He Was Her Man by Sarah Shankman Page A

Mickey wasn’t offended by the question at all. She smiled as she said, “I’m here to play a little cards.”
    “Oh, really?” Slim had a big rich laugh. He also had a diamond-studded Rolex that could blind you, diamond button covers on his Western shirt, and a gold cobra-shaped pinky ring with emerald eyes and diamond fangs. “What’s your game, you don’t mind my asking?”
    “Texas hold ’em,” said Mickey, then paused. “Among others.”
    That got a big laugh from Slim. Sam smiled. So Ms. Mickey played big-time hardball poker. She was beginning to think this lady was more than wise. Sam was curious, losing her impetus to pay up and move on, even as the waitress finally dropped her check on the bar. Fine, let her wait.
    Mickey added, “In my spare time I do card tricks.”
    Sam looked around the piano to see if anyone else appreciated the redhead’s lines and found herself staring straight into the eyes of a small, slight light-skinned black man two seats to her right around the curve of the piano. He was wearing a neat mustache, a navy double-breasted blazer, a high-collared white shirt, and a red foulard tie. She’d seen this man before. Where? When? A good while ago, it seemed. But there was no question in her mind that she had. She gave him a little nod. He nodded back, but gave no signal that she looked familiar to him.
    Then the singer launched into “Stormy Weather,” and Slim said to Mickey, “So, you came to clean our clocks.”
    The redhead took a sip of her mineral water and said, “That’s about the size of it.”
    “Want to give me a demonstration? I don’t mean a serious game. Just show me one of those tricks you’re talking about.”
    “Oh, I’m sure you’re much too clever.” Mickey smiled. She had very pretty little white teeth. “You look like a serious player. I wouldn’t want to insult your intelligence.”
    Slim didn’t say a word to that, just reached in his wallet and pulled out a hundred dollar bill. He laid it on the table and leaned back in his chair.
    Sam turned again to glance at the black man in the navy blazer. His eyes flicked toward the redhead and the Texan, then back at Sam. He raised one eyebrow. Who the hell was he?
    “I see,” said Mickey. She slipped a brand-new deck of cards from her evening bag, handed it to Slim. “If that’s how you feel about it, I’d appreciate your doing us the honors, please, sir.”
    Sam thought, Slim, you have a hundred bucks lying on the table, you don’t even know the trick? I think you’re about to be fleeced, my man. Then she watched Slim catch Mickey’s gaze and hold it for a while like he was reading her mind, turning the pages slowly. Then he gave her a slow grin. “Nobody’s doing me any harm here tonight, are they, sugar baby?”
    Mickey handed the grin right back to him. “Nope,” she said. “Sugar Baby ain’t doing anybody no harm. Ain’t gonna take any of your money, either.” She pushed the hundred back toward Slim. Without missing a beat he pulled out its twin, pushed two hundred back at her.
    Sam wasn’t surprised. It was the kind of thing men did. And the kind of thing a clever woman would lead them to do. Mickey looked like a very clever woman. Sam looked back at the mustachioed black man. What did he think? He was still watching. He gave a small smile.
    Then Sam looked back at Mickey, so she didn’t see the man whom she couldn’t place glance over his shoulder and nod at a big silver-haired man who had paused before the elevators to fire a slender cigar with a heavy gold lighter. The big man returned the nod, message received, then disappeared.
    Back at the table Mickey was saying, “Oh, all right, if you insist. Now, here we go, are you ready? Yes? Then would you open that deck and shuffle, please, sir? Good. Why don’t you do that one more time? Now, just place it on the table.” Mickey didn’t touch the cards, which were backed with a scrolling Florentine design of red, blue, and gold.