Double Blind (2 page)

“There’s got to be a way around the police,” Billy said, stroking his chin as he walked away from the camera screens. “I’ll have to work on that. Thanks for bringing that up, Randy.”

“You’re not welcome,” Randy said, watching the gambler on the screen. He looked like he might seriously vomit on the table. Over five fucking dollars. Goddamn, but Randy hated this. He hated that it was bugging him as much as he hated what he was watching. He should get up and forget about it, he knew. But for some reason he couldn’t.

Crabtree sat down on the edge of the sofa and patted Randy’s foot. “People are people, Randy. They will be the card they were dealt to be.”

Randy pursed his lips. “This guy’s smart, Crabtree. Normally, anyway. He’s just got his head wrong. I’ve been watching him all night, and he’s
not dumb
.”

“Oh no,” Crabtree agreed. “This one’s an ace.”

“You think?” Randy tilted his head to the side and studied the man on the screen with new eyes. Then he nodded. And grimaced. “Fucking hell, he is. And stuck on playing himself low.”

Billy had settled in at his desk and was leaning back in his chair, watching them watch the man. “You two and your aces and kings. You can’t figure people out just by watching them for five minutes.”

“It’s been half an hour,” Randy corrected him, “but yes. You can. And in a lot less than five minutes. It’s called a tell, Billy.”

“But you were so specific with this one,” Billy dogged, leaning forward now. “You really think you’re right? That this guy is exactly what you think he is? Dumped, cheated out of money, and down to his last dollar?”

“Yes,” Randy snapped.

“And for some unknown reason you care about that,” Crabtree mused.

Randy glared at him. “Not everyone is as unfeeling as you.”

Crabtree studied Randy thoughtfully. “No, but
you
usually aren’t this involved. You’ve been funny, in fact, ever since that friend of yours got married.” A smile played at the edges of Crabtree’s lips. “Randy Jansen, are you going soft on me? Do you wish you could go down there and sweep this sorry little sack off his feet, then console him and live happily ever after?”

Randy rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah, that’s exactly it. I just wish I could go down there and save his poor sorry ass. I’m just dying for an excuse.”

Billy, sensing opportunity, braced his hands on his desk and leered at Randy. “Bet you can’t.”

Randy snorted. “You want me to go down there and seduce this guy on a bet?”

“No,” Billy said, “I want you to go down there, flirt with this guy, and find out his story. See if he’s what you think he is. And if you aren’t one hundred percent right, and if you don’t get him into bed with you, I win.”

“You’re a sick fuck, Billy,” Randy said. “I’m not taking that bet.”

Billy changed his tactics. “Okay—then just go and see if you’re right. I want to know.”

“If he’s gay?”

“If you were right about what happened to him.”

Randy eyed Billy warily. “
Why
?”

Billy shrugged. “Because I’m curious.” When Randy snorted, Billy smiled reluctantly. “I am. I want to know if you’re right or wrong, or even just close. I want to know if people can be pegged this well. It could be interesting.”

Which meant he thought it might be profitable. Randy rolled his eyes again and turned away, but he caught Crabtree watching him with an interest that unnerved him. Randy forced his attention back to the security feed. He thought of Crabtree’s blithe dismissal, of his own frustration, and he thought,
Maybe I can re-screw this one’s head on just a little. Send the ace back up to the top of the pack again. A sort of public service
.

Besides, despite being a bit morose, Roulette Man was very hot, and Randy always enjoyed flirting. Probably would come to nothing, but then again, maybe not, and it was always fun to mess with a hot straight man.

“Not that I’m taking it,” Randy said, as the ball spun again, “but what would you want to bet for?”

He expected Billy to say something lame, like “fifty dollars,” but he didn’t.

Billy was beaming, in fact. “If I’m right, you’re one of my shirtless twinks on opening night for Gay Nite.”

Randy laughed. “I’m not a twink,” he pointed out, gesturing to himself. He was dark, just a tiny bit hairy, and full of lean muscle from working with engines.

“Then you’ll be whatever you are, but you’ll be in the sexy getup. Or at the very least something really embarrassing for you.
But
,” he went on, before Randy could tell him off, “if
you’re
right, I make sure that on that night you get your
own
twink. Or whatever. Whichever one you like best gives you his full attention for the evening.”

Randy considered this. He watched the man at the roulette table watch the ball go round and round, letting it decide his fate. Randy knew, with soul-deep certainty, that he wasn’t wrong.

But he knew, too, that Crabtree was also right. Randy had been feeling funny the past few months, and he didn’t like it. He was restless, irritated, and sometimes even lonely. Was it really worth twenty dollars’ worth of drinks and several hours of conversational dirge for some potential, unspecified tail?

Would it make the restlessness and loneliness better or worse?

“Don’t do it, Randy,” Crabtree said, and sipped his drink again. “When an ace falls, he doesn’t get back up that easily. And he won’t appreciate your intervention. The only way aces go high after falling as hard as this one has is under extraordinary circumstances. And even then it isn’t guaranteed. The odds are bad, Randy.” His hand lowered and stroked, once, against Randy’s ankle. “You can make much better use of your time and talents.”

That made Randy pause, especially when the caress came again. It had been a while since he and Crabtree had played their kinky little games, and yeah, they’d do for a distraction. But something was holding Randy back, and he kept silent as, on the video screen, the roulette ball went round and round and round, its final destination impossible to guess.

“How would you verify it?” Randy asked Billy. “How would you tell who was right or not? Would you take my word for it?”

“Has to be a witness,” Billy said. “Someone neither of us could pay off. Who’s working bar tonight?”

“Scully,” Randy said absently, watching the ball.
Land on black, goddamn it.

“Scully will do nicely.” Billy settled back and threaded his hands behind his head. “So?”

Crabtree said nothing, but his massage on Randy’s ankle was becoming more direct, his invitation quite clear.

But Randy couldn’t take his eyes off the ball. It was starting to bounce, ricocheting wildly across the spines. Why would anyone bet on this, outside of masochism?

He had to know. He had to find out what this guy was about. To see if he was right, or if Crabtree was.

“I pick the guy,” Randy said at last.

“That’s what I said,” Billy replied.

Randy shook his head. “No—I pick who you hire. And he understands the full-service nature of his employment.”

Billy shrugged. “Sure. Is it a deal?”

“Yes,” Randy said, but tersely, because the ball had landed once more on red. “
Fuck
.”

Crabtree lifted his hand from Randy’s ankle. He studied the screen for a minute, then rolled his eyes, shook his head, and finished off his drink before setting it down on the edge of Billy’s desk. “Better get down there, Romeo. If he really is out of money, he’s going to run away.”

Randy nodded, then sat up and slid into his shoes, wondering why he felt so disoriented and so nervous. This
was
stupid, he acknowledged. But he knew he was going to do it. He gave up trying to figure out why.

“Remember,” Billy called as Randy headed for the door, “go to Scully to verify.”

“Give your fallen ace my love,” Crabtree called as Randy pulled on the doorknob.

“Fuck you,” Randy replied, but wearily.

“You turned me down, remember?” Crabtree drawled, and Randy sighed, squared his shoulders and headed for the elevator.

Ethan Ellison
watched the last of his chips slide across the felt with an increasing sensation of horror, rage, and disbelief. He’d done it. He’d actually done it.

And now the future loomed before him: black, short, and violent.

Ethan wiped his hand over his mouth, suppressing the urge to vomit.
No
.
No, I don’t want to, not anymore.
The realization was both a relief and a nightmare.

What in the world was he supposed to do now?

“Bad luck again. Sorry about that.” The dealer, a middle-aged man with a thin silver mustache that tickled his upper lip, glanced inquiringly at Ethan. “Can I get you some more chips, sir?”

Ethan shook his head and with some force of will pushed himself up from the table. “No. Thank you—no.” But he had nowhere to go—or rather, he had only one place to go, and he no longer wanted to go there.

To delay his next decision, he stood staring at the table, focusing not on the sea of numbers but on the red and black squares at the edge of the felt nestled just between the words EVEN and ODD.

A fifty-fifty chance, and I still couldn’t win, not even once.
The pain in his head increased, and his throat began to close as well.
What now? What now?

Ethan had no idea. None whatsoever.

Help,
he thought, but of course no one answered. If he couldn’t even get one lucky break on black, he wasn’t going to be getting any at all.

He started to turn away from the table, but he glanced back at the dealer as he left, remembering the nicety of a goodbye at the last second. His smile fell as he caught an expectant look in the dealer’s eye.

Oh God. The man expected a tip.

Ethan flushed and patted his pockets, more for a stall than because he expected to find anything there. He looked up guiltily at the dealer. “I—I’m sorry—” He patted his pockets again searching a little more desperately now, just in case there was something, anything left. But there wasn’t. Not even a dime. “I don’t really have anything.”

The dealer’s friendly, hopeful expression was wiped away as if by an invisible wiper blade. He rolled his eyes, shook his head, and turned back to stacking his chips.

Ethan faltered, feeling even more of a loser than he’d been on that last bet on black. “I’m very sorry, I didn’t realize—”
Because I’m an idiot, a sorry, soppy idiot
. He dug deep into his trousers, then paused as he hit the bit of metal.