The Living End (Daniel Faust #3)(59)

I slapped the cup onto the table mouth-down and listened to the dice rattle. We peeked under our cups at the same time, tilting the rims back. I had three twos, a one, and a five. Three of a kind, solid hand.

“Runt,” I said, calling the lowest hand. Calypso stared me down long enough to turn the silence into a weapon. His quiet patience grated at my nerves. I willed my shoulders to unclench and thought of a dirty joke Corman had told me a couple of days ago. The amused smile that rose to my lips was smooth and genuine, just not related to the game at hand.

“Pair,” he said.

Now I could call his bluff, raise my own bid, or roll my dice again. Sticking with my hand felt like the safest move. By the odds, he probably didn’t have a runt—a no-combination roll—so he most likely wasn’t bluffing.

“Two pair,” I said.

“Three of a kind,” he shot back, upping the bid without skipping a heartbeat. I blinked, rattled.

Now I was leaving safe harbor. If I upped the bid past the real hand under my cup and he called me on it, he won. Was he bluffing? It didn’t feel right. He was confident. Not the kind of bluster you see from someone overplaying their hand, but the quiet confidence that comes from a winning hand.

I didn’t like it. I needed to mix things up.

“Rolling again,” I said. “All five dice.”

The bones rattled in my cup and bounced on the table. I kept my face slack as I looked underneath. Now I had nothing but a lousy pair. I’d landed in the exact same boat I’d tried to jump out of, and it had just sprung a leak.

“Low straight,” I said, upping the bid.

Calypso smiled like a wolf.

“Liar.”

My stomach clenched. We both uncovered our dice at the same time. I sat there, exposed with my single pair. On his side of the table, a scattering of mismatched and worthless dice.

“You had a runt,” I said.

“What do you know? Looks like I did, looks like I did.”

Caitlin’s hands clenched on the edge of the table, knuckles turning white.

“What now?” I asked him.

Calypso reached out across the table, like a gentleman.

“We shake hands on a game well-played.”

I took his hand. He took my life.

It didn’t hurt, not like a punch or a burn or a shock, nothing on the level my flesh could understand. It hurt like racing to meet a lover at the airport, only to get caught up in traffic and miss her flight. It hurt like discovering you’ve forgotten your mother’s face, and you don’t have any photographs left. It hurt like realizing a decade just slipped out from under you, and you don’t have anything but missed opportunities and empty bottles to show for it.

He let go and gave me a firm nod.

“I appreciate a man who pays his debts,” he said. “Respect.”

“Again,” I said.

Caitlin’s eyes widened. “Daniel—”

“Again,” I said, harder.

Calypso nodded and waved his hand slowly across the table, gesturing to the dice. We rolled and slapped our cups down at the same time.

Two sixes and three ones. Full house. Strong hand. He went first this time, bidding a runt. I upped it to a pair.

“Think I might just roll again,” he said, scooping up his dice.

He didn’t like his old hand, but that didn’t mean his new one was any better. His cheeks tightened when he tipped back his cup. Just a little. Just enough for me to notice.

“Two pair,” he said.

I pretended to mull it over. “Three of a kind.”

“Low straight.” His voice caught on the “low,” the faintest edge of a nervous hitch.

My fingers curled against moist palms. Time to lay it on the line.

“Liar,” I said.

We lifted our cups. He ran his fingertips over his bone dice, arranging them in a neat little row. One, two, three, four, five. A low straight. If I had pushed him for one more round, he would have been in the danger zone. So he made sure I didn’t.

“Sorry, son,” he said. “Guess this just isn’t your night.”

He extended his hand. I took it firmly in mine, without flinching. I paid my debt. The sense of loss washed over me like an early winter, when you’ve lived long enough to start wondering how many summers you’ve got left. I put my hands in my lap to keep anyone from seeing them tremble.

Calypso shook his head, looking almost regretful. “That’s two years of your life gone, son. An old man can do a lot with two years if he puts his mind to it. Out of respect to your lady, I think we’d best—”

“Five years,” I blurted.

They stared at me. I wasn’t sure whether Calypso or Caitlin looked more shocked.

“Five years,” I said. “Last game, last try. Five more years of my life against the contract. Except this time we play a different game.”

Calypso quirked a smile. “Hell, son, I’ll give you points for moxie. What’s the game?”

I took the deck of cards from my hip pocket and set them down on the table.

“Three-card monte. I deal, you pick one card. You find the queen, you get five years of my life, and I go home a loser. You fail, I get the contract. Deal?”

I shot a glance at Caitlin and touched her knee under the table, gently. Trust me. She didn’t look too confident, but she gave me a slight nod.