In A Dark Casino, On A Tuesday Night
Flicka von Hannover
Disaster.
A few days later, Flicka was weaving among the poker tables, holding up her tray crowded with drinks on her aching arm.
Bastien, the Swiss silver fox who played Five-Card Stud, ordered his usual top-shelf martini and winked at her as she dipped and served the drinks. She dropped off a beer at Dieter’spoker table and noticed that he had a somewhat larger stack of black chips than usual.Good.
Bourbon Guy asked for Flicka to bring him “something good.” He didn’t require any negotiation or extra time, so she fetched a double of New Holland’s Beer Barrel Bourbon, a mellow, almost malty, bourbon whiskey from Michigan. He sipped it, and his dark eyes rolled up in his head in pleasure.
Two moreblue chips clinked in her tips stash. Heck, yeah. Her princess’s knowledge of liquors was coming in handy.
She flitted among the tables, keeping an eye on Dieter’s growing stack of chips.
Conni glared at her as she passed, but Flicka turned away. She had a job to do and didn’t have time to engage in workplace shenanigans.
The other girls followed Conni’s lead, though. All of them glared atFlicka and refused to speak to her in the locker room where they changed clothes. Dark eyes, brown eyes, and blue or hazel eyes all squinted in anger at her, though Flicka didn’t think she had done anything wrong. Being the odd one out was a new experience for Flicka. Their glares shrank her.
Every night, she scurried home to Dieter and Alina.
Every night, Dieter coaxed her to hold his hand,but she shook just as much as before. She hated her reaction, and she truly hated that she couldn’t make herself stop. It was like Pierre was controlling her from wherever he was, and she wanted to punch him in the face for it. Her skin crawled while Dieter murmured stories to her, soothing her, stories about history and a few about his time as a commando in the Swiss army. Some of the more embarrassingones featured her brother Wulfie, and she felt less lonely for him.
But no stories about Dieter’s childhood, still.
She spun through the casino, taking orders and delivering drinks.
Bastien the Swiss guy, again. He ordered aWeizenbier,as he alternated those with his top-shelf martinis, and Flicka typed it into her screen.
Just as she was getting ready to wink at him and flounce off to hernext ten-second interaction, Bastien glanced over her shoulder. His face stilled, and he didn’t move.
She looked behind herself.
Six men threaded through the crowd toward them. All wore dark suits. All were looking intently in her direction. The closest was on the other side of a blackjack table and rounding it fast.
Flicka ran.
Her tray crashed to the floor behind her.
People hollered atthe spill and noise.
Dieter was at the table ahead of her, and she sprinted toward him.
He looked up and was already sliding off the barstool seat as she got to him. He grabbed her arm as she passed, pushing her ahead of him, and they ran for the kitchen doors at the back as they had planned.
Flicka risked a quick glance back.
All of the black-suited men were chasing them, but they weren’tdodging through the crowd as quickly as she and Dieter were.
They crashed through the swinging door and pounded down a hallway toward a door that led to another back hallway.
When they reached it, Flicka slammed her palms against the crash bar, but it didn’t budge.
She hit it again.Nothing.“It’s locked.”
Dieter jammed his hand against it, but it didn’t move. He looked around. “Where else?”
“Storage closet.” She ran back a few paces to the closet that the custodian had gotten a carpet cleaner from when someone was sick near one of the Pai Gow poker tables. She slid her employee ID through the card reader on the side and yanked the door.
