Chapter 71: A FRIEND OF MINE

Mark spread his arms again as the four men took their seats, all easy charm.

"Welcome, welcome. Glad you could make it." He gestured to each of them in turn. "Victor. Leon. Dominic. And of course, Mr. Crowne. Always a pleasure."

Victor was the heavyset one with the gold watch. Leon, the thin sharp-eyed man. Dominic still carried the flushed look of someone who’d started drinking early. Crowne was the quiet older one who hadn’t smiled once.

They all returned the greetings with varying degrees of warmth.

Victor’s eyes landed on me. "And who’s this?"

Mark clapped a hand on the back of my chair like we were old friends. "This is Chance. A friend of mine."

"Well then," Victor said, already reaching across the table, "a friend of Mark’s is a friend of mine."

We shook hands. Leon and Dominic followed. Crowne simply gave me a short nod and kept his hands to himself.

Victor then produced a small plastic bag from inside his jacket, the white powder inside unmistakable. He held it up between two fingers.

"Where can a man take care of this?"

Mark’s smile didn’t change, but his voice cooled a fraction. "Bathroom down the hall. I don’t want any of that in my clean space."

Victor shrugged, unbothered, and stepped out.

While he was gone the rest of us settled in. Chips were stacked. Seats adjusted. The low murmur of small talk filled the room, nothing important, just the usual testing of the air before money started moving. Dominic made a comment about the traffic. Leon asked whether the dealer tonight was any good. Crowne said nothing at all.

A moment later the door opened again and a woman walked in.

She was nothing like the two who had been here earlier. Dark tailored dress, modest neckline, hair pulled back cleanly, no heavy makeup. She carried herself like she belonged to the house rather than the entertainment. A professional.

Mark’s face brightened. "Ah. Perfect timing." He looked at Crowne. "I hope you brought one of your fine diamonds tonight."

Crowne’s mouth twitched in what might have been a smile. "Oh, you bet, Mark."

Victor returned while they were still speaking. He sniffed hard once, twice, a third time, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and dropped back into his seat looking significantly more awake.

The woman took her place at the table, produced a fresh deck, and began to shuffle with neat movements. The soft riffle of cards cut through the remaining conversation.

Mark leaned back, cigar smoke curling above his head, and looked around at all of us.

"Gentlemen. Shall we begin?"

Cards started sliding across the felt.

The game was on.

????????????

One and a half hours later, it was over.

I pulled the last stack of chips toward me and began sorting them into even piles out of habit. Across the table the atmosphere had changed completely. The easy confidence the four men had walked in with was gone. Victor sat heavy in his chair, gold watch catching the light every time he shifted. Leon’s sharp eyes had turned flat. Dominic kept turning his empty glass in slow circles. Crowne hadn’t moved much at all, but the set of his jaw said enough.

No one spoke for a few seconds. The only sound was the soft clink of chips as I finished stacking.

Victor finally broke the silence with a short, humorless breath that might have been a laugh.

"Well. That’s one way to end the night."

Leon leaned back and rubbed his temple. "Kid plays tight. I’ll give him that."

Dominic muttered something about the dealer under his breath, then seemed to think better of finishing the thought. Crowne said nothing. He simply watched the remaining chips on the table like they had personally offended him.

Mark, for his part, looked thoroughly entertained. He took a slow pull on his cigar and let the smoke drift up toward the low ceiling, clearly in no hurry to ease anyone’s mood.

Victor reached for the bottle in the center of the table, poured himself what little was left, and drank it in one go. The movement seemed to loosen something in him.

"I should’ve stayed home and dealt with the warehouse instead," he said, more to the table than to anyone in particular. "Three months chasing permits and the city still won’t sign off. Money just sitting there, freezing my cash flow, and I come here and light more of it on fire for fun."

Leon glanced at him sideways. "At least your money is still in a building. Mine left with my sister’s kid. I told her the little bastard wasn’t ready. She insisted. Now I’ve got a missing package and people above me asking questions in that quiet way that means they’re already deciding how much of this lands on my head."

Dominic let out a short breath and finally stopped turning his glass. "You’re both doing better than me. My partner’s ’forgotten’ his side of the payment three times this quarter. Keeps saying the transfer’s delayed. I’m starting to think he’s running a separate game with my capital and waiting to see how long I’ll tolerate it."

Sudden business talk, huh? It was as if the money they just lost... didn’t even matter.

Crowne’s voice came low and even, the first time he’d spoken in a while. "People push until someone pushes back. That’s all it ever is."

Mark smiled around his cigar, the expression thin and pleased.

"That’s the part none of you seem to learn," he said. "You leave soft edges everywhere. Soft edges invite hands. Hands create messes. And messes..." He gestured lazily at the empty space in front of them where their chips used to be. "...look a lot like tonight."

No one argued with him. The truth of it sat heavy over the table. Victor scowled at his empty glass. Leon checked the time. Dominic just stared at the felt. The conversation staggered forward for another minute or two, half-hearted complaints about the cold outside, about the noise from the club upstairs, about how late it had gotten , but the energy had drained out of the room completely. They had lost, and the longer they sat there the more obvious it became.

Eventually Victor pushed his chair back. The legs scraped against the floor louder than necessary. The others followed one by one. Handshakes were offered to Mark with the stiff politeness of men who understood they didn’t have much choice. A couple of them gave me a short nod on the way out, the kind that meant nothing and committed them to less. Crowne didn’t bother. He buttoned his jacket, turned, and walked out without a backward glance.

The door closed behind the last of them.

The private room felt suddenly much larger.

Only Mark, the house woman, and I remained.

Mark sat there a moment longer, still wearing that small private smile, before he finally turned his full attention back to me.

Silence settled.

Mark leaned back and studied me.

"I give you five grand to work with and you put an extra zero next to it. Impressive."

"Luck wasn’t on my side," I said. "Could’ve taken them for more."

"Yeah, well." He smiled without warmth. "It isn’t about the money. It’s about watching those cunt faces when they lose."

"Hmm."

He stood and stretched, joints popping. "Good haul anyway."

I nodded and got to my feet as well.

"You’re a good kid, fella," Mark said. "And a damn good gambler. Too bad I’ll have to leave the country soon."

"Oh?"

"Business here is finished. Back to the motherland for me."

"You don’t own the bar?"

"I do. Alongside a few other small interests."

He turned his back to me, took a couple of slow steps toward a side cabinet, then turned around again holding a thick envelope.

"Twenty g’s inside. You earned it, kid."

My eyes widened before I could stop them. "Twenty? Nah... I can’t take that."

Mark’s eyebrows rose. "Why not?"

"Because then you’ll wait for a favor. Don’t get me wrong, Mark. I know you’re the dangerous type. Maybe mafia, I don’t know. I’d rather not owe you."

His expression hardened in an instant. The easy charm dropped away like a mask.

"This is payment for services rendered." He held the envelope out farther, voice suddenly sharp. "Now fucking take it."

I exhaled through my nose, nodded once, and took the envelope.

"Good." The charm returned as quickly as it had vanished. "Now leave me alone, kid. I’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow. Need some rest."

"Right... thanks for the money." I grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair.

Mark waved me off. "Yeah, yeah. Just leave your kidneys on the way out, kiddo."

I paused at the door and glanced back, hoping it was a joke. "That a joke?"

He chuckled, low and genuine this time. "Of course, you fucker. Kidneys aren’t worth a damn thing. But a heart? Oh, boy."

"I think I’ll just go."

He stepped in and clapped me roughly on the shoulder hard enough to sting, then steered me the rest of the way to the door.

I left... and I meant it. I fucking booked it out of there.