Confidence Tricks (32 page)

“Oh, I know exactly what kind of game you play.” That was Graff’s voice. His real voice—his hurt voice. “I’ll start. I have two kings. Hearts and diamonds.”

Todd made a strange choking sound.

“Rufio? Please have the courtesy of flipping our guest’s cards.” His voice rumbled a warning. “
Now
, Rufio.”

Asprey flipped the cards one by one, trying not to be dramatic but finding it difficult to be anything else in that moment. The cards hit the felt in a slow, almost otherworldly succession—three kings and a pair of deuces.

“No!” Todd cried, the syllable drawn out like he was shouting at a horror movie whose denouement was already written across the floors in fake blood.

“You dare to cheat Drago?” Graff roared.

The gun came out. Asprey hurtled forward to get to it in time, but he was knocked off his feet by Poppy, who had sprung into action the moment Todd’s hand moved for his hip. Instead of moving toward Todd, as Asprey expected, she moved in front of Graff, her hands raised in supplication.

“That’s enough. Both of you stop.”

The twin clicks of two guns cocking filled the air, both of them pointed right at Poppy. Graff’s gun was one Asprey had never seen before, a high-tech Glock-22 that he’d pulled from a shoulder holster. Todd’s was a wood-handled revolver, which looked more like a showpiece than anything the least bit functional.

Asprey didn’t like the look of either one. They had guns in the hangar, of course, and Asprey had handled his fair share. It was impossible to accomplish as many successful heists as they had without invoking the use of some kind of force. He didn’t always like it, but arms were one of the several necessary evils he’d come to accept as part of their trade.

This, though—it went too far. Graff didn’t get to point a gun at Poppy without his permission. He didn’t get to endanger a life that was rapidly becoming to mean more to Asprey than his own.

“Move, Natalie,” Graff ordered. “I know you’re dating this scumbug, but no one cheats against Drago and lives to tell the tale. No one.”

“She doesn’t move an inch, or I’ll blow her head off,” Todd warned, his voice shaky.

“Todd! Drago!” Poppy sounded more like a schoolteacher than a woman with one gun pointed at her chest and the other at her back. “Both of you put the guns down right now. This stupid game isn’t worth anyone’s life.
Drago—that includes you.”

“You guys have the wrong idea. Natalie, I need you to reach down, grab my briefcase and hand it to me very slowly.” When she didn’t move, he added, “Do it, or I will shoot you.”

Asprey could hear the same fear in Todd’s voice from the day of the necklace heist, and he felt jolts of warning move through his spine. What had he thought then? That all Todd’s heroics were misplaced, at getting the gun pointed anywhere but toward himself? That Todd seemed like the type who would have gladly thrown Poppy into harm’s way if it meant saving his own skin?

Not if Asprey had anything to say about it.

He moved.

With a quick jab that was more of an automatic reflex than anything else, he hit the gun with his fist. It hurt, a lot more than he expected it to, what with the cold metal against bone and a lot more force than he thought he was capable of, but it had the bonus of sending the gun flying out of Todd’s hand and across the room. Away from Poppy, which was the only thing that mattered.

But gravity was a law even they had to adhere to, and the gun continued flying until it hit the far wall, firing once in a loud burst. The whole room stopped, suspended in time as they watched to see where the bullet tore through. The whole room, that was, except Asprey. Using the momentary distraction to his advantage, he fell into the squat he and Poppy had practiced at the Pit, his right leg shooting out to sweep a wide arc in Todd’s direction.

There was no finesse to it, and there was a second there when Asprey almost lost his balance and toppled sideways to the floor. But it worked, damn it, and Todd fell to the ground in a heap, grunting as he hit his head on the side of the table.

And just like that, it was over.

“Holy shit.” Asprey lifted himself and moved to Todd’s side, placing a hand on the older man’s leg. The body was warm and solid, but it wasn’t moving, and dark, viscous blood slugged into a pool beneath his head. “Did I kill him?”

“For fuck’s sake, Asprey!” Graff cried. “What is wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with
me
?” Adrenaline coursed through him, hot and insistent. “Todd had a gun pointed at the woman I l—” He broke off, quieter this time, though his fury was still very much intact. “Excuse me if my first instinct was to knock the guy over.”

“He’s breathing and has a good pulse, thank goodness.” Poppy looked up from her squat near Todd’s neck. Her eyes, when they met Asprey’s, were shuttered. “That head wound’s not going to stop any time soon, but we’re lucky it’s not worse. That was a good sweep, by the way.”

A short bark escaped Asprey’s throat, a combination of fear and laughter. “I learned from the best.”

“No,” she said, so quiet he had to strain to hear her. “You learned from the worst.”

Graff pushed Asprey out of the way and used his sleeve to pick up Todd’s gun, which he tossed into the empty poker-chip box. “We’re going to need to clear out—the props, the body, all of it. This isn’t how I wanted it to go down, but I think we can make it work.”

“What are you talking about?” Asprey crossed his arms. “Todd needs an ambulance.”

“What he needs is a good lesson—and that’s exactly what I intend to give him. You think he’s going to stop stealing from people because he loses in a poker game?” Graff laughed bitterly. “That’s just like you, Asprey, seeing only what’s right in front of your face. Poppy, I’m going to need you to wipe up his blood and spread some of it along your chest and back—make it look like the bullet hit right to your heart. The messier, the better. Even put some on your shoes if you can. We’re going to have to dispose of you no matter what, and if we can set it up so it looks like Todd was the one who killed you, we’ll have a better chance of him staying quiet about this whole affair.”

“You had no right to do that,” she said, and even though her words were harsh, they were cool and almost detached. “We had an agreement. My eighty grand and your thirty, and everyone walks away happy.”

Whereas Asprey had suddenly heightened emotions, senses,
everything
, Poppy looked as though she were seconds away from shutting down altogether.

Asprey stepped in front of her, wrapping one hand carefully around the back of her neck and pulling her close. Her body was so tense he could practically feel her vibrating. “Hey. You okay?”

“No, I’m not,” she whispered. “No one was supposed to get hurt. Not for me.”

“Asprey—we don’t have time for this.” Graff nudged him with the toe of his sneaker. “Get moving.”

Asprey ignored him. It was the only option that let him hold on to the last of his control. “What can I do, Poppy? What do you need?”

“I’ll tell you what
I
need,” Graff interrupted. “I need you to get out and ask the kitchen staff to take a small break out front. I’d rather they didn’t watch us move a body out the back door.”

Asprey turned to him and snarled. “Give me a minute to make sure she’s okay. I don’t know if you noticed, but a gun went off very near her head just a second ago.”

Graff snorted. “You think an ex-con is afraid of one measly bullet?”

That was
enough
. He swiveled until he was right up in his brother’s face, the two of them meeting on common ground, even though Graff had the advantage of him in terms of strength. Asprey wasn’t sure what he would have done if not for Poppy’s voice materializing gently at his back.

“He’s right.”

Asprey faced her. The dead, scary look was still in her eyes—but this time, parts of it were directed at him. “A bullet isn’t going to stop someone like me. We need to get out of here.”

Graff didn’t question it and busied himself flipping open the shiny gold panels on Todd’s briefcase and pulling out a stack of hundred dollar bills. He smacked them into Asprey’s chest. “Get the guys out of the kitchen. That should be persuasive enough.”

“Jesus, Graff—how much money is in that briefcase? How much did you tell him to bring?”

Poppy made a quick assessment of the contents. “I’m guessing near half a million—is that about right, Graff?”

Graff growled a few incomprehensible syllables and motioned for Asprey to continue doing his bidding.

Asprey looked at the money and back at Poppy. “You’re sure about this?”

“What other choice do we have right now? Todd is going to wake up considerably poorer and with one hell of a grudge to repay. The more scared of us he is, the better everyone’s chances. Graff is right.”

“No thanks to you two and your ridiculous heroics. I had it covered.” Graff began tossing their props into a few of the empty boxes piled in the corner. “Just clear the back and try not to look so panicked. We’re going to have to get him into the trunk and find somewhere to dump him.”

Who are you?
Asprey wanted to ask. They’d bent quite a few laws to steal the forged items from the clients Winston had cheated, but they’d never hurt anyone before. Something inside Graff had shifted, and Asprey had no idea how or when it happened.

He took a deep breath, flipping through the pile of hundreds and invoking whatever was left of Rufio.

“My friends!” Asprey called, moving out the door, his arms raised. Only two cooks sat in the kitchen, both of them smoking over a pot of what had equal chances of being soup or human remains. They’d obviously heard the gunshot, because they both reached for their belts. “It seems my guests have a powerful hunger. No, no—the lady is very particular. If you don’t mind, I’d like to rent these kitchen facilities for the next hour or so.”

The older of the two cooks took a long pull on his cigarette before flicking the ashes on the floor. “We hafta finish this stew. It’s Brunswick.”

That was definitely not what it smelled like. “I’ll stir it faithfully, I swear.” Asprey tossed the stack of bills on the counter. “I’ve always wanted to try my hand at being a cook. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the opportunity.”

The younger cook—who looked halfway normal in a chef’s jacket layered over loose-fitting pants—pocketed the money with a cool efficiency. Without batting an eye, he turned and moved through the swinging doors to the front.

“Take the green pepper out at half past,” the older cook ordered. He handed Asprey the spoon. “Don’t throw it away. I need it for later.”

“Noted. And thank you.”

“Just clean up when you’re done.” He wasn’t talking about the kitchen.

Asprey returned to the back room to find Poppy with the top half of her dress pooled around her waist, her back to the door.

“Um, Poppy?” He took in the soft taper of her back, broken only by the band of her tan strapless bra. “Shouldn’t you, ah, put something else on?”

“We don’t have a whole lot of options, Asp,” Graff said, busy tossing their gangster decorations into boxes. “If we’re going to make Todd think she’s dead without supplying him with a body, he needs something else to convince him. A dress with a bullet hole and plenty of blood should send the right message.”

“But it’s
his
blood,” Asprey protested. “That won’t hold up in a court of law.”

Graff snorted. “You think Todd’s going to take a bloodied dress with a hole supposedly ripped by
his
firearm, a gang of underground mobsters and a missing briefcase of stolen money to the cops? No. That bastard is going to leave town as fast as his legs can carry him.”

Asprey blinked. It was a good plan. It was a
great
plan—and one that fell way, way outside the bounds of what they were used to. Hell, this even had to be a bit of a stretch for Poppy. Forged baseballs weren’t quite the same as making a man believe he’d murdered someone.

Poppy must have agreed because she turned her head a little and paused in the act of removing her dress. “Did you just call him ‘that bastard’?”

“What?” Graff’s voice was rough. “You think you’re the only person he’s ripped off in the past few years? You failed to mention that Washington has been just one of the many stops along his tour. Alaska, Oregon, California, Texas…he left a nasty trail behind.”

Poppy turned in surprise, dropping her hand from where the barest scraps of fabric remained pressed up against her chest, exposing the swell of her breasts over the top of her banded bra. That was the last straw. Maybe it was a ridiculous, last-ditch effort to gain a semblance of control over the situation, but Asprey wasn’t about to let her stand there half-naked while Graff steamrolled everything.

With a possessive growl, he tugged the button-up black shirt out of his pants, quickly working the row of buttons and shrugging out of it.

“Here. This should be long enough to cover most of you.” He handed the shirt to Poppy, his hand brushing along her bare shoulder, trying not to notice the way her skin moved under his fingertips, like ripples of silk. He could have kept going, except he caught a glimpse of blood swiped on her arm—Todd’s blood.
 

What have we gotten ourselves into?