Double Blind (60 page)

The wheels of greed were turning in Billy’s eyes. “Who owns the other forty-nine percent?” Billy asked.

“An excellent question.” Crabtree motioned to a corner, and a man came forward with an open binder. “Here you are: the list of shareholders. Most of them aren’t people of course, just entities and such. Of course, everyone here owns a share or two, at least, which you can see for yourself.”

“Yes.” Billy looked up at Ethan, surprised, and wary. “He does too.”

Ethan managed not to blink, and shrugged to cover his astonishment. “I like Herod’s, and I know investments. I thought this place was a good one.” He recognized, though, several of the names on the ledger as entities which Crabtree had gifted him as part of his twenty-five million dollars. Ethan owned a great deal of Herod’s already, it seemed.

Billy considered the ledger for a moment. Ethan could see him trying to find the catch, the way Crabtree would win, but he couldn’t find it. Ethan couldn’t, either.

Randy did.

“This is all a fine plan,” he said, fingers threaded over his chest as he leaned back in his chair, “but if I win, I can’t buy Billy out.”

But Crabtree had an answer for this too. “Yes, Randy and Ethan are something of a problem. So since it is Billy who risks the most, we will make Randy and Ethan part of his ‘team’, so to speak. If either of them wins, they may either offer to buy him out of his remaining shares”—he laughed, and everyone else did, too—“or they will cede to Billy, who will get to keep his three percent and they keep the million dollar pot. Is this agreed?”

Billy looked pleased, but none of the other gamblers did. “That’s a huge advantage,” a round, red-faced man beside Crabtree said. “I won’t stand for it.”

Crabtree looked troubled. “Hmm. I suppose Billy could put in a few percent more of his shares?”

“Fifteen!” a sniveling, permanently unhappy-looking man said from Cate’s right.

“Oh, that’s too much,” Cate said, shaking her head. “I think five more would be acceptable.”

“Ten!” a man in a cowboy hat between Billy and Crabtree said.

“I’ll do eight,” Billy said, his eyes dancing. “And no more. And you’ll all increase your ante,” he said. “To double.”

This was roundly approved by all. Crabtree smiled—wolfishly—at Ethan and Randy. “The boys can owe me, if they like.”

To Ethan’s surprise, Randy leaned forward. “No. We’re staying in as we are.” When the rest of the table protested, he waved a hand at them. “Come on. We’re already screwed out of winning anything but the monetary pot. You all ante up and get double the chips. We’ll enter in with what we have.”

Randy sat back, and Ethan leaned over to whisper to him as the table erupted in argument. “Do you think that was smart?”

“None of this is smart, Slick,” Randy said. “But they’ll take it. They know I could kick everyone’s ass here but Crabtree’s for playing, and they know I taught you. But now they have a double chip advantage over both of us, so they’ll agree. That, and they’re all pot-blind now. And fuck, Billy’s so on tilt it isn’t even funny.”

“What’s on tilt again?” Ethan asked.

“Letting your emotions lead, not your logic,” Randy explained. “It’s a gift to play with someone on tilt, and Crabtree and his little performance has just wrapped up half this table in a big fucking bow. And you’re right, he’s testing you. Because he wants to see if you can take it. He wants to see if you can handle this kind of heat.” He squeezed Ethan’s hand beneath the table. “You can, baby. If it’s what you want.”

Ethan didn’t know yet exactly what he wanted, but he played along, watching as it unfolded just as Randy predicted. Randy’s terms were accepted, and then like angels—or demons—the lawyers descended, collecting signatures, offering copies, answering questions until everything was satisfactory to all parties. And then, finally, they all began to play.

The cowboy hat went out first. Everyone else was playing tight, but he sashayed into each hand, always sure he could win, and he did—twenty percent of the time. Within the hour he was all-in, and then Crabtree descended on him, and he was out. The red-faced man followed soon after, falling prey to a trap set by Randy, and then, with a great deal of noise, Billy was gone. The sniveling, unhappy man went soon after, and then it was Crabtree, Randy, Ethan, and Cate.

What was more interesting than who was out and who was in was how the remaining chips were distributed. Cate was the current leader, but not by much. Crabtree was right behind her, and Ethan, to his shock, was just behind him. He had played tight the whole time, and as a result he had done little but amass chips one after the other. He had never been ahead, and his won pots were usually small, but they were starting to add up.

Randy was well behind, and Ethan had figured out a long time ago that his lover was playing with his only goal being to protect Ethan’s stack. Whenever Ethan made a bad mistake, Randy quickly outdid him and made sure that Ethan didn’t fall or got his money back the next round. And the oddest thing was, sometimes he thought Crabtree was doing the same thing, though not as well as Randy. Cate, however, was playing for real, and she took no prisoners. She also, Ethan knew, had aimed herself at Ethan, trying to draw him all-in, but Ethan wouldn’t bite. So she turned her sights on Randy—which, ultimately was what did her in.

Oh, it had never been sweeter than it was to watch Randy play Canada Cate. It was the clash of the Titans in skill, but what tripped Cate up was that she had no idea that Randy didn’t want to win. He went from the tight, stealthy plays he’d used all night to abruptly erratic moves, and she was so distracted by this that she never noticed that though Randy was losing, she was losing more, and that it was all going to Ethan. Crabtree cut it off and swept her up, but by then the damage had been done. Ethan, by a hair, was the chip leader. Randy was almost out. And Cate, with a rueful smile, inclined her head in a bow and left the room.

Play turned ruthless again as Ethan was caught between the other two men as Crabtree tried to win Randy’s chips and Randy tried to funnel them to Ethan. It was the strangest kind of play, and it gave Ethan a headache, trying to keep up—it wasn’t about who won at all, it was about who lost and where and by how much and who picked up whose chips. He held on as best he could, and when it was over, he had managed to catch most of Randy’s salvos, and he was still ahead—but only by two thousand dollars.

One million and one thousand dollars. That was the total amount of the chips that sat in front of Ethan, and as this thought hit him, he felt it drag him like an anchor, and he began to slow down.
One million and one thousand dollars.
More money than he had ever had in his life, more money than he’d hoped to amass for a retirement package. Technically he had much more than this in the bank, but that was scattered about and all on paper. This was a stack of chips. This was several stacks of chips and all in huge denominations. This was sitting right in front of him.

This was, as Randy would put it, fucking insane. And Ethan slowed to a full stop, and he felt doubt begin to pile onto his head, and he thought,
I can’t do this. I cannot, cannot do this.

Randy, who had been rising from his chair beside him, caught the look on his face and bent down, first to brush a kiss across his lips and then to whisper in Ethan’s ear. “High ace, baby,” he said, tenderly. “You’re always a high ace to me. No matter what happens. Just keep moving, Slick, and you’ll be fine.” He kissed him again, and then he was gone with the rest of them, and it was just Ethan, and Crabtree, and the cameras.

And the huge piles of chips and the cards.

Crabtree smiled at him, carnivorous and deadly, the man who could cut your heart right out of your chest and not so much as break a sweat. He was going to give Ethan no quarter, no help. Ethan would have to beat him fair and square, or Crabtree would have him for his dinner. The problem was, Ethan knew he could never beat a man like this, not now and not ever. So he did the only thing he could do, what Randy, and even Crabtree, had taught him to do.

He bluffed.

He sat back, rubbed at his throat, and looked around, feigning nervousness. It wasn’t hard.

“Need something to drink, boy?” Crabtree asked, in a voice that suggested he’d be happy to offer him some hemlock.

Ethan shook his head and nodded to the full water bottle beside him. “No. It’s my hands. They’re too dry from the cards.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket which was hanging over the back of his chair and pretended to fumble until he was sure he could withdraw the object without his hands shaking like crazy. He managed it, just, and uncapped the bottle and squirted a small amount of the fragrant liquid on his hands. “I just need a little lotion.” He smoothed it around, then recapped the bottle before setting it on the table so that the CRABTREE & EVELYN label faced the gangster plainly, clearly—boldly.

It was impressive the way that Crabtree didn’t even blink when he saw the label. He just continued to shuffle the cards and then, surprisingly, smiled. “Ah. Now that takes me back.” He nodded to the tube. “My mother loved that brand. Not that scent you have, of course. But she loved everything they made. Her favorite was Evelyn Rose. That was where she got my name. And, of course, where I got the inspiration for the one I gave myself.”

Ethan could not hide his surprise, and his eyes flickered to the cameras. Crabtree smiled—an oddly kind gesture.

“No, son. They’re on a feedback loop. And they will be, until I say otherwise. No one’s watching us right now. No one can hear us. And, I suppose I should point out, no one will be allowed in. No one.” He put the cards down and leaned back in his chair, spreading his fingers over his stomach. “So. What do we do now, Mr. Ellison?”

Ethan thought he might have a heart attack right then and there, because the organ was pounding so furiously in his chest that it was hard to stay upright in his chair. But he kept himself as outwardly cool as he could as he shrugged and said, “I thought we were going to play cards. Has that changed?”

Crabtree chuckled. “I like you, Ethan.”

“That’s good to hear,” Ethan said, and he fucking meant it.

Crabtree was smiling at him, and even in his nerves Ethan thought it looked like genuine affection. “I like your style. I like that you’re confident, but not cocky. I like how measured you are. I like how you seem to understand the stakes, the true stakes, but you don’t let them intimidate you—not for long. I like that you have heart. I like that you feel. I like that you take risks, and when they don’t pan out, you pick yourself up and try again.” His smile faded, and he aimed a fat finger in warning at Ethan. “But your self-doubt is going to kill you, if you don’t get it under control. And don’t think you can keep relying on Randy to bolster you up. Keep that up, boy, and you’ll lose more than your shirt. You’ll lose him, but not in a big dramatic moment like your little pansy from American Fork. It’ll wear off piece by piece, and he’ll do it for you every time, shaving off parts of himself until there’s nothing left, not for him to live on, not for you to shore yourself up with. Get yourself under control, or you’re going to be an even bigger fuck up than I was. You understand me, Ellison?”

“I understand you, Mr. Carter,” Ethan said. Calmly. And he was actually calm. He wasn’t bluffing at all.

Well, only a very little.

Crabtree studied him a moment longer, then nodded. He glanced at the camera, made a motion with his finger, then began to shuffle again. “Shall we play?” he asked, and dealt the cards: two each.

Ethan left his on the table and didn’t look at them. He just watched Crabtree, who was doing the exact same thing.