so late and got up so early. Why don’t you take a nap until supper time?”
She
was
beat, Hope realized, and a nap sounded like a good idea. She’d need her rest for the changes—the downsizing—that was still to come.
Chapter 28
While Hope spent her Sunday mourning her losses, Tanner spent most of his Sunday in the beige conference room of Las Vegas’s FBI bureau. He had never gone to bed after the card game, and he was now officially too tired to move. His eyes felt full of sand, and his muscles weighed too much to move. In an effort to stay awake, he’d checked out the vending machine down the hall and tried the vile swill they called coffee. The foul brew, which had to have been boiling in that vending machine for at least two years, had tasted bitter when he swallowed it and sat like a furious porcupine in his belly ever since, stabbing his guts with bilious darts.
Or maybe that was just the fear he’d tasted.
Jack Sievers sat next to him, looking dapper and cranky. Jack had put on a suit and tie for the occasion, which Tanner had to appreciate since Jack had dressed at six in the morning. The two of them had been sitting there for hours—ever since the Saturday night game had broken up at Big Julie’s and the feds had swooped in and arrested the mobster. Tanner had called Jack as they’d headed to the federal office building, and they’d chatted quickly before the agents debriefed Tanner on the game. At dawn, when the rest of the IRS agents and state police involved in the sting had gone home for some sleep, Jack, on Tanner’s behalf, demanded a meeting with the FBI’s Special Agent in Charge for Las Vegas. And now they were waiting.
“Aren’t they ever coming back?” Jack complained now. He looked up at the surveillance camera tucked into the ceiling tile.
“Hey!” he yelled at the camera. “Hurry up! What’s taking so long?”
“Maybe they’re trying to find someone who knows how to type,” Tanner said.
Jack sighed. “I’d go out and pick us up some food and decent coffee, but I’m afraid I’d miss the excitement,” he said.
They looked around the empty conference room.
“Right,” Tanner said. “Excitement.” He paused. “I hope I’m not wasting your time here.”
Jack glanced at Tanner with a thin smile. “This will work out,” he said. “You’ll see. I didn’t go to that fancy Ivy League law school for nothing.”
“I know,” Tanner said, watching his friend turn into a shark of a lawyer. He tried to smile except his face felt too stiff and his stomach felt too cramped. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
The night had been the worst of Tanner’s life. He’d won the game—or rather he’d thrown the game so that Big Julie had won it—which kept the FBI off his back and his butt out of prison. But he was terrified that in the process of winning the game, he’d lost Hope. He’d never seen her so angry. She’d thrown those poisonous barbs at him all night. But in the end when she’d walked out it was the resignation he’d seen on her face that had really crushed him. It was like she
knew
he’d betray her.
But she must feel
something
for him. Something besides rage. Because if she didn’t, she’d have told Big Julie last night that he’d been cheating, and he’d be out in the middle of the Mojave desert somewhere pushing up cacti by now instead of sitting here in the FBI conference room with Jack. But she hadn’t told Big Julie.
He was trying to hold onto that thought.
Still, he’d taken the ranch from her. He’d told her he would, and he had. He’d told her they could work something out. She hadn’t believed him. And then she’d walked away. Said she never wanted to see him again.
In fact, he didn’t know if he could get the ranch back. He was trying. If he failed, he’d lost more than a card game. He’d lost any chance he’d had to share something with Hope.
He didn’t know if he could repair the damage he’d done to her, even if he did get the ranch back. Hers wasn’t the kind of anger that could be melted with candy and flowers. He would never forget the way she’d looked when she’d walked away. Maybe one betrayal had been one too many. Maybe she’d never forgive him.
Jack perked up and sat up a little straighter.
“Here they come,” he said.
The door opened and Special Agent Roy Frelly and Lee Gauger came into the conference room with someone Tanner had never met. They all held paper cups of a beverage that smelled like coffee, so Tanner knew they hadn’t gotten it from the vending machine. He felt a surge of annoyance. Just how bad could this day get? He’d played cards with a gangster, he’d betrayed Hope, she’d dumped him, and the
stupid FBI couldn’t even offer him a decent cup of coffee
. After all he’d done for them.
“You guys are getting the red carpet treatment,” Frelly said. “This is Special Agent in Charge William Andrews.”
“Is that red carpet over here, too? Because I don’t see anyone bringing us coffee,” Tanner said. “Pleased to meet you.”
“This whole evening has been highly irregular,” Andrews said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “There’s no precedent for what you’re proposing.”
“I guess that’s why you’re called Special Agent in Charge,” Tanner said, still annoyed about the coffee. “You get to make the decisions.”