Another hour passed. Nobody tried any weird gestures, at least none that couldn’t be explained. Natch scratched his chest a couple of times. But, hey, if mine was covered with hair, I’d expect some itching too.
The most interesting thing that happened was a three-way showdown between Cole, Cam, and Natch. As the dealer, Grace had decided on Texas Hold ’Em. Only the three guys had continued to bet after looking at their first two cards. Cole let me peek at his. With a suited king, ten, I figured he was right to stay in.
Grace dealt the flop, one of which was a king. Cole bet. After chewing on his toothpick for a few seconds, Cam did too. Then he sat back against the chair behind him and said, “Natch, I think you should fold, buddy.”
Natch raised his eyebrows with amusement. “Why’s that?”
Cam pointed a blunt-nailed finger at his own face. “See these scars?”
Natch rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
“These scars are for you, man. I took a grenade in the face just for you. You owe me.”
“I bought you dinner.”
“You think a steak is going to make us even?” Despite the heavy growth of beard I caught the hint of dimples as Cam didn’t quite succeed in hiding a grin.
“I think that time I carried your lard ass on my back for ten miles after you broke your ankle does.”
“That was
before
the grenade!”
“You ate a whole box of donuts the night before!”
“I want to win this pot!”
“Not if I can help it!”
And it was on.
They razzed each other until they’d each managed to bet every bit of money they’d brought. And then Cole won.
Collective groan, as if one of them had come back from the shooting range without ever having hit the target. Then they all started talking at once.
Grace and Jet: “Somebody should tell those two how much they suck at poker.” “Are you kidding? Think how much we can win from them next time we sit down!”
Jet and Natchez: “You know he’s going to hold that grenade thing over your head forever.” “I know. I should’ve jumped on the damn thing when I had the chance.”
Cam and Cole: “You look like such a nice guy. I should’ve known you were a con artist.” “I’ll give you ten bucks if you keep me supplied with toothpicks for the rest of this mission.” “You’re on!”
Bergman and me in a low, low whisper: “God, but Natch knows how to live. That’s how I want to be, Jaz! He’s not afraid of anything!” “He’s got some admirable traits, yeah. But don’t forget, he’s found a lot to admire in you too.”
The deep, booming sound of the door knocker shut us all up. Dave and Cassandra rushed into the room.
“Were you expecting company?” he asked me.
I couldn’t resist. “No, David. All my Iranian pals are busy this week.”
“Smart-ass. Cole.” He jerked his head for our Farsi speaker to take the lead. “Everybody remember, we’re students,” he hissed, “so quit looking like badasses in costume.” Almost everyone took a seat on the piece of furniture he or she had been leaning against during the card game. Dave motioned for Cassandra to join Bergman on the couch. I followed him and our interpreter to the door.
My hands itched to pull Grief from its holster. But having a gun in your hand, though it’s hidden behind your back, can prevent you from playing a scene cool. I settled for resting my palms against my thighs, where the fingers of my right hand could feel the reassuring outline of my bola. Dave stayed behind with me in the entrance to the living room as Cole went down three wide wooden steps into the foyer.
With a bench to one side and a gleaming vase full of red silk flowers to the other, the room had barely been built to house one full-grown man, much less the additional couple he let into the house. Even as the gentleman caller introduced himself, the three of them trooped up the stairs to join us.
“Hello, hello, I am so very glad to meet you. I am Soheil Anvari, the caretaker of this apartment building and this is my wife, Zarsa. We saw you arrived right on schedule. The owner asked that we should stop by to make sure you were finding yourselves comfortably placed. Is everything all right, then?” Soheil beamed. A lean, mustached man of maybe forty-five, he exuded goodwill like worms crap compost. And I’d have bought it, by golly.
Except for the wife.
She went heavily veiled. Inside, where it wasn’t required. It wasn’t quite as bad as the old pictures of women wearing blue tents with eye slits. But she’d come damn close. And that yellowish purple hue around her right eye couldn’t be the latest craze in makeup. It looked to me like Soheil had been making free with the domestic violence.
My temper’s got a fuse, and Soheil had definitely started a slow burn. Slow because I knew I couldn’t afford an explosion anytime in the near future. But when the moment was right . . .
I met Zarsa’s eyes. The depth of misery I saw in those dark brown orbs put me in mind of burned beds and poisoned coffee. Desperate measures taken by terrified, trapped women. I wondered if Zarsa had already reached her limit. If Soheil would “accidentally” slip in the shower and break his neck in the fall before I had a chance to exact some vengeance on his wife-beating ass.
