". . . YOUNGEST TO DOMINATE CASINO BUSINESS . . ."
She was known as a mystery, striving to be a possessor of high risks. She had the dignity to shape the impact of cartomancy through sophistication and concealed undertakings.
However, with lucky odd...
". . . I'm not worried about being a targeted indivudal . . ."
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"So, you've made gambling an open-world game, huh?" A strong yet curious voice asked, coming from Beverly Hills' most famous interviewer, Calvin Johnson. His words echoed in Rhyse's mind as he dragged his index finger along the alignment of his seat. A smirk played on his lips, watching the woman as she only made contact with his dark sienna eyes. "To be one of the most wealthy gamblers since '85, that's a tough record to keep without being 'compulsive,'" He said as his fingers made air quotes.
She sat there, processing his words, and tilted her head down with a grin on her face. The interviewer tickled her at his most redundant assumptions. "Let me tell you something.." she trailed as she lifted her head to stare into his eyes, which held bold confidence. "I can tell you obviously misunderstand my status. The only thing that would be hard to keep is power."
The room suddenly became quiet as the male tried to find the words to form his next question. The presence of her voice must have triggered him; a single individual could sense his nervous energy scattered over the room. ".. hm, okay, Ms. Jackson, tell us, do you ever fear for yourself as one of the most targeted individuals in Beverly Hills?" He was sitting perfectly straight in his chair to form a proper posture. "From the government's agency, it tells me you're quite the intellect and have close allies reporting the next move plotted amongst you from Juanita Moreno."
Her eyebrow furrowed swiftly. Bijou Carter, her loyal bodyguard, tall and slender, placed his hand on her shoulder. He could tell where the interviewer was trying to 'prove a point' in his last statement. She looked back in the direction of Bijou, who gave her a look that she didn't have to answer that question.
Rhyse refused to allow irritation to trigger her, especially from a low-life petty interviewer known around Beverly Hills, practically belittling success and being a complete narcissist.
"You think you're a clever one, don't you?" She asked, understanding where he was going with questions that were slowly touching on unfinished business with authorities and two of Colombia's most envied gamblers. Rhyse gathered herself and stood up from the chair she was sitting in, keeping her eyes locked on Johnson. "You see, Johnson.. or in other words, Calvin.." She said, approaching him with a different bass in her voice, recalling the interviewer's name. "I'm not worried about being a targeted individual. It's you who should be. Putting your nose in my business is the problem with interviewers nowadays." Rhyse retorted, and with the help of Bijou, she strutted toward the door for her exit. Before walking out in a manner that leaves a staggering presence on people, she had one more thing to get off of her mind.
"And Johnson, make sure your questions are well enough that you don't have to worry about your life being at stake. The mass media has a quick way of making reports about sudden death.'"
♠
Only the most ignorant person would disguise themselves as a clever man to retrieve information from a gambler. But, the only thing with trying to 'play' a gambler–is that they were sure to read your tactics before the games begin. Fortunately enough, Bijou had her back. He was always looking through other people's deceptions, almost like her second pair of eyes. The world deemed her to be compulsive, and she was.
Although in the past, she put up with a fight for The Morongo before, she knew it would be nonstop, never ceasing. Ruling over more chains of entertainment in the land of the West Coast. Rhyse could only think about continuing the enterprise without being caught up in the drama that comes with it. Yet, it was impossible to do so with cameras catching your every move and Juanita Moreno calculating every step the woman took. She was a seeker of revenge.
"Don't let those bastards get into your head, Stacks," Bijou told the woman as the two were riding in a solid black 1998 Jeep Cherokee.
She continued to look out of the window that was to her left. She did not allow someone less, equal, or greater to get the best of her. That was one thing she had in her rule book. Silence presented itself in the atmosphere as the vehicle reached the final destined location.
Her driver Simon Gene parked the '98 Jeep Cherokee parallel to her casino. Growing up, there was no such thing as chips or a couple of cards scattered around a table full of Whiskey, or even Glenlivet. The only thing she had was knowledge, which she relied on more than anything she has encountered within these past years of her life.
Playing her cards right seemed like it would get Moreno to interrogate her life even more. To her, gambling was about not facing reality - to them; it was the opposite.
