Fortune-Teller

Vince sipped his whiskey, feigning nonchalance as he watched his contact move away through the crowded barroom. Leon’s Social Club wasn’t much of a club and the leather-clad thugs who frequented it weren’t inclined to be social. This was a place for hiding out or making deals, and the deal Vince just made left him uneasy.

He waved the waitress over. “Two more.”

She glanced at the empty chair.

“They’re both for me. I don’t like wasting time.”

The girl shifted on her skinny legs, watching him now with pale, watery eyes.

“Are you going to get me my drinks, or what?”

She glanced over her shoulder to be sure the boss wasn’t watching, then leaned in close. “Have you ever had your palm read?”

“What?”

“The lines in your palm predict the future. I know the guy you were talking with just now. He’s bad news.”

“So am I.”

“Just let me look, okay?” She slid into the seat across from him.

With a bemused grin, Vince gave her his hand. “Tell me how tomorrow night’s deal is going to go. If you say it’ll be good and you’re right, I’ll give you a cut.”

“Your hands don’t say those kinds of things.” She traced a line on his palm. “But you won’t get killed, at any rate. You’re going to have a very happy marriage with lots of kids and a long life.”

Vince jerked away from her. “You’re crazy, you know that?” He tossed back the rest of his drink and stood up. “I’m not the marrying kind. Any kids I have would know better than to call me daddy, and like hell I’m going to die in my bed, old and feeble.”

“But I saw—”

“Your own deluded imaginings.” He fumbled in his pocket and slapped a coin on the table. “Nice try, though, honey. I admire entrepreneurs.”

The girl waited until she could no longer see him in the smoky room, then picked up the coin and examined it. Pure silver. She dropped it in her pocket with a little smirk of satisfaction, then cleared the empty glasses and went to the next table. “Any of you boys ever had your fortune told?”