Luke Murphy - Dead Man's Hand

He headed to work.

Donald Pitt sat at the desk in his tiny office eating an egg sandwich. As he bit into it, a clump of melted cheese dripped and landed on files that were scattered across his desk.

“For fuck’s sake! Dixie, get in here!” Pitt called out for his secretary.

“Hello, Donald.”

The voice that came from the doorway wasn’t Dixie’s and he dropped half the sandwich into his lap.

“Ace,” Don said. “I wasn’t expecting you until later.”

“Having trouble with the sandwich?”

Don used a napkin to wipe the egg from his pants. Never one to waste time on hygiene, he finger-combed what hair was left on his balding head, parting it to the side. He rushed to the door, greeting his best-paying and most frequent client, his arm extended the whole way.

He pulled a chair out for the casino owner.

“You called?” Don’s young secretary came to the doorway, one finger twirling a piece of gum in her mouth.

“Never mind, Dixie.” He waved the secretary away, who left rolling her eyes.

He shut the door and turned back to his visitor. “Please come in, Ace.”

Sanders entered but didn’t sit. They had met seven years ago and Don still didn’t trust him, but he’d already made a small fortune handling most of Sanders’ dirty work. He just needed to keep Ace happy for a little while longer.

“So…is everything set?” Sanders asked.

“Pretty much,” he replied, sitting back behind the desk.

“What about Watters ?”

“He won’t be a problem. I can handle him.” He smiled, but his partner didn’t return it. He thought that Ace probably didn’t like that Don was in control of this part.

“You just make sure that he’s in Grant’s private office by 9:30 tomorrow morning.” Sanders’ tone was hard.

Don leaned forward. “Tomorrow morning? Why so soon?”

“It needs to be done ASAP. Time is running out and I can’t wait any longer.”

“Will everything be ready?”

“Of course. You just take care of Watters. It’ll be perfect. It has to be. You better hope it is.”

“I don’t know. Sounds risky.”

Sanders pulled a brochure from his jacket. He opened it to the centerfold and set it on the desk. “A piece of this will be all yours.” He pointed to the layout of the new Greek Hotel and Casino.

Don’s eyes widened. The place would make millions. He tried to touch the paper, but Sanders grabbed it and stuck it inside his jacket.

“How about a deal memo for a sense of security?” Don said. “I would feel better knowing I have some documentation for my share.”

Grinning, Sanders slapped him on the back. “You’ll just have to trust me, Donald.”

He frowned. I have no choice.

When Sanders left, he relaxed back into his chair. All he could think about was that Sanders could no doubt pull this off and would be a real power in Vegas.

Chapter 5

Calvin didn’t get to work until after eleven, a good time for an impromptu visit. He walked into the little shop and the odor of cigarette smoke and sweat assaulted him. The noise he had grown accustomed to the last three years—fingers tapping keyboards, phones ringing and sports games from around the world on the televisions—greeted him like a punch in the gut. A couple of heads shot up from behind newspapers, but seeing a big black man, they returned to their reading.

The lines for the day were already posted on the board and he scanned them as he nodded to the secretary, who was busy painting red-lacquered nails. “You got something for me, Dixie?”

She opened a drawer and searched it. “Nothing here.”

His pulse quickened, but he said nothing. He headed to the back.

“Hey, Don.” Calvin nodded at his boss.

Pitt looked up from his computer. “Where the hell have you been?”

“What? I never punched a clock before.”

“Sorry. Tough morning. I have nothing for you yet today.”

“What about my cut on Pierce? I know he paid you in full this morning.”

“What? No, he hasn’t. Well…he paid part of it.”

Calvin put out his hand. “Stop there. I don’t want to hear it. I got his attention the other night, told him to pay you this morning and I know he did, so stop trying to hold on to my money.”

Pitt started protesting and he cut him off. “Now.” Calvin leaned forward and glared into Pitt’s piggy eyes. “He owed you $20,000 and I want $4,000 in my hands within the next minute.”

Pitt sighed. “Not you too. What a morning.”

“Me too? What do you mean? Who else was in here?”

“No one. Never mind. I’m too tired to argue with you. You’re right anyway. Dixie said Pierce limped in this morning before I arrived and paid it all.” Pitt smiled. “I guess he got the message.”

“My money, Don.”

“All right. Calm down. I’ll get your money.” Pitt disappeared into the back of his office and returned with a large envelope. “Here’s your $4,000. Count it if you want. You finished?”

“No. You still owe me $6,000 from the job before that. Harry Walker. Five days ago. I know he paid too, because if he hadn’t, you’d have already sent me back to see him. I want everything settled before I leave the office this morning, so don’t even waste your breath. Just get my money.”

Pitt sighed and raised his hands, then dropped them to his side. He went into the back again and brought Calvin a larger envelope and sat down.

Calvin stuffed both envelopes into the deep pockets of his jacket. “I’m not counting now. I’ll do that later. If anything’s missing, I’m coming back to collect from you. And what Pierce received will seem like a slap on the wrist.”

“What’s gotten you in such a bad mood? You forget to take your meds?”

Calvin lunged across the desk as Pitt sprung back, his chair striking the wall hard.

Pitt raised his hands in a defensive posture. “Whoa! Just kidding. Loosen up. You got your money. Go. I’ll call you when I need you for the next job.”

“That’s what we have to talk about.”

“I’m tired of talking. Let’s do that another time.” Pitt turned his back to Calvin and began typing on the computer keyboard. But Calvin stood still and stared, thinking about when he and Pitt had first met.

After his humiliating injury, he’d moved to Vegas to start over. He had no contacts, no money and no prospects. He was feeling sorry for himself and blamed everyone else for his situation.

His first night in the new city, Calvin had gotten drunk in a local pub, started a fight and beat up two customers, a bartender and two bouncers. Pitt saw the fight and even went to court to vouch for Calvin, saying he acted in self-defense—a total lie. One of the bouncers had gone to the local ER. A severe concussion, Calvin had heard. He could have gone to jail.

“I like your style,” Pitt had said.

When the man asked Calvin to collect for him and showed him the money, Calvin figured he owed the bookie. Besides, no other offers were that good. And even though he hated the collecting job now, he was still somewhat proud to be the best. Pitt’s rate of return had been 100 percent since Calvin had taken over.

“I thought you were leaving.” Pitt scowled. “What’s your problem today?”

“I want out.”

“What do you mean, out ?” Pitt said in an icy tone.

“That’s it. I’m done.”

“Oh, really?” Pitt got up, walked around the desk and sat on the edge of it, folding his arms across his chest. “Tell me, what is it you plan to do?”

“I don’t know yet.” He thought about the ways he could hurt Pitt. But that would be a bad move.

“Of course you don’t, because you can’t do anything else. You don’t have a degree, you have one knee and you look like a bum.”