My eyes wandered around the poker table.
The dealer, a young man in his early twenties, had been fitted into a crisp white shirt and black silk waistcoat, his brown hair slicked back with too much gel. His dexterity as he shuffled the deck made me stare, before I went on to check the players.
Two women and three men. Three of them had skipped on the Gamblers Anonymous meetings—I could tell from their frayed nerves and shoulder-crushing guilt. It was written all over their faces. The other two, a man in his late twenties and a cute brunette who didn’t look a day older than twenty-three, struck me as the coolest cucumbers I’d seen all evening.
This was a steady gig I’d gotten my hands on, so I had to do a good job. Three months in, and I’d already gotten fifteen people banned for cheating
