Double Blind (26 page)

Billy didn’t notice and turned back to Ethan, looking like he really thought he’d gotten his finger in the pudding now. “Crabtree’s investment broker. I
knew
he was up to something.” He elbowed Ethan with a broad wink. “So how much you want, huh?”

Ethan couldn’t check the urge to rub his bruised arm. “I beg your pardon?”

A mistake—the elbow came again, twice, and harder each time than the one before. “How
much
? Come on. You all have your price.”

Oh, fucking
hell
. Ethan took a deeper drink of water. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Billy snorted, but he looked more impressed than angry. “Don’t worry. I’ll wear you down.” He made a face. “Shit, you aren’t a fag, are you? He banging you?”

Ethan jolted and drew back, not just affronted but shocked. He’d never had anyone be so casually bigoted to his face and in front of a tableful of people to boot. What was worse, Billy seemed oblivious even with Ethan’s reaction, and he seemed to be awaiting an answer.

“No,” he choked out at last, choosing to answer only the second question. “I’m not ‘banging Crabtree’, nor he me.”

But Billy’s eyes were narrowing. “Say. I know you from somewhere. The fag thing made me think of it.” His eyes widened, and his mouth actually gaped. “Holy shit!” He laughed and slapped his leg. “You’re Jansen’s roulette guy!” He addressed the table again. “Hey—this is that
guy!
The one with the
bet!
The one who made Randy lose his bet!
Twice!
I
love
this guy!”

Ethan felt for Billy, just a little, when he saw how not a single person at the table, despite their enthusiasm for following him around and joining him for dinner, knew what he was talking about or showed any real interest in anything he said. Even more depressing was that Billy didn’t seem to realize that no one here really cared about him at all.

Then Billy turned back to talk to Ethan, and he quickly lost his empathy.

“Wait,” Billy said. “Jansen made another bet to kiss you, and Scully said you didn’t freak out. So you
are
a fag.”

Ethan had borne quite enough of this. “I assure you,” he said, starting to rise, “I’m happy to leave if my orientation offends you.”

Billy rolled his eyes and pushed Ethan back into his seat. “Jesus, fags are so touchy. Hey, lighten up. I’m no bigot.” Billy held out his hands. “I’m starting Gay Nite in three weeks. Seriously! Gay Nite at the casino. All you rich gay guys can come and spend your money, and I’ll have all the hot twinkies or whatever.” His grin turned into a leer. “And Randy will be one of them, thanks to you.”

“I’m sorry?” Ethan said, lost in the woods again. “What do I have to do with this?”

“Because he lost the bet! Those were the terms—either I gave him the twinkie of his choice if he won, or he had to be one of them if he lost.” Billy laughed and slapped Ethan on the back. Then he drew back in alarm. “Hey, but
I’m
not a fag, right? Just so that’s clear.”

“Don’t worry,” Ethan said dryly, “you’re quite safe.” He started to reach for his water again, then gave up and reached for the martini instead.

The first course was already laid before them, and Ethan tried to take refuge in his salad. It was, as Crabtree had suggested, quite good.

“That’s so weird,” Billy went on, between bites of salad, and sometimes during. “I never thought Crabtree would keep a secret from Randy. I mean—” He elbowed Ethan again. “
They
fuck.”

Ethan set his teeth and took several breaths before reclaiming the bite of salad Billy had loosened and said, “I know.”

“But Randy didn’t know who you were. I can totally read people, and I know he didn’t know you. Which means you’re Crabtree’s
secret
investment broker.”

Ethan stared at the fork, wondering what it would feel like to drive it into the center of Crabtree’s chest. Or maybe the center of his forehead.

Billy laughed, wickedly. “Oh, yes. I so have him now. Come on, buddy. What do you want? A million? Two?”

Ethan choked on his salad. A million
dollars?

What sort of hell could he get into in a nest of gangsters for a million dollars?

How about two?

Ethan made a strangled sound and drained the rest of his martini.

“Look, I honestly can’t go over five,” Billy said. “Though the casino must be doing better than I thought, because this morning I checked my accounts, and I was sitting on quite a pile. But still, it’s not
that
much more. And honestly, you can’t be that good.”

Ethan wiped his napkin across his mouth with a shaking hand. “I assure you, I’m not.”

“Come on, man—what the fuck do you
want
?”

This was insane. This was completely insane. He should never have agreed to come to the casino. He should have left Salomé in the office, and then Crabtree would be here to straighten this out. Except Crabtree was clearly behind all this.
A lesson in manipulation.

Ethan tightened his jaw. Fine. He’d play the cards Crabtree had given him, and then he’d be gone.

“All right,” he said, not feigning his reluctance. “I’ll tell you what I know. Crabtree has some investor lined up to buy the casino.”

Billy was visibly shocked, and pissed. “He can’t do that! It’s
mine
!”

“Yes, I know.” Ethan decided the only way out of this was to throw Crabtree totally under the bus. “He wants to build up the assets and invest them properly, to maximize the profit. Because—”

But Billy interrupted him. “Because he controls the
income
! The
bastard!
And then he’ll come to me, and tell me I have to sell for a song, and screw me out of my goddamned money when he resells for twice the amount!”

Ethan frowned. “That’s not—”

“Oh—three times, then? The
fucker
!” Billy snapped his fingers and another martini materialized out of nowhere. To Ethan’s shock, he presented it to Ethan. “Here. Drink up. I want to hear
all about this.
”

“There isn’t anything else to tell, Mr. Herod,” Ethan said. “And none of this matters, because I’m turning him down.”
Right after I wring his goddamned neck.

“Oh, no you aren’t,” Billy said, pressing the glass into Ethan’s hand. “Drink. Eat. Order whatever you want, because it’s on me. In fact, you’re never paying for a drink again in this place, and you get a thousand dollar tray of chips anytime you like. You’re my man—” He paused. “What’s your name?”

Oh, Jesus fucking God.
“Ethan Ellison,” Ethan prompted. “But I don’t—”

“You’re my man, Ethan Ellison.
My
man.” He grinned manically and toasted the glass he’d forced into Ethan’s hand with his own. “And together we are going to take that old bastard down.” He waved to the sunglasses man. “Arnie. Hey, Arnie, get this guy’s bank account number and put a million in it for me.”

That was it—Ethan was going to throw up. “Mr. Herod, you don’t understand!”

“Account number, Ellison,” Billy demanded, then grinned, a four-year-old looking thoroughly pleased at having climbed onto the counter.

“I don’t have one,” Ethan shot back, relieved at least for this.

“Open my man Ethan an account, Arnie!” Billy shouted, then looked down at Ethan in alarm again. “But you’re not my man like
that
. Okay?”

Ethan didn’t answer, just tossed back the martini, then gestured at the waiter for another, thinking that if he drank enough of them fast enough, he might save the mob the trouble and just kill himself then and there.

It hadn’t
been one of Randy’s favorite days.

He’d meant to just go in to work for a few hours, then go home in time to shower, pick up Slick, then take him home and shake him out of whatever fuckery Crabtree had gotten away with. But then the rig he’d been working on had not just caught on fire, it had practically blown up, and of course it was a high priority load to San Bernardino, and after two hours of trying to jerry-rig something, they’d given up and had Mitch do the run. Mitch had made the decision not to tell Sam, which Randy thought was not the best of plans, but he was too busy calling all over Vegas for parts on another rig that had to leave for Reno by 7:00 p.m. and was too busy to argue. He managed it, just, and a half-hour after Mitch had gone back to the house, Randy was on his bike and heading there himself.

It was five-thirty, and Slick was not back yet. He tried asking Sam what the hell was going on, but Sam was shouting at Mitch for going to San Bernardino without telling him, and Mitch was shouting at Sam because, apparently, Slick had taken him out to learn how to drive the truck. That had sent Randy straight out to the garage and under the hood, but no, the transmission was just fine. Which was damn lucky for Slick, and he was still going to give him a piece of his mind.

If he ever fucking showed up.

He paced in front of the house for a few minutes, sweating in the afternoon heat, trying to decide if he should just run over there now, grease and all, or if he should shower first. He’d just decided to get back on his bike and go over as-is when the cars pulled up.

Ethan’s was one of them, but one of Billy’s goons was driving it—hot-wired, Randy assumed, because the keys were on his dresser along with Slick’s ring. The other car was a black Audi with tinted windows, and as it pulled up alongside Ethan’s Mazda, three more goons got out, and then one of them went around to the trunk and opened it. Another goon reached into the car, and then Ethan appeared. He was visibly, fantastically drunk.

He was also holding a kitten.

“Randy!” Ethan called, and waved, then pitched sideways back against the car. The goon who’d pulled him out righted him. Ethan laughed and waved again. “Hi, Randy!”

“Hey, Slick,” Randy said carefully. Then the goon from the trunk came forward with a litter box and a cloth shopping bag, which Randy knew without being told held cat food and a set of dishes. “Oh
fuck
,” he whispered.

Ethan sobered—his expression, anyway—and tried to walk toward Randy, but once again the goon had to swoop in for an assist. Ethan clutched the cat to his chest and slurred as he spoke. “Don’t be angry. I can explain.”

He almost used three whole consonants, Randy observed calmly, though there was a small, hot fire burning in the back of his brain which he would continue banking until he learned the extent of how fucked this was, and then he would go kill Crabtree to whatever degree was appropriate.

Randy reached forward and closed his hands around the kitten. “Baby, I think you’d better let me take him just for now.”

“
Her
,” Ethan corrected, trying to reclaim the cat, but grabbed one of the ghost cats Randy assumed he was seeing instead. “Her name is Salomé. And she’s a girl.” Ethan swayed again, then gave his supporting goon an irritated look. “You can quit holding me. I can stand up by myself.”

“Slick, honey?” Randy asked, wincing as the cat nested against his T-shirt. “Why exactly did you bring home a cat?”

Ethan’s expression turned ferocious. “Because she was
not
going to the shelter. I don’t”—he paused as the alcohol temporarily washed over the speaking portion of his brain—“care how nice it is. She can’t go back there.”

So far Randy knew that Crabtree was going to die by stabbing, but now he was thinking he should do it with several small knives that hurt more than they killed. Some fingernail removal would absolutely be in order.

“Baby, she wouldn’t go to a shelter,” Randy said gently, still banking all the rage for the gangster who’d done this. “Crabtree would never take a cat to a shelter. He’d take her home.”

Ethan looked, for a moment, like he might cry. “He
can’t
, Randy! They’ll
kill
her!”

Probably some toenails too. “Slick, sweetheart—Crabtree has about thirty cats at his house. They have a fucking jungle gym in the back yard that they can get to from a tube that goes out the window.”

Ethan blinked, confused. “But Crabtree said—” He stopped, and the dim, drunken edge of awareness was like a knife to Randy.

I’m sorry, baby. I should have known what he would do, should have known how he would try to get you, and how susceptible you would be. I should have known better. I should never have let you go there.

Ethan looked sick now. “He—you mean he—”

“Lied,” Randy finished, to get the worst over with. “Tricked you. Manipulated you.”

Ethan, already fragile as glass, looked as if one more tap would make him break into shards right there in the middle of the driveway.

Randy swallowed his fury and turned to the goons, who were standing silent as sentries awaiting instruction. “Leave the stuff in the garage and get the fuck out of here.” He slid his free arm around Ethan and aimed him at the house. “Come on, baby. It’s hot out here. Let’s go inside.”

Ethan was shaking now, and he absolutely could not even stand on his own, let alone walk. “I’m so sorry, Randy,” he whispered.

“It’s okay, Slick. It’s okay.” He caught the look of despair on Ethan’s face and bled for him all over again. “Hey.” He brushed a kiss over Ethan’s cheek. “Baby, it’s okay.”

“It’s not.” Ethan stumbled as he missed the step, nearly dragging Randy and the irritated kitten down with him. “Oh God, Randy, I’m so sorry.”

“Just step up, baby. We’re almost inside, and then you can sit down.”

Ethan kept shaking his head. He looked so fucking miserable, worse than he’d looked at the fountains, or in the grocery store, or in the kitchen. And Randy had let this happen, by sending him to Crabtree. Because he’d been an idiot and trusted the guy.

“I have a million dollars,” Ethan said, sounding terrified as well as miserable.

Randy would have written this off as drunken rambling, but he paused and looked at Ethan because there was something in his voice that prompted further questioning. “Seriously?”

“From Billy.” Ethan stared hollowly at the door in front of them. “Crabtree set me up. Wants to double bluff him. Double blind. Double something.”

“Crabtree likes both,” Randy said. “But the blind is his favorite. Likes to get you invested two ways, get your ante in twice so you won’t back out.” The cat batted at Randy’s chin, and Randy jerked his head away, but she just reached higher, so he gave in and lowered his face so she could nuzzle him like she wanted. The kitten looked like a dirty miniature of Mirabella, one of Crabtree’s favorites, but Ethan suspected this one had come directly from the shelter. That would have been more Crabtree’s style. He just hoped to hell the thing didn’t have fleas.

Ethan looked so hollow, so beaten. “I tried to tell Billy. Tried all afternoon to convince him this was a setup, but he didn’t care. He’s ‘made me his man’.” He managed a sneer. “But ‘not that way’. Like I would want anything to do with his slimy little ass.” The sneer fell away as he crumbled again. “Randy, I fucked it all up, didn’t I? I was his live one, and he played me every step of the way.”

“It’s my fault, baby,” Randy said, but he knew this wouldn’t soothe him. This was going to smack so hard against Ethan’s pride Randy wasn’t sure even he could charm him back around this time. He sighed and lowered his cheek for the kitten again. “Slick, honey, can you push the doorbell?”

And then they were inside, and Sam, who had opened the door still flushed from his argument with his husband, took one look at Ethan and went into nurse mode.

“What happened?” he demanded, reaching out to press a palm against Ethan’s forehead.

“From the smell of him, a great deal of gin,” Randy said. “Again. We’re going to have to get him a new liver soon.” Crabtree’s would do nicely. He nudged Ethan toward Sam. “Here—I have to deal with the cat.”

“Cat?” Sam echoed, then looked at the purring kitten in the crook of Randy’s arm. He softened a little. “Oh, it’s the one Crabtree found in the alley, the one he had when I dropped Ethan off!”

“You dropped Ethan
off
?” Mitch said from the other side of the room, and Randy peered between Sam and Ethan and gave him a hard look.

“Tedsoe, shut up,” Randy said. When Mitch’s nostrils started to flare like a bull’s, he added quietly, “Orale vato, ayudame.”

Ethan lifted his head and looked at Randy blearily. “You speak Spanish?”

“The barest bones of Valley Spanish, which is an animal all its own.” Randy kept his eyes on Mitch. “I know just enough to beg with.”

Mitch tightened his jaw for a minute, then let his shoulders fall as he nodded. “Bien.”

Once he had surrendered Ethan to Mitch and Sam, Randy put the kitten down and went back to the garage for the rest of the supplies. Ethan was arguing loudly that he had to take care of Salomé as Randy re-entered, but Mitch was holding him down and Sam was refusing to let him up until he’d told him how much he’d drank and how long ago he’d stopped.

“I don’t know,” Ethan slurred, then laughed a hollow miserable laugh. “I was trying to kill myself.”

Randy dropped the bag of cat food and dishes, and the litter slid down after.

Sam pressed the back of his hand all over Ethan’s forehead and face and neck. “He’s clammy and he’s pale, but he’s not blue. Have you thrown up yet, Ethan?”

“No,” Ethan slurred, “but I played craps. And roulette. Fucking black, again!”

As soon as he was able to collect himself, Randy picked up the supplies he’d dropped and continued the task he’d set out to do before Ethan had scared the shit out of him. He carried the litter box into the bathroom, where he tucked it in the space between the toilet and the sink. The kitten appeared immediately, and after demanding a stroke down her back, she climbed inside and made an inspection of it. Randy left her to it, then went back to the living room where he picked up the shopping bag and carried it to the kitchen. Salomé reappeared as he poured food into the dish. Randy put the bag of food in the cupboard above the washing machine, then stood there a second, gripping the edges of the appliance as he tried to center himself. It didn’t work.