"Would I lie to you?" asked Danny, smiling that smooth as silk smile. At twenty-two Rusty Ryan knew that that was a sucker question with its own built-in answer. Hell, at six he'd known it too – but this was Danny Ocean asking. Sure, that made it a copper bottom certainty that he was lying - the sort of certainty that you throw your last dollar on and then lift a wallet so you can throw some more bucks down - but it also meant that he could charm the soul out of a stone statue.
"Yeah," muttered Rusty, but without heat. He broke a small piece off his doughnut – cinnamon double-glazed – and tried to avoid looking at Danny.
Danny shifted forward a little in his seat, spread his hands on the table and let his voice shift down to an almost melting softness.
"Rus', come on – you know you can trust me."
Rusty made a non-committal noise and continued to break up his doughnut.
"It's not going to hurt you, I promise…"
Danny let that hang in the air as he moved his hand to clasp Rusty's forearm.
Rusty looked up to meet his eyes then. Danny smiled, every ounce of con behind it.
"Hey, have I ever given you bad advice?"
Rusty bit his lower lip. Yeah… about absinthe and that red-haired hooker in LA, the mauve Armani suit I paid a fortune for, every hand of cards we've played together, about cut-throat razors and how much plastic you need to blow a suitcase, about sushi and Incan matrimonial head masks…. Still thiswas Danny, so he half-smiled and shook his head.
"No."
Even as he said it, he realised he'd lost. Danny was smiling like a shark as he stood over him.
"Come on. I'll drive you. The appointment's at 11."
Rusty dropped his napkin on his destroyed doughnut and dragged his jacket off the back of his chair.
"Pushy bastard," he muttered, and winced as his tongue touched the back of his aching tooth.