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“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard!” I can’t keep myself calm. Watching Dez sit there, gambling, working towards getting drunk in the early afternoon, is infuriating.

He discards some cards, not sparing me a glance. “Watch and learn, sweetheart.”

I’m over his cavalier attitude. “I’ll be at the bar,” I snap. “When you’re finished, we'll have an actual discussion. Have fun losing all your money.”

Dezmond's blue eyes focus on me, his head tilted low, elbows on the table. I don't like the way he looks. It reminds me of a rabid dog about to attack. Worse is the strange smirk that arises on his lips. I expect him to tell me something, he definitely wants to, but resists.

Walking quickly to the bar I sit down heavily. The bronze tanned man with holes in his ears who eyeballed me when I first entered approaches. “I don't want anything to drink,” I say instinctively, “I'm fine. Just waiting for someone.”

“Wasn't gonna ask if you wanted a drink,” he says in a rumbling voice. His square jaw cocks to the side. “I know you. Your daddy used to be in here all the time.”

Crunching my hands together in my lap, I shake off the memories. “You're thinking of someone else.”

But he stares at me closer, recognition sparking in his face. “Yeah, you're Samson's girl. Didn't you used to drag your dad out of here around dinner time every week?” he asks gruffly. He offers me a mild sneer. “Yeah, you'd have your school backpack with you, begging him to quit with the scratchers. Guess you feel kinda stupid now, huh? If you'd kept that up, he never would've hit that lottery win. Now you're rich as hell.”

My skull feels too tight. Or my brain feels too big. I can't tell which.

He goes on, asking, “Between you and me, why doesn't he come by anymore?” He leans closer over the bar, dropping his voice, but everyone sitting nearby is covertly watching us now. “I heard he ran off with some big-tittied bitch from the club over there, a dancer at the Smoke House. That true?”

“Fucking fuck! Fuck!” It's Dez again.

“Sorry,” I say, avoiding the bartender's eyes. “I have to go deal with something.” Spinning around, I hop off the stool to rush back to the poker table. It's weird to feel some relief to be going back over to Dez, but I can't wait to be done with all of this.

The other gamblers are laughing. One of them wipes tears from his eyes. “Guess the odds were never coming back around for you, Dezmond,” Alemo says. He scoops the chips to his side of the table. “Not your day, my friend.”

Dez swipes his hand out, sending cards flying to the floor. It's obvious he lost. His mouth is misshapen by anger, his hands grabbing at his light-brown hair as he scrapes his chair a foot backwards. “Bullshit! Fuck! Fuck, man! Come on!”

That gets the men laughing harder. “Dez,” I say firmly, “it's done. Let's go, I can't stay here much longer.” Mom will notice soon that I'm not back from my lunch break.

Dez snarls in my direction. I manage not to recoil. “I can't go yet,” he seethes.

“Game is over, she's right,” Alemo says. He smiles cheerfully, stacking the poker chips into little towers of blue and red and green. “Pay up. That'll be five hundred.”

Thatmakes me recoil. “You lost five hundred dollars?”

Giving me a side-eye, Dez grits his teeth. He says nothing.

“Relax, man,” one of the other players cuts in. “You're freaking out. You had no trouble paying the last two thousand you lost. What's a few hundred more?”

Tension builds in my chest. I put my hand there, expecting to feel my ribs expanding, skin bursting. “Holy shit,” I manage. Dez finally looks up at me. He doesn't explain, he doesn't need to. I get what happened.He lost every dollar he stole from me.All of it, gone under the roof of a shadow filled room that smells like cancer and old beer.

The mood shifts; the men are no longer laughing or smiling. “Dez,” Alemo says flatly. The younger man looks up at his name. “You said you were good for it. You better not have been lying. You know how seriously we take our debts here.”

“Man is only good as his word,” freckle-guy agrees.

Dezmond is turning yellow. I'm not a good person, but even I feel a little bad for him. Just a little. His eyes drop to the poker chips, then they move to the floor, where there's a backpack near his feet. I recognize it as the one he had last night. It was fat with cash, now it's bare.

The poker players will make him bleed if he can't pay. This asshole tried to blackmail me into letting him get away with theft and in the end, he'll face karma. I can't help it. Ichuckle.Small, soft, vengeful.

He freezes in his chair, then looks right at me. The strange smirk from earlier is back at full strength. “Everyone, take a breath,” he says smoothly. “I didn't lie about shit. When I said I was good for it, I meant it.”

“Oh yeah?” Alemo asks curiously.

There's viciousness in Dezmond's smile that’s meant for me. “My soon-to-be-wife can cover my debt.”

Chapter 6

Alleyesareonme. I try to summon … something. Just any sort of response to Dezmond that will keep me from sinking deeper into his swampy deception. I spot the bartender and patrons watching from across the room. Our little corner table is more interesting than scribbling pencil-bubbles for keno.