Free Portrait of a Dead Guy by Larissa Reinhart Page A

just know about it.”
    “So you know some of the guys that do?” Luke continued with a look of exasperation toward me.
    “Sure. They all want me to play poker with them. Old guys even.”
    “Nobody believes how good he is until they play him,” Cody said.
    “Did you know my stepbrother?” Luke asked. “Dustin Branson?”
    “Sure. He was friends with my roommate, Pete.” Todd’s fingers crept on top of the table and strummed the surface. He turned to me. “Not Jackson. You liked him. Pete’s the one you don’t like.”
    “Yeah, Creepy Pete,” I stuck out my tongue and made a gagging noise.
    “Pete’s not in the band.” Todd explained to Luke. “But he plays poker, too. He got Dustin his gig with Mr. Max’s outfit.”
    “What do you mean by gig? Who’s Mr. Max?”
    “I can’t pronounce his last name, so we call him Mr. Max. He heard about my poker wins and wanted to meet me. I couldn’t understand him so I asked Pete to talk to him.” Todd stopped to take a bite of waffle.
    “And?” I prompted.
    Todd lifted his brows.
    “Don’t keep us hanging. What happened after you introduced Pete to Mr. Max?”
    “Oh. Pete started hanging out with him. Mr. Max’s got a big house with a lot of acreage east of here, but mostly lives in Atlanta. Or Florida. Or somewhere else. Anyway, Pete started doing odd jobs for him, like bartend, while Mr. Max and his buddies play poker.”
    Todd’s words ran together and his fingers tapped a quick cadence on the wooden table. “Pete said Mr. Max runs the games real fancy because it’s a massive pot. Like ten thousand just to get in. They do it over a long weekend with everybody staying there. Some of the folks are important. Like politicians and athletes. I bet some musicians, too. Pete waits on them while they play poker. Just like Vegas.” He broke his story with a sigh and leaned toward me. “Wouldn’t that be fun, baby?
    “That’s going on in Halo? I can’t believe it. Who is this Mr. Max? Uncle Will needs to know about this. He should be hunting this guy down instead of wasting his time questioning me.”
    Luke rapped his finger near Todd’s plate. “Go on with your story.”
    “Pete introduced Dustin to Mr. Max. Dustin doesn’t play poker, but he started doing other work for Mr. Max. More important than bartending.”
    “Like how important?”
    “Dustin was his right-hand man. Heard him talking about it to Pete once. But I don’t know what that means. Your brother was kind of secretive.”
    “Stepbrother.” The word popped from Luke’s mouth, but his thoughts roamed elsewhere.
    “You can be sure Dustin was proud of working for Mr. Max,” Todd continued. “He and Pete did fight about it some. Pete thought Dustin was getting too big for his britches.”
    “I bet,” muttered Luke. “Do you know anything more about this Mr. Max?”
    “I do, if I know the house you’re talking about.” Cody slipped forward in his seat, eager to be part of the conversation. “I don’t know the name, but some foreign guy called the dealership, needed a mechanic for on-site oil changes and maintenance. Must be nice. Dude has a ten-car garage. Hummer, Maserati, Corvette, Escalade.” Cody’s eyes gleamed. “A ’57 Chevy. I think he moved here about a year ago.”
    “Why haven’t I heard about him?” I said.
    “Probably too busy with your trip to Vegas,” Cody smirked. “Anyway, Ronny Price went out there, too. Like he’s going to sell that guy a Ford F-150.” Cody rolled his eyes. “I guess Mr. Max is a big time collector. Ronny said he’s really into Civil War stuff. He even has a cannon on his front lawn.”
    “What does he do to have that kind of money?” I asked. “Can you get that rich from playing poker?”
    “Ronny didn’t say.” Cody tipped his hat back and scratched his head. “Just kind of bragged about his collections, like Ronny’s special for seeing them. Mr. Max needs a better security system. Ronny’s such a tool.” Cody