“Two fifty and some change.”

Frank exhaled audibly. “That’s a horrible burden for someone so young. And beautiful.”

“It is what it is. I’m not proud of it, but I’m not shying away from it, either. I addressed the problem way before I came here.”

“Your payment plan.”

Ellie nodded. “I’ve been making monthly payments to the casinos for over a year. Haven’t missed a single payment or been late even once. I’m sure you checked.”

“But what if you slip? If you do, the casinos might decide to take legal matters into their hands—which they can do, if they’re so inclined. Hiring you would invite possible scrutiny into my life, not Anton’s, and that’s something I can’t afford.”

“Are you asking me to work for you in a . . . different capacity than what I’m doing now?”

“I’m considering it.”

Ellie smiled. “I’m sensing a but coming.”

“To work for me, you have to pay off your debt and be done with it.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t have—”

“That kind of money. Yes, I realize that. But I do. I could offer you a loan—a legal loan. I don’t offer the same low interest rates as the banks, but they’re certainly not outrageous.”

“And what, exactly, would I have to do for this loan?”

“We can work out the parameters later,” Frank said. “If you’re interested.”

“You do this for all your prospective employees?”

“No. Hardly ever.” Frank paused to let his words hang in the air and took a sip of his drink, Ellie noticing the measured way he did it each and every time, a man in full control of his vices. “Position I have in mind, I need someone who is discreet,” he said. “Someone I can trust.”

“Then may I suggest a trial run?”

“This sort of job requires a full-time commitment. Once you’re in, that’s it.” Frank’s meaning was clear: once she said yes, there was no turning back. And if she screwed up, she disappeared. No second chances.

Frank dipped his fingers into his suit jacket pocket. “How long have you been working with Anton, again? Three months?”

“Closer to four.”

Frank came back with a photograph. It was folded in half. She couldn’t see the actual image, but she knew it was a photograph given the card stock. He placed it on the table, the picture sitting like a small tent between them.

She was about to reach for it when he said, “There’s nothing I despise more than a liar.”

Ellie considered him, trying to read the subtext behind his words.

“I ask questions only once,” he said. “Please bear that in mind.”

He motioned for her to pick up the picture.

It showed a big, mean-looking white guy dressed in military boots, khakis, and a tight olive tee with sweat stains under the arms walking across what she guessed was a desert. He had a military-issued buzz cut, his scalp gleaming underneath the sun, his monstrously developed forearms and biceps corded with muscle and veins and sunburned. The crazy, clownish tattoos she’d seen at the Vargas home were on full display.