Chapter 12: The Deck

The van turned off East Beach and was gone.

Andre was standing beside me on the street with his fists still clenched.

"Which boyfriend does he mean?" I asked him.

"Not me. I never touch his cards." He looked at me. "What deck?"

I didn't answer.

I was thinking about a soft blue deck turning over in Laurent's fingers at the bail counter.

And about the deck on the felt the morning after, stiff and new.

"Drive me to Beach Boulevard," I said.

Laurent opened his door in his suit, on his way out to work.

He saw my face and took his jacket back off.

"I need you to teach me to beat him," I said. "Saturday. Heads-up. I bet him a year of me against her power of attorney."

He was quiet for a long moment.

"Andre let you do that?"

"Nobody lets me do anything."

He sat me down at the card table by the window.

The cards from last night were gone, and the table had been wiped clean.

He opened a fresh deck from a drawer in the table and dealt us each two cards.

"Russ has two tells," he said. "When he's bluffing he touches his watch. When he's strong he stops talking."

"He never stops talking."

"Then you'll know when he's strong."

He played me for an hour.

When I made a mistake, he reached across and turned my cards over with his own hand, slowly, his fingers resting on mine.

Every time he did it I forgot what I'd done wrong.

His phone buzzed at noon.

He looked at it and stood up.

"Work. Two minutes," he said, and stepped out into the hall to take it.

He pulled the door almost shut behind him.

I sat alone at his card table.

Then I opened the drawer he'd taken the fresh deck from.

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