Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
She’ll love it.
And if she somehow is no longer available Thursday, I can see if Harrison wants to come with me. I don’t know if he knows the first thing about classical music, but he might enjoy it. I know he goes to the theater sometimes.
I shoot her a quick text.
Hey. I know we said we’d hang Thursday—turns out that’s the date of the Shostakovich symphony at CSO. Got us tickets. We can meet there or grab dinner before. Whatever works. Have a great day at work.
I send it.
She probably won’t get it until later. I’m not sure when her shift ends, but I think she keeps her phone in her locker while she’s on duty.
They’ll keep her busy today, I’m sure. People come in on Mondays after fucking themselves up over the weekend. She’ll have plenty of patients to distract her.
Keep her mind off May.
Wish I had something to distract me.
That poor girl.
And her friend, the one who disappeared first. The one who made her reach out to Alissa and ask for help.
Svetlana. The Nine of Diamonds.
I remember her. I last saw her a few weeks before I met Alissa.
Fuck. It’s cold tonight.
Normally I don’t bother with an overcoat since it’s a quick walk from the parking garage to the club entrance, but tonight I made an exception. Long dark overcoat, gloves, a scarf, and earmuffs.
The Chicago winter wind has a way of finding any exposed part of your body, so I’m bundled up as best as I can get.
Why the hell does anyone live in the Midwest? The winters are brutal. Especially for those of us this close to Lake Michigan.
I get in and have to dig through several layers of clothing to get my ID so Chet can check me in. Even he’s bundled up—wearing a thin pink sweater under his pinstriped jacket and fingerless gloves. He looks like some sort of vaudeville actor.
“You’re all set, Mr. Hathaway,” he says, grinning from ear to ear like usual. “No guest tonight?”
“You know as well as I do that I come here to meet women, Chet.”
He nods. “Of course. I think you’ll find the selection tonight to be quite…appetizing.”
I lean over the desk. “Really?”
“Indeed. Some very lovely ladies have come on the arms of members this evening.”
I frown. “Then they’re probably here as dates. I can’t exactly horn in.”
Chet twiddles his fingers together. “I’m sure you’re aware that a lot of the club’s members don’t mind sharing.”
Shit. I’m not interested in a three-way. At least not with another man.
Two ladies? Sign me the fuck up.
But another dude? Not my thing.
Harrison told me once about being in a three-way with another guy. He said it was a little weird at first, but that he got used to it. You just focus on the girl.
But I’d rather have the girl all to myself.
Whatever. Chet always says weird stuff. He probably doesn’t even mean it.
At any rate, I’ll keep my eyes peeled for single women. It’s been a few weeks since I last had a good piece of ass.
“Is Rouge in tonight?”
“I believe she’s attending to one of her other clubs tonight, Mr. Hathaway.”
I nod. Good.
I’ve been avoiding Rouge ever since that night a year ago. The night that started with a fistful of psychedelic drugs and ended with what I assume was a really bad trip.
God, I hope I’m right about that.
But whatever. I shake the thought from my head.
Rouge isn’t here tonight. I won’t have to worry about avoiding her.
Normally I make a beeline for the bar in the Spades section as soon as I go through the Green Door, but tonight I’m itching for a game of chance. I’m going to try my hand in the Diamonds section.
It’s a great way to pick up chicks. Once you’re on a roll, they flock around you, mystified at your perceived fortune.
Fortune my ass.
These games do have an element of luck—all games do, from Candyland to Russian Roulette—but casino games are all about reading the room, getting a feel for the cards in your hand.
Of course, if the ladies of Aces Underground want to think I’ve been kissed by Lady Luck, I won’t stop them.
Lady Luck might just lead to Lady Fuck.
And the latter hasn’t pulled into town in a while.
The Diamonds section of Aces Underground shimmers under the low amber glow of hanging glass chandeliers. I walk to the craps table. Its felt is a rich mustard yellow, the edges trimmed in polished brass.
“Mr. Hathaway.” The croupier—Terrence Shellby, according to the nametag on his lapel—flashes me a smile. “We don’t see you in the Diamonds section very often.”
I lean over the table. “Felt like trying something different tonight, Shellby.”
Shellby hands me the dice and I cradle them in my hand. I’m loosened now, the tension in my jaw melted away with the knowledge that Rouge is out tonight. I toss the dice with a flick of my wrist. They tumble across the felt, clinking together as they settle.