You Follow?
Alphard glared at the woman in front of him, rubbing his temples.
Narcissa shifted under his gaze, her lips pursed in a thin line as she tried to keep from fidgeting with her fingers. After a moment, she spoke. “Well, they found Avery. He was drunk in a ditch in Joliet, never even got to the station.”
Alphard let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to hear about his day, Narcissa. What happened to the money?”
Narcissa shifted in her seat again. The only light in the office, Alphard’s small desk lamp, colored her two-toned hair orange and muddy brown.
“He lost it to a couple of con-artists on the way to the station. All ten grand.”
Alphard closed his eyes, trying and failing to fight off his oncoming headache. Narcissa held her head high, however Alphard could see her hands twisting in the fabric of her dress. It was understandable. If Alphard was wearing a dress, he would be doing the same.
“Alright. Better get on the phone to New York. See what the boss has to say about it.” Aplhard shrugged as he reached for the phone, spinning the disk to dial the number. Before he hit the last number, he spoke to Narcissa, who gulped at his words.
“It’s not gonna be pretty.”
. . .
Lucius weaved through the casino. He grunted irritably as one of the gamblers bumped into him. He had just gotten off the line with Chicago, and if he knew the boss (he had worked for the man for 12 years, he oughta know him better than a lot of the cronies who worked for him), he was not going to be pleased. At least his anger wouldn’t be directed at Lucius.
Probably.
He passed the roulette tables and the dice games, walking up a handsome staircase onto the second floor. He stopped at the doorway to one of the poker rooms, where another man stood guard. He gave him a curt nod, and the man stepped aside, letting Lucius in.
The room was hazy with cigar smoke, and dimly lit by one low hanging light. Most of the noise from the rest of the casino grew to a low fuzz. In the center was a beautifully-carved wooden table, on which sat a faro board and a dealing box. They were tended by a stone-faced dealer, who called the progress of a game in a continuous monotone.
On the opposite side of the table, completely absorbed in the rhythmic appearance of the cards, the boss sat. Although his clothes and accessories were those of a wealthy man, there was a coarseness to his movement which gave away his lower class origins, for which Lucius knew he now had nothing but contempt. And that it would be wise not to bring it up.
Lucius approached, trying to make as little noise as possible. He leant down to hiss in the boss’s ear.
“May I have a word with you, sir?”
Voldemort didn’t look up from the cards he held in his hand.
His dark hair was slicked back over his head, and his pale face was obscured in shadow mixed with cigar haze. He spoke in a raspy voice.
“I’m busy, Malfoy.”
Lucius gulped. Voldemort didn’t like being interrupted. But this couldn’t be overlooked. “It’s important. We had a little trouble in Chicago today. One of our runners was hit for ten grand, a new man: Cassian Avery.”
Voldemort tossed down two cards, taking time to mull over Lucius’s words before speaking. “How do you know he didn’t pocket it?” Lucius watched as the cards clattered on the green felt before shaking his head.
“We checked his story with a tipster. He was cleaned by two grifters on 47th street.” Voldemort hummed, nodding at the dealer who passed him three more cards. He now had five aces in his hand.
“They working for anyone?”
Lucius shrugged. “Don’t know. They could be. We’re looking into that now.” Voldemort sighed, putting down the rest of his cards and sliding two chips to the dealer, who greedily snatched them up in his bony fingers.
Voldemort spoke impassively, waving Lucius away. “Alright. Put a mark on Avery and drive him out of town. Nothing fancy, just so he doesn’t show his face again. Get some local people to take care of the grifters…we’ve got to discourage this kind of thing”
Voldemort turned to look at Lucius, who shivered under the weight of his black eyes. They were like tar, waiting for an unsuspecting person to fall into the molten liquid and get boiled alive.
“You follow?”