Lucky - by Erin Latimer

All Bets Are Off

The gambling den might as well have been a flop house. It was falling apart, the windows were cracked and dirty, and it leaned against the building beside it as if it were being held up like a drunken street walker. Nerves were starting to prickle along my skin, and something awakened in my belly, a sort of primal fear that I tried to suppress.

            I’d done all my gambling on the streets. There was never a lack of rag-a-muffins and street urchins who had a few coins to gamble with. I tossed dice in the gutters, I didn’t walk into gambling establishments and play cards with people who were serious about it. It would probably be a rough crowd.

            With that in mind, I stuck close to Kiran walking through the door, almost stumbling on his heels when he paused inside. We both looked around, blinking, eyes adjusting from the gloomy night to the brightly lit interior of the den.

            It shouldn’t have been brightly lit, dim lights would have helped to disguise exactly how filthy the place was. There was a bar at the back, with cheap, dented tin behind it to serve as a mirror, and a single bar tender, a short, balding man who glowered at us when we entered.

            I counted roughly eight wooden tables, all full of rough looking men playing cards. Some glanced up as we entered, and I felt my face flush under the intense gazes. One or two nudged their friends and grinned at one another, or laughed loudly. To my relief I spotted a few women among them, all of them dressed similarly to me, although my neckline plunged lower than most of them. I made a mental note to give Kiran a piece of my mind for that when the night was over.

            “We’ll play Rujo.”

            I jumped. Kiran was leaning over and whispering in my ear. “What?”

            “Rujo. Came back into fashion a few months ago, and it’s easiest to learn in a pinch. Just watch how I do.”

            “Right,” I muttered, and followed him as he strode confidentially forward, towards one of the tables in the back. There were three men sitting at the table, a couple who looked like brothers, both with red-blonde hair and narrow brown eyes. The other man was tall and skinny, with a shock of dark hair that fell over one eye. There was a scar on his chin, and the way his gaze darted back and forth between Kiran and I reminded me a little bit of Boxcar. I hoped that wasn’t some kind of sign that this was going to go badly.

            “Want in?” One of the brothers eyed Kiran as if he were trying to estimate how much money he could win from him.

            “Yeah, thanks.” Kiran sat down on one of the rickety wooden chairs, pulling one out for me as he did.

            The Boxcar look-alike leaned forward, staring at me, eyes glittering. “Who’s your lady friend?”

            A flash of irritation went through me. He was looking at me and speaking to Kiran. “Miranda,” I snapped at him. “Who are you?”

            Beside me, I could see Kiran lean back in his seat and press his lips together. He obviously thought I was going to blow this for him.

            The Boxcar look-alike only grinned. “Lovely name, Miranda. I’m Bones, pleased to meet you.”

            The man’s accent had him pronouncing the last word “metcha” and when he grinned I could see one of his front teeth was missing. Pushing down my revulsion I gave him the friendliest smile I could manage. “Bones, that’s quite the name.”