Unlucky (4 page)

"That was smooth," St. Claire said. "I was sure you hadn't pulled the straight."

Jake nodded. "Good. That's what you were supposed to think."

St. Claire narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to one side, studying Jake with an intensity that made him worry for a moment that he'd taken things a bit too far with his last comment. The casino owner was the kind of man who would appreciate confident but probably not cocky.

With any luck, St. Claire would let his suspicions ride long enough to take advantage of Jake as a dealer, because there was no doubt in Jake's mind that St. Claire was in desperate need of some professional-level card handlers. Jake had no earthly idea what had possessed a man like St. Claire to put up his own money for a tournament of thieves, but he didn't care, either. This was the golden opportunity Jake had been waiting for.

"You said you deal in Atlantic City, right?" St. Claire asked finally.

Jake nodded. He lived there, anyway, so at least the geography wasn't likely to trip him up. "I'm visiting a friend in New Orleans who works at a casino downtown. He turned me on to this game. Thought it sounded like a good chance for me to pick up some quick cash."

"Why didn't he come himself?"

"He runs a craps table. Cards aren't his skill set."

St. Claire nodded and sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. "If you have the buy-in amount, I can offer you the lead position. But I'm warning you now, you'll be up against some of the best Louisiana has to offer."

Jake smiled, trying to keep a calm, collected appearance, which was hard with so much riding on this poker tournament. "Ten grand?"

"Yeah. Ten, all up front. I'll spot you another forty on the first day. You better make it last--or more importantly, you better make more."

Jake pulled the wrapped set of hundreds from his backpack and handed it across the table to St. Claire. "Oh, I'll make more," he said with conviction. "You can bet on that."

St. Claire studied him a moment more. "I thought I just did."

"I don't want to hear it, Mallory," Harry Breaux said before she could even get out of her truck. He shot a dirty look at Scooter, who was perched on the passenger seat, then continued toward the dilapidated building at the far end of the parking lot.

"Aw, hell," Mallory said as she jumped out of her truck and hurried after Harry. She'd wrestled with Harry's plight and how she could fix it all day Friday until finally making that all-important call to her uncle late that evening. And as much as she would liked to have called in sick or claimed to be taking an impromptu vacation, Mallory knew there was no way she could carry out her plan without telling Harry first. Still, knowing good and well what Harry's reaction was going to be, she'd been in no big hurry to speak to the man and had put the entire conversation off until Monday morning at the last minute possible.

Since she hadn't even gotten a word in before Harry had stalked across the parking lot, obviously someone had tattled on her before she had gotten around to talking to her friend. Probably J.T., since Scooter had been uncommonly quiet after the thrashing he'd taken from the bar owner for blabbing about the tournament in the first place.

With a sigh, she grabbed her hard hat and hurried across the parking lot, falling in step next to Harry, who was systematically checking dynamite wiring surrounding the building. "I'm not here to argue, Harry," she said as she followed him through the inside of the structure. "This is something I want to do. Don't ask me to back out. You would do the same thing if the situation were reversed and it was my business at stake."

Harry stopped and turned to face her, looking her straight in the eyes. "I always intended to sell you my business, Mallory. And if it hadn't been for Thelma's cancer, I would have retired years ago, but the fact is, we needed more income for the doctors than retirement would bring." He shook his head and frowned. "But I will not take money from you this way. It's not worth the risk, and you're too important to me and Thelma."

Mallory sighed. "I don't have a choice, Harry. The reality is, no one else will ever take the chance on me that you did. Not with my reputation. Without your company, I have no future."

Harry lowered his eyes. "Damn it, that's not fair."

"I wasn't aiming to be fair, just honest."

Harry shook his head and waved her outside, away from the building. "You can always start your own business."

"With forty thousand dollars, no equipment and no business credit? I don't think so."

"There are other ways." Harry handed her a headset, then put one on himself, making further discussion impossible.

Reaching down with both hands, he pushed the lever to set off the dynamite, and the ground underneath them shook with the blast. It took several seconds for the dust to clear well enough for them to see a huge section of the building still standing.

"Shit!" Harry threw off his headset and walked into the dust storm toward the building, Mallory close behind.

"Let me handle this." Mallory said as she surveyed the remains of the building. "You'll be way into overtime hours if you have the guys re-rig it."

Harry looked at her and shook his head. "You've got to stop taking these kind of risks, Mallory. One of these days, it's going to come back and bite you."

"Maybe. But we all take chances. Mine are just different than most."

She put on her hard hat and motioned to Harry to step back. Once he was clear, she entered the building, hurrying through the half-fallen structure as quickly as the debris allowed. She'd barely made it three steps out of the building when what was remaining collapsed behind her.

Harry watched as the rest of the building crumbled, unable to hide the pride and amazement he always felt when watching Mallory in action. "You're as stubborn as they come, Mallory Devereaux."

"I learned from the best."

Harry stared at her for a moment, the hint of a smile hovering on his lips. Finally, he nodded. "Go ahead then with the poker tournament, but there is one thing that is not negotiable."

Mallory felt relief wash over her. "Whatever you want."

"If you win the money and bail me out of trouble with the IRS, I'm transferring controlling interest of the business to you. No arguments, no discussion. That was always my plan and by God, I'm going to get one thing my way before I die."

Mallory smiled. "I guess this one time is all right." She stood there for a couple of seconds just looking at Harry, not wanting to ask the next thing on her list.

"What now?" Harry said, and narrowed his eyes at her. "I know that look, Mallory. You want something from me, and I'd say you're about maxed out on favors."

Mallory felt her face flush and for a moment, she felt like a kid all over again. "It's T.W.," she began, and Harry started shaking his head before she could finish her sentence.

"Oh no," Harry said, and held up one hand. "You are not leaving that fleabag of yours here with me."

"C'mon, Harry," Mallory pleaded. "You know T.W. doesn't have any fleas. I don't want to leave him alone all day. He might get bored."

"Bored! All that damned dog does is eat, sleep and shit. Why the hell can't he do that at your house?"

Mallory put on her best sorrowful face. "He can't hear a darned thing anymore, except for the dynamite blasts. Coming to the site during the day at least allows him to hear something. Do you really want to deny one of God's creatures in his senior years?"

"Ha! You're not getting me with that one--I am one of God's creatures in his senior years. Last time I checked, God wasn't calling on me to babysit any of his dogs."

"He won't be any trouble, I promise. And you can drop him off at my place on your way home. I'll drop him off every morning before the tournament. C'mon, Harry. It's not even a mile out of your way."

Harry stared at her, trying to keep a stern look on his face, but Mallory could tell he was crumbling. "Oh, crap," he said finally. "Bring me the damned mutt. I guess five days won't kill me."

Mallory grinned and signaled to Scooter to get T.W. out of the truck. "I really appreciate this, Harry. And T.W. does too." She turned toward the truck just as Scooter placed the ancient, three-legged basset hound on the ground. He looked around for a moment, somewhat confused by his surroundings, but finally spotted Mallory, then sort of limped/trotted in her direction, his tail wagging just enough to throw him off balance and force his trot sideways.

Mallory slipped the leash from her pocket and cut off the wayward dog before he could veer too far off to the right. Leash in place, she walked him back over to Harry, who was shaking his head.

She placed the leash in Harry's hand before he could change his mind and hurried across the parking lot. "There's dog food in my office, under the desk. I'll come by Friday night--when I have the money."

Harry nodded and waved. "Be careful, Mallory. Please."

Scooter gave her the thumbs-up as she jumped in her truck. "That was way cool with the building, Mallory. There's nothing over a foot left standing. You're getting better."

Mallory grinned at her friend and turned her key over in the ignition. "I think we have a casino to board," she said, and tore out of the parking lot onto the highway.

It was a ten-minute drive to the casino that she made in seven. As she screeched to a stop at the docks, she stared at the boat and frowned. "What the hell happened to the casino?"

"Hurricane Katrina."

Mallory looked at the floating disaster and didn't even bother to try and hide her distaste. Paint peeled from every square inch of the boat and since the original colors were bright green, gold and purple, the whole thing now resembled a Mardi Gras float with the mange. "Reginald had insurance. What the heck did he do with the money?"

Scooter looked over at the casino and scratched his head, his brow scrunched in concentration. "I'm not sure exactly. I mean, there was this rumor about a street performer in New Orleans and a midget." He shrugged. "Who knows with your uncle?"

Mallory stared at Scooter for a moment, not even sure where to go from there but positive she wasn't pursuing the midget angle any further. "I thought we were cruising for this tournament. Does that thing even run?"

Scooter nodded. "Oh sure, the engine is still pretty sound. I mean, there's a problem from time to time, but that's why Reginald has me on board for the tournament. You know, just in case something breaks."

Great. She was about to board a boat of criminals that would pull away from the dock and cruise the Gulf for the better part of the day, and Scooter was the only hope she had for returning.

"You thinking of backing out?" Scooter asked, cluing in on her hesitation.

"No way," she said immediately. Granted, cooling cards had never really set well with her since she essentially saw it as her uncle's way of cheating people out of what was already an unfair advantage to begin with. But in this case, the players had plenty of money and no scruples. "This is my only shot at Harry's business. It might not be ideal but at least it pays well."

Besides, there was no cause for all the worry, she argued with herself. This was just another job. Five days of being hit on by nasty men with even nastier employment records.

But no matter how much she tried to rationalize it, the job made her a little uneasy, and for a woman that lived alone on the bayou and imploded buildings on a daily basis, that worried her. She could have handled a "watch your back" feeling, but the "run like hell" that had washed over her when she parked at the docks was stronger than any she'd felt before.

"You know," Scooter said, "if you really don't want to go through with this, I can probably get you on with my construction company when Walter Royal fires you."

Leave it to Scooter to cut straight to the heart of the matter. "I appreciate it, Scooter, but with my track record, do you really think anyone in Royal Flush is going to hire me to build things?"

Scooter frowned. "I guess not." He brightened a bit and smiled. "I definitely wouldn't want you installing glass, anyway." He pointed to the casino. "There's always cooling for a living. You don't have to do it here. You could move to New Orleans, or heck, go all the way to Vegas. That would be awesome."

"To hell with that," she said, and grabbed her duffel bag from the backseat. Demolition may not have been her first choice when she was slugging through college but damn if it wasn't what she was best at. "Let's get this over with."

Scooter nodded. "And don't worry about a thing, Mallory. J.T. ripped me fairly good over telling you about this. I promised him I wouldn't let anything happen to you. If things get out of hand, I can always shoot somebody with my nail gun." He pulled the tool out of his backpack and shoved it over to her for inspection. "It's a real beauty--magnesium housing, adjustable exhaust, and double cams."

Mallory smiled and jumped out of the truck, waving at her neighbor as she headed across the dock. What the heck--a boat of criminals versus Scooter and a nail gun. They weren't the best of odds, but they were the best she was going to get.

She put on her poker face as she walked through the sliding doors and into the casino. Might as well get her game face on now. But as she rounded the corner to the ladies' room, her cool and collected plans fell apart in an instant.

The woman who hurried out of the restroom and collided with her didn't even look old enough to be in an R-rated movie, much less in a casino. "What in God's name are you doing here, Amy?" Mallory used her duffel bag to push her friend toward a private corner of the lobby as more attendants emerged from the ladies' room. "Do
not
tell me you signed up to play in my uncle's poker scam?"

Amy's bright blue eyes widened at the tone of her voice and she shook her head with the innocence of a five- year-old, her honey blond bob swinging around her face. "I'm not a player, exactly--I'm a dealer. I tried out last week." She squirmed and stared at the floor. "I was going to tell you, Mallory, I promise." She looked at Mallory with a pleading expression. "It's for my thesis. You knew I was going to do something like this eventually. What's wrong with now?"