E by Kate Wrath

What if I took too long?  What if they
came and went quickly?  I've missed my chance again.  Acid rises in
my stomach, burning, eating at me.  Maybe I’ll never really do this. 
Maybe I really am just a street rat.
    Two men step out of the Rustler into the crisp night air.  I
narrow my eyes, peering, trying to focus.  My heart skips at least two
beats.  It is them.  I gulp air, try to steady myself.  It is
them.  It is time.
    They walk toward me, not seeing me.  They're silent except
for footsteps on the sidewalk.  The scrape of dirt and glass between boots
and concrete.  The even thud, thud, thud of solid steps placed confidently
into the darkness.
    When they're a few paces off, I clear my throat and say as calmly
as I can, "Want to make some money?"
    They stop short and squint into the dark shadow where I
stand.  There is a long pause, then at the same time they answer.
    "Doing what?" asks the blonde.
    But the dark-haired one says, "Who are you?"
    I swallow, press on before I give away my hesitation.  I'm
thankful for the darkness that hides my face.  "No one," I
answer.  "I just want to play some cards and I need someone to watch
my back.  I can pay you fifty each."  I want to let this sink
in, but I don't trust them.  Hastily I add, "I'm not stupid enough to
carry it on me, so don't even think about it." 
    The blonde one makes a noise in his throat.  Arms crossed in
front of his chest, cocky stance, he looks amused.  The other one has not
moved.  His face is in the shadow, and I can tell nothing of his reaction.
    I shift my weight, nervous despite myself.  My offer is an
absolute lie at the moment, but if all goes according to plan, I will pay them
as advertised.  I only hope that they will not see through me. 
    "Sure," the blonde says lightly, surprising me with the
ease of his agreement.  "Just so long as you don't do anything
stupid."
    His companion's face turns toward him, but I still cannot make out
his expression through the darkness.  There’s something in the movement
that is not entirely approving.  I brace myself for his protest, but he
remains silent.
    Seizing the opportunity, I say, "Deal then?"
    "Deal," Blondie says. 
    Neither of us make any move to shake on it.
    He nods his head toward the Rustler, the corners of his mouth
tugging sideways as if it is all very entertaining.  "Lead the
way."
    I step out of the shadows and make a wide circle around him,
heading toward the entrance.  Glancing back, I see the dark-haired one's
head is ducked, hands tucked in his pockets.  Blondie is looking at
me.  His smile has gone, and his eyes are a touch wide.  He looks
almost startled.  My breath catches as I realize I've missed one of my
blotches.  I force my eyes toward the door and wipe surreptitiously at my
face with my sleeve. 
    Before I can walk inside, he steps in front of me, displacing
me.  "I'll go first," he says, and he does, before I can answer.
    The inside is a wash of lamplight and tobacco smoke.  Amber
liquid glints in shot glasses and round-bellied bottles.  A few patrons
slump on stools at the long wooden counter. A man sleeps in the back
corner.  Arthur Adner, the balding barkeep, wipes water and crumbs from
the bar.  The action is around a single table.  A scatter of silver
and gold fills the center, like a pirate's treasure chest spilled open. 
My eyes fix on it hungrily.
    My body guard leads me toward the table, where the cards are
thrown down and one man is raking in the pot.  The others glare at him
murderously.  "Gentlemen," my companion says, his hand clamping
down on my shoulder, "my friend would like to play.  Do you have room
for her?"
    They eyeball me.  It's an unpleasant feeling, being looked
over by these men.  They're trying to decide whether I'm worth their
time.  I'm a bug.  Should I be eaten, or squashed, or ignored
entirely?  But they grunt, and move over, and pull up another chair. 
I'm in.
    As I sit down, trying not to shake,