The Orchard

“Just pretend to be my date.” Bradford walked into the casino without further ado.

“Oh, I should have worn a nicer jacket.” Weir followed close behind.  “Do we have time for the five dollar tables?”

“No.”

Weir eyed a camera.

“I hope they don’t recognize me. I got tossed out of here about ten years ago.”

“Counting cards?”

“Ha! No. I caused a bit of a mess in the buffet.”

Bradford opened his mouth to ask, then thought better of it.

“Hey, don’t let me buy a pack of cigarettes.” Weir said as they passed an ashtray. “The smell of them is making me weak.”

You can’t afford that kind of habit, anyway.”

“Shhhhhhh–” Weir covered his lips with a finger “–we’re in a casino, don’t say something like that out loud. Besides, I have more money than  you think I do.”

“What? You sell sandwiches out of a van in your off hours?”

“I do make a mean PB&J.”

Bradford laughed.

They approached an out-of-the-way door with a tower of muscle guarding it. Bradford produced the letter that had shown up at the hotel that morning.

“He’s my plus one.” Bradford wrapped an arm around Weir’s waist.

The bouncer grunted and stepped aside.

Inside the large, private room, someone had set up a small arena. Two men circled one another in the closed area. Scales covering their shoulders drew Weir’s attention. His eyes moved from the scales, to the strange orange tint in their eyes, to their sharp teeth.

Bradford led Weir over to group of people idling in a corner, away from the crowd of spectators. Weir passed a man he recognized as General Hawkins. It was a damn good thing the General had never met him before, or even knew who he was.

“Jackie,” a tall, man in a fedora that obscured his eyes called, flagging Bradford over. “My friend. I’m so glad you could make it!”

“I wasn’t about to miss this.” Bradford kept his arm around Weir, pulling him just a little bit closer.

Weir suddenly wished he wasn’t so affection starved. It’d been sometime since he’d last been with anyone. He practically melted into Bradford’s side. On the plus side, it reinforced their cover.

“Who’s your friend?” the man’s eyes raked over him, assessing.

“This is Bill,” Bradford said. “My lawyer.”

The man grinned, his attention fading.

“Ah, good to keep one of them close. In this country, best allies you can have when you run into trouble.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Bradford rubbed Weir’s back, which did not help.

The man nodded towards the arena. The fighters were struggling on the ground now. One of them had produced claws sharp enough to gut the other. The wounded one healed so fast it looked like someone had zipped up his stomach.

“Go enjoy the show,” the man said. “I’ll have Harvey bring you a pamphlet.”

“Thank you, we will.”

Bradford lead him over a ringside spot just as a fighter threw a kick so hard, it busted the floor.

“Do you have a plan?” Weir whispered into his ear.

Bradford smiled.