Read Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil for Free Online

tables. Don’t lean.”
    What would Matty think of this fancy place with men in turbans losing the value of her entire neighborhood on one roll of the dice? Dark wood, green shades over large, gold tables, and crystal chandeliers that wouldn’t fit in walk-in closets. We were escorted to a private room in the back just beyond a glass-enclosed banker.
    Benny joined the men at the table. I stood to the side, fascinated by a world I’d only seen in James Bond movies. The evening became a blur of gentile cussing, quiet sighs of success, and stacks of chips sliding across carpeted tables. I had no idea of what was going down. I just knew there were winners and losers. And there was a rhythm to it all. Each player would tap the table, bet or call or fold.
    They played for two hours and then announced a break. My friend seemed to be doing well. Someone said something that sounded like four to the eight, high hand. I wished I knew what was going on, but relied on Benny’s face after the hand was over to tell me.
    I couldn’t help worrying about the silver-haired guy in the dark tuxedo who kept his eyes pinned to us. He looked like he’d stepped out of an ad for expensive liquor, but with an air of casual violence. I shot the dude a friendly glance. His eyes turned icy. I looked away.
    Benny took a break from the gaming table to sip his scotch and stretch his short legs. I leaned in to him, my back to the silver fox as I whispered, “Don’t make it obvious, but there’s a tall, good-looking guy in a tux… grey hair… He’s been watching every move you make. He’s kind of intimidating.”
    Hannah turned in my direction and away from the dude as if perhaps lip-reading was not out of the question. “I’m aware of him. His name is Victor Veal.”
    I felt Veal’s eyes boring at the back of my neck. “He looks mad at you.”
    “He was Amin’s contact in Switzerland, the guy who traded antiquities for guns. I don’t like him showing up at this point.”
    I squeezed Benny’s arm to let him know I was in his corner. Veal shot dagger looks at us.
    “One more hand and then we’ll leave,” Benny said as he went back to his table.
    Smiling and feeling a surge of bitch, I slinked up to the big guy. “Put your eyeballs back in your head. You’re not frightening anyone.”
    Veal had bright blue eyes, thick grey hair, and skin like a baby’s butt. He raised his Jack Nicholson eyebrows in two sardonic arches, “Get used to the staring. I might decide to keep you around when this is over… for my amusement.”
    “When what’s over? That sounded like a threat!” Without taking time to think, I plunged my stiletto heel into his instep. His drink shot out of his hand, sideswiping a turban or two before dumping its contents on a baccarat table, soaking the player and the table. The banker waived the wooden pallet sweeping cards and liquor aside and glared at Veal. The Swiss stormed off.
    Thirty minutes later, Benny and I walked with a stone-faced man in a tux that didn’t hide a lethal looking gun to a row of tellers behind brass and heavy glass. A stern teller with wire-rim glasses tallied up Benny’s winnings.
    “I should have quit while I was ahead.” He laughed.
    I felt uneasy at the thought of carrying a lot of cash.
    “Don’t look so concerned, sweet Wendy.” Benny squeezed my arm. “The money is wired to an account for me. We shan’t be carrying cash on us.”
    I sighed with relief as I scanned the room for Veal. He had disappeared. A guard walked us to the door and waited until Samuel brought the limo up. Benny and I laughed as we tumbled into the car. “See you are my lucky lady. How fortunate I am to have met you.”
    “I’ve never won anything in my life. You’re the lucky one.”
    He smiled, “I am a lucky devil.”

Chapter 11
    I t was well after two in the morning when I stood next to Benny as he tapped in the security code on the pad that sat at eye level to the right of his front door.
    Samuel