Free Devour by Kurt Anderson Page B

Frankie could not tell. Nor did he care. It was all bullshit; he had any number of dealers who would jump at the chance to make good money for dealing this child’s game, but none he wanted to pay thousands to, and nobody whom Prower and Latham would both trust. The bartender and the cocktail waitress were necessary, both of them with a reputation of honest work and minimal gossip. The girl, Destiny Boudreaux, he might have to get to know better. She was built well, and the light green streak she wore in her dark amber hair did something to him. He’d worried a bit about the color in her hair, wondering if Prower—who seemed not only well on the road to dribbling insanity, but also a bit of a prude—would object. But the old bird, who obviously fancied himself some sort of East Coast aristocrat, had not spared her more than a passing glance.
    “It’s fine,” Latham said. “I’m not a card shark, and I’m comfortable enough assuming Mr. Prower isn’t, either. What say you, Hamilton?”
    “Certainly,” Prower said. “A fair enough resolution.”
    “Good,” Frankie said, leaning forward. “Listen, it’s an unusual solution to your problem, I get it. But the game itself is straightforward. And remember, it’s just a game. Luck and skill, and you’re playing for chips. You don’t have to worry about what happens after. That’s what I’m here for.”
    Latham’s lips peeled back in a thin-lipped smile. “You can stop selling now, Frankie. I already paid you my million bucks.”
    Frankie glanced back at the bar. Destiny and Remy were talking again, not paying any attention to them. He turned back to Latham. “I just want it clear, there’s no turning back.”
    “We’re a little far out to sea for a course correction,” Prower said. “In more ways than one.”
    “You’ll shake on that?”
    Frankie put his hand out over the table, between the two men. Hamilton reached out first, his hand hot and dry in Frankie’s. Latham shook next, his palm cooler and sweatier, the exact opposite of what Frankie had expected. Another minor surprise, and he needed to quit being surprised. These two guys, no matter what they looked like, were stinking rich. Men who would show the faces that worked best at the time, who might thrive on deceiving friends and enemies alike.
    Then Latham and Hamilton shook, and to Frankie it seemed that Prower and Latham regarded each other as kings might, not enemies or friends, just a man who was not his to boss around and so somebody with no place in their own life. But a man who must be tolerated nonetheless. Frankie could feel the appraisal each took of the other, neither man minding the other’s stare, so deep was he within his own calculations.
    “A handshake means a drink,” Destiny said from behind them. “Right?”
    The three men turned slowly, all at once. And the moment was broken.
    “Yes,” Frankie said. “One more drink for these two gentlemen.”
    Destiny reached deep inside herself to control the eye roll. “Okay,” she said. “Let happy hour begin.”

Chapter 6
    B rian watched Gilly trying to cut through the railing, dismay and self-disgust welling inside him.
    I never learn , he thought.
    I never, ever learn .
    * * *
    As a teenage boy growing up in the wilder regions of northern Vermont, with parents who had grown confident in his abilities and judgment, Brian had few limits on his activities. He had no curfew, save for sunset on moonless nights when his mother feared he might find the starlight insufficient for navigation and wander off into a river or cave—the former of which was unlikely, the latter of which there was a profound scarcity in northern Vermont—but he was sensitive to her fears and returned on those nights early to watch television or read.
    There were similarly few restrictions on what items he might take with him on his travels, although his father’s firearms were generally off limits unless it was hunting season, and lighters and matches