Trace (Trace 1) Read Online Free Page A

cluster of empty tables and sat down. As Ernie approached, Trace reached under his shirt and removed a small tape recorder that had been taped to his waist.
    Ernie looked at the recorder in surprise as Trace took off the silly-looking sunglasses and put them in his jacket pocket.
    “What’s that?” Ernie said.
    “Something for you to listen to, asshole.”
    Trace pressed a button and Ernie winced as he heard his own voice. “The lady here’s available. She’ll do any dirty thing you want…won’t you?”
    Ernie reached for the recorder, but Trace clapped his big hand over the fat man’s pudgy fingers.
    “Does the casino know you’re pimping?” Trace asked.
    “You’re not drunk, are you?”
    “No,” Trace said. “I think you ought to call the shift boss.”
    “I’ll call security is what I’m going to call,” Ernie said. “Have your ass thrown out of here.”
    “You call them and your next call in this casino is going to cost you a dime. Get the shift boss,” Trace said coldly.
    Ernie turned and looked toward the island in the center of the ring of tables, but before he could say anything, a tall thin man with a deep suntan got up, walked over to them, brushed by Ernie, and threw his arms around Trace’s shoulders.
    “How you doing, goombah?” he asked. “What the hell’s your hair like that for?”
    “I’m in disguise. I’m going to break this joint,” Trace said. “On your shift, too. I may just wind up getting you fired.”
    “If you win, nobody complains,” the shift boss said. “You met Ernie?”
    “Just now. We were having a nice chat,” Trace said.
    “Our new man,” the boss said. He clapped Ernie on the shoulder. “Listen, Ernie. This is Trace. Whatever he wants in here, he gets.”
    Ernie gulped and nodded. “I thought he was a card counter,” he said. “I was going to heave him.”
    “Count?” the shift boss said. “He couldn’t count the change in his pocket.”
    “He split a pair of tens,” Ernie said.
    “That’s nothing. I saw him once count a blackjack as eleven and double down on it. He’s the worst blackjack player in the world.”
    “He’s winning,” Ernie said.
    “He always wins. Leave him alone. Last year we were nipped for a half a mill by two wise guys before Trace figured out how we were being taken. And before that—Well, forget all that. He’s the owner’s friend. Leave him be.”
    Ernie nodded and the shift boss turned to Trace, then heard his name called from across the room. “Gotta go, kid. See you later.”
    “ Zei gezunt ,” Trace said.
    “Thanks. Leave some money for the other players.” The shift boss walked off and Trace turned back to Ernie.
    “Now, Ernie, we’re going to get something straight,” he said.
    “I didn’t—”
    Trace interrupted him. “I’m going to save this tape, and anytime I need to, I’ll march into the owner’s office and play it for him. Now you remember that and you remember this too, you cretin. You stay off Chico’s case. You mouth off to her again or you embarrass her in front of anybody, and I won’t just play this tape. I’ll play it and then I’ll shove it down your throat. Don’t get her mad because that gets me mad.”
    “I’m…I’m sorry,” Ernie said.
    “Yeah,” Trace said as he rose, shoved his tape recorder in his pocket, and walked away.
    He stopped at Chico’s still-empty table. “I’ll wait for you at the bar,” he said.
    “Everything all right?” she asked.
    “Everything’s fine. How bad can a night be when I win two thousand dollars?”
    “And you didn’t tip me anything, you cheap bastard,” she said.
    “I’ll take care of you later,” Trace said.
     
     
    Later, the phone in their bedroom rang and Chico snaked an arm over to the end table by the bed and lifted the receiver.
    “Hello,” she said, then listened for a few moments.
    “Actually,” she said, “I’m already having that work done.” And she hung up.
    Trace looked up. “Who was