I took off my jacket and rolled up my sleeves, since it was going to take the air conditioner a minute to do its thing. When Reno came back, he was carrying a large bowl of lemons and limes. A random thought occurred to me, and I asked, “Why wasn’t your house six thousand degrees inside when we arrived?”
“I have everything running off an app, and I turned the air conditioning on an hour before we got there. I keep trying to convince my mom to let me install the same thing here, but she’s not big on technology. It’s about the only way she shows her age.”
He stepped behind the bar, and I took a seat and said, “Speaking of your mom, I was going to mention how odd it is that you and she are the same age.”
He smiled and told me, “She’s actually sixty-three, but you’re right that she doesn’t look a day over forty. Don’t tell her I let that slip.”
“Me? Never. As you know, I’m a big fan of lying about your age.”
While we were talking, he took off his suit jacket and hung it on a hook behind the bar. A sick feeling welled up in me, and I froze at the sight of his gun. When he saw my expression, he removed the shoulder holster and stashed it and the weapon beneath the bar. Then he said, “You really hate guns, don’t you?”
I nodded. “The first time I ever saw one, I was eight years old. The thug my father hired to track down my mom waved it in her face and made her cry. I’ve hated and feared them ever since. Every time I see one, it takes me right back to that moment.”
Reno muttered, “Shit,” and took my hand. “I’m sorry, Jack. I—”
“There’s no need to apologize. I know why you’re carrying it, and I wouldn’t want you to be defenseless if Greco catches up to you.”
When I looked up at him, he let go of my hand and gently ran his knuckles across my cheekbone. Then he took a step back and cleared his throat before asking, “Want a drink? I can make just about anything…well, as long as it involves gin or vermouth. Those were the two bottles that didn’t get smashed up last night, and the liquor delivery’s still about an hour out.”
“Did the beer survive?”
He grinned and poured two pints, and we clinked our glasses together before taking a drink. After that, he pulled out a cutting board and a knife and started making quick work of the citrus fruit as he explained, “I thought I’d get some of the prep work done while we’re waiting on the deliveries, just to make tonight easier on my mom.”
“You’re surprisingly good at that.”
“I’ve been helping out here since I was a kid—back in the kitchen at first, obviously, so we wouldn’t get shut down for allowing a minor in a bar. I did most of the cooking for our family too, after Romy was born.”
“But you were only ten at the time.”
“Yeah, but Mom was busy trying to keep this place afloat, and I wanted to help.”
My heart went out to Reno. I knew what it was like to want to contribute to the household at a young age, but he’d had the added pressure of a younger sibling in the mix. That was a lot of responsibility for a kid.
I asked, “So, how’d you go from being the world’s youngest bar-back to running an illegal gambling empire?”
“While I was in high school, I started working for the neighborhood bookie to earn a few bucks. Then in my early twenties, I started working at one of the big casinos on the strip. Pretty soon, I started running poker games out of my apartment, and it grew from there.”
“That reminds me—are you worried about Greco going after your place of business?”
He shrugged and explained, “I moved to a new location every month, so there isn’t a building for him to target. It was how I stayed ahead of the police. Only established patrons would be informed of the new address.”
“It sounds like a pretty complex operation.”
“It was,” he said. “There were a lot of moving parts, coupled with the constant threat of law enforcement catching up to us.”
“So, when is it enough?”
He paused what he was doing and looked at me as he asked, “What do you mean?”
“You’ve obviously made a lot of money. The signs of your success are written all over you, from your pair of high-priced cars to those custom-made suits. Over lunch, your brother mentioned you put him through college, but now he’s a grown man with a full-time job. Your mom seems like she’s doing well with her business too, so it’s not like you need to support either of them. Given that, when do you decide you’ve had enough of the illegal gambling game and walk away? Because sooner or later, your luck’s bound to run out. Either the cops or the FBI will catch you, or Greco or some other thug will decide to eliminate the competition once and for all. Is it still worth the risk?”
He put down the knife and leaned on the edge of the bar as he said, “I’d actually decided months ago that this was going to be my last year. You’re right that I’ve made a lot of money, and I was smart enough to put away plenty for the future—including a retirement fund for my mom, if she ever decides that’s something she wants to do.
“So now, I’m ready to walk away, but I can’t do that until this situation with Greco is resolved. I have no idea how I’m supposed to do that, though. I don’t even know where to find him.” After a pause, he met my gaze. There was raw emotion in his eyes when he admitted, “I hate this so much, Jack. I can’t stand feeling helpless, and I hate the fact that the choices I’ve made could come back to harm my family. I hate letting you see me like this, too. My whole life, I’ve been confident and in charge. I built an empire from literally nothing, and I was proud of it. I wanted to show you that version of me, not this pathetic husk of a man.”
“Why do you care what I think?”
He broke eye contact and muttered, “I just do.”