Page 59 of Mine

It was fun watching Landry roll the dice. He did it for an hour, and the look on his face, like he really thought he’d win, the expectation, was a joy to see. And the pout when he didn’t made my heart flip over. As we crossed the floor to the exit, a man stepped in front of me, bringing me up fast. Instantly, without even a thought, I moved in front of Landry.

“What the fuck, man?”

He put up both hands. “Sorry. I yelled but you didn’t hear me. You’re Trevan, right?”

I squinted at him. “Who’re you?”

Big smile as two other men stepped around us, close. “I’m José Cruz, and this is Armando and Che. We all work for the same people.”

I nodded, not really understanding, but in my line of work I met new people all the time and in stranger ways than this. When he offered me his hand, I took it, shaking first his and then the others. “Who are you, José?”

He gripped my shoulder as he studied my face. “I’m Rush’s boss.”

“Oh.” I nodded, figuring something like that. “He’s a good guy.”

“He’s young, but he’s learning. I liked that spreadsheet you sent him that he showed me. You make that yourself?”

“I did, yeah.”

“I like it; I figure with the changes, we’ll all be using it.”

I was lost.

He cuffed my shoulder. “What I meant before, when I said we all work for the same people, I meant us and you, kid.”

“No.” I shook my head. “I’m from Detroit. I work for Adrian Eramo.”

“You used to work for Adrian Eramo, but now you work for Gabriel Pike.”

“No, I’ve always worked for Gabriel, and he works for Adrian.”

He smiled at me. “You need to call home. Eramo’s dead.”

“Oh God,” Landry gasped beside me, clutching my arm.

“Who’s this?” José asked me.

“My boyfriend, Landry.”

“Nice to meet you, Landry,” he said, offering him his hand, the smile genuine, his warm coffee-colored eyes glinting in the light. “It’s a pleasure.”

“And you,” Landry returned, smiling, shaking the offered hand, squeezing mine tighter.

“I’d love for you both to have a nightcap with me.”

“Absolutely,” Landry agreed fast.

José led us out of the casino, around the corner, and down a hall to a very elegant restaurant. We walked in; the maître d’ saw us and immediately led us to a small booth near the back. It was quiet, but the jazz in the background was sultry and rich, and the feel in the room, like you could just relax, was soothing. It smelled vaguely like fire and hazelnut.

“Is this your place?” I asked him, inhaling.

“It’s one of my investments, yes. You like it?”

“I love it,” I told him.

“You want your own,” he said, smiling at the server who came to our table. “Cognac or scotch?” he asked Landry.

“Cognac, please.”