Steadman's Blind

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

Steadman choked on a mouthful of lukewarm coffee, getting half of it down, spewing half of it back into the cup. He coughed, working to clear his throat so he could spit some words out, though he had no idea what he might say. The suggestion his sister had just made was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.

“There’s no need to be so dramatic about it, Rand,” she chided, handing him a napkin. “It’s a pragmatic plan that has a good chance of working.”

“In what universe?” Steadman asked, his head reeling. “I don’t play poker, Nan.”

“Yes, but how hard can it be?” she countered. “For you, I mean. You’re trained to observe and interpret body language. You know when people are lying, all the little things they do to give themselves away. Nobody can bluff you.”

He stared at her. “Nan, this isn’t television. Poker is a whole different thing and—listen carefully because here’s the important part—I don’t play it. I barely know a full house from a straight flush.”

“But you can learn. You live right around the corner from that big casino. You can do some research on the internet and practice the skills at your friendly neighborhood poker tables.”

“For Pete’s sake, woman—have you gone insane?”

Steadman felt a pressure building inside his chest. He took a deep breath and let it roll out of him, rubbing the muscles at the back of his neck in an effort to relax.

“Nan, I understand you’re upset and worried, and you have every right to be. You’re looking for solutions to what feels like an insurmountable problem. I get that. But this plan sounds like a recipe for even more trouble. I can’t believe—”

“Rand, just shut up for a minute. I told myself all these same things while I sat in a cold, hard hospital chair waiting for my husband to come out of surgery after being beaten within an inch of his life. These are very bad men, playing a whole lot of angles, and the only way to escape this is to beat them at their own game—and that’s poker.”

Steadman sighed and dropped his head to rest in the palm of his hand. How did she still have this ability to reduce him to younger brother status, reminding him she was in charge?

“It takes money, Nan, to win at poker,” he pointed out. “And we don’t have any.”

She was nodding. “I know. I had mom’s jewelry appraised when this whole mess started. I hoped I wouldn’t have to sell, but I can get close to six thousand dollars for it. You can take that to the local casino and parlay it into a bigger stake. Hank said the buy-in at Bernie’s table is ten thousand.”

She really had been thinking about this, scrambling to cover all the bases.

“This’ll be second nature to you, Rand,” she continued. “I know it will. I heard you telling Hank about that non-verbal communication seminar you attended in San Diego. Four days, Rand. Four days of intensive training so you can read the unintentional signals people give off. If anyone can do this, it’s you, little brother.” She dropped her hand over his and squeezed. “And you’re the only one who cares about me enough to even try.”

And there it was, Nan going for the heart string, twanging away on familial duty, love, and the ever-powerful chord of guilt. They both knew she still held an ace up her sleeve, a card she could play with perfect assurance he’d comply. A card with Thad’s name on it.

He wouldn’t make her do that. Reaching that deep into a painful memory would leave a gash in both of them that might never heal. He dug the palms of his hands into his eyes and rubbed, hardly believing the sentence that was forming on his lips.

“You sell mom’s jewels, Nan, and I’ll see what I can do about learning some poker.”

As he spoke the words, he made a promise to himself as well. He’d do some digging behind the scenes. There had to be another way around this problem.