Solomon King’s gambling parlor is alight in washes of color, intended to lure in the magpies most willing to separate themselves from their money. Gertie weaves her way through the poker tables until she finds where Sol is entertaining.
Entertaining, but not playing.
He flashes her a grin and snakes an arm around her waist to pull her closer. “Gertie Devereaux. What brings you to my fine establishment?”
“So this is a fine establishment now?” she teases. “I thought this was a back-room casino.”
“Eye of the beholder, Gert. Always in the eye of the beholder.”
Gertie laughs before leaning in and lowering her voice. “Can we talk?”
“Always.” He excuses himself from the table and leads her back to his office, where it’s much quieter. He shifts to lean back against his desk as he watches her. “This about Gunther?”
She nods. “I can’t get him out on my own. I tried, but every time he wants to go back and confront him and Archeron—”
“Takes advantage.” The casualness of Sol’s tone belies the anger there. They’ve been keeping Sol away from things, because Gertie has her advantages against Archeron—Sol doesn’t. But they’re running out of options. “Have you talked to the others?”
“They’re just as vulnerable.”
“Maybe. But you said it yourself—you need another option. If for no other reason than having other excuses to get Gunther to leave. If you keep running yourself against the wall—”
“I know.” She runs a hand over her face. “It’s so frustrating.”
“I know.” His hand squeezes hers. “But you can do this. And I’ll put whatever resources behind you I have to. He’s my brother.”
She takes the comfort offered before leaning back and nodding. She needs help. Maybe it’s time to give Mason a call.
i'm laying odds on tomorrow | murder train | 300
Solomon King’s gambling parlor is alight in washes of color, intended to lure in the magpies most willing to separate themselves from their money. Gertie weaves her way through the poker tables until she finds where Sol is entertaining.
Entertaining, but not playing.
He flashes her a grin and snakes an arm around her waist to pull her closer. “Gertie Devereaux. What brings you to my fine establishment?”
“So this is a fine establishment now?” she teases. “I thought this was a back-room casino.”
“Eye of the beholder, Gert. Always in the eye of the beholder.”
Gertie laughs before leaning in and lowering her voice. “Can we talk?”
“Always.” He excuses himself from the table and leads her back to his office, where it’s much quieter. He shifts to lean back against his desk as he watches her. “This about Gunther?”
She nods. “I can’t get him out on my own. I tried, but every time he wants to go back and confront him and Archeron—”
“Takes advantage.” The casualness of Sol’s tone belies the anger there. They’ve been keeping Sol away from things, because Gertie has her advantages against Archeron—Sol doesn’t. But they’re running out of options. “Have you talked to the others?”
“They’re just as vulnerable.”
“Maybe. But you said it yourself—you need another option. If for no other reason than having other excuses to get Gunther to leave. If you keep running yourself against the wall—”
“I know.” She runs a hand over her face. “It’s so frustrating.”
“I know.” His hand squeezes hers. “But you can do this. And I’ll put whatever resources behind you I have to. He’s my brother.”
She takes the comfort offered before leaning back and nodding. She needs help. Maybe it’s time to give Mason a call.