Faberpaused; the other players looked at him, then at Ben, until they wereall staring at Ben, who didn’t look back at any of them. He’s going toshoot me, Ben thought. Right here, just on principle. It was likenobody breathed, the room was so still.
ThenFaber turned his hand over, and there it was, the ace of diamonds,nestled out of sight.
Ifthis had been a real poker game, there’d be a fight. Shouting, atleast, righteous demands for their money back. But this was Faber’sgame, and nobody argued. Who the other players looked at with moresuspicion was up for grabs: Faber, or Ben.
“How’dyou do that?” Faber said.
“I told you, I just have a knack.”
“I’vebeen doing this for years and no one’s ever caught me. How does sometwo-bit tourist figure it out?”
Hewas never going to be able to explain this. Even if he came right outand said, I’m a werewolf, Faber would neverbelieve it. Ben shrugged.“Really, I can’t explain it.” Which wasn’t even a lie.
“Youpsychic?” Faber was grasping, now. Ben smiled, like it was a joke. Thegangster turned to his pretty dealer. “Keep going. It’s just a fluke,I’m sure of it.”
Theother players settled in, their well-practiced, bored poker facesfirmly in place, but Ben smelled their sweat, their anxiety. Theydidn’t want to be doing this, when they could be playing a real game,or spending time with the women—or not sitting in the line of fire ofFaber’s bad mood. Ben just kept thinking about Kitty. He had a littlebit of hope: If he could just convince Faber he was for real, that hereally could spot the fix and there wasn’t a big conspiracy, maybe thegangster would just let him go.
Bencalled it the next time Faber palmed a card. The guy grumbled at thedealer, “Again.”
Thiswasn’t playing a game, this was a death march.
Atone point, after another dozen hands, Vince left the room and came backlooking nervous. Even more nervous. A little later, he left again, cameback again. This time, he didn’t bother leaning in to keep theconference secret. In front of them all, in the middle of a hand—theywere waiting for the redhead to deal out the river—he launched in witha tone that was almost reprimanding.
“Thecasino reported him missing and the cops got tape of the two of us,”Vince said. “They got descriptions of me and Mikey, police band hasAPBs out, Faber.”
Theroom went quiet, like it always did when anyone confronted Faber,like they expected him to explode. A couple people even leaned forward,just a little, like they were waiting for a fight to break out. Benwondered what the guy had been like in his younger days, to warrantthat kind of reputation. More temper than brains, he was betting. Guyslike him were a dime a dozen, building up their little ponds so theycould be the only big fish around.
Kindafun, watching the medium-sized fish thrash around in that kind ofenvironment.
“Itold him he was being sloppy,” Ben muttered at his cards.
“Youstay out of this,” Vince said. He was still glaring at Faber.
Faberlooked at Vince, bored-like. “What is it you expect me to do? Hand hima lollipop and let him go?”
“Jesus,Faber. At least let us dump him. He doesn’t know where the place is—hewon’t talk if we threaten him good enough. Do it before the cops trailhim here!”
“Youhave too much faith in the cops,” Faber said. “You scare too easy.”
Mightas well have told him his dick was small. Vince seethed, but uselessly.He couldn’t do anything.
“Maybenot scared,” Ben said, wondering how far he could push. “Careful. Orworried. Perfectly understandable.”
Vincesaid, “Stay out of it.”
“Sorry,”Ben said, in a tone that wasn’t sorry at all. Wolf had settledbecause this was a game those instincts understood: Teasing.Distracting. Keep cool, and they’d get out of this.
Vincewas seething. Not playing it cool. “We have to do something, if wewant to go back to the game.”
“Thegame’s over,” Faber explained carefully, as if to a small child. “Thecasinos talk to each other, the security guys take each other out forbeers. By the end of the weekend, they’ll all know, and the con’sfinished. Got it? Now, you going to let me satisfy my curiosity?” “Andwhat are you going to do with him? You just going to dump himsomewhere?”
Benclosed his eyes, took a breath, steadied his heart.
“WhatI oughta do is lay it all on you and hang you out to dry,” Faber said.
Benexpected a fight by now. Faber would have to pound this guy in or loseface. But he saw what was happening: Faber was sending a message thatVince wasn’t worth the effort. And Vince knew it. The guy was sweatingbuckets.
Benpushed. A tiny little shove, just to see what would happen. “Can Ioffer you a little legal advice? There’s no way you’re getting out ofthis on your own—”
“Isaid stay out of it!” Vince drew his gun and aimed square at Ben.
Well,he’d been trying to get a reaction.
Anotherlong, stony silence, but this time Ben could hear his heart thudding inhis ears. Wolf was thrashing; he kept his breathing steady.
Faberchuckled low. “Well, Vinnie. You really are going to get yourself introuble.”
“I’mjust trying to clean up your mess!”
“Thatain’t your job. Now put the gun away.”
“That’sright,” Ben murmured. “Put the gun away.”
Vincedidn’t like being told what to do. Was especially tired of a two-bithood like Faber telling him what to do. He didn’t put the gun away.Instead, Ben sensed his trigger finger tighten. Just a little.
Whatwere the odds? This was Vegas, this town dealt in nothing but odds. Sowhat were the odds that gun had silver bullets? What were the odds theguy would actually shoot him?
Hehad to get out of this. He had to take the chance. Had to believe hisodds were pretty good—he’d made it this far, hadn’t he? Maybe he’dbecome a werewolf for a reason.
“Goahead.” He stood from the table and spread his hands, presentinghimself as an offering. “But I don’t think you have the guts.”
When theguy snarled, Ben knew he’d tipped him over the edge, knew that fingerwas about to squeeze on
