Free Infinity + One by Amy Harmon

disappeared, and Finn was pulled upward by a hand in his collar and a hand in his hair. His hair was released as he straightened, his height making it difficult to keep a good grip.
    “Let me see your cards,” Cavaro demanded, looking across the table at the only man left in the game.
    Without argument, the man laid his cards down, revealing them.
    “How did you know he had the ace?” Cavaro asked, not looking at Clyde. “You weren’t anywhere near his cards.”
    “I know all the cards that have been played. Three aces have been played, and I can see your cards. You don’t have it, he must.
    “You know all the cards that have been played,” Cavaro had repeated, not questioning, but mocking.
    “Yes. And the order that they were played.”
    The laughter had risen around the table and from the men lining the walls, watching the play.
    “Prove it.” With a look, one of Cavaro’s men had sat at the table and pulled the pile of cards toward him.
    “Turn around, kid.”
    Clyde had turned his back on the table. Behind him, he could hear the rustling of cards and knew they wouldn’t be in the order they had been played. But maybe they would be close enough, and all he could do was tell them the order they had been lain down. Whether they believed him or not was beyond his control.
    He’d proceeded to lay it out, from the first card played to the players who laid down what, replaying it all in clear monotone, interrupting when someone disagreed, correcting them and moving on quickly until he described the cards that Cavaro’s opponent was left holding.
    The silence in the room had felt like razors against his skin and it had been all he could do not to move, to run from the slicing stares and the sharp doubt cutting away at his courage. But he hadn’t turned. He hadn’t run. He’d waited, nervous sweat pooling in his hands hanging loosely at his sides.
    “How did you do that?” Cavaro had asked. The mockery was gone.
    “I’m good with numbers.”
     
     

     
     
    THERE WAS A big, black swastika on Clyde’s chest. I lay awake in the hard, double bed, gripping the covers, my mind churning, my thoughts racing. The door between our rooms stood wide, like the gates to hell, and I wanted to run and fling it closed and bolt it for good measure. But I didn’t dare. I’d surprised him, it was clear. But I’d seen the mark before he’d turned away. What kind of man put a swastika on his chest?
    Not a good man. Not a man I should be riding with, across the country, going on a trip that had no destination or purpose. I had grabbed on to Finn Clyde like he was a lifeline, but I was suddenly realizing his raft might have a big leak. Served me right. It wasn’t like he’d invited me to jump in, to attach myself to him. I’d done that all on my own.
    It was strange. I had trusted him immediately. I had liked him immediately. The music industry had made me suspicious of everyone. But Clyde hadn’t known who I was. And he’d put himself out there for me, simply because . . . because, as he said, he’d seen a kid about to jump off a bridge. Still, there had been something about him that had felt right to me, something that made me feel anchored and safe. Gran always said I didn’t have much sense. Gran was obviously right.
    I lay perfectly still for a long time, my ears straining in the dark until I thought I was going to lose my mind . . .or what was left of it. He was shirtless, and the bare skin had drawn my eyes, but instead of seeing the well-muscled contours of his arms and chest, the ripples of abdominals, or the width of his shoulders, my gaze had narrowed in on the tattoo. He’d turned, allowing me to hide my reaction, to play it cool, to doubt my eyes and pretend I hadn’t seen a thing. His back was decorated in various black, poorly executed tattoos, as well. Playing cards and numbers, from what I could tell before I dropped my eyes and turned away.
    Finally, when I’d figured I had given Clyde plenty of