Read Quarry's Deal for Free Online

caught a glimpse of a king, and he raked the cards back in.
    “Three kings, huh,” I said. “A rough one.”
    “I just had two,” the kid said defensively.
    “Why the hell did you stay in, then? I had to have aces to open.” I didn’t mention that he’d raised me: why rub it in?
    “I didn’t think you had them,” he said, and shuffled.
    So he was calling me a liar. Big fucking deal. But I found myself wondering, back in the back of my head someplace, why a house dealer would be playing so stupid, and why a guy working for the house would be carrying desperation around in his watery eyes.’
    Then again, my eyes were watery, too, and I wasn’t desperate. I was just reacting to the layer of smoke created by all the gamblers in the room whose penchant for games of chance extended to lung cancer roulette.
    I stayed a few more hands, not wanting to leave the table at a point where doing so might cause a scene, and came away with three hundred and eighty-some bucks, and that didn’t include what I spent on the four or five Cokes I drank while at the table.
    In spite of which, I was still thirsty, and I went over to the bar area, which was the least busy part of the room, except for the trio of waitresses hustling back and forth with trays of booze for the members at the gaming tables.
    In fact, when I crawled up on a padded stool at the bar, I was alone. Except for the bartender, or rather barmaid, whose shapely back was to me at the moment, though I didn’t have much doubt the front would be just as nice. Another in the parade of beautiful female employees here at the Barn.
    She was on the tall side, with shoulder-length dark blond hair, and she turned and gave me a wide, earthy smile and said, “What’s your pleasure?”
    I laughed.
    Now that wasn’t the most original line I ever heard, nor the wittiest, but I laughed.
    It was a nervous laugh, a laugh to cover any of the surprise that might have shown through when I found out who she was.
    For one thing, she had a name tag on her red sweater that said “Lucille,” meaning she was the pleasant voice on the telephone who had directed me here.
    For another thing, she was Glenna Cole.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    9
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    SHE DIDN’T RECOGNIZE ME.
    At least I didn’t think she did. Nothing showed in her eyes, or anywhere else. Maybe I’d managed to watch her all that while back in Florida without her noticing, after all. Maybe my trick of shaving off the beard had worked. Maybe my efforts to complete my half-face tan had been worth the bother.
    Or maybe she was just better than me. Maybe she could be surprised without registering it one iota. Maybe she could recognize somebody without having to cover with a silly nervous laugh. Maybe a lot of things.
    Right now she was waiting.
    And it took me a beat to remember what it was she was waiting for, which was the answer to the musical question, “What’s your pleasure?”
    “Coke,” I said.
    “Don’t tell me you’re the guy,” she said.
    I managed not to do my famous nervous laugh this time.
    “What guy?” I said.
    “The guy who’s been ordering the straight Cokes all night long. Don’t you know that stuff’s not good for you?”
    I’d said Coke only to be saying something. Simple reflex. Truth was, all that caffeine-loaded cola had helped make me feel jumpy, and left me with a lousy taste in my mouth as a bonus.
    But it was an opening, a place to start a conversation, so I followed up.
    “I suppose booze’d be better for me?”
    “Sure. Ever see what a nail looks like when you leave it in Coke over night?”
    “Can’t say as I have.”
    “Eats the sucker up. Like acid.”
    “You convinced me.”
    “You’re swearing off Coke.”
    “No. But I won’t go leaving nails in it.”
    She laughed, just a little. Not a nervous one, either. Not covering up anything. I didn’t