Blackjack Villain by Ben Bequer Page A

the restaurant. It was a small place, with wrought iron furniture, the tables topped with square slate marble. The chair was a bit too small for me, pressing hard against my hips.
    “So I want to talk to you about something,” he said, finally done beating around the bush.
    “Tell me,” I said, studying one by one the patrons of the restaurant. Sandy was so single minded, that he probably figured I was casing for a backup plan in case things fell through with Valeria. But this guy was the only person alone, a recent arrival sitting in the far corner. He wore a smart suit, beyond even Sandy’s level, maybe a Broni or Kiton. His hair was perfectly trimmed, probably a few hundred dollars for the cut alone, and he wore Alexander McQueen glasses.
    I’d had some nice stuff at the house, including a few Brionis of my own, but right now all I owned were the clothes I was wearing, including a belt that cost four dollars at the Army-Navy store.
    “I was wondering what you want to do with yourself from now on. I mean, long term.”
    “Well,” I said feeling a bit embarrassed. “I’d like to take it to the next level. I want to go bigger.”
    “Bigger?”
    Here I had to be careful, because I had my sources of information too, and I knew that Sandy was up to something big. Something I wanted to be a part of. Something he hadn’t mentioned to me directly, which meant he didn’t see me that way.
    “I’m ready for it, Sandy. Banks and shit are beneath me.”
    He laughed, “You kidding? That was a nice house you had.”
    I was a bit bashful about talking money with Sandy. I always had a feeling that our relationship was solid as long as I was “earning”. And since things were tight these days, and made more difficult by my recent encounter with Atmosphero, I didn’t really know where we stood. In the end, I chanced it.
    “I wasn’t making anywhere near enough. Hell, I don’t know what I’m going to do to pay you for this. And don’t say it’s cool, because I know it’s not. You’ve probably burned through the retainer already.”
    “Man, when you’re as good as you are, you don’t have to worry about money.”
    “It’s easy to say that when you have money. I don’t have shit now. I want you to keep me in mind if anything’s going on.”
    Sandy smiled, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands.
    “What are we talking about here?”
    “I don’t know, Sandy. You tell me.”
    “You found out about the thing I’m putting together?”
    I smiled.
    He shrugged, “No offense, dude, but you’re not ready.”
    “Because of the Atmo thing?”
    “No man. I mean, yeah, in a way, but that’s not the point.”
    “What’s the point?”
    “Well, I can’t figure you out.” He paused and looked around shifting closer to me. “You need to get serious and figure out what you want to do.”
    “Oh?”
    “Well, there’s one of my clients, who I won’t name here.” He paused as another waiter, this time a guy, brought our food. I had ordered an omelet like his, except mine had real eggs, cheese, bacon and vegetables, whereas his was egg whites and shallots.
    “This client of mine, he’s into your same business. And he’s very talented. The guy is known worldwide. I tell you his name, and you’ll instantly recognize him. He’s got a whole plan mapped out for what he wants to accomplish with himself. Marketing, finance, publishing, the works. I mean, the guy has, like, a million friends on Facebook. If he ever goes away, he knows things are taken care of.”
    Sandy sipped from his water and looked around suspiciously, then continued.
    “Anyway, forget about going big right now. With this shit hanging over you, you might want to lay low for a few. Let me do my thing.”
    “Laying low means no money coming in,” I said.
    “It’s not me that was hitting those no-money jobs, man. I can dig that some of that stuff might be personal or whatever, but it’s a risk you take without any windfall, if