Chapter Eight.
"He'll be alright, then?" Olivia questioned, trying not to muss her makeup as she rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes. She had not slept the entire night, in the emergency ward waiting room, and her face was washed and lean with worry.
"Yes. His wounds were sever- several gunshots to the back and legs- but he should make a recovery, given enough time. We've put him under, for now, and I think it would be best if he rested up."
"Thank you, doctor," Olivia sighed, "That's good to know."
The doctor nodded, his white coat flaring slightly as he turned away. Olivia retreated to the solace of the phone booth in the lobby, shutting the folding door as she had a seat, lifting the receiver, "Operator, please connect me to the Peet building, south New Jersey. The office of Charles Francis, please. Thank you." Olivia inserted her coins, and listened to the click of the connection, and the dull hum of a waiting tone.
There was another click, "Charlie Francis."
"Charlie, it's Olivia again. The doc says Philip will be alright."
"Thank god."
"I think it was a hit, Charlie."
"It's possible, Liv. Bell was whacked this afternoon."
"What?!" Olivia exclaimed, "How? What happened?"
"I don't know. But our connection seems to have vanished from the face of the earth, as well."
"Nina Sharp?"
"Yeah," Olivia could hear a shifting on the other end of the line, probably Charlie having a seat at his overcrowded desk, "what about Bishop? What did you find? Do you think he's got anything to do with this?"
"I don't think so. He's-" Olivia hesitated, and sighed shortly, "He's dead, Charlie."
"How? Did someone whack him before Bell?" Charlie questioned.
Olivia froze. If Bell was dead, and Sharp, and someone had tried to kill Philip… would they go after Bishop, next? And if they got Bishop… would she be next?
But Bishop was the only tie between them…
"Liv?" Charlie questioned, "Ya still with me?"
"Yes- Yeah, Charlie. listen- there's something I've got to look into. I'll call you back, if anything comes up, okay?"
"I should be in Atlantic in a few days- keep in contact. Olivia," he said, stopping her as she moved to hang up the receiver, "Be careful, okay, kid? I don't know what's going on, but if it gets you hurt-"
"I'll be careful, Charlie. Thanks," Olivia smiled, and hung up the phone. She pushed her way out of the booth and stood in the lobby for a few moments, mulling her thoughts. She had to find Bishop- it was obvious that she was not the only one looking for him. She just hoped she could get to him before they did.
xXx
The bright lights and glitter of the casinos had always induced excitement, in him. They seemed to add to the prospect of a 'big win', even as it appeared that he had never had a 'big win' in his entire life. One couldn't expect something like that from a man that had been born on a little southern plantation just outside of Baton Rouge… Such luck just wasn't in his stars.
Until now.
"I call your bluff, Bishop," the dealer said smugly, "I've never lost to you before, and I don't think I will, now."
"Someday you'll learn the difference between a poker face and a sure win, boy," Walter smiled in return, flicking his full-red straight onto the plush velvet of the tabletop, "But until then, believe yourself a better man, now that I've taught you."
The dealer bit the inside of his cheek, red dashing the skin of his face above his mustache, "A win, to the gentleman in grey," he said, a bit stiffly, "congratulations, sir."
"And congratulations to you as well, young man," Walter chirruped happily, rising from the table and settling his fedora onto his head.
"You won't stay for another hand?" the dealer questioned, hoping to regain the money he had just lost.
"Alas, no. Wouldn't you know it, I'm bored? But don't take it as a total loss, son," Walter tucked a hundred dollar chip into the dealer's vest, patting him on the shoulder, "There's a lot of this place I have yet to see, now that I'm on the good side of our lady."
"Be careful, Bishop," the dealer growled as Walter sauntered away.
There were some people he had to talk to, some matters he had to clear up, before he got the hell out of Dodge. It should all be something of a synch, now that things were going his way… but all of this could wait, as he spotted the buffet and thought of a caramel apple sundae.
Walter's thoughts returned to the events of early that morning, and he frowned into his ice cream. "Belly, huh?" he muttered to himself, poking at his melting dessert with his spoon "what could he want, then…?"
Walter exclaimed as his spoon was suddenly pulled from his hand, and he looked up in confusion. He swallowed, still gathering an uneasy chill and a grin as he spotted company, "Oh- um, hello, Jones."
"Bishop," David Robert Jones responded cheerfully, "How are you, on this fine morning? In the sweets early, I see." He slipped into the bench seat opposite Walter, smiling as he held up his apprehended spoon, "It's bad for you."
"um-hmm," Walter mumbled, looking down into his unfinished sundae.
Jones slipped the spoon into the breast pocket of his own black, double-breasted jacket, "But I'm happy to see you enjoying the hospitality of my casino, in any case. I haven't seen you around, lately."
"Well, I've been busy…" Walter started, spreading his hands.
"A few of my floor dealers have informed me that you've been showing them up a bit," Jones continued, ignoring his comment, "Giving them something of a run for their money, they say."
"Well, not too terribly much," Walter replied.
"The only reason I'm not throwing you out at this moment is because I want to know how you're doing it, Walter," Jones said seriously, "A man like you, your losing is legendary. You're obviously cheating, Walter."
Walter suddenly frowned, and leaned forward, plucking his spoon out of Jones' pocket, "I most certainly am not."
Jones raised a brow, "Oh?"
"Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I'm just feeling lucky today, Jones?"
Jones openly laughed, "For you, my friend, there is no such thing as luck. Or voodoo, or whatever you call it, in your ridiculous southern suspicion."
"It's hoodoo," Walter snapped, agitated, "and I don't care what you believe, Jones. Every dog has their day."
"You should get around to caring what I believe right quick," Jones replied sharply, "because if I catch you cheating in this casino or any of my others, I can promise that you'll never roll in Atlantic again."
Walter took a large bite of ice cream, "Every gambler cheats, Jones. Mostly, we cheat ourselves, I think. But there's no telling, when that cheating turns to genuine luck. And don't you think that I'd have cheated sooner?"
Jones eyed him for a few moments in silent suspicion, "What are you getting at, Bishop?" he questioned.
"I'm just clearing up a bit of my affairs, David. Wrapping up a few loose ends. It's nothing against you."
"Then don't do it in my casino," Jones snapped, rising. He took Walter's spoon again as he passed, returning to the floor.
xXx
