Betting on Hope - By Kay Keppler Page 0,18

“She can’t play cards looking like that.”

“What?” Hope said, “Of course I—” But Baby looked at Hope, appraising her outfit. Evidently what Big Julie said made sense to her.

“Well, okay, I’ll do it,” she said. “But don’t expect miracles.”

“Hey,” Hope said.

“So if you could just leave Hope and me for a second to settle some details, I’ll be in to settle some details with you, too,” Big Julie said. “Only yours will take longer.”

Baby sniffed, but she tossed her head and left the room. The second she was gone, Big Julie leaned forward.

“My wife is coming at three-thirty today,” he said. “If you want to play next Saturday, you will take Baby shopping today and every day until then.”

“What?” Hope said, her head spinning. “I can’t. I have to work.”

“Take it or leave it,” Big Julie said. “I don’t care. And don’t forget, you need two hundred, too.”

“Shopping, every day,” Hope said. She hated shopping, and Baby didn’t like her. That should be fun. But at least she could afford the stake—Marty would be surprised. “And two hundred dollars. That at least I can manage.”

“Two hundred dollars—you’re a kidder,” Big Julie said. “I like that.”

Chapter 5

Hope met her uncles at the Golden Palace all-you-can-eat four-ninety-five Chinese dim-sum buffet for a late lunch. They claimed a table and headed for the serving area, where steam tables and iced platters of dumplings, noodle dishes, meat morsels, and steamed seafood beckoned. Marty picked up a plate and contemplated the choices.

“How did the meeting with Big Julie go?” he asked as he piled some barbecued ribs onto his plate. “He must have said you can play. What’s the stake?”

“Two hundred dollars.” Hope looked over the cold shrimp, her mouth watering.

Marty shook his head, putting some of the ribs on Hope’s plate. “Hope, I think you been out of the game too long. Is that what Big Julie said? Bring two hundred?”

Hope nodded, adding some shrimp to her plate. She should have taken a bigger plate. “Yes. So at least I can manage that.”

“Honey, what he meant was, not you should bring two hundred dollars, but you should bring two hundred thousand dollars.”

“What?” Hope felt disappointment like a blow, stopping so suddenly that Sharp Eddie ran into her, poking her back with his plate. “I can’t do it then. Marty, I can’t raise that kind of money in a week.” Her credit cards were maxed out, and she couldn’t afford a third loan. She was at her limit everywhere.

“Of course you can,” Marty said, picking up a set of tongs and easing a red bean paste bun onto Hope’s plate.

“That’s why we’re here,” Sharp Eddie agreed, taking a heaping spoonful of steamed crab for himself and putting another on Hope’s plate.

“You have to earn your stake, like everybody else does in these games,” Marty said, moving on to the steamed dumplings. “Do you like these things? I hate cilantro. Tastes like soap. Here, try one. Everybody says they’re delicious.”

“I can’t win two hundred thousand dollars in a week,” Hope said, horrified. “I played for two hours today and I lost eight dollars.” She looked at her overflowing plate. “Leave the dumplings. I don’t think I can eat a thing.”

“You gotta eat,” Marty said, putting first the dumpling and then a miniature omelet on Hope’s plate. “Nothing to be scared of. If you can’t win even your stake, then you have no business playing Big Julie for a two million dollar ranch.”

“Practice,” Sharp Eddie agreed. “That’s all it is.”

“You mean gamble for the stake and then gamble for the ranch? I don’t know,” Hope said, feeling sick. Who could take those chances? Not her.

Marty stopped putting food on Hope’s plate and turned to face her. “Hope,” he said. “What happened to you? Cards ain’t gambling. Slots is gambling. Slots is you donating your money to the house which has rigged the game for you to lose. Cards is skill. You know that. And you got the chops for it—or you used to. You want to win this thing, you gotta be aggressive. Think big. You can do it, or we wouldn’t be here.”

Hope exhaled, pushing her hair back. She looked at him.

“And we’re here because we owe you,” Marty said, still holding the tongs with the shrimp dumpling. “You held our marker. Now you called it in. We can get your game back. But you gotta play it.”

“I held your marker?” Hope asked, confused.

“Don’t get us wrong, Hope,” Marty said. “We’d a come anyways. But it’s

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