gambled whatever she made.”
Cole nods. “Summer hit the streets early. Mom worked two jobs, sometimes more. Very little adult supervision. Summer basically raised herself.”
Something’s building in me as I stare at Summer’s photo. A kind of sadness mixed with longing. I want to hold her. That’s the short of it. It seems silly. Even juvenile. But I want to fucking hold this complete stranger and tell her it’s all right. Tell her she’s with me now. That everything’s changed in her life, and that I’ll never let anything lousy hurt her ever again.
Which is odd, considering how I plan to use her—
“What?” I interrupt Cole, realizing I’ve zoned out on his last few sentences.
Cole gives me an odd look. “Sure you’re all right, bro?”
“Been a while since I fed. I mean…ate.”
“Do that, then. Cuz you’re looking…off you’re game.”
Cole leaves the rest unsaid.
That it’s a real bad time to be off my game.
“Tell me about her.”
“All right. You know about the grifter stuff. She works at Trader Ho’s, stocking shelves a few nights a week. But that doesn’t keep the fridge full. She supports herself and her mother almost exclusively through robbing casinos.”
“Even now? On parole?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Any big scores?”
“Nothing I could find, but who knows? I think she’s a kind of con-artist grinder.”
I toss Cole a blank look.
“You really need to study up on this shit, man.”
“I’ve been a bit busy lately. Besides, that’s why I have you.”
Cole gives me an exasperated sigh. “A grinder’s a gambler who ekes out a grim living winning small bets. Never goes for the big score, so never loses his ass completely. Just day in and day out, a few hundred here, a few hundred there, flying under the radar—”
“Summer didn’t stay under the radar. She got busted once already. Then tonight.”
“Yeah. Well. Sooner or later, every con’s luck runs out. Or maybe she just got greedy. This is Vegas, after all. Greed’s in the fucking water. The bust that landed Summer in prison happened two years ago. She spent a year in juvy. Out on parole a year ago. Quiet since then. Until tonight.”
“What about her mother?”
“Moms is still with her. Not doing too well.”
Cole presses a key. Summer’s image is replaced by a second one. Another run-down motel or apartment. A woman, very thin, bald, hooked up to a respirator, sitting on plastic lawn chair on a balcony, staring across an oil-stained parking lot at an empty pool.
“Carrie’s too weak to leave the apartment,” Cole says. “Stage two lung cancer. Terminal.”
“Summer supports her. Pays the rent. Puts food on the table.”
“By any means necessary. Dropped out of school when she was thirteen because she had to work. Studies distance ed now. Working toward her GED.”
I don’t know why, but I almost feel vindicated.
Summer’s not a charity case. There are thousands more like her in this country, maybe even millions. Life dealt her a shitty hand and she’s trying to get by. Trying to survive the best way she knows how. I respect that. I might not agree with what she has to do. But if I were in her shoes…I’d be doing the same damned thing.
“Do you see her being beneficial to our interests?” I ask.
Cole shrugs. “She might be. You got a lot on her, for sure. That parole she violated is no joke. With her record, she’s looking at ten to twenty. But it gets better .”
Cole pauses. He likes it when I have to hang on his every word. It’s a little, micro-sized power trip. I let it slide. Cole’s the runt of the litter. He doesn’t have any power other than what his geekery give him, and he never will.
After a while he says, “First, Summer’s in with the Abatelli Family.”
“No shit? The Gaming Commission woman mentioned that.”
Blake nods, hits a button. A Jersey Shore looking dude appears on the screen. Fake tan. Roid-monkey build. Rhinestone
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