Undercover Poker Party, Part 2

Sinead was not thrilled.

Well, maybe she wasn’t admitting the truth to herself.

She knew she shouldn’t be thrilled. She knew this was a bad idea with lots of possible pitfalls that could go really poorly. And yet, as they were invited into the warehouse that she and Jules had staked out during the week, she couldn’t help but take advantage of the situation. Her eyes scanned the place, taking in the structure. The shape of the crates at the far end. Were they wooden, or more like black roadcrew crates? They weren’t stacked very high, maybe only up to around chest height, so were people opening them to put things in or take things out?

The bouncers had distinguishing features. The skinny guy had a tattoo peeking out from under his sleeve on his left wrist, and a scar on his right cheek. The woman, who felt like she dwarfed Sinead in every physical aspect, had a small tattoo in the crook between her left thumb and forefinger, and another one behind her right ear. Neither of them matched the descriptions that came across her desk, but that didn’t mean they were clean.

As Marc escorted her up the stairs she gave it to him a little, but when he flashed that smile of his and suggested that this was going to be a lot more fun than just busting the poker game, she had to agree.

Another woman stepped out of the door at the top of the stairs leading to the office area of the warehouse, this one model-thin with cascading blonde hair and a dress that was definitely meant to tease and distract. It had a low cut on the front, a high cut on the bottom and she somehow made both look less trashy than they should have.

“Hello, Mr Fornier,” she said. “It’s so lovely you could join us. My name is Rachel, and I’ll be your host for this evening. First, have you brought your buy-in?”

Marc looked to Sinead with a little smile, and Sinead lifted the wad of cash. It wasn’t the largest amount she’d ever held in her hands - she’d physically carried a couple of duffle bags filled with about $250,000 each after a successful **** raid on a distributor a few years earlier, not to mention the value of the heroin, coke and pills she’d seized over the years. This was, however, the most money she’d ever held in her hands that wasn’t evidence. Rachel reached out for it, and Sinead handed it to the woman with a bit of a pit in her stomach.

Marc was spending $10,000 to get them into this game. Unless he was a gambler and hadn’t mentioned it, that was likely the last time they’d see that money. It was almost four times as much as her monthly rent. And he was just… spending it.

Fuck, Sinead thought. I should really get this necklace and the earrings checked. How much had he spent on her so far? He’d covered the dinner at George, the lunch at Canoe. Hired the stylists. The dress, the jewellery.

The least expensive things he’d given her were likely the fucking buttplugs.

“Lovely,” Rachel said as she accepted the cash. “I’ll get your chips once we’ve stepped inside. Mr Barisha has asked me to remind you that he hopes you do have an enjoyable night, Mr Fornier, but that he hopes you can speak business closer to the end of the evening.”

“Absolutely, Rachel,” Marc said with a nod.

“Please, follow me,” she smiled, turning and leading them into the lifted office area. Through the door was a hallway that ran the back length of the office with a hardwood floor and a rich decor that looked more like a fancy hotel than a grimy warehouse. The light sconces along the walls had red lightbulbs in them, casting a strange hue on the entire space. Rachel led them to a pair of double doors - oak, with frosted windows and brass nobs, and motioned for them to wait as she went further down the hallway to another door. She nocked, spoke through it, and when it opened Sinead noted it looked like reinforced steel rather than wood. Rachel handed the cash over to someone and received a rack of poker chips. The door shut, and she returned to them, handing Marc his funds.

When Rachel opened the doors into the parlour, and there was no other way to describe the space than as a game parlour, Sinead’s cop brain went into overdrive as she scanned the figures in the room. The staff, three dealers, two waitresses and a bartender, didn’t set off any alarm bells. The two bouncers lingering near the door were higher on the danger list, especially considering they each had a shoulder holster openly displayed since they weren’t wearing suit jackets. They were both big guys with thick jaws, maybe brothers, though one wore glasses and the other didn’t. Again, nothing immediately pinged in her mind for descriptions of wanted fugitives, but that didn’t mean a whole lot.

The clientele that had already arrived was another matter.

It looked like there were about a dozen players already in attendance, most of them men but a few women. Sinead recognized a player who had recently retired from the Leafs, and a current player for the Blue Jays. She also recognized a high-up aid in the Mayor’s office, though only because she’d done some extra duty security shifts for a couple of Mayoral public appearances. The rest looked like an assortment of business folks - which made her worry a little about Marc getting recognized - and members of organized crime. There were two members of the 'Ndrangheta, the Calabrian mafia that had a hand across most of Ontario, though she couldn’t remember their specific names even if she recognized their faces. There was also a member of the Hell’s Angels from the West Toronto chapter wearing his cut openly, along with what Sinead guessed were a pair of Vietnamese gangsters and at least two Eastern European gangsters that were staying well away from each other. And it looked like maybe half of them had brought companions, whether those were members of their gangs or arm candy like Sinead was playing at.

The room was a fucking United Nations of crime and influence. No one was of major consequence thankfully - no heads of families or gangs - but it was still a little shocking that a middleman like Victor could have gotten such a group together and only just started to pop up on Police radar.

“The game will be Texas hold ’em in a winner-take-all, double shootout format,” Rachel said. “Players are currently free to mingle and approach the bar, but once the games commence please don’t leave your seat except during designated breaks. Your companion, or one of our staff, will be happy to fill your drink orders.”

“Thank you, Rachel,” Marc said with a smile for the woman, and she nodded and left to go wait out in the hallway for whoever else was arriving. Marc looked to Sinead. “Well, one thing is certain,” he said. “You are the most ravishing woman in the room.”

Sinead rolled her eyes - there were several women who looked like they were probably Instagram influencers here as guests. Still, she smiled. “Come on,” she said. “We should mingle a little. Are you recognizing anyone?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Marc sighed. “One of the few men who can give me direct orders. A member of my company board.”

“Fuck,” Sinead hissed.

“Marc, you scallywag!” a man said as he was approaching.

“Quand on parle du diable…On en voit la queue,” Marc muttered.

<U>Translations</U>
- “Quand on parle du diable…On en voit la queue,” = “When we talk about the devil… we see his tail.” (A French version of ‘Speak of the Devil and he appears.’)

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