"Thank you for letting me dance with him. He is very good."
"He's not bad at that," Gloria said. "Your Griffen is a good dancer, too. Nice to meet you, dear."
The elder couple squeezed their way through the crowd and disappeared. Mai took Griffen's arm and pulled him off the dance floor. She told Griffen what she had coaxed out of Eric.
"The word is out," Griffen said, angrily. "We ought to have had eight games this week. We're down to five. The rumors are killing us. We'll be wiped out in a few weeks if this keeps up."
"Come and sit down," Mai said hastily, glancing around. Almost everyone else had taken their places.
"I don't think I can sit down," Griffen said. "The Eastern dragons are destroying not only my life, but that of all my employees. Do you know how many people rely on me for their livelihood?"
"Poker face!" Mai hissed. "Play the part. This is no time to let your anger get the better of you."
Griffen looked around and realized that numerous eyes were upon him, including Eric's. If there was ever a time that he had to conceal all his tells, this was it. He smiled and put out his elbow to Mai.
"May I escort you to our table?" he asked.
"It would be my pleasure," Mai said. She alone could feel the fury in him, but as they passed each of the tables, the candles in the centerpiece flared up. Mai was grateful that the guests at their table were all strangers.
"I will get them," Griffen whispered to her, attacking his salad as if it were one of the Eastern dragons. "I just hope I can do it before they wipe me out."
"You have allies," Mai said. "I will do everything to help you."
Griffen smiled, the first genuine smile he had put on in an hour. "I know. I'm counting on you."
Mai went back to her salad. Something told her that she ought to be ashamed of herself, but she was simply not accustomed to it.
Thirty-seven
Griffen blanched at the figures on the balance sheet. "I didn't know it was that bad."
"Believe it, brother," Jerome said, tapping the page with the edge of a coaster. They were alone at a corner table in the Irish bar. The other patrons sensed a personal and painful discussion and left them alone. Griffen glimpsed eyes slewed toward him from the pool tables and other places. They looked sympathetic. "We are down this entire month. I have got only one game scheduled, at the Omni, of all places."
"What happened to the high rollers who were going to meet at the Royal Sonesta tomorrow evening?"
"Canceled. No points for guessing why. The rumor mills have been working overtime and double time. The concierge won't even talk to me."
"Can we fill the suite? Less high-level players?" Griffen took a sip of the one whisky and water he had allowed himself. In order to make sure he could pay his rent, he had cut back on everything that he possibly could. He knew he could run a tab, but Fred would expect to see it cleared at the end of each week, and he did not know if he'd have the extra income to pay it. As much as he hated cooking for himself, it looked like the only way to eke out his food budget for the week. Peanut butter tasted better on hamburgers than on plain bread with jelly.
"Not unless you find out why they're not coming," Jerome said. "Their expectations are low at the moment. This is a bad precedent, since our expenses are not going down, even if the intake is."
"Can we handle payroll?"
Jerome pointed to an entry in red at the bottom left of the sheet. "Only if we don't pay ourselves, man. I'm okay, but how are you doing?"
"Flat broke," Griffen admitted.
"I'm your friend, but there is no way I can't point out the irony of a member of the local royalty more down-and-out than the peasants."
"If I remember my history, plenty of monarchs had empty treasuries. The difference is that they could rob the peasants to raise money."
"Well, the peasants aren't coming. I'm gonna have a face-to-face with a few of our formerly most helpful connections and see if I can't convince 'em to send us some prospects. I suggest you do the same."
Griffen agreed. "Let's split up the list. We'll see if we can at least fill that suite day after tomorrow. If not, we'll have to lay people off."
"They'd feel that was unlucky, losing their jobs during Mardi Gras season," Jerome said. "Not to mention the practical side of needing the funds same as you for the festivities. We've been through tough times before."
"Not with someone trying to put us out of business on purpose," Griffen said. "I just wish we could figure out when they were going to strike and how many of them there are."
"Mai told you not to trust three of them, but it seems like there's more than that, and they aren't all Eastern."
"That's the problem," Griffen said. "We're not spotting them, and it's killing us."
"We'll get by," Jerome said. "We went through worse before you got here."
Griffen made a face. "That's not so much consolation," he said. "But let's start the charm offensive, and see if we can pull it together that way. I'll talk to the spotters. I'll offer them a percentage of the table if they can deliver players."
Jerome shook his head. "I dunno, Grifter. That will have them bringing uncles out of the bayou or prison just to fill seats."
"There'll be rules," Griffen said. "I'm not completely desperate. Not yet."
His cell phone warbled, reminding him there was another bill that he had to pay, and soon. He raised a finger. "Sorry, Jer, just a minute. Hello?"
"Griffen! Peter Sing."
"Hey, Peter," Griffen said. Jerome's brows drew down over his forehead. He made a throat-slitting gesture. Griffen waved it away. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, I got a call from your assistant. He said that the game on Sunday is canceled."
"Yeah, sorry, Peter. The other players who were going to be in on it dropped out."
Peter clucked his tongue. "Well, that is a shame. I am in the mood to play." There was a brief silence. "Would you like to come up to my suite and play a few hands, just for fun?"
Griffen winced at the thought. "I'm pretty busy with Mardi Gras assignments right now."
"Don't say no." Peter interrupted him. "I'm bored out of my mind. I could go down to the casino, but there's no one of your caliber there. Come on up. I will order some food from downstairs, exactly as you would if you were hosting. Just a little friendly one-on-one. Say you will come. In an hour or so? We can play for chips instead of cash. We can talk technique. It will be unofficial."
Griffen was torn. Jerome was shooting him poisonous looks, but a friendly game with such a skilled player as Peter would cheer him up.
"Okay. Thanks. I would enjoy it. See you"--he checked his watch--"in two hours?"
"That would be great," Peter said. "I can pick your brain about betting on Omaha games. It is a weak spot in my repertoire."
Griffen knew Peter was just saying that to help cheer him up, but he appreciated it. "See you then." He hung up.
"Grifter, I do not trust that man."
"I know," Griffen said. "But he hasn't done anything. Not once at any game has he caused a problem. In fact, he's bent over backward to be nice to the other players. It has added cachet to our games to have him there. You can't deny that."
"I know. I just have a feeling that he just hasn't erupted yet, like ragweed. And to offer to play you a game for no money? He knows more than you tell him."
"He's pretty damned observant," Griffen said. "I think he knows I've got my back to the wall, but he's not adding to my debt."
"It's just too convenient," Jerome said. "He might be acting like a nice guy, but he's an Asian and he's a pretty strong dragon and all my vibes go off when I'm around him. I think he's got to be involved with the Easterns even if Mai has never seen him before. But you're the big dragon. You get to make your own decisions, for better or for worse. I'll be there to pick you up again if he knocks you down, but just remember that I get to say, 'I told you so.' "