Against The Odds (Anna Dawson #1) (2 page)

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Raymond asked. I could almost see him mentally tallying how much cash he had in his wallet.

“Can’t, sugar. Just another minute to make sure the coast is clear and I’m a ghost. Like I never existed.” I took a large gulp of the drink and the guys followed suit. That’s right, boys, follow the leader.

Ten minutes later both were unconscious.
 

I took all three glasses, went to the bathroom and washed them thoroughly. Hanging on to the towel, I wiped them all down and put them back on the vanity, careful not to touch the now clean glass with my bare fingers.

Overkill, probably, but why take chances.

I slung the towel over my shoulder and returned to the desk. I picked up the bottle of Jack, the cans of Coke and placed them back in the grocery bag.

I looked back at the men sleeping. Boys, really. I walked over to them, brushed Lurch’s hair off his forehead, lifted Raymond’s feet up so he was in a more comfortable position. I pulled their bedspreads up over each of them.

I grabbed my purse and the grocery bag and walked to the door. I used the towel to open the door handle, then tossed it onto the vanity.

I took one last look around the room, only able to see the guys’ feet from the angle of the doorway. Lurch was already snoring loudly. “Sorry, boys,” I whispered and walked out the door.

Never again, I promised myself, knowing full well it was a promise I would probably end up breaking.

I took the stairwell down two floors. Opening the door a small crack, I looked down the hallway. Seeing it was empty, I entered the hall and quickly walked three doors down to my room. I took the key from the waistband of my skirt and entered the room.

I had the tacky clothes off in seconds, my face washed free of the garish makeup soon after. Pulling on blue jeans, a nondescript white blouse and brushing my hair out took all of five minutes. A quick ponytail and I looked like fresh-faced college co-ed.
 

I took another look in the mirror. A slightly older co-ed.

Okay. A world-weary woman well past her college days.

I yanked on my suede boots, zipped them up, pulled the jeans down and over. In the bathroom, I took the empty baggie from the purse and washed it out. Twice. Then I put it back in the grocery bag. I put the bag, the gaudy purse and the clothes I’d just taken off into a small carry–on bag, zipping it up tight. Putting on my leather jacket, I took a last look around the room, careful to make sure I left nothing behind. Satisfied, I grabbed a smaller, more demure purse from the desk, pulled up the handle on my carry-on and wheeled the bag behind me as I left the room.

Outside the hotel I politely declined the bell captain’s offer of a cab and instead began walking down the block. As soon as I was out of sight from the hotel, I found the nearest public trashcan. I unzipped my bag, took the grocery bag out. I pulled the empty baggie out and one of the cans of Coke and shoved the grocery bag into the garbage. Then I continued on until the next trashcan where I deposited the baggie.

I crossed the busy street at the corner and approached a different motel. Here I allowed the bell captain to whistle down a cab for me for which I tipped him well but not so well that he’d look at me twice.
 

No need to be memorable.

On the cab ride I drank the Coke and tried not to look at all the snow piled up in downtown St. Paul.

I’d left snow behind years ago.

I arrived with plenty of time for my flight, even having time to pick up a
Sporting News
at the newsstand. I had it mostly read by the time we boarded but I brought it with me in case I needed armor. I was in luck. I shared a row with a couple that was very into themselves and their upcoming vacation. Other than the initial hellos, I probably wouldn’t have to speak to them at all.

“First time going to Vegas?” the husband asked me.

I shook my head. “No,” I said with a small smile then turned away, pretending to look out the window.

Not even close.

I
sipped my drink as I watched the waning seconds of the game on one of the eight large screens at the Bellagio sports book.

My hand went to my neck, found my horseshoe pendant. I tapped it three times, then placed my hand back around my glass.

Raymond Joseph threw a lazy pass to his center but it was easily intercepted by a Minnesota player and taken the length of the court for a basket. The buzzer sounded, the game was over. I strained to hear the commentary of the announcers, lucky that this television was the one the crew had chosen as the audio for the room.

“Well, the Hogs pull it out, Steve, winning by twelve, but not a very impressive showing,” one of the talking heads said to the other as college kids in the audience frantically waved behind them.

“Coach Wayne is going to be hot after this one, John. The Hogs came into this game heavily favored.” Yeah, twenty-one and a half points favored. “And even though they won, it was one sloppy game.”

“We heard reports during halftime that Raymond Joseph and David Pauls had both come down with a flu bug last night, and it sure showed in their play here this afternoon. Pauls only played five minutes in the first half. If Coach Wayne had another point guard that he could trust with the ball like Joseph, I’m sure he would have been on the bench as well.”

“It just shows…”
 
The announcer went on to talk about the team’s depth—or lack of—and how that could be a factor come March. Nothing I didn’t already know, so I tuned out. Besides, I knew that before my drink was empty I’d have company.

“Hey, Anna,” he said and sat in the seat next to me.

“Hey, Paulie,” I said, but stared straight ahead.

“Nice work,” Paulie said, moving his elbow to touch mine. “Point guard
and
center, take no chances, hey?”

“Thanks,” I said, taking a sip of my drink, careful to put my arm back down slightly away from his.

“Vince says to consider your debt paid.”

“Thanks,” I said again, my answer curt.

“Aw, come on, Anna. No harm done, they still won. Their record’s still intact.”

As if that was the point. I just nodded.

I could feel him looking at me, but I stared straight ahead, like I had money riding on one of the games. I didn’t. I couldn’t until I had my debt paid.

Finally seeing he wasn’t getting anywhere—Paulie never got anywhere with me—he sighed and stood. He buttoned his expensive sportscoat over his gut, like that was going to hide it. He ran his hands through his thinning, well-oiled hair. He looked down at me and said, “Boy, you probably made a killing today, hey? We’ll probably see you at a game tonight?”

“I didn’t bet on the game,” I told him.

“What do you mean?” he asked, puzzled.

I pointed to the big screen. “I didn’t bet on the Iowa game.”

“Why the hell not?” he said, almost mad. I suppose he was angry at my stupidity. In a way, so was I.

I took my eyes from the screens and looked up at him. “It would be wrong,” I explained.

He looked at me hard, as if trying to figure me out. After nearly a full minute he tipped his head back and laughed. “Oh, that’s rich, Anna.” He walked away from me, chuckling. “Because it would be wrong,” I heard him say in a soft, feminine voice; which sounded not at all like mine.

Not a great mimic, Paulie. A good enforcer, though.
 

This I knew first hand.

Chapter Two

T
he adrenaline rush from watching the game—making sure I’d done my job; that I’d be around to watch more games—left my body and I was suddenly exhausted.

I got up from my seat at the book. I didn’t have money on any of the games today. I’d been too distracted with my Minnesota trip to do my homework. I didn’t make any sports bet without doing my homework.

Even that’s not enough some times.

I waved to the guys seated at the counter where people made bets. They all waved back, a few, “see you tomorrow, Anna”s, thrown in.

These guys knew odds, and odds were good they’d see me again soon, if not tomorrow.

Yeah, probably tomorrow, now that I didn’t have the debt to Vince hanging over my head.

I walked slowly past the poker room, scanning the few men standing in suits, looking to see if my friend Jeffrey was working.

Friend. Lover. Booty call. I’m not really sure what Jeffrey was to me. We slept together occasionally, but not enough that I knew his schedule. I caught Glenda’s eye. She was one of the other poker room supervisors. I knew them all.

Jeffrey’s the only one I sleep with.

Glenda’s a tall, statuesque brunette who wears incredible suits and styles her hair in very intricate buns and twists. I think I even glimpsed a snood once. Very put together.

She’s actually much more Jeffrey’s type—he’s a bit of a clotheshorse and a little high maintenance when it comes to his looks—but he swears they’ve never messed around.

It should matter to me, but it doesn’t.

The only thing that matters is going home and sleeping for twelve hours.

E
ight hours later I sat in the Sourdough Café at Arizona Charlie’s. I was the only woman at a table of six. And the only one under the age of sixty. I looked around the table at my male companions.

Make that under seventy.

The waitress, Grace, came over. Grace waited on us every morning. At the same table, near the back of the restaurant. She took each of the men’s orders then turned to me. “You eatin’ this morning, hon?” she asked. The men, previously talking amongst themselves, grew silent and looked toward me.

“I’ll have the ham and eggs. Toast. And a side of pancakes.”

She wrote it down and started to leave. The men let out collective groans. “And biscuits,” I added. Grace waved that she’d heard me as she walked away.

“Oy,” said one of the men, most likely Saul.

No, they weren’t commenting on the size of my breakfast, though I’m sure I would be when I’d have to unbutton my jeans on the drive home.

“And,” Ben said, like he was right in the middle of a sentence. “I had to wake her up this morning. And it looked like she’d been sleeping a while.”

Not long enough.

Two of the men, Saul and Danny, looked at me with compassion. Jimmy snorted. With glee or disgust, I’m not sure. Gus shrugged with a “whadda ya expect” attitude and sipped from his coffee. Only Ben, my Ben, had a look of concern on his kind, wrinkled face.

“How much?” Gus asked as he set his cup down, added more sugar. Gus adds nearly a packet of sugar with every sip he takes. By the end of breakfast he must be drinking coffeeade.

The other men looked amongst themselves. If I didn’t answer soon, they’d start throwing out guesses, betting each other.

Just as Jimmy opened with “Ten thou—” I said, “I didn’t play last night.”

This isn’t totally unheard of, but it is out of the norm. The men all looked at Ben, who studied me, then nodded. I guess if he believed me, they all did.

I could see why they were confused. When I play poker at night, I play late. I usually get something to eat after I’m done, or even sometimes while I’m playing. If I’m doing well, I get home just in time to take Ben to breakfast and am usually not hungry.

If I lose early, I’m home asleep when Ben comes looking for me, and usually famished when I wake up.

It’s not a hard rule. Sometimes I lose on my last hand of the card game and walk in the door to a waiting Ben. But typically, if I order a big breakfast it’s because I lost.

And when I lose, I lose big.

“We missed you at breakfast yesterday, Hannah, darling,” Saul said with a question in his voice.

I looked at Ben. “Lorelei got you here okay, didn’t she?” I asked, concerned that Lorelei had dropped the ball where Ben’s ride was concerned. That wasn’t like her, she ran our house like a top.

He put his hand on mine, squeezed, then took a sip of coffee. “Yes, dear, Lorelei was waiting in the kitchen for me, right on time.”

I looked at the men as they all gave each other sheepish grins. Ben looked a little embarrassed.

I sighed. “You still didn’t let her sit with you?” It wasn’t really a question.

Ben looked more embarrassed. Saul and Danny evaded my gaze. Jimmy shrugged. Gus just gave an impish grin.
 

Gus was a looker in his day, and, according to Ben, a real ladies’ man. He was still very handsome, a full head of thick wavy hair, turned a beautiful white. He still wore a suit every day, with a handkerchief in his front pocket. Most days the hankie matched his tie. His shoes were always immaculately shined. Ben told me once that Gus spread his shining business out, stopped at a different casino everyday, and tipped very well.