If you have to bluff, go big. No hesitation, no thinking, just jump right in and trust that Lady Luck is feeling magnanimous. It had worked so far in my life, so I decided to continue riding the great Lady's coat tails just a little longer. I opened the door quickly and soundly. No sneaking in, no slinking. Just squared the shoulders and walked through like I owned the place. If you look like you belong, who knows? Maybe you do. Of course, having Berto at the back helped. Most people's glance slide right off my face and up, up, up to his. Tonight was no exceptions. My brother and I stepped squarely from that dank tunnel into a crowd. The Lady held me in her arms yet again. I knew exactly where we had landed. We were in the back store room of McFreedy's Fine Ales. The name was a lark. The place was owned by a swarthy man named Santiago and the only fine thing it served was a wicked hangover. It was near the docks however, and Santiago was known as a bit of a smuggler. Nothing big. Just little stuff slipped under the eyes of the Runners and the Citadel. I had never known him to traffic in human goods but this was neither the time nor place to ponder such mysteries. Our entrance had turned the heads of a group of gentlemen who were playing Sharks in the back storeroom. The stakes looked high and one seat was already vacant. The trail of blood that ran along the floor to the door I now stood in was relatively fresh. The strange sticky substance in the tunnel behind me now made prefect sense. We we lucky not to have run into the removal team. Even luckier, Santiago wasn't there to alert the gamers to our uninvited status. The goons by the back door had taken a step forward when we appeared. But they had stopped at our confident entrance. Bless the Lady of the Bluff. She was going to save our hides once again.
"Gentleman," I scanned the table, making brazen eye contact with each man present. A few I recognized by reputation. Without missing a beat, I headed across the room toward the back door that lead to the public room of McFreedy's. The goons looked towards their bosses but no one stopped us. With the same false confidence, I shouldered my way past them, tugged the door open, and left the room of players behind. Santiago was serving behind the bar and his eyes widened when he saw us emerge. I made a beeline to him and perched myself on a sticky stool.
"Hey, man, we need to talk," I stated simply. Berto leaned his back against the bar, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room behind my back. Santiago nodded to the men next to me and they grabbed their drinks and headed for a table. The stools around me were now empty. Time to run the bluff.
Santiago was in his late 40s. His face and hands were heavily scared. Whether from hard labor or hard fighting, no one know. He was a distant cousin to someone in the Duermo organization and as such he was afforded their protection. I hadn't had much dealings with the Duermos. They were big time. I was far to small to register on their business plan. But it did explain what I saw the other night. Human trafficking was right up their alley. Now, I just had to confirm my suspicion.
I leaned into the bar and lowered my voice. "I saw the 'delivery' that cam from your back room down at the docks the other night. It seemed a bit...fresh if you get my drift."
Sanitago had an excellent poker face. He continued to slowly rub the bar in front of me with a damp cloth. The moment felt like it was stretching too thin so I played my next highest card.
"Heard the Runners were paying good money for any leads about these fresh deliveries. Now, I'm not one to pick sides, you know that Santiago, but money is money. If what I saw has a price, I want to be paid. Don't rightly care where the funds come from. So if there is someone else I should see about what I know, someone else in the market so to speak? I'd be more than willing to take my business there first."
Santiago continued with those slow maddening circles. I was just about to throw down my cards and quit this game when he left the rag on the bar and reached under the counter. Berto tensed and I had to remind myself to keep breathing. Slowly, he raised his eyes to mine and slid a card across the table. Like a dealer in Sharks, he flipped it face up in front of me. I'm sure I blanched when I saw it. An embossed black winged moth stared up at me. With deliberation, Santiago slipped a gnawed pencil from behind his ear, scratched an address across the bottom of the card, and slide it across the counter to me. The stakes had just turned. I picked up the small cream card and brushed my thumb over the embossed moth. Santiago pushed back from the bar with a wry smile and set a shot of something foul before me. Without hesitating, I downed it in one gulp. I'd need all the courage I could find. The Night Moths. Fuck me. I'd have been better off in the hands of the Runners.
1 comment:
Nice!
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