The door closed behind me, and the hallway smelled of bleach and roses. Somewhere deeper in the club, a piano struck up a lazy, familiar tune. And beneath it, just barely, I could hear the sound of someone crying—not loud, not desperate. Just the quiet, practiced sob of someone who’d already folded.
I didn’t move.
“Both.”
The air in the back room of The Carnation tasted of old cedar, whiskey sweat, and the faint, coppery tang of last month’s takedown. I found Jeff there, not in the kennels where the new stock was kept, but hunched over a scarred card table, the brim of his flat cap casting a shadow over eyes that had seen too many losing hands.
I picked up the photograph and slid it back into my pocket. “The club wants her ready for the main event. No more ‘private exhibitions.’” Pale Carnations -Ch. 4 Update 4- -Mutt Jeff- ...
“Mutt,” I said, sliding the door shut. The latch clicked with a finality that made his shoulders twitch.
He held out the deck of cards to me. “Pick one.” The door closed behind me, and the hallway
End of Scene.