They arrived at what looked like a townhouse. After a brisk knock, the door opened, and they were welcomed into the warm light.
As Richard drew closer to the building, a gold plaque under the wall light read, “SOUTHPORT GAMBLING CLUB.” After another glance up and down the street, he mimicked the knock from the previous gentleman, and the door swung open. A red-headed man in a green tailored suit greeted him.
“Welcome, Mr. VanHugh! Your usual table?” Richard stepped inside and allowed the man to take his overcoat off. Jazz music drifted into the narrow hallway from the back, and laughter mingled with the upbeat melody.
“That sounds good.” The man led Richard down the hallway and into a large parlor with five green felt tables. Some were full of men holding playing cards. Glasses sloshed around, full of an amber liquid, and the air was thick with cigar smoke.
The table to his immediate left erupted in playful shouts as a man in a royal blue button-up slammed his hand of cards down on the table.
They came to a stop at a playing table that had the dealer, a blond man who looked like he was in his early twenties, and two older gentlemen who sat across the table from each other. Neither smiling nor laughing. Just glares dripping with competition and disdain.
Richard pulled out the chair in the middle, directly across from the dealer. The red headed man stood behind him.
“Shall I buy you in and put it on your tab, sir?”
Richard looked awkwardly behind him and nodded. Clearly out of his element and trying to think quickly on his feet. A woman would never be allowed in this sort of establishment, and it was clear why.
The walls were decorated with dead animals that looked to still be alive. He swallowed hard and looked away from the deer head that stared down at him. A fireplace roared nearby that filled the room with too much warmth and emitted a glow that was both inviting and foreboding.
A server came by and placed a glass full of whiskey down in front of Richard and then opened a box of cigars, offering the selection to him.
Richard declined, and the two men looked at him with surprise in their eyes.
“I promised the missus I would restrain myself from the smoke tonight, but I didn’t say anything about this.” Richard raised his glass at them in mock cheers and took a healthy sip. The whiskey warmed his throat and chest, and he could feel the tension ease out of his body.
Maybe being a man for a while longer wouldn’t be so bad. It seems that they have all the fun. Why not indulge in some fun of my own?
The two men finished their hand as he waited for the valet to return with his chips. By the time his chips were handed to him, Richard had the basics down.
It was a game of luck and, more importantly, a game of bluffing. Unfortunately for the other two men at the table, lying was what Richard did best.
Bright sunlight shone through the floor to ceiling window, bathing the deep hardwood floors and illuminating the thin layer of dust particles in the air. Richard sat hunched in his oversized desk chair, fingers steepled to his curled lips.
His frail body dwarfed in comparison to the red leather backing of his chair. Across from him sat Charles, his new chief of staff, a tall slender man with a pencil-thin black mustache and greased-back hair.
He was the opposite of his predecessor with an all-business, no-pleasure mentality. In Charles’s lap, a folder lay open with important financial documents.
The two men sat across from each other in a silence that was thick with expectations.
“Sir, we need to review the financials and decide on your end-of-life plan. The lawyers reached out again today to complete your living will and testament,” Charles said.
Richard leaned forward to shuffle around one of the many stacks on his desk. His shaking hand knocked over a pile andCharles moved in a one quick movement to scoop the papers off the floor.
“Here, let me get that.” Charles shuffled the papers back in a neat stack and set it on top of a dusty stack of letters. All addressed to Margaret, all stamped withReturn to Sender.
“Shall I discard these for you, sir?” Charles lifted the fresh stack off the letters and held them out.
“Yes, I think it’s finally time to let go of that part of my past,” Richard responded and then pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. Charles stood and dropped the letters into the fire.
“What was in the letters?” Charles asked. “If you want to share, it’s really none of my business.” Charles’s eyes widened but Richard waved his hand to calm the man.
“Each contained a check written to my late wife, Margaret.” Richard pursed his lips together. That was enough information he could share.
Even in his old age, he knew better than to divulge too much about what he had done.
How do I safely explain that I drove her away and into the arms of another? That the checks were merely reminders that she needed me.
“Speaking of Margaret, Theresa stopped by and dropped off a flower arrangement. The staff put them in the parlor for your enjoyment.”
