Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
A hint of a British accent, and the most beautiful hair and skin I’ve ever seen on a woman.
I don’t want to have her in the physical way. I’ve only done that with one woman—Her Majesty. And only once. Never again. It was a lovely moment, and I don’t want to spoil it with another.
But there is something about Miss Wonder that draws me in, something I’ve never experienced when meeting a woman. Not even Her Majesty.
I pull out a small electronic tablet and pull up the live feed from the Aces security cameras.
The two of them are in Spades, of course. Sitting at a small table, giving their order to the Seven of Spades. Mr. Hathaway is always in Spades, though he did socialize with some charming young women in Diamonds a few weeks back. His manner with this woman is different. Mr. Hathaway is leaning in, and even through the grain of the camera’s picture, it’s clear by the sparkle in his eyes that he is as enthralled with this woman as I am.
They’re close to one of the hidden microphones. I place a bud in my ear and listen in on their conversation.
“Do you ever go to the symphony?” Miss Wonder asks.
He shakes his head. “I haven’t. I’ve always wanted to. Chicago has a world-class symphony orchestra.”
She beams. “I’ll have to take you sometime. I have a few friends who work in the box office, colleagues of mine from school. They can get us discounted tickets. I catch a performance now and then, when my schedule allows. I usually drag Dinah along. But it would be much nicer to have a handsome man on my arm.”
He leans in. “I’d love to accompany you to a concert of theirs sometime. Who’s your favorite composer?”
She pauses before chuckling nervously. “Shostakovich.”
Mr. Hathaway widens his eyes. “Never heard of him.”
“He’s a Russian composer. Soviet, technically. He composed some fantastic music, mostly while living under the rule of Stalin.”
My soul leaps with joy. Dmitri Shostakovich is my favorite composer as well. The way he uses musical codes in his symphonies and concerti has always enchanted me. I’ve never lost my love of riddles, and he’s the master of flawlessly integrating them into his works.
Not unlike Mr. Hathaway, I’m leaning in.
Miss Wonder has accompanied Mr. Hathaway to the club every night this weekend. The second night, she burst out of the club suddenly after she and Mr. Hathaway had a minor spat. When I reviewed the security footage, I learned she was very upset by Her Majesty’s policy of having the waitstaff entertain the patrons intimately in exchange for monetary tips.
Mr. Hathaway followed her soon after, and the sounds of a distant scuffle reverberated into the Aces lobby. I’d have gone and investigated myself, but Her Majesty has always insisted I remain chained to this desk during patron hours. I’m not even allowed to leave for the bathroom. I only ever leave my station at her own beckoning.
This position has saved me. I no longer live at the Caterpillar Hotel, but rather in a small hovel of my own on the edge of town. But over the years, Her Majesty’s constant presence and meticulous micromanaging style has begun to grate on me.
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I ran Aces Underground.
Perhaps with Miss Wonder at my side.
I’m deeply engrossed in a delightful article in the Chicago Tribune about a mass murder that occurred in Elgin—unrelated to our doings here at Aces—when the Black Door bursts open.
And who should it be but Miss Wonder herself!
But the club doesn’t open for several hours. What is she doing here now?
“Miss Wonder, what are you doing here?”
“Hi, Chet.” She pastes on a smile. “I left my credit card here last night.”
I cock my head. “I noticed you left in a hurry. I hope you didn’t run into…trouble.”
Those noises in the alley last night. I can’t help but wonder what happened. But Miss Wonder is clearly okay, thanks be to Jove. Not a scratch on her.
She dusts off her jacket. “I’m fine now. That’s what matters. And I need to go downstairs and get my credit card. I won’t be a minute.”
I want to let her in because I want to give this woman whatever she wants. But Her Majesty would have my head—and that’s not just an expression in this case. “I’m afraid the rules of the club still stand. Because you are not a member, I cannot allow you inside unless you are a guest of someone on the list.”
“Yes, but I’m not actually going to go to the club. I’m going to settle my tab, turn right back around, and leave. It’ll take thirty seconds.”
I grin. “Even thirty-second visits are against club policy, Miss Wonder.” I shrug. “If you want to come back with Mr. Hathaway or another member, I’ll gladly let you inside.”