Page 21 of Mechanic

After a couple of rounds pass, the guy tries to make conversation. Not wanting to be rude, I respond to him, keeping the conversation light and focused on general topics.

Some customers use conversation as a way to distract the dealers. Others try to distract other players.

“Antonia, pretty name for a pretty lady,” he says, speaking to my breasts.

My only response is a stiff smile, unsure what he expects me to say about that statement.

“How about you meet me for drinks later?” He waggles his eyebrows at me.

“Thank you, f-for the offer. I will need to decline, though,” I say, keeping my expression neutral and hoping to sound sincere.

Catching me off guard, the guy lunges across the table. I try to pull back away from him, but I am not fast enough.

The now angry man has my vest fisted in his hands. His chair lands with a loud thud as it gets pushed backward with our struggle.

Bracing my arms on the edge of the table, he starts screaming at me, spittle landing on my face.

“You frigid, fucking, bitch! You think that you are too good to go out with me?”

Shouts come from all around us. Men flank me on the left and right as three burly guys from security surround my assailant. It’s a struggle to stay on my feet as he tightens his grip on me, trying to pull me to his side of the table.

Firm hands help keep me in place as security fights to loosen the man’s hold on me. A crowd gathers to watch the show as more security arrives. I almost fall on my ass as my bodyjolts backward, as the man’s hold on me releases suddenly and without warning.

Adrenaline has me shaking as my chest heaves. The angry man is still yelling. Although, now his anger is focused on security instead of me. The guy is man-handled to his feet. While he struggles, his slight frame is not a match for the muscular men who hold his hands behind his back.

Two security guards stay behind to watch the table. During the struggle, chips and cards were flung from the table.

Flanked by two pit bosses, I stand in place, hands clasped together in front of me. My table will need to be audited to make sure neither me nor the man pocketed any extra chips or cards during the skirmish.

As the audit progresses, I try not to squirm under the intense scrutiny. Whispers reach my ears as customers pass by, curious about what happened.

It isn’t long before Shawna and Aymond, the casino owner, show up. Despite being Shawna’s best friend, I have rarely been around Aymond. The man exudes authority from his pores and is uber-intimidating.

Aymond approaches security with Shawna glued to his side. As the men discuss what happened, Shawna gives me what I assume is supposed to be a reassuring smile.

My eyes flip between the audit and the group surrounding Aymond. Knowing I did nothing wrong only marginally reduces my anxiety. The preparations for this, from my classes, are woefully lacking.

Aymond separates from security as he moves closer to the table and me. Straightening my posture, I project an air of confidence that I don’t really feel.

“The table is good. These cards will need to be replaced,” one of the auditors announces just as my best friend and her boss step up to us.

My shoulders sag in relief as a heavy woosh of air escapes me. One of the pit bosses remains by my side as we patiently wait for Aymond to finish his conversation with the auditor.

Gathering up the cards, shoe, and chips, they fade into the crowd, flanked by security.

“Are you alright, Antonia?” Aymond asks, tension evident in the lines on his face.

“Y-yes, sir,” I say with a bit of a stutter, nodding rapidly to emphasize my answer.

“Given the circumstances, why don’t you go ahead and leave for the day?” While he phrased it as a question, it is clearly anything but.

Aymond’s suggestion has my eyebrows hitting my hairline.

“Sir?” I question.

“I know today is your last day,” Aymond says, glancing over his shoulder at Shawna, who gives him a quick nod in confirmation.

“You only have a couple of hours left and no doubt have a lot to do before heading to New York,” his words trail off as tension in the air becomes palpable.

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