Out of Aces (14 page)

“The party went long.” Phil’s voice sent heat roaring through my face, my neck. I hadn’t felt this way in months. I’d almost forgo
tten.

“You said you’d be home by ele
ven.”

“The CEO was there. What was I supposed to do, tell him I had somewhere better to
be?”

“You could have called me. Did you see my texts and voice mails? I was worr
ied!”

“Honey.” Phil’s voice dropped a notch. “Everything was going so fast, I didn’t have a chance. Let’s go get breakfast,
hmm?”

“It’s 10:00 a.m.! The party went this whole t
ime?”

There was a short silence. “Are you questioning
me?”

“Well . . .” Mom’s voice was losing confid
ence.

“I’m getting tired of the jealousy, Sarah. You can always leave, if you don’t trust
me.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and stepped out from the stairwell. “Yeah, Mom. Let’s leave. You heard him.” Phil’s head whipped around like I’d fired a shot. He was in a tux, looking like a fat, old, partied-out tool. The look on his face was pretty
rich.

“What the hell are you doing h
ere?”

“Getting my mom. We were just leaving, like you said. Because you’re a cheating asshole.” I was gambling big, putting everything on the table. It was up to Mom if I’d go bust or
not.

For a moment there was silence. Phil looked at my mom with narrow eyes, two red spots burning on his ch
eeks.

“Gabe . . .” she said. I heard the answer in her voice. She was so weak. I knew I shouldn’t, but sometimes I hated her for it. She said nervously, “Let’s not start off on the wrong foot. Why doesn’t everybody sit down, and I’ll fix us some panca
kes?”

“I’m not hungry,” Phil said sm
ugly.

I already knew I’d lost, but I kept going. “Mom, come on. I have a plan. Don’t listen to his lies. Let’s
go.”

Phil let out a half laugh. “A
plan
? Last time I checked, your plan was dropping out of school and running away to Vegas. Sarah, I’m sorry. All right? I’m sorry. Come here, ho
ney.”

And she stepped into his
arms.

I ran. Even though I was still dizzy, and I’d barely had enough coffee to wake up, I pounded up the stairs and scrambled to pull on clothes. I’d take a taxi to McCaw Hall and get my car and get back home
to V
egas.

Mom had made her choice a long time
ago.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Y
ou’re a wreck,” said Nick, looking me up and down and frowning. “This is the thanks I get for letting you take off New Yea
r’s?”

“Sorry,” I muttered. I’d driven another eighteen hours straight, gotten seven hours of sleep, and was back at
work.

“Well, get it together. Drink some coffee. Put some water on your face or something.” Nick stalked off, hair gleaming under the bar li
ghts.

Rob rolled his eyes and slid his rag down the bar. “What a pr
ick.”

“No, he’s not,” April said. She was sitting at the bar, warming up with a cup of coffee before her shift. “He’s just under a lot of press
ure.”

Rob and I looked at her like she was nuts. “Yes, he is,” we said at the same
time.

April sipped her coffee. “You guys are too hard on
him.”

Rob rolled his eyes. He’d shaved his head while I was gone, and somehow it made him look even bigger. “You do look kind of wiped out,” he told me. “Did you have a good t
rip?”

I shook my head. “My girlfriend and I got in a fight.” I poured myself another Coke. I was getting to a level of caffeine addiction where I had to drink about five to feel anyt
hing.

“Bummer, man,” Rob said not very sympathetic
ally.

“What happened?” asked A
pril.

“I messed up,” I said briefly. I didn’t really feel like replaying it. The whole thing made me so ashamed I wanted to crawl into a hole every time I thought of
it.

April looked at Rob. “That means it’s embarrassing. Otherwise he’d tell us. Come on, Gabe, what happe
ned?”

I ignored
her.

Rob grinned. “He
is
embarras
sed.”

After a pause, April said, “If you’re meant to be together, she’ll forgive
you.”

“That’s deep,” said Rob. April threw a crumpled napkin at
him.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I ripped it out while it was still vibrating. But it wasn’t Irina. It was Mom again. She was calling me every hour—she had been since I left—and every time, it got my hopes up that Irina was calling me
back.

Rob’s eyebrows popped up. “That your g
irl?”

I shook my
head.

“Man, you grabbed that thing like it was setting your pants on fire. Kind of whipped, aren’t
you?”

April chuckled. “He’s definitely whipped. You should hear him talk about
her.”

“Shut up,” I
said.

Rob shrugged and went back to wiping. “Just don’t stalk her. One message, that’s
it.”

“I left three.” I began to take warm glasses out of the washer and stack
them.

Some customers floated in and Rob moved toward his end of the bar. “That’s stalking,” he called over his shou
lder.

April pushed her empty cup toward me and stood up. “Don’t listen to him. You need to call a few times so she knows you c
are.”

I raised a hand good-bye as she headed for her cage. Then I leaned on the bar, ready to pass out, and watched a group of women in tight jeans dancing around a pile of purses. We called it “the Midwestern Purse Dance” because it was a sure sign of tourists. Rob was right about stalking. I’d been acting nothing but pathetic. I wasn’t calling her a
gain.

It was one of those jinxed nights when nobody liked their drinks, and the hose broke and sprayed orange juice on a customer, and we kept running out of cherries because some drunk girl was eating them straight out of the fruit tray. Lars had the night off, and Nick was in top form, criticizing everything: how fast dirties piled up, how slow we were moving, and how the lime in his stupid Pellegrino was “as fresh as your grandmot
her.”

About halfway through the shift, Rob poured us shots of tequila and said, “To surviving this pl
ace.”

“To surviving,” I said. I was getting ready to knock it back when I heard, “G
abe.”

I lowered the glass and tried to stay cool as I turned around. Nick had sneaked up to the bar flap and was watching us. Rob proved he had elephant balls by winking at Nick and tossing back his tequila. “Rough night,” he expla
ined.

But Nick didn’t seem to notice the shots. He was staring at me. “You have a phone c
all.”

At first I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right. “What?” I said stup
idly.

Nick opened the flap. “You have a phone call. You can take it in my off
ice.”

I looked at Rob, who shrugged. Hope surged up in me.
Irina?
She was the only one who knew where I worked, so it had to be her. But why wouldn’t she call my cell? I wiped my hands on a towel and followed Nick past the dance floor, out of the club into the hallway of offices. It was quiet in there, except for the muffled bass and Nick’s shoes clicking on the f
loor.

He opened his office door. “It’s the flashing button. Don’t be l
ong.”

I went in. The office was cold and smelled of stale cigars. The desk light was on, one of those steel lamps like a robot arm. I walked to Nick’s desk and stared at the sleek black cordless.
Please let it be Irina.
I picked up the phone and touched the red button. “He
llo?”

“Gabe, don’t hang up,” said
Mom.

I froze, my fingers choking the receiver.
How—?
Then I remembered: I saw a flash of me in bed, the washcloth on my fore
head
.

What’s the restaurant like? What’s it called a
gain?

’S’called Hush. It’s
nice.

“You can’t call me here!” I managed to
say.

“You weren’t answering your phone! I have to talk to
you.”

“Not right now! I can’t believe you called me h
ere.”

“Honey, I just want to say I’m sorry. I know you’re upset, but you have to hear me out. I’ve been thinking about what happened with Phil, and I made a mistake.
I—”

“I really can’t talk right now.” I tried to keep my voice under control. “I’ll call you later, okay? Please don’t call my work ag
ain.”

“You promise you’ll call me later? I’ve left a lot of messa
ges!”

“I promise. ’Bye.” I set down the receiver. Then I sat in Nick’s chair and leaned over the desk, waiting for my pulse to go back to normal. My real life had touched my fake life, and it felt like an electric s
hock.

Of course it wasn’t I
rina.

Finally I stood. I’d tell Nick the call was some kind of family emergency. If he asked. I glanced around as I headed for the door. On the coffee table was a bottle of cognac, a matchbook, and a
WIRED
magazine. A woman’s coat was thrown on the couch, long and white, with light blue lining. Nick liked his women classy, like everything
else.

I pushed open the door. Nick was still in the hall, standing a little way down, texting. He looked up. “All d
one?”

“Yeah. Tha
nks.”

“Hang on.” Nick slipped his phone in his pocket and walked toward me. “I want to talk to you for a second.” He reached past me and opened his office door a
gain.

The GED, that had to be it. Or the Sheriff’s Card.
Damn.
I’d had enough time to get good fakes, but I’d been so busy, I’d let it slide. Shoulders slumping, I followed Nick back into his of
fice.

“Shut the door behind you.” Nick dropped into the armchair that Lars usually used and leaned back with a sigh. “Busy night.” He eyed me. “How do you like the job so far? Is it what you expec
ted?”

“It’s great,” I said uneasily. “The money’s good. Yeah, it’s what I expec
ted.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. Happy with your shi
fts?”

“Y
eah.”

“How do you like working with
Rob?”

Is this his game? Playing people against each other?
“I like Rob,” I said. “He’s a good
guy.”

“Good.” Nick smiled gently—such a strange expression for him that a creepy feeling rolled down my spine. “You know what I like about Rob?” he said. “I can really trust him. All this with the cops.” Nick waved a hand. “Rob’s never involved. He never solicits anything. Some of the waitresses do, though. And bottle runners. It’s hard to find people you can tr
ust.”

“Yeah, true.” My neck was prick
ling.

“Hang on, let me check a text.” Nick arched in his chair, dug out his phone again, and glanced at it. He typed something quickly. Then he looked up at me. “Yours is the gray Altima, ri
ght?”

“Yeah .
 . .”

“Some asshole just dinged it in the lot. You got the keys on
you?”

These questions didn’t even make sense. “Yeah, I m
ean—”

There was a light knocking at the door, and Nick called, “T
roy?”

“Y
eah.”

“Come
in.”

The door opened and two guys stepped in. One was a thick-necked bull, hands as big as dinner plates. He had buzzed silver hair and small glasses. The other was younger, smaller, with eyes like shards of green glass. His head was shaved, bluish white, and inked all over. There was an
AB
just below his ear.
Aryan Brotherhood.
Who the hell were these
guys?

“That him?” said the older one, looking me
over.

Cold fear sliced down my t
orso.

Nick nodded. “Troy, cover him, will
you?”

Casually, the older guy reached into his jacket and pulled out a stubby black gun. He pointed it at me, and AB stepped to my
side.

I froze, my chest squeezing with panic. My vision blurred, then focused on that
gun.

Nick hadn’t moved from his chair. “When that phone call came through for you,” he said softly, “your
mother
asked for Gabe, the waiter. I said we don’t have any waiter named Gabe. Is she talking about Gabe the bartender? She said no, Gabe’s too young to bartend. Then she described
you.”

I licked my lips, lightheaded enough to pass out, and took a shaky step back
ward.

Nick nodded, and for a second I thought he was nodding at me. But then AB threw a swift jab in my eye and pain burst into my skull like a firecracker as my head snapped to the side. Hurt so bad, I couldn’t breathe. I crumpled to my knees and caught the edge of the coffee table to keep from falling to the floor. There was a roaring in my ears, and my thoughts came in jerks:
Have to run. Get
away.

“You’re trying to play me? Get my club shut d
own?”

I shook my head and stayed in a crouch, shaking.
Can I fight my way to the door?
But they had a gun. Something wet was sliding down my cheek. I touched it, and my fingers came back
red.

“You’re over, you little fucker,” said Nick. He stood up. Through my good eye, I saw his face swimming above me. “I never liked you. I
never
liked you. Don’t move. You’re going on a ride.” Troy moved next to him, squinting curiously, the cold metal mouth of the gun a perfect circle above
me.

Blood dripped down my ear, trickling down my
neck.

My mind was blank with p
anic.

“He said his keys are on him. Check his pockets,” said
Nick.

The nose of Troy’s gun settled on my temple and AB ran heavy hands down my sides. He yanked my keys out of my pocket. The only thing I could feel was the cold metal biting my skin, just above my eye, and my heartbeat breaking through my c
hest.

“There’s duct tape in the top drawer,” said
Nick.

A drawer creaked open, and I heard a ripping s
ound.

I finally reacted—jumped up and tried to swing—but AB was on me instantly. He twisted my arms almost out of the sockets, and something sticky snapped around my wr
ists.

“Nick,” I cro
aked.

“Shut the fuck
up.”

“I’ll pay you. Let me go.” Blood had gotten into my mouth, and I had a hard time getting the words out cle
arly.

Troy chuckled. “Nick doesn’t need mo
ney.”

Nick said, “Give me the keys. I’ll have someone pull his car aro
und.”