Out of Aces (7 page)

But April said, “He looks cheesy. Like he works out at Gol
d’s.”

“Yeah!” I
said.

“He probably fake t
ans.”

I smiled, feeling a little be
tter.

April winked and turned back to her customer, and I went
in.

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
he worst place to be at six in the morning, when you’ve just finished a graveyard shift and stink like a nightclub, is church. Well, a church parking lot. I’d Googled
orthodox church
on my phone and came up with St. Demetrios, service at 9:00 a.m. Micah wasn’t getting points over
me.

Now I was sitting in my car, seat cranked back, staring at the gray sky and trying to keep my eyes open. But I was dead tired. Maybe I’d just rest my eyes a minute
. . .

Next thing I knew, somebody was tapping on the glass. I jerked up. Things were blurry. I swiped at my eyes, trying to get out the grit, and—oh, crap. I rolled down the wi
ndow.

“Are you all right?” asked a giant wearing a black dress, with a beard halfway down his chest and a huge gold cross swinging from his
neck.

I scrambled to sit up straight. “Yes, sir. So
rry.”

“It’s okay. You need to sleep? We have room inside the hall. It’s going to get noisy here in a few minu
tes.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I was, um, I was just going to church. Thanks.” I opened the door and climbed out, blinking. Even in December, the sky was crazy bright. Behind the priest, the church shot up in the air like a blue-and-white ca
stle.

“I’m Father Giorgios,” said the priest, holding out his
hand.

I shook hands, feeling like I was in a d
ream.

A few parking spots over, guys in black suits were climbing out of an old Dodge
SUV.

“Boys, come here,” called the priest. They weren’t exactly boys. They were the biggest, tannest, most hulking dudes I ever saw. They walked over, and a tiny lady got out of the front of the Dodge and trotted after them. “This is my wife, Presbytera Anna,” said Father Giorgios. “My sons, Konstantinos and Anatolios. Boys, please take care of our visitor.” He gave me a friendly nod and walked up the gravel walk into the ch
urch.

Presbytera Anna had pretty dark eyes, gray hair pulled tight, and a sharp nose, like a tiny eagle. “Welcome. You are Gr
eek?”

“Um,
no.”

She frowned. “Serb
ian?”

“No.”

“Russ
ian?”

“No.”

“Ukrain
ian?”

“No.”

“Georgian? Syrian? Leban
ese?”

“No.” I was starting to feel ner
vous.

“Mom, don’t grill him,” said Konstantinos. He stuck out a hand. “Call me Ko
sta.”

“Gabe.” I shook his hand. Behind him, Anatolios was staring at me. He offered a hand, and we shook,
too.

“You want to come wait in the hall with me?” asked Kosta. “Church doesn’t start for a little wh
ile.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks.” Kosta’s mom and Anatolios went into the church, and I followed Kosta to a big round building across the lawn. We went inside and . . . dang, I guess these people had money. It was a banquet hall, with marble floors, white-covered tables, and a stage at one
end.

Kosta dropped into a chair at one of the tables, and I sat across from him. “So you live around here?” he asked. I could tell he was dying to know what I was doing crashed out in his church’s parking lot. He had a friendly face: round black eyes, a long thin nose, and hair like a black clown
wig.

“Yeah, I just moved here recently from Seat
tle.”

“Oh, did you go to Holy Assumption? Father Basil is my un
cle.”

“I’m not Orthodox, but my girlfriend is,” I expla
ined.

He looked worried. “Oh. Ah . . . does she go h
ere?”

I grinned. “Don’t worry, man, she’s Russian. She lives in Seat
tle.”

“Russian. Very n
ice.”

“Is this the same kind of church Russians go to?” I asked. Because I was thinking,
This had better c
ount.

“Yeah,” said Kosta. “Maybe a few little differences, like their singing isn’t as good.” He smiled. “Although they’d probably say the same about
us.”

I rubbed my eyes; they were bur
ning.

“You look tired. Sorry my dad woke you up,” said K
osta.

“Yeah, I’m on graveyard shift. But it’s c
ool.”

“Where do you w
ork?”

“I bartend at H
ush.”

Kosta’s round eyes got even bigger. He put his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Really? Could you put me on the VIP l
ist?”

I had to smile. “Don’t be shy,
man!”

“I’ll put you on the VIP list in there.” He jabbed his finger toward the church. It took me a second to realize he was joking, and then we both laughed. Suddenly a big bell started to ring, loud and
fast.

Kosta stood up. “Time for liturgy.” I followed him outside, across the lawn, and through the big blue doors of the church. It was like walking into a kaleidoscope. Anywhere you could paint, there was color. The walls, the ceiling, and the domes were covered with sparkling pictures of people. Even the floor was covered in patterns of birds and fishes and curling vines. A chandelier hung from the middle dome, twinkling in the
sun.

Kosta headed down the aisle, but I stayed back, keeping a low profile. People were pouring in the door, having a kiss-party. They kissed the pictures all over the room, and then went to their pews and did some more kissing, twice per fr
iend.

The whole time there was really soft chanting coming from a
bove.

I was watching the Greek women, thinking I could see why those ancient Greek dudes made statues all the time. But there were a lot of old grandma types in church, too, and I swear every single one of them checked me out, even though I was hiding in a back co
rner.

After a little while, Kosta’s dad came out wearing a gold robe down to the floor. A troop of guys in gold-and-white robes followed him around, carrying candles on sticks. One of them was swinging a chain with a metal thing at the end of it. He was like some kind of ninja with that thing, swinging it hard, the ball pouring clouds of s
moke.

Suddenly, Kosta’s dad held up a Bible over his head with both hands. At least I think that’s what it was. It was this giant gold metal book covered in jewels, and it seriously looked like something out of
Raiders of the Lost
Ark
.

I had no idea that this was what Irina’s church was like. I thought of church as . . . I don’t know, a guy in surfer shorts at a podium. Or a brotha preaching and singing go
spel.

Thinking of Irina made me focus.
Is Micah standing by her right now?
I dug my phone out of my pocket. But what should I text her?
Guess where I am?
No, too obvious.
How does Micah like church?
Too jealous.
Please give your “friend” a punch in the face for me?
I
wish.

I decided to take a picture. That would let her know where I was without saying anything. I looked around and tried to figure out what to shoot. The ninja guy was coming around with his smoking ball. That was kind of impressive. I held up the phone, aimed carefully, and—
whap!

My phone flew out of my hand and clattered to the floor. I grabbed my stinging arm. A little old lady had used her purse like nunchucks! She was maybe five feet tall, with a black scarf tied over her head and so many wrinkles I could barely see her eyes. She shook her head sl
owly.

“Sorry,” I whispered, and picked up my phone. Her purse was on the floor next to it, so I picked that up, too. It was black leather, and it felt like it was stuffed with rocks. By now everybody in the back half of the church was staring. Time to go. I handed her the purse, whispered, “Sorry” again, and bo
lted.

Once I was outside, I frowned and rubbed my red arm. I almost felt like I was hallucinating. Did that seriously happen? I guessed I’d have to take a picture of the outside of the church instead. I walked around the side of the building to get a good angle—and almost ran into K
osta.

“Hi,” he said. He had a stack of white cloths tucked under his arm, and he was with a couple other guys also carrying things: a bowl of bread, a pitcher. They looked very GQ, with their suits open and sleeves rolled
up.

“Hey,” I
said.

Kosta turned to his friends. “This is Gabe. He bartends at H
ush.”

“Really?” The tallest, thinnest one stuck out his free hand. “Andr
eas.”

“Steve,” said the other, a slick-looking dude with hair down to his shoul
ders.

I shook hands, still feeling dazed. “An old lady just hit me with her pu
rse.”

“What?”
said K
osta.

I explained what happened, and they all laughed. “It had to be Mrs. Theodori,” said S
teve.

“Or Mrs. Papadopoulos,” said Andreas. “She used to smack my hands if I took more than one piece of
prosph
ora
.”

“Well, she definitely didn’t want me taking pictures. Will you take one of me?” I asked Kosta. “I have to prove to my girlfriend that I went to chu
rch.”

That made them laugh even harder. “He has a Russian girlfriend,” Kosta explained. I handed Kosta my phone, and he got a picture of me grinning with the church in the background. He gave my phone back. “Is that g
ood?”

I checked it out. “Yeah, that’ll w
ork.”

“It’s none of my business, but why don’t you just go to a Russian church with your girlfriend?” Steve a
sked.

“She lives in Seattle. We’re doing the long distance th
ing.”

“Oh. That sucks.” Steve looked sympathetic. “So she’s making you go by yourself and take a
picture
to prove
it?”

“No, that’s not her style. I’m going because some guy she knows asked if he could go to church with her today. He’s there right now. I’ve never gone before, so he’s kind of making me look
bad.”

“Oooooh,” said And
reas.

Steve raised his eyebrows. “He’s hitting on
her.”

“I know, that’s what I keep telling her.” I went ahead and texted the picture to I
rina.

About two seconds later a text popped up.
You’re at chur
ch???

Kosta was looking over my shoulder. “Write,
Yes, of course
,” he told
me.

So I
did.

I know why you’re doing this,
Irina texted
back.

“Ha!” said Kosta. “She knows you’re jeal
ous.”

“Let me see that.” Steve peered at my phone. “Say
Because I love you
,” he sugge
sted.

I grinned. “Good idea, man.” And I did it. Then I sent another text. I couldn’t help it; my fingers practically did it on their own.
How does Micah like ch
urch?

“No, that sounds weak,” said Andreas, because he was looking over my shoulder, too, now—but I’d already hit “S
end.”

Irina came right back:
I don’t know. I’ll ask him after. We’re in service right
now.

“Oh, man,” said Steve. “Who is this guy, any
way?”

“I don’t know.” I rubbed my eyes. “He goes to school with her. She said he’s some kind of Protestant and he’s interested in Orthod
oxy.”

Andreas frowned. “Okay, hold on. Write,
What does he think about ic
ons?
”

“
Huh?”

“Yeah, do it,” said Steve.
“I-c-o-
n-s.”

So I
did.

“Write,
Will he fast with you?
” said K
osta.

I’d already dug myself deep. I went ahead and texted that,
too.

Irina’s text came back half a second later.
Who are you? Where’s
Gabe?

Steve laughed. “That’s good, man. Now leave it. Make her curi
ous.”

I smiled and put my phone back in my pocket. “Tha
nks.”

“Stefanos Val
las!”

We all whipped around. A big lady was marching toward us. She had a flowered head scarf and thick glasses. “Break up the party! We need the prosph
ora!”

“Mama, calm down, I’m coming.” Steve quickly started toward
her.

“Konstantinos, you,
too!”

“Sorry, Mrs. Vallas. I’ll be right there.” Kosta dug in his pocket and handed me a business card. “Come see us at Helios sometime. We do after-hours,
too.”

I smiled and stuck the card in my back pocket. “Cool, man. Maybe I will.” Then I headed for the parking lot. Mrs. Vallas was carrying a purse, and I was a fast lea
rner.