The Devil Among Us, Ramsay Sinclair [black books to read .txt] 📗

DCI Reid was on a different line of behaviour tonight, putting on a fake air of graces that he didn’t portray the other night in front of his wife. I wasn’t exactly sure I liked what this gentlemen’s club night had to offer. They were all stuck up, ponsey men.

“You up for a game, Cooper? I want to see what you’re made of,” Ramsey offered, his eyes lit up in devilish greed and half expected a newcomer like me to fold under pressure.

“Always,” I muttered darkly. I presumed that’s how the deals worked here. You waited until there were enough players to begin. I must’ve been correct, for one of the hired dealers dished out cards before we had even finished sitting down properly. “Say, where’s the owner of this house? Er, place?” I cast my eyes over the dim happening.

DCI Reid knitted his brows severely, pulling our seats closer. “We don’t talk at the table unless spoken to by the dealer or to make an offer.” His cigar smelled strong sitting this close, and I was sure Iona would agree with that too. He inhaled thoughtfully, multiple chins flashing.

Judge Ramsey eyed us up from across the table, his lips twitching humorously at my apparent cluelessness. The formalities had instantly melted away, and they all had their game faces on as though we’d stepped into a deadly standoff. All the men thumbed over their cards critically, letting their faces hang as still as possible.

“But the guy that owns the place rarely joins us. He lets us play here, that’s all.” DCI Reid pushed a pile of dealt cards towards me.

More than play. I bet this guy cashes in on these adventures somehow. I went to open my mouth again, but DCI Reid shushed me before I’d even begun to talk. He pointed at my cards with his cigar and showed me what to do without saying another word. I picked up the cards, unversed in the rules of their game and unknowing whether I had a celebrated hand or not.

“Alright. Place your bets.” The dealer stood back, giving us time to dig into our pockets, which the men did immediately, wasting no time whatsoever.

They went round in a circle, cockily placing their stacks onto the table one by one. I assumed they amounted to a helluva lot of money. I reddened, knowing all too well that I didn’t own any of the chips myself, which were embossed with a signature logo.

It was DCI Reid’s turn to place next, and he pushed his own stack into the middle. He should’ve been finished then, but DCI Reid placed a whole other stack next to his original, making Judge Ramsey grip the table excitedly and sit forward.

The other few tittered raucously.

“For the boy. He’s my guest. I’ll be paying his way tonight,” DCI Reid announced confidently, and my mouth hung open, aghast. Not from the gesture, but rather where the money was coming from. I didn’t want to accept his corrupted coins.

“Sir, you can’t,” I refused, embarrassed by the attention too. “I’m useless. I have no clue what any of these cards even mean. I’m crap!”

DCI Reid didn’t even flinch, but he kept an air of coolness.

“You’ll get the hang of it. Beginner's luck.” He took no prisoners. Metaphorically, because ironically we took prisoners most weeks. He banged the table twice with his clammy palm and the game was afoot.

“Don’t count on it,” I directed my utterance towards the overly confident DCI.

25

“Yes!” I punched the air in victory, both sleeves rolled up my arm. I’d gotten into the game quickly as DCI Reid predicted. I’m sure the brandy that the bartender kept handing out helped to ease the nerves.

“What did I say?” DCI Reid stood up in celebration, exaggeratedly swiping everyone’s chips off of the table. “My protege has the goods.”

The other men groaned and slumped in defeat. My heartbeat raced on account of the tense last round, where it bottled down to me and Judge Ramsey only.

“That’s got to have been rigged, I’m certain of it. Rematch!” Judge Ramsey shouted for comical effect, waiting for the dealer to sort out the winnings of the night.

My eyes nearly fell out of my head when I saw the real winnings, stacks and wads of cash. More money than I’d ever seen in my life at one go. I didn’t make a beeline for it, as they weren’t technically my winnings, anyway. They were DCI Reid’s, for he had staked the bet.

Plus, tainted money wasn’t my style. As enjoyable as the game itself had turned out to be, the winning wasn't the reason I’d come out in force like the others. DCI Reid was already shovelling some of it into his pockets lustfully and licking his lips at the sight. Most guys had moved on elsewhere, leaving only me, DCI Reid, and Judge Ramsey there alone.

“Well, come on, Cooper. Get stuck in. Anyone else would be singing hallelujah.” DCI Reid paused breathlessly and handed me a few wads.

“It’s not mine.” I pushed them away, morally correct. “It’s your money.”

“You won the game, fair and square, son.” Judge Ramsey stuck his crooked, roman style nose into our business, ideally watching our scene unfold and taking great pleasure in my stubborn mannerisms. A playful smirk crossed his chapped lips.

“Thanks for the recap,” I bluntly argued, one too many brandy’s swimming around my brain. “You’re worse than those sports reporters on a Friday down the pubs. They replay everything too.”

“He’s right,” DCI Reid roared, poking fun at his friend. “And Judge Ramsey is right too.” He aimed a second wad towards me. “I betted for you, and you won fair and square. I’m not a cruel man, I don’t take other people’s winnings. We can split it down the middle.” He’d already started, despite my convictions.

I swore to give it away to some charity later on if they insisted on me walking out of the house with the damned