The moment I pushed through the inner door, my feet stopped moving, and I barely managed to keep myself from kissing the floor. Before claiming my spot in this tournament, I had researched the location, and while I thought it odd Dempsey would select a warehouse for his walking piggy banks to gather, the gentleman whose invite I’d commandeered assured me it wouldn’t interfere with the experience. Based on his assurance, I had assumed the crime lord would spruce up the interior, but I hadn’t expected this. I had expected to see the stereotypical aesthetics of a warehouse.
Or rather, what television and movies have made me think of as typical. Where were the unfinished walls and an endless array of shelves with their uniform wooden crates? It would have been easy for Dempsey’s minions to move everything to the side and set up the required tables. If that was all Dempsey’s team had done, it would have been fine. While it would be far from comfortable, we could play like that.
However, the elite who could afford to be here wouldn’t have been as agreeable to the arrangement. I’d just underestimated the lengths the crime lord would take to ensure his portable banks would be happy and willingly return to stuff his coffers. But as I stood frozen in the doorway studying everything arrayed before me, those assumptions died. After a few moments, I walked inside, letting the door close with a whisper. Somehow, Dempsey had created a portal leading from the industrial surroundings to the lobby of the most opulent hotel on the planet.
Even though the décor commanded most of my attention, I felt the eyes of the other players and staff linger on me. Their piercing gazes sized me up and then dismissed me, just like I would treat a mark. With a mental grimace, I forced a smile to my lips and sauntered away from the entrance, studying the people milling about the room. Given the attire of the employees gliding through the sparse crowd, Dempsey’s intention for these men and women became obvious. They were here to provide another layer of opulence for his piggy banks. The crime lord certainly knew how to staff his events. Everyone served a purpose, especially the contrasting pair of doormen who welcomed me.
As I strolled past the initial collection of tables and a couple of chatty players, I realized nobody, including Dempsey’s workers, thought much of my entrance. While I’d felt everyone register it, none of their body language screamed they were lingering upon it. Even the couple who were in deep conversation weren’t discussing my gaff. It was as if it was the expected reaction to someone’s first appearance at one of these events, and based on the doormen’s reaction, everyone understood I was new here. Mentally, I released a sigh of relief as I strode through the tables, looking for an adequate place to perch and study the already-present players.
With half of the room behind me, I headed for the wall and leaned against it. My eyes flittered about the room, itemizing the extravagant trappings. After finishing the initial catalog, the only thing tumbling through my mind was Dempsey didn’t understand or comprehend restraint. Each of the four walls reflected the light with a golden hue. As I drew a finger along the surface, I doubted he had achieved the color with gold paint. Rather, it felt like lacquer, and the texture appeared to be that of gold leaf. While I’d have to be too obvious to know for sure, the walls had the shiny factor you expected from precious metal. The only break in the golden chamber was the rose chair molding, which to my thumb felt like granite.
When I ripped my eyes away from the opulent walls, I started gauging distances. Based on my initial walk of the building’s perimeter, I was fairly certain this room represented only half of the interior space. Perhaps my recon hadn’t been as fruitless as I’d thought. What else did it give me? The only way in or out was the loading dock and entrance. Which meant that one of these golden walls, most likely the one opposite the doorframe, contained a hidden doorway, despite its nearly uninterrupted nature.
The only other embellishments to those smooth walls were a pair of bars built into each corner opposite the entrance. To highlight the elegance, the bars lined up perfectly with the exquisite molding. Aside from the opulence, the structure of this partial chamber screamed that everyone inside was trapped. This wall had more in common with a Venus flytrap than the hotel it pretended to be.
The bars, molding, and walls would have made the room comfortable for even the most pretentious member of the elite. But If Dempsey stopped there, it would have shown a semblance of restraint. Besides the luxurious surroundings, the man ensured people could wait, eat, and drink while catering to their every need. Scattered throughout were twenty-four circular tables, complete with five chairs. The man loved his stone surfaces. At least that’s what the tabletops appeared to be hewn from, based on what I’d seen as I walked past a few of them. They also appeared to have been hand carved from either marble or granite and perched upon sturdy metal legs.
As I stood there watching the elaborate motion, I watched several members of the wait staff deliver food and drinks to the scattered players sitting around the ornate tables. And judging by the collection of aromas woven through the air, Dempsey had contracted a kitchen to provide decadent meals. Given the work needed to prepare everything here, how had Dempsey made a dime on these tournaments? While he collected half a million dollars from each player, there was too much on display to justify the opulence.
After a few tranquil minutes, a couple of probing eyes drifted back my way. Immediately, I pushed off the wall and strolled to the nearest bar, plopping onto the first open stool. While one bartender worked with another guest, the second one cleaned a tumbler. I leaned forward, extending a couple of fingers as I waved at the unoccupied employee. Unfortunately, the man continued wiping down the small glass. I dropped back onto the stool to study him and saw through his guise at once. This man was not a real bartender, at least not by trade. Despite his larger frame, he fit the formal wear shared by the other man behind the bar. I raised my hand and cleared my throat.
Promptly, the faux-tender returned the glass to its place, tossed his cleaning cloth onto his shoulder, and approached me with an artificial smile. “What can I do for you?”
Based solely on his build, it was easy to lump this thug up with the two doormen. However, his warm voice belied his brutish frame. Despite possessing a pleasant demeanor, I didn’t understand why Dempsey would place this man behind the bar if he wanted to pacify the high-end socialites who would be attending. Why had he stocked the bar with one of his goons? Was he as skilled with making cocktails as I imagined him to be at breaking limbs and collecting debts? I placed my elbows on the bar and leaned forward, wringing my hands. “What would you recommend?”
A blank stare latched onto me as the faux-tender scratched his head. “Excuse me, sir, but I’ll need you to tell me what you’d like to drink.”
Was he being serious? I ran my tongue across the back of my teeth as I hemmed and hawed. As the burly man stood there with a false smile, I scratched bartender from the list of skills. With my elbows firmly planted on the bar, I leaned forward, wrapping my spoiled rich kid persona around me. “It’s my first time here, and I don’t know what you have. Can’t you think of something that would be an adequate starter?”
“Would you like a whisky on the rocks?”
Surprisingly, the faux-tender kept his cool. Despite my jab, small as it was, he kept his composure as he offered a suggestion. I had to give Dempsey credit. His goons appeared to be well trained, and that was not cheap. Had I been looking for a drink, I probably would have said yes, but that wasn’t the point. I wanted to test his composure.
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