I also have a Cucinelli. Calling it a suit seems inadequate. I wear the Cucinelli when I want to make a statement.
Véronique bought me the Cucinelli. It was one of those moments of weakness when a woman can't bear to watch a man dress himself for one more day. I'm amazed that Pedantic Peter never found out. He probably checks her credit card bill every month. Maybe she has an account at a French bank that he doesn't know about.
I love my Cucinelli; tonight, it's going with me to the casino.
I opened the gun cabinet and took out two thousand dollars and the .45 caliber pistol. Both decisions gave me goose bumps. Losing Mrs. Pemberton's money was not be a good idea, but I needed to do something to get noticed if wanted to come away from Twin Bear with useful information.
Guns technically aren't permitted on the reservation. If you have a permit and you're driving through on the highway, they have to let you pass through. But spending hours in a casino while a .45 waits in the trunk of your car - that could be risky.
Win, lose, or draw - I've done my share of all three. Tonight, only one of those results would be acceptable. I needed a hot hand. I needed to be at the top of my game. I needed a drink.
I opened the gun cabinet and took out two thousand dollars and the .45 caliber pistol. Both decisions gave me goose bumps. Losing Mrs. Pemberton's money was not be a good idea, but I needed to do something to get noticed if wanted to come away from Twin Bear with useful information.
Guns technically aren't permitted on the reservation. If you have a permit and you're driving through on the highway, they have to let you pass through. But spending hours in a casino while a .45 waits in the trunk of your car - that could be risky.
Win, lose, or draw - I've done my share of all three. Tonight, only one of those results would be acceptable. I needed a hot hand. I needed to be at the top of my game. I needed a drink.
I parked in the nondescript 24-hour lot a few blocks down from the casino. Parking at Twin Bear would be comped, of course, but I didn't want valet parking attendants snooping around in my car. Parking off site also set up a potential getaway in case of trouble.
I converted one grand into chips and left the other thousand in my wallet as a backup. I'd dip into it if I had to, but I preferred to have it as a confidence booster. There's no feeling worse than gaming when you're broke. Desperation leads to poor decisions, guaranteed.
I started with blackjack. My luck went up and down, but over the course of an hour or a little less, I picked about eleven hundred net.
I looked over the poker tables. Ideally, you want to find a table full of tourists while avoiding ringers who dress up to look like tourists. I played a few hands, but one grisly older fellow spent a bit too much time studying me. I moved on before he had a chance to screw me out of a bit pot.
I started with blackjack. My luck went up and down, but over the course of an hour or a little less, I picked about eleven hundred net.
I looked over the poker tables. Ideally, you want to find a table full of tourists while avoiding ringers who dress up to look like tourists. I played a few hands, but one grisly older fellow spent a bit too much time studying me. I moved on before he had a chance to screw me out of a bit pot.
The second table worked out better. I asked the waitress whether she knew whether Mr. Pemberton would be stopping by. I noticed a flinch in the dealer. Dealers have tells, too.
By the time that I'd finished with blackjack and poker, I had over forty-five hundred in chips, a nice return on that initial grand. I went to the roulette tables and placed nine bets of five hundred dollars each.
Three of the rolls went bust, four returned modest gains, and two hit it big. I had made $9,300 at the tables in a little over two hours. I tipped the dealer and gave five hundred to a pair of newlyweds, bringing my total well under the ten-thousand dollar barrier that the feds watch so carefully. The newlyweds thanked me and asked me to take a photo with them. I promised to catch up with them later.
By the time that I'd finished with blackjack and poker, I had over forty-five hundred in chips, a nice return on that initial grand. I went to the roulette tables and placed nine bets of five hundred dollars each.
Three of the rolls went bust, four returned modest gains, and two hit it big. I had made $9,300 at the tables in a little over two hours. I tipped the dealer and gave five hundred to a pair of newlyweds, bringing my total well under the ten-thousand dollar barrier that the feds watch so carefully. The newlyweds thanked me and asked me to take a photo with them. I promised to catch up with them later.
As I cashed out my chips, the waitress from the poker table informed me that someone in the lounge wanted to buy me a drink.
A small, slight man extended his hand. "I hear that you are a friend of Mr. Pemberton, Mister..."
I shook his hand. "Davis. Doug Davis."
"Ivan Mednikov." He pronounced it ee-VON. Ivan was smiling widely like a man who'd attended too many sales training seminars.
The waitress took my order: straight bourbon. "Not a friend, really," I explained. I've been trying to get him interested in a business deal."
"Oh, what kind of business are you in?" Ivan inquired.
"Retail. We've been talking about expanding his drugstore chain," I explained. "Branching out beyond the region. We spoke at length last year, but he said that it wasn't a good time for him. Too much going on."
Ivan listened closely. The waitress brought my drink to the table.
"I was hoping that I might run into him here and see if he might be interested in moving forward."
"You are talking about Ross Pemberton, yes?" Ivan asked with interest.
"That's him!" I said. "Do you know him?"
"Yes. We have met," Ivan replied.
A tall man in a black suit approached and whispered in Ivan's ear. The man had short cropped hair and the rugged, low body fat look of a boxer or an MMA fighter.
"I hope that you and Mr. Pemberton are able to work out your business deal," Ivan said.
"Thanks."
"If you'll excuse me, I need to attend to some business of my own," Ivan explained. "But please, enjoy your drink. It's on me."
"Thanks! I really like your casino." Obviously Ivan didn't work for the casino, but playing stupid can be an asset.
I found the newlyweds and bought them a drink. They looked unshakably happy, and I admired them for that. How long could they make it last?
We found the camera girl and posed for a cheesy photo. I tipped the photographer well, and she gave me a look as if to say that more services could be purchased for the right price. She had a stunning body, and I thought about it. Maybe another time.
I flagged a cab, gave the driver fifty bucks and told him to drive. No one followed us, no chiseled Russian henchmen in a black Mercedes to make the evening interesting. Apparently, Ivan and his crew were not interested in Ross Pemberton. And yet, they singled me out and bought me a drink when I mentioned the name.
Maybe it was one of the sons that they were looking for, one of the kids with fast cars that Mrs. Edna Smith had mentioned. Maybe one of them had a gambling problem. Loan sharks - that would explain a lot. It might explain Mrs. Pemberton's desperation to get her hands on her husband's money. Maybe she was trying to get one of her sons out of debt and out of trouble.
I had the taxi drop me at a coffee shop close to the 24-hour lot. I bought a double espresso, used the toilet, and walked warily out the back. There weren't any Russians waiting in the alley. It was clear.
I walked swiftly to the lot and removed the black bag with the .45 from the trunk. I wanted to keep it close to me for the ride home.
"Thanks."
"If you'll excuse me, I need to attend to some business of my own," Ivan explained. "But please, enjoy your drink. It's on me."
"Thanks! I really like your casino." Obviously Ivan didn't work for the casino, but playing stupid can be an asset.
I found the newlyweds and bought them a drink. They looked unshakably happy, and I admired them for that. How long could they make it last?
We found the camera girl and posed for a cheesy photo. I tipped the photographer well, and she gave me a look as if to say that more services could be purchased for the right price. She had a stunning body, and I thought about it. Maybe another time.
I flagged a cab, gave the driver fifty bucks and told him to drive. No one followed us, no chiseled Russian henchmen in a black Mercedes to make the evening interesting. Apparently, Ivan and his crew were not interested in Ross Pemberton. And yet, they singled me out and bought me a drink when I mentioned the name.
Maybe it was one of the sons that they were looking for, one of the kids with fast cars that Mrs. Edna Smith had mentioned. Maybe one of them had a gambling problem. Loan sharks - that would explain a lot. It might explain Mrs. Pemberton's desperation to get her hands on her husband's money. Maybe she was trying to get one of her sons out of debt and out of trouble.
I had the taxi drop me at a coffee shop close to the 24-hour lot. I bought a double espresso, used the toilet, and walked warily out the back. There weren't any Russians waiting in the alley. It was clear.
I walked swiftly to the lot and removed the black bag with the .45 from the trunk. I wanted to keep it close to me for the ride home.
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