pulled a folded document from his jacket pocket and handed it to me.
“What’s this?” I said, unfolding it.
Rico grimaced. “That’s a restraining order. You can’t go within one hundred yards of Daniel, his warehouse, or the Tangiers.”
“Are you serious?”
He nodded. “Higgins is getting one, too. And your dad. Between you and me, I think you got off pretty easy.”
I looked down at the paper. “Do you still have your job?”
“I do.”
“Then this doesn’t bother me,” I said, and stuffed it into my purse.
Rico let out a relieved breath, then jutted his chin in the direction of my table. “Who’s the dude?”
I glanced over my shoulder at Liam, who raised a hand.
“He’s my boyfriend,” I said, and found that I liked the way the word felt on my lips.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. And you’re too old to be jealous.”
“I’m not old. I mean, I’m not jealous.”
I introduced Rico to the gang, and to my surprise, he and Ripley hit it off. It turned out they shared a penchant for 1970s fashion and indie rock bands. While the four of us talked, Rico pulled out a gold dollar coin and started fidgeting with it. I think he was trying to show off in front of Liam, but he was clumsy as hell with sleight of hand; the guy could tell you how to vanish a skyscraper, but he couldn’t do close-up to save his life. I snatched up his coin and showed off my French Drop, appearing to make the coin change hands, then producing it from the bottom of his glass, Ripley’s ear, Liam’s inner coat pocket. A couple of tourists wandered over, and Rico lent me a deck of cards. I started doing card magic, and after a few minutes, a small crowd had gathered. I’d seen it happen at the Castle when my dad was the one behind the table; he was a master of small-crowd patter, and his card magic was solid. Tonight, mine was flawless.
I started doing more complex tricks, forcing cards, faking mistakes, working the crowd. Then a very tall man appeared at the back of the congregation. It was Flynn.
“Excuse me,” he said, and the crowd parted for him.
Somebody said, “Holy shit, is that Flynn Bissette?”
Kellar was with him, hands stuffed into his pockets. Again, something about his posture reminded me of a little boy. When they got to the table, Flynn looked around at the crowd, drawing their attention like a lamp attracting moths.
“Young lady, we have some business to settle.” He sounded serious.
“We do?”
“We do indeed. Kellar?”
Kellar held up his right hand to show that it was empty, then reached into my purse. When he pulled it out again, he was holding an oversized playing card—the nine of hearts. I smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then he reached into his jacket pocket, produced a butane cooking torch far too big to have fit in there, and lit it. He held it to the corner of the nine of hearts until it burst into flame. The onlookers oohed. And then, suddenly, he wasn’t holding a burning playing card anymore but an envelope, charred around the edges and smoking slightly. Without a word, he smiled and handed it to me.
“Open it,” Flynn said.
I looked at him, at Kellar, and then at Ripley, who nodded. I slid a finger under the flap and pulled out the contents. It was a check.
“Jesus Chr— I mean, I thought it was supposed to be . . .” I leaned in and whispered, “Fifteen thousand! But this says . . .” I read it again, still not believing:
Pay to the Order of Elias Dante Jr.
Twenty-Five Thousand Dollars
“The fifteen figure was for your dad. But we didn’t get him. We got a talented up-and-comer, and for her”—he tapped the check—“that’s a fair price.”
For the second time that night, I felt a wide, sloppy grin cross my face. The crowd around us, most of whom had no idea what this was all about, began to applaud. Flynn pulled a Sharpie from his inner pocket.
“Hold out your hand,” he said.
I did, and he scrawled ten digits on my palm.
“That’s my personal cell-phone number. Give me a call if you come back to Vegas. I have some stalls you can muck out.” Then he turned and walked away.
Kellar watched me for a moment, then leaned toward me and said, “You didn’t suck.” He dropped me a wink and disappeared into the press.
The appearance of two bona fide celebrities had outshone my impromptu performance, and