Slow Burn

Chapter Fifteen

Roger Mackenna had some badass friends. They were "casino friends" who'd slithered up to him at the gaming table, introduced themselves, and became his best buddies almost overnight. When Roger won, they helped him spend his money. When his winning streak ended, however, his new best friends turned into sniveling and conniving snakes. They introduced him to a loan shark named Johnny Jackman, and when Roger was over two hundred thousand in debt at fifty percent interest, his friends wooed him back to the tables to lose even more.

All the sharks in town had a hands-off policy toward Roger because they knew, like everyone else in the gambling world who'd run a background check on him, that when Roger's uncle Comp-ton MacKenna died, Roger would inherit millions of dollars. If anything happened to Roger in the meantime, none of the sharks would get a dime.

Johnny Jackman had quite an investment and had his own crew tailing Roger at all times. This was an asset he wasn't going to let out of his sight. He didn't want Roger reformed either, so when he became infatuated with a pretty little thing named Emma who talked him into attending a Gamblers Anonymous meeting, Jack-man became concerned. The next evening sweet little Emma was taken out of town.

Roger was told that Emma had been in an automobile accident. He went to the hospital, took one look at her bruised and swollen face, and went running back to the casino. Emma left town as soon as she was released from the hospital. Roger sighed with relief. He had felt such terrible guilt that he couldn't stomach the sight of her, but now that she was out of his life, he could forget about her. He could also forget all about ever attending meetings for his gambling addiction.

By July, Johnny Jackman was getting nervous. Roger had racked up a debt of an even seven hundred thousand dollars, and if it wasn't paid to the casino by the first of September, Jackman would have to pay it.

Jackman decided he couldn't afford to be a patient, nice guy any longer. He took Roger to dinner that night at Emerald's, let him drink a bottle of expensive wine, and then told him that if he didn't find a way to repay every dollar with interest within thirty days, Jackman was going to start taking body parts as collateral. He toasted Roger and told him he was going to start between his legs.

He made sure Roger knew he wasn't bluffing.

Three packs of cigarettes and a bottle of gin a day had aged Roger. He was only thirty-four, but he looked sixty. His hair was thinning and gray. His complexion was just as gray from all the years he'd spent in dark casinos and backrooms.

His nicotine-stained fingers shook as he lit another cigarette. "Where am I going to get that kind of money?" he asked. "You know I'm good for it, but not until my uncle dies. He's sick. It shouldn't take long. According to… my source, the old man is dying."

"Who's the source?"

"Someone real close to him. I'm not going to give you the name."

"Okay," he said, deciding not to press. "But your uncle could linger a long time, now couldn't he? If it's more than thirty-one days, you're going to be in a world of hurt."

"If you'll wait, I'll pay you a bonus. And there's a good chance I'll win big the next time I hit the tables, right?"

Jackman shook his head. "Your credit is used up," he said. "You're not welcome at any table until your debt is paid in full. Thirty-one days," he repeated. "If you don't come up with all of it, you're no longer a man. You understand me? You won't get a sip of booze to dull the pain. My associates will take you out in the desert, hold you down, spread your legs, and… snip, snip." He made his fingers move like scissors. "I might even tell them to put your balls in your mouth to stop you from screaming while they work on your penis. You do have balls, don't you, Roger?"

Jackman was the most successful loan shark in the city, and when Roger stared into his cold, flat eyes, he suspected that a real shark had more feeling. He didn't have any doubt at all that Jackman would do what he promised. He wasn't a man who bluffed.

Roger began to hyperventilate. He overturned his chair in his haste to bolt from the table. He made it to the corridor before he threw up. Jackman followed him, laughing.

"You're going to get me my money, aren't you, Roger?"

"Yes. I'll get it."

He grabbed his arm and jerked him back. He whispered close to his ear, "Your uncle's going to die real soon, isn't he?"

Roger began to cry. "Yes, he is."

Two hours later Roger took a cab to the airport and flew home on the red-eye. He was too scared and too sick to drink anything. He knew he had to get clear-headed. When he got back to Savannah, he was going to have to pay a visit to his uncle Compton to see for himself just how far gone the old man was and to assure himself the money would be coming soon.