Vic clears the order with a slow blink, and soon four towers of chips list before me. I straighten them with forefinger and thumb while Vic takes a slug out of his refreshed cocktail.

‘What’s the game?’ he asks.

‘Straight poker,’ I shoot back. ‘Nothing wild, no wrinkles. All face down. Five and three, that’s it.’

Vic nods. He’s giving me some latitude because he’s a player and I’m an amateur.

‘Straight poker it is. Brandi, honey, get McEvoy something from the bar. What do you need? Shit, all this time and I don’t even know what you drink.’

I shake my head. ‘You stay right where you are, Brandi honey. I don’t need you behind me feeding the boss my figures. In fact, I want to see you in front of me at all times.’

Brandi pouts, cocking her hip, boosting her breasts high with crossed forearms.

‘Shit, Dan. That hurts.’

‘Sure. Whatever. Also, keep that compact in your bag. You know, the one with the mirror.’

Vic chuckles, not in the least offended that I have more or less accused him of being a lifelong cheat. ‘I guess you better stay where you are, honey. AJ, you in?’

‘No, he is not in,’ I say before AJ can answer. ‘Poker is not supposed to be a team sport. One on one.’

Vic is getting a little pissed now. ‘Okay, doorman. Is that it? Any more rules? Just tell me, because I don’t want you bitching when I clean you out.’

‘We play for the girls first,’ I say. ‘The smart one deals.’

‘Which is the smart one?’

I nod at the terrified girl, a skinny brunette whose blotted mascara makes her look like a skull. She doesn’t have the hope in her to smile.

‘The one who knows how much trouble she’s in. After I dig the girls out, we play for my salary.’

Vic shrugs, the magnanimous monarch. ‘Green is green, doorman. The order it comes in doesn’t matter to me.’

The girl deals. She’s so nervous that she flips a couple of cards and has to start again. Finally Vic and I have five apiece. Too late to back out now.

I check my cards, fanning them inside the clam shells of my hands.

Two kings, not a bad start.

I suppose, Ghost Zeb grudgingly agrees. Maybe you know what you’re doing.

Half an hour later I’m down to my last hundred bucks in chips.

Moron, says Ghost Zeb.

‘Moron,’ says Vic, and I cut him a suspicious look.

‘What?’

‘Moron,’ he repeats. Obviously I have been emasculated by my unlucky streak. ‘You come into my club and try to take me on. Me! Victor Jones. You know how many guys have taken a beating here?’

‘It’s two grand, Vic. Get a grip.’

‘Two grand more that these lovely ladies owe.’

‘No,’ I protest. ‘I lost my wages, that’s all.’