Double Blind (57 page)

“Sure thing, Slick,” he said, and he rose.

Ethan caught his arm and brushed a kiss across his cheek before letting him go. “Thanks, Ace,” he said, and then he was gone, off to check out more of his Butterfly Night.

The beginner’s table had been Randy’s idea, but Slick was the one who had expanded it into Poker 101. The newbies played for money, but just for penny chips. For five dollars, you could have a “shadow” help you through your hand. For twenty dollars, you could participate in an “open hand” game where an expert player explained what the good plays were and what the bad plays were and how each hand should have proceeded according to convention. It was a very popular table, and for the next hour it was Randy’s.

He actually really liked it. Sure, a lot of the people were thick as posts, but they were just nervous, and everyone expressed that in different ways. Randy enjoyed getting them all to relax, to begin to see their strengths, and to find their feet in the game. None of them would be experts anytime soon, and some would never amount to anything. But they went to the five-dollar tables in droves every time he dismissed them from their round, and they didn’t go as live ones. They went as real players. Green players, but real. It felt good.

The best thing about working on the floor was that Randy got to see the flash mobs. That had been Caryle’s brainchild: there would be shows on the stage every hour, amateur stuff that was heavy on drag queens and had a lot of
Cirque du Soleil
rip-offs, but it was still a free show. People would show up. In the meantime, though, spontaneous shows would break out all around the casino floor. A song would begin to play, the music a little louder than before, and dancers would come out, including the butterflies, but there’d also be waitresses and players who suddenly put their cards in the muck and began to dance. No dealers, because that was too confusing, but a lot of them started to wiggle along because it was fun. They
were
fun, the flash mobs. Lots of disco, some retro, but whatever song came on, when you were on the floor and the dancing started, you felt like
you
were on the stage. When Randy’s shift was finally over, he was disappointed, not just because he would miss the newbies, but because they were just starting “Xanadu.”

Sam fell into step beside him as he headed off the floor. “I think your uncle would be proud of you,” he said, leaning over to whisper in Randy’s ear.

Randy punched him lightly in the arm, but the words did make him feel warm. He hoped so. “How was Ms. Minogue?”

Sam’s expression turned rapturous. “Oh, Randy. She’s so wonderful. So
nice
. She’s just so perfect. That was so sweet of her, to talk to me. I can’t wait to see her perform.” He sighed and pulled out his iPhone, frowning down at the time display. “I just wish Mitch would get here.”

“Go call him again,” Randy suggested. “I’m sure he’ll be here soon, but call him anyway.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. But I’m going to go upstairs. It’s too loud in here, even with the slots gone.”

Randy smiled, watched him go and headed back into the bar.

It was packed, which despite the fact that this was good for Ethan, annoyed him. He liked having the River to himself, and he resented that there was only one stool left and that it was way down on the end, nowhere near the door where he normally liked to sit. There was nothing to do about it, though, so he just sighed, slid into the empty space, and signaled Scully for a drink.

A man sat beside Randy, tucked as far in the corner as he could go, and Randy had to wipe away a laugh. God, but the guy was a case. He was wearing a suit and tie, which on Slick looked really good, but on this guy just made him look like an uptight insurance salesman.
Cheap
tie.
Cheap
shirt. He looked like he should be directing the Presbyterian choir. He looked scared, too, though he was trying to cover it by looking aloof. It wasn’t working.

Randy, in a good mood but still ticked about the full bar, decided to fuck with him.

He grinned and leaned over a little too close. “Having a good time, buddy?”

The man recoiled, but Randy caught a flicker in his eye that was more than just fear.
Oh-ho,
he thought, practically rubbing his hands together in glee. He had himself a closet case!

“It’s fine, yes,” the man said, and withdrew deeper into the shadows.

Completely skittish, this one. Randy dialed it down a bit and went for quiet charm instead. “Quite a crowd. Little bit of something for everyone here, I’m thinking.” He motioned again at Scully, but not rudely because the poor man was actually working for a change. “You here by yourself?” Randy glanced down at the man’s lap and wasn’t surprised to see a golden wedding band on his left hand. “Or is the wife with you?”

His diagnosis of closet case was confirmed when the man looked almost startled as he glanced down at his hand, then hid it from sight.
Yeah, you’ve got to remember to take the ring off if you’re going to cruise, sweetheart.
Of course, it also helped to not be so damn scared you were about to fall off your stool.

“I’m by myself tonight,” the man said.

Randy wanted to ask for his name, but he thought he’d send the poor thing into shock. He was cute, in a sorry sort of way. He looked like the cleanest of the cleanest cuts Randy had ever seen. He did another scan of the man’s outfit and wondered if he’d been generous with the Presbyterian. Possibly Baptist.

Or, God help the poor bastard, Mormon.

He ran his finger along Ethan’s ring absently, and felt a surge of empathy. Then he dialed back even further.

“You played any table games yet?” he asked, as kindly as he could.

The man’s lips quirked in a nervous smile. “I—I play a little poker. But I haven’t here, yet. I guess that starts in a little bit.”

Randy motioned toward the main casino floor. “No, they’re playing right now. You want—” He paused, because the man seriously did look like he was about to pass out. He gentled still more. “You want to go? I’d sit down with you, if you’re looking for company.”

Fuck, that came out the wrong way. But the man just smiled, a little gratefully, and shook his head. “Thank you—that’s very kind. But I’m waiting for someone.”

Randy couldn’t help it. He lifted his eyebrows and said, “Are you now?” And because he wanted to flatter the poor guy’s ego added, “I see I shouldn’t have let the grass grow under my feet.”

And it was nice, actually, to see the nervous man relax a little, to see him warm up a bit under Randy’s flattery.

“No,” he said, still smiling. “Sorry—it’s—” He stopped, rubbed his mouth, and shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t—I don’t ever do this.”

Randy smiled back. “Let me help you through the niceties, then.” He extended his hand to him. “Hi. I’m Randy. Nice to meet you.”

But the man was frowning now, and staring at Randy’s hand. He looked up once in wary confusion at Randy’s face, and then his eyes fell back to his hand again. To his pinky.

To his ring.

To Slick’s ring.

The music was pounding, the crowd was roaring, and the heat was stifling, but for that moment, Randy heard nothing, and he’d never been colder in his life.

And then, to seal it, Crabtree came up behind him and patted him heartily on the shoulder.

“Hello, Jansen,” he said, and chuckled. “If you don’t mind, I need to steal Mr. Snow here. He’s due to start in the big game in just fifteen minutes.”

Now it was Randy who was pale, Randy who wanted to crawl into the corner and into the shadows, Randy for whom the noise and rush and closeness was too much, too overwhelming.
Nick. Nick Snow. This was Nick.

This was Ethan’s Nick.

Randy turned to Crabtree, wanting to ask him what the fuck this was about, but he found he couldn’t. There was no rage, no fury, no nothing, just a cold fear, and a hurt that cut across him when he saw the distance on Crabtree’s face, when he realized that the old bastard had done this, that it had been on purpose. That he’d gone and found Nick and brought him here. And he’d let Randy sit here and make an ass of himself trying to make him feel welcome.

Crabtree looked at him briefly, and Randy felt his throat close, his chest so tight he couldn’t breathe, and he had to look away.

But Snow was still looking at him, looking intently at his hand. At the ring. “Where—” He shook his head, dumbfounded. “Where did you get that?”

No,
Randy wanted to scream.
No, goddamn it, fucking goddamn it, no, no, no!
But he didn’t. He just pulled the ring off his finger and laid it on the counter, forcing one last smile.

“Best of luck in the game,” he said hoarsely, then turned around and got the fuck out of there.

Ethan
was standing near the fountain, nodding as he listened to Mandy explain a situation with one of the dealers when he saw Crabtree coming up the Grand Path toward him. Then Crabtree stepped slightly to the side, and Ethan saw Nick.

At first he thought he had to be hallucinating, that it was some bizarre sort of psychological projection, but no, other people saw him too. Crabtree’s men were behind Nick, flanking him—they looked like they were herding him, in fact—and Nick looked pale and small and terrified. And then he looked up, saw Ethan, and it all went away. His face, still pale, lit up in a smile of relief, and yes, of love.

And it all came back to Ethan, in that one gesture, in a great, warm rush.

Years. He’d had
years
with this man. Years of listening to his sorrows, of his joys, of spending stolen moments that were, for the two of them, the highest of pleasures. There were no limos, no high rollers, no wild motorcycle rides across the Las Vegas Strip. They hadn’t been that kind of couple.

He had enjoyed being Nick’s secret, if he were honest. He’d enjoyed being his true partner, the one he came unglued for, the one he surrendered to. It had filled some sort of void within himself, the only rebellion he would allow in his ordered, careful life: with this man, he had flaunted the rules and strictures of society and found love. And it had been love. It hadn’t been false, or fabricated. It had been, and always would be, real. Ethan had cherished it, and as he stood and looked at his lover, he realized he still did and always would.

But as he stood there with the demon fountain splashing behind him, with the din of the casino surrounding them, with Nick standing, heart open, ready, Ethan knew, to take him back, to apologize, to make it work—as he stood there, Ethan felt the wave pull back again, and he knew that this love, too, was over.

Ethan smiled politely at Nick, then turned to Crabtree. “I see you took your sweet time about coming back.” He held out his hands and indicated the casino. “What do you think?”

He felt Nick’s surprise, his quiet withdrawing, his pain, but he didn’t turn to him and didn’t give him his empathy.
Yes,
his heart whispered to his former lover.
Yes, it does hurt, doesn’t it? And I am sorry for that. But you might love your next lover better, and maybe even your wife, if you learn what that feels like, if you can learn to live with that pain you’re feeling now and still find a way to move on.

Crabtree, if he was surprised by Ethan’s reaction, didn’t show it. He put his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels and nodded as he surveyed the room. “Quite nice. Quite nice indeed.” He leaned to the left and smiled at the fountain behind Ethan. “All the old ways, brought back, and some of them improved.” He frowned at Ethan. “But do all the dancers have to be so lithe, so genderless?”

“That is the idea,” Ethan told him. But he was still watching Nick out of the corner of his eye. Why
was
he here? Obviously Crabtree had planned to rub him in Ethan’s face, but why? And how?

Picking up on Ethan’s interest, Crabtree turned to Nick and put his arm in a chummy gesture around his shoulders. “Would you and Mr. Snow like a moment to reconnect before the big game?”

Nick looked up at Ethan in hope, but Ethan was fixed on Crabtree now. “Game? You’re putting Nick in your poker game? He doesn’t even know how to play!”

“I play a little,” Nick said. Oh, he was aching, Ethan knew.
See me,
he was begging Ethan. He could practically hear the words in his head. The man was being torn apart in pieces, right here on the floor. And Ethan didn’t like it.

He took a step closer to Crabtree. “This game ends now. Whatever you used to get Nick here, use it to get him home. This isn’t his world, and it isn’t his fight. And it’s abysmally low of you to include him at all.”

“Ethan,” Nick said quietly, desperately, swallowing his pride and all but pleading with him, right there in the open. “Please, Ethan—we need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to say,” Ethan said to him, patient, but terse. “If you want to apologize, that would be welcome, but if you put one ‘but’ inside of it, one little rationale for why you did what you did, for how your hands are tied and you don’t have the strength or anything that remotely sounds like that, don’t bother. What you did ended us, Nick, and you can’t undo that. You could possibly rebuild it with a lot of time and work and effort, but I don’t see that in you, to be honest. I’d be happy to find myself surprised. But not now. Not tonight. I have more important things to do right now.”

Nick drew back, wounded, but Ethan was glad to see, not surprised.
Go home,
he wanted to tell him.
Go home, be free, and live, Nick—take this pain and build yourself anew inside it, and find your own adventures. Find your own real life. Go in peace. Because despite it all, I do still love you enough to wish you that.
But he said nothing, because there was no way to say that. They just looked at one another, the last ties of the past snapping and falling away, and Ethan knew, despite what he’d just told him, that Nick would not be building a bridge back between them. Letting that last regret go, he started to turn away.

And then he caught a glimpse of something small and silver flashing in Nick’s hand.

He stopped and turned back, some part of him already reacting and planning, but the rest of it took longer, and he had to speak, to make sure.

“What is that?” he said, pointing, but Nick’s palm was already opening, showing him the small circle of silver.

“Your ring,” Nick said quietly. Humbly. Hopefully.

But Ethan just stared at it, his thoughts climbing on top of one another, knowing somehow that Nick having the ring meant something bad, but too much was happening, and he was slow. “It’s not my ring,” he said, still staring at it. “It’s yours.” Then he looked up at Nick’s face in horror. “
Randy.
You got this from Randy. Where is he?”

“The man at the bar?” Nick closed his hand and withdrew it, anger and disbelief creeping into his expression. “You’re with
him
?
You
gave my ring to
him
?”

No. He took it. He won it, fair and square after carefully adjusting the odds.
And now he’d given it away. Ethan turned, his heart slamming hard against the wall of his chest, to Crabtree. “Where is he?”

The gangster shrugged, but Ethan could also feel him watching carefully, reading every tell. “He left, I think. It doesn’t matter.”

Ethan wanted to shove him in the fountain. He wanted to grab the man by the collar and push his head under the water, to drown him to kick him, to drive sharp objects into his throat, his heart, to fucking chop his penis off and stuff it in his mouth. He really, really wanted it, in a way he’d never wanted anything so violent before. But he did none of those things, because he wouldn’t get away with it, and because it wouldn’t help.

Instead he pulled his wallet full of Crabtree’s money, the keys to his office, his business cards, and a handful of loose chips from his pocket. Then he turned around and tossed them into the churning water.

“Send him home,” Ethan said to Crabtree, pointing at Nick. “Give him a good alibi, too, for his wife. But get him out of here.”

“Ethan!” Nick cried, reaching for him, but Crabtree stepped in front of Ethan and faced Ethan down, his eyes hard and cold and unforgiving.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, every inch the gangster now. “You have a casino to run and a game to play.”

Ethan gave him a wide, mirthless smile and held out his hands. “I fold. I’m not playing any of your games, Crabtree, because you don’t have the pot I want.”

Was that a ghost of a smile around Crabtree’s lips? “Oh, I think I do.”

“No, you don’t. Because it isn’t yours to give.” He scanned the crowd, but he already knew Randy wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t be anywhere in the casino. He’d be out there, somewhere, letting Vegas nurse his wounds. He ran his hand over his mouth and shook his head, fearing he was already too late. “I have to find him.” He started for the door.

Crabtree grabbed his arm. “This isn’t a game you get to quit,” he said, and this time there was no mere hint of danger, just plain, obvious danger.

Ethan shook him off. “Then you’ll have to rub me out, mob man. But if you ever loved him at all, even just a little, let me find him first.”

He would never know how he found the strength to turn away from a gangster in his own casino and walk out, how he was able to stalk across the floor, leaving his former lover and the man who had openly threatened to kill him behind, but he did it, and he didn’t question too deeply where he’d found that courage or that strength. All he knew in that moment was that he needed to get out, to find Randy, that nothing,
nothing
else in the world in that moment was worth considering at all.

When he felt a hand on his arm he drew back, but when he turned and saw Sam, his armor cracked, and he melted a little in relief, especially when he saw Sam’s face and knew they were after the same thing.

“Do you know where he is?” he asked.

“I have a pretty good idea.” Sam took his arm and led him toward a back exit. “Come on. I rode Mitch’s bike in today. I’ll drive you.”

Randy
stood at the railing of the Stratosphere observation deck and looked out as dusk came over Sin City, trying not to let any of the tourists around him see as his heart broke into pieces that tumbled, one by one, over the edge and into oblivion below.

It wasn’t that he thought Ethan was going to leave him for Nick. Okay, he thought that, was pretty convinced of it actually, and he knew that if it wasn’t Nick, it would be some other Nick. Or a job, or a something. There would be something, there was no questioning that, and Ethan would leave him eventually, and he’d known that, known it ever since he picked that ring up off the roulette table that this couldn’t last, because nothing did. But when Nick Snow had stood there, not a villain, not an asshole, just a quiet, ordinary man so plain he was almost mousy—when Ethan’s past had stood there, looking back at Randy, he’d realized that he had screwed up. He’d forgotten this was over. He’d forgotten, even though Ethan had said that it was “for now,” even though he kept telling himself that, it wasn’t what he believed, not in his heart. Or, more dangerous, that it wasn’t what he wanted.

Because he’d looked at Nick Snow and realized that he, Randy, wanted Ethan forever.

Randy shut his eyes and leaned forward on the rail so he could reach up with his hand and pinch hard against the bridge of his nose.