Chapter 4: The High-Limit Room

"There was no cut," I said. "I've never seen that account in my life."

"Everybody I bond out has never seen it in their life."

Andre folded the receipt and put it in his pocket, next to the lien on my father's house.

"You owe me a true thing for today," I said. "It's past midnight. It's Monday."

He looked at me for a long moment.

"The Houston man is a Sandpiper whale," he said. "He lost four hundred thousand on the floor last month, and Russ is his host."

"Where is he?"

"Noon today. Russ has him in the high-limit room."

So at noon on Monday I put on my black dealer's vest and my white shirt and walked into work.

The high-limit room at the Sandpiper is behind a gold rope and a man with an earpiece.

The man let me through, because I was wearing the vest.

Four men sat at a private baccarat table with a dealer I'd trained, and my pit boss stood behind her with his hands folded.

Russ was leaning over the biggest man at the table, laughing at something.

The big man had a white hat on the felt beside his chips and a glass of bourbon in his fist.

"Russ," I said.

Every head turned.

I held up the deposit receipt.

"Did you open a bank account in my name?"

Russ didn't even blink.

He put a hand on the big man's shoulder and smiled.

"Gentlemen, my stepdaughter. My partner." He winked at the table. "She does the sweet part and I do the math."

Somebody laughed.

The big man looked me over slowly, from my bun to my shoes.

"This the girl?" he asked Russ.

"This is the girl."

I turned to my pit boss.

"I didn't open that account. He put cash in it to make me look like his partner."

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