Page 19 of Keller

I shift my path. The man at the head of the table, Lawrence Hollis, is sweating. Not the good kind of sweat you get from excitement. It's the kind that comes when you're about to do something stupid.

He doubles his bet. When the dealer flips the cards, he loses.

West stands and moves toward him with the same calm he uses when defusing anything. He leans in closely, his voice low enough that the rest of the table won't hear unless they're listening for it.

"You're at your limit, Lawrence."

Hollis doesn't look at him. He waves his hand like he's swatting an annoying housefly.

"I'm good for it."

"We agreed to the ceiling before you sat down. It's in writing."

"I said I'm good for it."

I step in before West has to escalate. The last thing we need tonight is a scene. I slide into the empty chair beside Hollis and rest my forearms on the edge of the table. I don't speak right away, letting him feel the pause.

His pulse throbs in his neck. I notice that his left hand trembles just slightly as he reaches for his drink. His eyes are glassy, but not from the alcohol. It's the hunger. I've seen it a hundred times. It's the thing that keeps this room profitable.

"Lawrence, look at me." My voice is low and calm so as not to make a scene. At this point, everyone else is focusing on their game.

He finally looks at me. I keep my voice even, offering no judgment.

"You're tapped. That's not a problem. But if you want to keep playing, we renegotiate new terms. Extended credit carries a twenty percent markup, compounded weekly, documented, andenforceable. You sign tonight, but you have to make sure you're clear on what you're agreeing to."

I pause, letting the numbers land.

"Or you walk now, settle your balance tomorrow, and we're square. No harm, no foul."

He stares at me, and I don't blink. I'm not twisting his arm or holding a gun to his head, but I'm offering him exactly what he wants at a price.

That's the thing people don't get. I'm not the villain in this room. I'm the guy who gives people what they ask for. If they can't handle it, that's on them.

Hollis swallows. His hand steadies just enough to pick up the pen West slides across the table.

"One more hand."

"One more hand," I say as an exclamation. I slap the table as I stand up and let West handle the paperwork.

He signs, West collects the document, logs it, and steps back. The dealer shuffles, and cards fall. Hollis goes all in.

He loses. Again.

Fuck.

I casually walk around the room to give him space, adjusting my glasses, and keeping the temperature of the room low. Hollis will pay. He always does. Men like him don't walk away from debts when their reputation is on the line.

The room settles again as another hand starts at table one. A woman at table two is up thirty thousand and smart enough to cash out. I nod to the dealer, who processes her chips without delay. She leaves smiling. That's good for business, too.

West finds me near the bar during the lull. He hands me a glass of whiskey I didn't ask for but want anyway. The amber liquid catches the low light.

"Hollis will be fine."

"I know he will. He's like an abused dog. He never learns. As long as he keeps paying, that's all I care about. He can keep coming if that gets his rocks off."

"You let him dig himself deeper."

"I let him make a choice."