Poked (A Standalone Romance) (A Savery Brother Book) Page 15

  Tom began tapping his foot with impatience. “Are you two ladies almost done chatting? We’ve got a game to play here, and I don’t have all night.”

  I turned to the doorway, where River stood with his arms folded glaring down at us. The door opened, and the waiter appeared with our plates. River let him past; but when Sean tried to follow him out, River placed himself in front of the door and shook his head.

  “I guess we really don’t have a choice,” said Sean. “He’s not going to let us go.”

  “The game is starting,” called Tom, producing a pocket watch from his shirt pocket, “in ten… nine…”

  Reluctantly, we sat down together at the opposite end of the table.

  ***

  For some time, there was silence in the room, broken only by the ticking of a large clock hanging above a filing cabinet. The air held a pungent odor of peanut shells and sawdust; even breathing it made me thirsty. I stared longingly at my pizza, wanting to eat it but not daring to set my cards down even for a moment.

  Sean sat morosely beside me. He groaned once or twice as he examined his hand, and I could tell he wished he had stayed home watching the Discovery Channel.

  “‘The long day wanes,’” said Tom. “‘The slow moon climbs, the deep moans round with many voices. Come, my friends, ‘tis not too late to seek a newer world.’” Placing his cards close to his chest, he added, “Do you know what that’s from? It’s from a poem named ‘Ulysses’ by a man named Alfred Tennyson.”

  “What of it?” I asked.

  “It’s a very moving portrait of aging and the loss of one’s powers. We’re not as strong as we used to be. Every day our faculties are declining.”

  “He’s trying to trip you up,” whispered Sean. “Don’t listen!”

  “Every lapse in your memory is a reminder that you’re not young anymore. Look at us both, getting to be in our thirties. Soon, we’ll be forty, and soon we’ll be dead. We used to be able to stay out late. But we can’t anymore. We used to be able to do so much.”

  “What’s your point?” I asked again, my temper flaring.

  “The point is, I may not have it in me to win one last game,” said Tom. He laid out his cards on the table. “Then again, I just might.”

  The rest of the men crowded around to look and broke into a chorus of joyful exclamations. He had laid out four queens, all in the same rank, and an ace.

  The others turned to me to see how I would react.

  “Impressive,” I said, feeling rattled but trying hard not to show it. I couldn’t shake the feeling that regardless of whether I won or lost, I wasn’t going home with the money. I spread my own cards out on the table. “If only it were just a bit better.”

  This time it was Sean’s turn to cheer. I had laid out five jacks, all in the same suit. The money was ours, the whole hundred thousand dollars. Tom let out an oath and slumped back in defeat. In spite of his best attempts to scare and distract me, I had beaten him.

  “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said grudgingly. “Go on, get out of here! The money’s yours. Every last cent. You played the man, and you won.”

  River reached behind the filing cabinet and pulled out a sleek suitcase. I opened it. All the money was there, piled neatly in bundles of ten thousand. Sean pulled out one of the stacks and examined it. There was no trick. We were about to leave the pub an order of magnitude richer than when we’d arrived.

  An uneasy silence fell over the room as Sean took the suitcase in hand. I could feel the eyes of the other guys on us, their expressions ranging from reluctant approval to quiet rage. “Let’s go,” I whispered to Sean. The sooner we got out of here, the better.

  “Be sure and come back some time,” said Tom cheerfully. “It would be a pleasure to play you again.”

  I didn’t respond, and neither did Sean. We were already beating a hasty retreat. It only occurred to me on my way out the door that I hadn’t touched a bite of my pizza.

  It wasn’t until we made it outside into the warm, damp parking lot that I was able to breathe again.

  “We did it,” said Sean slowly. “You did it.”

  “You act so surprised.”

  “I thought there was going to be some trick. I guess not everyone is as skilled at sleight of hand as you are. Is that how you did it?”

  I shook my head. “No, I won the game honestly—no tricks or deceit. If I had tried anything, I’m pretty sure those guys would have murdered me. I wasn’t about to take any chances.”

  Hearing the crunch of boots on the pavement, I turned around. A shadowy figure was rapidly approaching in the darkness, gliding on eager feet. It was River, and his associates were bearing down on us from all directions. They must have left the pub by different routes, hoping to catch us before we could get away.

  Sean swore loudly.

  “Get in the car!” I shouted, breaking into a run. Sean followed my lead, but he was too hasty and tripped over his own feet. The suitcase went flying into the street.

  Undaunted, he crawled toward it, grasping in desperation like a fish on dry land. But just as he reached it, a boot came thudding down out of the darkness. River’s laugh echoed through the parking lot.

  “If you think you’re walking away with our money,” muttered Sean, “you’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

  River raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? And who, pray tell, is going to stop me?”

  He kicked Sean hard in the chest. Sean winced and rolled over, arms folded over his ribs. Outraged, I ran toward him, but hadn’t run more than a few feet before my arms were pinned by two strong arms. I kicked and thrashed against my captor, but his grip was simply too powerful.

  “The thing you have to learn about playing with us,” said River, casually strolling forward until he faced me, “is that one way or another, we always win.”

  “You don’t win!” I shouted, lunging at him in vain. “You’re a cheat and a bully. You’re not good enough to win on your own merits, so you steal and destroy just like the devil does!”

  But I said no more, for at that moment I felt the blunt force of a hand on the back of my head, and all went dark.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lori

  “Lori, are you okay? I would at least like an acknowledgment that you heard what I said.”

  It was Thursday morning. Sam and I had decided to close the bakery for the day so we could discuss the future of our business. Right now I was standing at the front window watching the movers move chairs into the new worship center next door. Pastor Gustman walked affably alongside them talking and offering directions.

  “I heard you,” I told Sam. “I just can’t accept that we’re about to lose our business. We’ve invested so much of ourselves into this.”

  “I know it’s hard,” she said. “This is the last thing I wanted, but I don’t see any other way around it. I’ve run the numbers, and we simply don’t have the money to relocate. I was so desperate to find a solution that I even thought about calling Mom and asking her to help us.”

  “You know she wouldn’t,” I said in an acid tone. Mom had enough money in savings to cover our expenses easily, but asking her for help was like making a deal with the devil. She had offered to pay my way through college if I moved back to Ohio and agreed to eat dinner with her one night out of every week. I had refused and paid my own way through college in Philly.

  “I know,” said Sam. “Mom would never lift a finger to help us unless it was in her own interests. So I had to choose between asking her for money or watching our business go under, and when you put it in those terms, I’m afraid we don’t have much choice. It was good, what we did. And I hate that it’s over; I do. I hate it as much as you do.”

  I went on staring quietly out the window. A crow perched on a light pole at the other end of the street glared at me accusingly. I couldn’t escape the feeling that this was all my fault, that if I had managed our money better or brought in more customers, we would never have been f
orced out of business.

  “This has all happened so fast,” I said. “It was only a few weeks ago that we were baking pies for the Flowertown Festival. At that point, I hadn’t even met Marshall. I was looking forward to doing this for another five years or more. If you’d told me that by the end of the month I would be dating someone and would be out of a job, I’d have thought you were mad.”

  “Sometimes everything seems to happen at once,” said Sam. “When I was younger, I just wanted exciting things to happen all the time. The thought of living a boring life terrified me. But at this point, I think I’d rather be boring.”

  “Yes! Just give me a cake to bake, a book to read, and a place where I can go to work each day, and I’ll be happy.” I sighed sadly. “It’s too bad I can’t have even that.”

  “Well, I’m not worried about you.” She came over and stood next to me, adding quietly, “You’ll find work again. We both will.”

  “Perhaps, but I’m not sure I’ll ever find a job I enjoyed as much as this one. Getting to bake all day has been my dream for as long as I can remember, and for a single glorious year, I was able to do that. Even if some other bakery hires me, I’ll be answering to someone else. I won’t be my own manager, not like I was here.” Turning to Sam, I added, “Why does it feel like things are always changing for the worse?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sam. “Sometimes it feels like life is just an endless parade of losses, defeats, and disappointments. I wish I knew a solution, but I don’t. All we can really hope to do is muddle through.”

  I went on watching Pastor Gustman through the window. He was leaned against his own car telling a story, his hands spread wide. Somehow, he was prosperous and successful, despite the fact that he was poisoning the minds of his followers with a message of hate. In that sense, he reminded me of a talk-radio announcer or cable news host. How was it that some people seemed to prosper in whatever they did? Whether it was charisma, or talent, or just a gift for connecting with others and getting what he wanted. Not all of us were so privileged.

  As I stood there watching him an idea occurred to me. Sam said we had tried everything to save the bakery, but we hadn’t tried one thing.

  “Hang on a moment,” I said, beginning to run toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Where are you going?” asked Sam, but I was already gone.

  By the time I reached the parking lot, Pastor Gustman was already retreating back into the building. I followed him down a narrow hallway with flickering fluorescent lights toward a back office. A faux-wood bookcase stood against the wall surrounded by boxes. On the desk sat a copy of The Celestine Prophecy.

  Gustman sat down in a high-backed swivel chair and turned to face me with a look of surprise.

  “Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked.

  “Sorry for intruding. I work at the bakery next door.” I had spent days rehearsing all the mean things I wanted to say, but now that we stood face to face, I felt nervous and flustered. It didn’t help that he was so sincere and friendly.

  “Oh, right,” he said, beaming. “You’re the woman who’s been making smoothies for all our helpers. Your reputation precedes you.”

  “It does?”

  He nodded. “I’ve actually been meaning to make a trip over there and sample one of your famous lattes, but I haven’t yet gotten around to it. Things have been insanely busy here over the last couple weeks, as you can imagine.”

  “Yeah, I have an idea.” Resting my hand on the desk, I added, “Hey, it would really help me and my co-manager if you wouldn’t force us out of our building. If we have to leave, we don’t have the money to relocate. You’ll end up driving us out of business. And I know that’s not your intention, so I would just ask you to maybe reconsider.”

  My voice trailed off. I had felt so bold for a moment, but then I had lost my nerve. There was so much more I wanted to say if only I could get the words out.

  “I wish I could help you,” said Pastor Gustman, raising his hands in the air. “I really do. Unfortunately, it’s not up to me. That money belongs to us legally as the new owners of this strip mall. If I were to let you slide, I would be complicit in something illegal, and I don’t want that. I’ve striven to be ethical and above-board in all my business dealings. That’s a cardinal rule among my staff: I’ve told them, ‘We want to avoid all appearance of evil.’”

  “Yeah, I get that, and I respect that…” This was turning out so much harder than I had anticipated. I had pictured myself charging in here and telling him off. I hadn’t counted on him being so polite. “I just—I guess I just wish there was some other way.”

  “So do I,” said Pastor Gustman with great emphasis. “Believe me. I’m really sorry this had to happen. By all accounts, you’re a terrific baker and coffee-maker.”

  It looked like we were at an impasse. There wasn’t much I could do to convince Gustman to change his mind. Worse, he seemed broadly sympathetic to my position. I almost wished Sam had come with me. She wouldn’t have hesitated to state what was on her mind. Then again, that might have just made things worse.

  We went on staring at one another in silence while I barely resisted the urge to kneel down on the wood floor and cry. The last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself with blubbering in front of this pastor who, against all expectations, I actually kind of liked.

  “Let me tell you a story,” said Pastor Gustman. “There was a young man who worked as a janitor cleaning toilets to support himself and his wife. Even he would have told you the work he did was absolutely humiliating. But he was a gifted storyteller, and he had a dream of being a great writer, one that he had never given up on. At night he would come home and pound away on his typewriter until it was time for bed.

  “He wrote half of a novel before giving up in despair. Reading back over it, he decided it was complete rubbish and threw it in the waste bin. That was where his wife found it. She read it while he was at work and told him, ‘You have to finish this. This is our ticket out of poverty.’ So he kept working on it. Do you know what that book was eventually called?”

  I shook my head.

  “It was called Carrie, and it was Stephen King’s first novel—not one I would condone reading, but that’s not my point. His wife never gave up on him, and she never let him give up on himself. We’re indebted to her for the fact that he even has a career today. I want you to listen closely: every single person who eventually ‘made it’ suffered defeats and setbacks. They had days when they thought they were just utterly delusional for having a dream in their heart. But they didn’t give up, and that’s what separates them from everyone who failed. Whatever happens in life—tell me your name again?”

  “Lori.” I was practically in tears now.

  “I want you to promise me, Lori, that you won’t ever, ever give up. Can you promise me that?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” In a brighter tone, he added, “And I promise you I’m going to try and make it over there tomorrow to buy one of your drinks. I want to get it before it’s gone. How soon are you and your co-manager leaving?”

  “We’ll be out by the end of the week.” I added in a shaky voice, “I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

  I turned and fled the room before he had a chance to respond. I managed to hold myself together until I made it outside, at which point I broke down in sobs.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Marshall

  I awoke in a strange bed to find Sean and his grandfather standing over me looking worried. There was a nasty bruise on the back of my head, and I had only vague memories of what had transpired in the moments before I blacked out.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “We were clobbered,” said Sean. “Luckily a woman who happened to be walking by called the police before they could do any serious damage. God only knows what might have happened if they hadn’t shown up.”

  With a sinking feeling, I remembered the money in the briefcase. I was afraid
to ask, but knew it couldn’t be avoided. “Did the police catch them?”

  He shook his head. “No, they scattered like mice when they heard the sirens approaching. Last thing I saw, one of Tom’s guys was speeding away down the alley carrying the briefcase in tow. I’m sorry it was all for nothing, but at least we made it out alive.”

  I lay back in bed with a feeling of deep disappointment. It was good to be breathing, yes, but I didn’t like the fact that our assailants had evaded arrest. As long as they were still roaming the streets, they were still a danger to both of us. “What do you suppose are the chances they’ll come looking for us?”

  Sean shrugged. “They don’t know our names, do they? It was only by the worst of luck that we stumbled onto their poker match. Of all the dank basements in all the pubs in the city, we had to walk into that one.”

  “All the money was in the briefcase, yes?” asked Mr. Wood, speaking up for the first time. When I didn’t respond, he eyed me warily. “Marshall, did you hear what I said?”

  I motioned for my shoes, which were lying together on the opposite side of the room by the window. Sean ran to fetch them, but he hadn’t walked more than a few paces before he saw what was hidden in the toe and let out an oath. “Holy—”

  “Are they still there?”

  “Yeah.” He ran forward, handing me the shoe in which I had laid the stack of bills. “How did you even do that? I was watching you the whole time you were handling the money.”

  “The hand is quicker than the eye, my friend.” I held up the ten thousand dollars so that he and his grandfather could see them. Sean gawked at me as though I was the Count of Monte Cristo. “Tom and his gang might have absconded with most of the money, but they didn’t get all of it. I made sure to get my ten percent.”

  Sean let out a low whistle of approval.

  “Of course I don’t know what we’re going to do with only ten thousand dollars,” I added, “but at least it’s something. I suppose it’s ten thousand more than a lot of people have.”