CHAPTER 14
The prison group and the Woodbury group (minus Juan, who was still guarding the shattered front door) along with Sora and Nate (who Rick had released from the handcuffs) watched the five sets of elevators with the profile of an Aztec temple carved into them. Suddenly, two elevator floor indicators flashed the number 30 in red digits, and began counting down.
"Here they come," Rick said, his hand resting on the grip of his holstered Colt Python revolver.
"Hey, Colonel Saito," John spat at Sora.
Sora looked at John icily for calling him after the Japanese commandant of the POW camp in the classic war film Bridge on the River Kwai.
"Your pals better not try a banzai charge when those elevator doors open."
"They are not my pals, they are my associates," Sora answered contemptuously. "And furthermore, they are not even Japanese, they are Americans. So for them to try a banzai charge would be impossible."
John chuckled. "Are you bullshitting me? You fucking run at the enemy screaming your fucking lungs out and the enemy fucking mows you down with bullets; simple as that."
Sora sighed audibly, as if carrying a conversation with John took all the patience he could muster. "You served in the American army, yes?" he asked.
"You're Goddamn right," John answered proudly.
"Then I have no reluctance telling you that there is a great difference between fighting for your country and fighting for your emperor."
John's smile disappeared from his face, and his eyes turned red like a traffic light. "What the fuck did you just say?"
"I believe you are not thatold to suffer from hearing loss."
"You Jap son of a bitch!" John balled his fists and stomped towards Sora.
Rick stepped into John's path, the Vietnam veteran tried to shove the sheriff's deputy aside, but Rick stood his ground.
"Okay, back off!" Rick ordered.
"I'm not going to let that Jap runt get away with insulting my country!" John shouted.
"A soldier who fights for his country fights for an ideal. But a soldier—a samurai—who fights for his emperor, fights for a god. Quite a difference, yes?"
John pushed Rick's hands away from him and glared at Sora. "Kiss my ass," he muttered.
Sora glared at John for a few moments and resumed looking up at the two elevator floor indicators; soon everyone else in the lobby did the same.
Carl reached for the sleeve on his father's jacket and tugged on it lightly. Rick looked down at his son and bent down so they could whisper to one another.
"Are you going to just stand there while he insults us?" Carl whispered.
"For now…yes," Rick answered.
Rick stood up and continued watching the red digits on the elevator floor indicator count down to one.
Carl stepped over to Michonne and took hold of her hand. The mysterious swordswoman looked down at Carl and knelt down so she and Carl were at eye level.
"I don't trust this guy," Carl whispered.
Michonne nodded in agreement, squeezed Carl's hand, and stood up.
Carl walked over to Daryl, who was leaning against the granite reception desk. Daryl had his crossbow pointed at the floor, his poncho slung over his left shoulder, and he was chewing on a toothpick he took from the tavern.
"What are we doing here?" Carl whispered.
"I heard you begged your old man to let you come along," Daryl retorted.
"Yeah, but I thought this would be exciting!"
Daryl snorted in amusement. "That fracas with the walkers out in the parkin' lot wasn't excitin' enough for you?"
Carl looked down at the marble floor shifted his posture. "I just thought—"
"Don't think, be observant," Daryl interrupted.
Carl considered Daryl's advice for a moment, and then he looked up as the two elevator floor indicators counted down the final ten digits before Sora's group reached the lobby.
DING!
The two pairs of elevator doors slid open.
Inside the first elevator was a barrel chested white man with curly brown hair and a beard; he was wearing a plaid shirt and blue jeans. In his strong hands was an MK 18 Mod 0 assault carbine with a forward grip, while holstered on his side was a Glock 17 pistol. Beside him was a Hispanic man with a shaved head, and wearing a sweatshirt and dark jeans. In his hands was an M16A4 assault rifle, and around his waist was a US Army web belt and holster that held a Beretta M9 pistol.
In the second elevator was a white man with black hair, and he wore a business shirt with the collar unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and black pants. In his hands was an HK UMP45 submachine gun, and holstered on his side was an HK USP Compact pistol. Beside him was a beautiful young woman whose brunette hair was done up in a ponytail, and she wore a short sleeve shirt and blue jeans. In her hands was an Ithaca 37 "stakeout" shotgun and an attached sidesaddle for shells, and holstered on her side was a Smith & Wesson 64 snub nose revolver.
Rick raised his left hand, but kept his right on the grip of his revolver. "All right, everyone take it easy."
"Are you all right, boss?" the bearded man asked.
Rick recognized the bearded man's voice as the one Sora talked to on the wireless phone's speaker.
"I am fine, Mr. Singleton. Our young friend Mr. Tatum, however, has had better evenings," Sora answered.
Sora's group—the El Dorado group—looked at the young ADA, and he lowered his head in embarrassment.
"Did they rough you up, Nate?" the bearded man asked.
Nate looked up and shook his head. "No man. They were cool."
The El Dorado group stepped out of the elevators, and their leader stepped forward to stand between the three groups.
"Officer Grimes, allow me to introduce the rest of my associates. First, this is my second-in-command: Harold Singleton."
"Officer," Harold said as he extended his hand to Rick.
"Call me Rick," the sheriff's deputy smiled as he gave Harold a firm handshake.
Sora gestured towards the latino man. "This is Alonso, the head chef."
Alonso smiled and extended his hand to Rick. "Good evening," he said with a Latin accent.
"Good evening," Rick replied as he shook Alonso's hand.
Sora took a few steps down the lobby and gestured at the last two members of his group. "This is Frank and Julia, one of our cocktail waitresses."
"Frankie," the young man corrected.
Sora glared at Frankie; the young man looked down at the marble floor and fumbled with the submachine gun in his hands.
"Uh, I prefer being called Frankie," the young man muttered.
"Okay, Frankie. Nice meeting you," Rick nodded.
"Hi," Julia smiled, showing a set of perfectly white, straight teeth.
Rick nodded at the young woman. "Hello," he said.
Rick stood profile and gestured towards his group. "This is Michonne. She's…" Rick then realized he knew nothing about the woman and he froze for a few embarrassing moments until he said, "she's a friend."
Michonne's eyes widened and she looked at Rick as if he said they both were engaged.
Sora looked Michonne over and smiled approvingly. A moment later he bowed in greeting. "Good evening, Michonne."
Michonne folded her arms across her chest and nodded coldly.
"This is John Boyd," Rick said as he continued the introductions with less enthusiasm.
"Yeah, Kon'ichiwa," John grumbled irritably with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket.
Sora glared at John, and said nothing.
Rick walked down the lobby to introduce the rest of his group. Sora walked alongside him, the Japanese gambler carrying his sheathed katana in his left hand.
"Juan's guarding the main entrance. This is Floyd. Sam. Karen, and Tyreese."
"Wait a second," Frankie said as he squint his eyes at Tyreese. "Didn't you play for the Falcons a few seasons ago?"
Tyreese's eyes brightened at the possibility that someone recognized him for his brief time in the NFL. "Yes! Yes I did!" he shouted happily.
Frankie grinned and ran over to Tyreese with his hand extended. "Holy shit! I grew up watching the Falcons! You're…Tyreese Williams, right?"
"Yeah! Tyreese Williams. That's me!" the former football player grinned as he shook Frankie's hand.
"It's great to meet you! I'll bet you've got a few stories about the team."
"Yeah, yeah I do. As a matter of fact, I remember my first day at training camp, and—"
"May we continue with the introductions, Officer Grimes?" Sora interrupted, clearly annoyed by Frankie and Tyreese's conversation.
"Uh, of course," Rick answered as he looked around the lobby for Carl and Daryl, and found them leaning against the granite reception desk. "You've met my son Carl. That's Daryl Dixon, my second-in-command."
Carl glared underneath the brim of his battered Stetson at Sora like a sheriff watching as a gunfighter rode into town. Daryl raised his right arm in the air and gave Sora the Finger.
Sora's eyes burned with anger and he bared his teeth with rage. He pushed his left thumb against the round handguard of his katana, exposing an inch of razor sharp steel before he grasped the handle with his right hand in preparation to draw the sword.
Rick stepped in front of Sora, blocking the Japanese gambler from charging Daryl, who stood straight, spat the toothpick onto the lobby floor and wrapped his right hand around the grip of his crossbow in preparation for a fight.
"Uh, that was just Daryl's way of saying hello," Rick explained with a false smile.
Sora glared at Rick for few moments, but he huffed, slid the inch of exposed steel back into the scabbard, and let go of the katana's handle.
"You and I must talk…privately."
Rick nodded.
"I want that glass door replaced before the Oni notice the casino now has a weak point."
Rick nodded again.
"You admitted to breaking the glass door, Officer Grimes, so Dixon can replace it."
Daryl glared at Sora and he took an aggressive step forward. Rick—who had lied about being the one who shattered the glass window—glared at Sora, too. The tension in the lobby was heavy as a game of baccarat.
"I'd rather Tyreese replaced the glass door," Rick said.
"Why?" Sora asked.
"Tyreese is a construction worker. Besides, if the "Oni" show up, Daryl can cover him."
Sora considered Rick's suggestion, and he nodded. "Very well. Mr. Singleton can show Mr. Williams where we keep the spare parts. I am sure Frank would be honored to help. Perhaps he can get a story or two from the former American football player."
Sora turned to his right and proceeded to walk towards the vaulted doorway that was beside the stone staircase. The Japanese gambler waved his right hand, indicating he wanted Rick to follow him.
Rick looked at Daryl, Carl, and Michonne, and nodded to the three of them; they nodded in return, and Rick followed Sora. The two leaders walked through the vaulted doorway and walked down the adjoining hallway.
"All right, folks, welcome to the El Dorado: hotel and casino," Harold smiled as he slung his submachine gun over his shoulder. "You're welcome to the play the slots and the tables, but I can't guarantee you can cash in any winnings."
Tyreese, Karen, John, Floyd, and Sam chuckled. Michonne smiled. Daryl and Carl observed.
"We keep the spare parts in the basement. You mind following me, Tyreese?" Harold asked.
"No problem," Tyreese answered with a smile.
"Hey, wait for me guys!" Frankie shouted as he ran to catch up.
Michonne turned around and walked towards Daryl and Carl, while John and his Woodburians shook hands with the El Dorado group and started talking to them.
"You think that gambler is dealing a loaded deck?" Michonne asked Daryl.
Daryl grunted in agreement. "He's just another wolf leadin' a pack of sheep."
"Like the Governor," Carl chimed in.
Michonne nodded. "We took a huge risk coming here. We need to give Rick a chance to negotiate with Sora. If he can work a deal to get even half of what we need, the risk will be worth it."
"What would Sora want in return?" Carl asked.
Michonne put a hand on Carl's shoulder. "I think the people in this casino survived this long thanks to the locked doors, the supplies they already had, and a little luck. If we can teach them how to deal with walkers—like using their guts as camouflage—Sora might trade that for food and gasoline."
"That's a big if," Daryl said as he scratched his goatee.
Michonne looked at Daryl and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't see any other options."
From the dark vestibule, Juan had watched the meeting between the prison, Woodbury, and the El Dorado groups. Then he watched as Rick and Sora left to have a private meeting. Now he watched as the prison group spoke separately, while the Woodbury and the El Dorado groups mingled.
They're probably deciding when the best time is to kill all of us, Juan thought. Rick probably talked to them about it before we left the prison. Why not? His son came along. He almost killed Sam when he tried to steal those guns. That niño won't hesitate to pull a trigger; I could never be like that, even though I said I could.
A tear ran down Juan's eye and he brushed it away. He then looked back at the shattered doorway and thought about that night last year with Nick and the Governor.
•••
The Governor, Juan, and Nick stood on the edge of darkness as they looked uphill at the group of four young men sitting around a large campfire. A fifth young man with a beard was standing a few yards away at a barbecue grille, working a spatula over a cooking flame.
"Did you guys hear that?" A man with a thin goatee asked nervously as he looked downhill.
"Yeah, it was my stomach growling!" a young man with short blonde hair quipped. The rest of the group laughed.
By that cabrón's tone of voice, he must be the group's leader, Juan thought.
The group's leader turned towards the man cooking at the grille. "Hey, Sean! Are those burgers done yet, or should I get drive thru at McDonalds instead?"
A boisterous laugh rang out from the rest of group. Sean smiled and flipped his hungry leader the Finger.
"What about that noise, man? What if it was a geek?" asked the goateed man.
"Will you shut the fuck up?" the leader retorted. "The geeks won't be coming up these motorbike trails; and if they do, we've got guns to blow them away."
The group was quiet for a minute, and a young man with a hooded sweatshirt looked at the one wearing a ball cap backwards. "Did you pick up anything new on the radio, Kurt?"
Kurt glanced down at the radio and shook his head. "Just more of the same shit: 'We're outnumbered. We're running out of ammo. We need air support. The troops are deserting."
The group was quiet once again. Finally, the youngest one whispered, "Oh, my God."
"Ah, don't sweat it, bro!" the leader said with a grin. "Soon as our troops from Iraq and Afghanistan come home, they'll kick those dead fuckers back to the cemetery and everything will be back to normal."
"I…I don't things will ever be normal again."
"Hey, all I can say to that is our dad got his ass chewed off by those stinking fuckers; that means the house, the Porsche, the boat, and the millions in the bank are ours! That's normal enough for me!"
The group (except for its leader's young brother) laughed louder this time. Philip signaled for Juan and Nick to stay put, and he used the group's laughter as an opportunity to walk out of the darkness and into the light of the large campfire, the barrel of his AR15 rifle was aimed at the ground.
"Good evening," Philip said warmly.
The group screamed in fear as they either leapt to their feet or fell onto their backs, at Philip's sudden appearance.
"You motherfucker!" The group's leader shouted as he leapt up from the ground. "You scared the shit out of us!"
Philip smiled. "I'm sorry. I was out hunting and I smelled the smoke from your campfire."
"You're lucky we didn't shoot you, mister," the leader's younger brother said.
"Indeed I am," Philip said as he looked at the group of five young men. "But now that you mention it, none of you seem to be carrying any guns."
The group blushed and lowered their heads in embarrassment. "Uh, we put them away because we were about to eat dinner."
"What's on the menu?"
"Hamburgers."
Philip nodded in approval. "That sounds good. Can you spare a plate?"
The group raised their heads and looked at their leader, who chewed his lower lip with indecision. "Uh, sure. Why not?"
Philip moved his AR-15 rifle to his left hand and held out his right, "Philip Blake," he said with a smile.
The rich kid shook Philip's hand. "Lance Keaton."
"I'm sorry we had to meet like this, Lance."
"Hey, what counts is that we're all still alive, right?"
"Right."
Lance's little brother coughed to get his attention; the group's leader stepped aside and gestured at his group's youngest member. "Uh, Philip, this is my brother, Bryan."
"Hello, Bryan," Philip said as he stepped forward and extended his hand.
"Hi," Bryan said as he shook Philip's hand.
Lance then gestured at the nervous young man with the thin goatee. "This is Caden; he's my roommate at Georgia."
"Hello, Caden," Philip said as he extended his hand.
"Hey," Caden muttered as he shook Caden's hand; it was a weak grip.
Philip gestured towards Kurt, who had his hands folded across his chest. "This is Kurt. I've known him since Junior High."
"Hello, Kurt," Philip said, extending his hand.
"Hey, Philip," Kurt said as he shook hands.
"And this is Sean. He got expelled from high school for marijuana, so if you need something to help you relax, he's your boy."
"Fuck you, Lance. You were my biggest customer," Sean grinned.
The group (except for Bryan) laughed; Philip chuckled.
"Sean's other hobby is cooking; we loaded up his dad's grille onto one of our trucks, and hauled ass into these hills."
Philip nodded with admiration. "You're quite a leader, Lance. If there's one way to survive in this insanity, it's with family and friends."
Lance grinned and put his hands on his hips like Superman, as his group (including Bryan) cheered.
"Speaking of friends, I have two with me."
Lance's smile faded and his hands dropped to his sides slowly. "You're…you're not alone?" he asked timidly.
The smiles and the cheers from Lance's group stopped, too.
Philip turned around and looked downhill into the darkness. "Juan. Nick. Come on up!" he called out.
Juan heard Nick stand up and walked uphill; Juan took a deep breath, stood up, and followed him into the light of the campfire.
"Were these guys hiding all this time?!" Kurt asked.
"Who else is out there?" Sean added.
"Oh, shit," Caden muttered as he threw his arms around his waist.
Philip ignored the group's questions and outbursts as Juan and Nick stood beside him.
Bryan walked over to Lance's side and tugged on his arm. "Lance, do something!" he whispered.
"Uh, this ain't cool, Philip. You said you were out hunting alone."
Philip looked at Lance and smiled. "I said I was out hunting. I never said I was out hunting alone."
"Yeah, you're a real comedian, Philip. Now why don't you and your boys turn around, and get the fuck out of here!"
Philip raised a hand to signal a halt. "Now wait a minute, Lance. When I smelled the smoke from your camp, I thought it was best if I went ahead to see if you guys were friendlies. You're a leader, Lance. You know a leader has to put the lives of his group ahead of his own!"
Lance lowered his head and began wringing his hands. "Uh, yeah. Fuck. Being a leader sucks. I didn't want this shit. But…Bryan…he…he needs me."
The camp grew quiet until Phillip said, "May I say something, Lance?"
"Uh, yeah, Philip. Shoot."
A smile twitched across Philip's face.
Oh, Dios mío, Juan thought.
"The burgers are burning," Philip said.
Lance and his group turned around and saw a black cloud of smoke rising from the grille.
"Oh, fuck!" Sean shouted as he ran towards the grille.
"Goddammit, Sean! Why the fuck weren't you watching the burgers?" Lance shouted.
"Hey, fearless leader, why the fuck weren't you keeping an eye out for an asshole like this guy?" Sean retorted as he waved a towel to clear the black smoke.
"Gentlemen, I'm sorry that I've ruined your evening," Philip said sadly. "After so many days on the road hiding from those…things…those biters, I prayed my friends and I would run across others we could wait out this…Biblical plague until the army rescued all of us.
"I can see that I've worn out my welcome. Good night, Lance. Keep Bryan close. I know you all can survive this."
Philip slung his AR-15 rifle over his shoulder and started walking downhill. Juan and Nick glanced at each other and followed him.
"Hey, Philip!" Lance shouted.
Philip stopped walking, turned around, and saw Lance standing at the edge of his campfire.
"Listen, man. The burgers…well…they're not that burnt, so if you and your boys are hungry, mi casa es tu casa."
Philip grinned. "Thank you, Lance. We appreciate it. Don't we, Juan?"
Juan looked at Philip. He tried to answer, but no words exited his mouth.
Philip patted Juan on the back, and returned to the camp. A moment later, Nick followed Philip. Juan looked over his shoulder at the darkness, and reluctantly walked uphill.
•••
"'Excuse us, Juan," a voice said.
Juan blinked and looked behind him to see Tyreese, and Harold stepping into the vestibule while carrying a pane of glass wrapped in canvas. Frank was behind them with a tool bag slung over his shoulder, and a broom and dustpan in his hands. A few feet behind Frank was Daryl, with his crossbow in his hands, his poncho flung over his left shoulder like a scarf, and an annoyed look on his face.
"This is going to take a while, so why don't you join the others and get something to eat; their cook is getting dinner ready. Daryl's got our backs."
Juan thought about that meal a year ago in Lance's camp, and shivered. "I'm not hungry, Tyreese."
"Oh, yeah?" Harold asked with a smile. "Wait until you get a taste of Alonso's cooking. I swear to God he must've been a student of Emeril!"
Juan stood up and walked past Frank as he entered the lobby. Juan glanced at Daryl, who glared at him. Juan, frightened, put his head down and walked up the lobby to find the others.
Daryl leaned against the lobby wall, and watch disinterestedly as Tyreese and Harold set the glass panel down and Frank swept up the shards of glass.
"Hey, Tyreese, can you tell me about your first game at the Georgia Dome?" Frank asked.
•••
"You must be curious as to why I am in America," Sora asked Rick as they exited the hallway and entered the roulette room.
Rick looked at Sora. "The El Dorado is the first legal casino to be built in Atlanta, and its construction and grand opening got a lot of media attention. I'm sure the owners were happy a shark like you arrived to try your luck."
"Indeed. For the past sixteen years I have made and lost fortunes at casinos across the world. I was doing well for myself at the El Dorado, but then the news broadcasts reported the Oni had appeared in Los Angeles. A few days after that, the broadcasts reported the Oni were in Atlanta.
"The El Dorado looked less like a casino and more like a subway terminal: guests and employees running for the doors with their luggage packed hastily, lines of cars extending from the parking lot to the exits; the car horns blaring, the people screaming…"
Sora shook his head in a rare moment of humanity, and looked at Rick. "But you are a police officer. I am sure you remember what it was like in the early days."
Rick thought back to a year ago: he had been shot in the line of duty and fell into a coma. When he woke up days later he found himself in an abandoned hospital, and the world overrun by the dead. His family, Lori and Carl were gone, but by a stroke of luck (or a miracle, as Hershel would call it) he found them along with Shane, who led a diverse group of people at a quarry outside Atlanta.
Rick saw that Lori and Carl were shocked but overjoyed to be reunited with him. Shane, on the other hand, was distant. Rick also noticed some tension between Lori and Shane, but said nothing about it or Shane's aloofness; he had to make sure his family was safe. He had to make sure the group was safe.
Now, a year later, Lori and Shane were dead, and Rick knew the reasons for their odd behavior: Shane and Lori thought he died when the hospital was overrun, so they began an intimate relationship. Lori stopped the relationship, but Shane couldn't let her go. And finally, soon after the group relocated to Hershel's farm, Lori discovered she was pregnant. Carl named the baby girl Judith, after his favorite elementary school teacher.
But Rick didn't need to tell Sora Miyaguchi all of that. If he was going to negotiate with a jet setting gambler, Rick knew it was wise to hold some cards close to the vest.
"Yeah," Rick muttered in agreement with Sora's question.
The two men walked across the roulette room and stopped at the vaulted doorway; Sora leaned inside and flipped some switches along the wall, and the dark room lit up suddenly. Rick saw that this was the poker room. In the center was a tall palm tree, and at both ends of the room was a stone statue of Aztec women, carrying a wicker basket filled with corn. Rick followed Sora to one of the poker tables, and saw it had the traditional green baize, and printed on its center was the legend in black words: THE EL DORADO.
Sora walked around the poker table, leaned his katana against it, pulled up the dealer's chair, and sat down.
Rick's police training kicked in suddenly: Sora had set his katana on the left side of his chair, meaning he could reach across his chest, grab the sword's handle, and draw the weapon. Rick he set his Glock 19 pistol with Maglite suppressor down on the poker table, with the barrel facing Sora. Rick then pulled up a chair, sat down, and rested his right hand on the pistol's grip.
Sora looked at the pistol and then he picked up a deck of cards from the poker table and began to shuffle them. "I do not like having guns pointed at me, Officer Grimes."
"It's just a little insurance," Rick explained. "I've seen how quickly Michonne can kill walkers with a sword like that one."
Sora grinned. "Why would I want to kill you?"
"I broke into your casino. I cost you a glass door, and me being a police officer threatens your group's loyalty. Did I miss anything?"
Sora stopped shuffling the cards for a moment, grinned, and resumed shuffling them again. "I believe not."
"Do you always carry a sword with you when you're gambling?" Rick asked.
Sora glanced at the katana. "It is not mine. I found it in a pawn shop during a supply run seven months ago. Doubtless, it was a taken as a trophy by an American solider after the surrender of the Japanese Empire. Doubtless more, after that American soldier died, his heirs took the sword to that pawn shop and got whatever money they could for it. Do all Americans have no respect for the past?"
"Are you always this pleasant when you're playing cards?" Rick retorted.
Sora glared at Rick, dealt out a hand for him, and then he dealt out a hand for himself. "You will see just how pleasant I can be, Officer Grimes. I welcome the opportunity to play against a new opponent. I am tired of playing—and beating—my associates on a regular basis."
Rick picked up his cards and studied them. I haven't played cards since I was a kid, sitting across from my dad at the breakfast table, he thought worriedly.
Sora took a small stack of poker chips and pushed them towards Rick. "Why are you here, Officer Grimes?" he asked.
"I'm looking for supplies," Rick answered.
"This is a casino, not a supermarket," Sora said.
"No shit," Rick replied.
"Do not patronize me, Grimes," Sora spat; it was the first time he addressed Rick without the title of officer.
"Maybe if you dialed down that ego of yours, I will," Rick retorted.
The two men glared at each other for a few moments; Sora took a few poker chips of his own and threw them down onto the gold circle that served as the pot, and the game began.
After a few minutes of tense silence, Sora asked: "What exactly are you looking for in regards to supplies?"
"Food, medicine, and gasoline," Rick answered as he studied his hand.
"You will find plenty of both here. But why should I offer them to you?"
"Because I have something to offer you in return."
"And what is that?"
"A place."
"A place?"
"A safe place," Rick nodded, "safer than this casino."
Sora studied Rick's face for a few moments and looked down at his hand. "I do not agree with your assessment of my casino."
"Do you care to tell me why?" Rick asked as he took a card from his own hand, and placed it down on the poker table; he then tossed a chip into the pot and took a new card from the deck.
"My associates and I have survived in this casino for over a year without any intrusions from the Oni," Sora answered.
"How long do you think that'll last?" Rick asked. "My people and I got in easily, and we got the drop on your guard to boot."
Sora glared at Rick. "Security is only as good as the individual responsible for it. I can assure you that Mr. Tatum will be disciplined."
Rick lowered his hand and glared at Sora. "Yeah, I could tell by the way that kid was behaving that you had plans for him. Is that why your "associates" have been reduced to just five people? Did you use that sword to "discipline" every guard who took a bathroom break without permission?"
"Hardly. I have used this sword of a few occasions, but the majority of our losses have occurred on supply runs."
"All the more reason you and your people should take my offer and leave this casino."
Sora didn't reply, instead he took a card from his hand and placed it on the poker table; he then took one of his poker chips and tossed it into the pot, and took a new card from the deck.
After a minute of tense silence Sora asked, "What is this place you are offering? A police station? An office park?"
"I can't say. You'll just have to trust me," Rick answered.
"You are asking much from me, yet little in return, Officer Grimes."
"Can I make a suggestion, Mr. Miyaguchi?"
"By all means."
"Start thinking about what's best for your people. You're hole up in a casino, which happens to be in Atlanta, a city that belongs to the dead. How much longer do you think this place will last before the dead—or a more desperate group—break in?"
Sora stared at his hand for a few moments and looked up at Rick. "What do you have, Officer Grimes?"
Rick placed his hand face up on the poker table. "Three of a kind," he said.
Sora glared at Rick and placed his hand face up on the poker table. "A straight flush," he retorted.
Rick looked down at the cards and shrugged. "Okay, so I lost. Does that mean I should gather up my people and leave?"
"Hardly," Sora answered as he gathered up the cards. "What you said during our game was sound, and while I am wary about your "Shangri-La," I am well aware that the grains of sand in the hourglass have just about run out on the El Dorado."
Sora placed the cards atop the deck, and then he gathered up the chips in the pot and placed them in his jacket's pocket. "Old habits die hard," he explained.
Rick didn't reply; his right hand moved beside the grip of his Glock 19 pistol.
Sora stood up from the dealer's chair and he picked up his sheathed katana. "I suggest we tell our associates about our deal, I am certain they all will be excited to hear it."
Sora walked around the poker table and entered the roulette room.
I've got a bad feeling about this, Rick thought as he picked up his Glock 19 pistol, stood up from the chair, and followed the Japanese gambler on the journey back to the lobby.