A Bag of Nails

I first saw Adam Davis at the Star Casino. He was a fast talker in a shiny suit that was too fashionable to be classy. He was over at the sports betting counter watching one of the televisions with an expression like he was performing heart surgery. 

I didn't pay him much attention at first. I was there for the same reason I usually end up in casinos: choked requests from teary eyed wives who want me to tell them their husband isn't screwing some skeletal divorcee with crows feet and a cheap platinum dye job.

This particular swine was at the craps table because the movies told him he'd look like a high roller. There was a blonde on his arm with a laugh like a plastic recorder. I took a seat at the bar and threw a drink down my throat to pass the time. It looked like he was settled in for the evening. 

Two drinks later, Davis came to the bar and ordered a martini. The barman looked him over and overcharged him outrageously. Davis flashed his credit card as he paid. He was that kind of guy. 

"You were wrong, Jack. I got lucky." 

It took me a second to realise he was talking to me. By then he was already sat next to me. If I'd had any sense I would have told him to go blow himself, but I was slow that evening. His grin went down when he saw my expression, but only to a thousand watts. 

"I guess your call was off," he rambled at me. "I won't hold you to it. If I waited for you to be on the money I'd be waiting a long time, right? Drinks are on me tonight buddy." 

His laugh went on about three seconds too long. 

I looked past him to the sports betting counter. A heavy in a loose fitting suit was talking to the cashier. The cashier pointed at us with a motion that made my stomach do a quick three-sixty. 

Davis' hunted look confirmed what I already knew. He was holding a wad of ticket stubs like a bunch of roses. 

"The least you could have done is actually buy me a damn drink," I said, draining my glass. 

"I'm in real trouble, Jack, and you look like you can handle yourself." 

"You got too greedy. Now you're going to get your face caved in. Call it the circle of fucking life." 

"I have money." 

"No. You have a handful of paper that you couldn't turn into money with a magic wand." 

The bouncer appeared behind him like an oil tanker out of the fog. 

"Your night's over, son." 

Davis flinched. "I'm just having a drink." 

"Not anymore. How about I escort you out?" 

The bouncer gripped Davis' shoulder and gave me a view of the artillery piece he was carrying in his jacket. 

"How about I come along," I said. "Just to make sure he doesn't get lost on the way to the door." 

"I'm not interested in you." 

"I'm devastated. I put on a clean shirt and everything." 

I followed them to the fire exit. It led out to an asphalt lot enclosed by the back of a few restaurants and clubs. It smelled like those places always do - varying parts rotting garbage and human urine depending on the night. 

"How much does this gig pay a night?" I said. 

The big man twisted Davis' collar and made him yelp. 

"Shut up, Jack. I know how this goes," Davis said. 

I slipped a hand into my pocket and took a hold of a three inch piece of rebar off-cut I picked up from a building site god knows when.