The Ante

The Ante

One Card Short of a Deck

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The Ante
Chapter I: One Card Short of a Deck
…
"Within the furthest reaches of our heart
Lie those desires whose name one dares not speak.
So seductive, so intoxicating, so indulgent,
Our most private passions burn at the molten core of our being,
Luring us to the very heights of ecstasy and depths of despair…
Abandon yourself, if you dare."
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Lake Pontchartrain gleamed, its surface a shimmering mass of grey reflecting the Louisiana sun in broken patterns. It made him squint if he looked long and hard enough.

He kept his eyes ahead of him at the bumper of the car a few yards away, ignoring the brief flashes of the sun's reflection out of the corner of his eye. Distracted, he shook his head, unable to keep the hair out of his face when the wind picked up.

With any luck, he'd be blown clear off the bridge and into the murky depths below; the commandeered motorcycle, the trench coat folded into the seat behind him, his half-battered pride, and all.

Remy LeBeau was a lucky man, but perhaps not that lucky. Not today at least.

He needed a cigarette.

Glancing at the speedometer of his bike, and pressing his mouth into a grim line, he urged the throttle a little harder.

Behind him, New Orleans was receding beyond the bay - the spires of the business district fading in the grey haze of pollution. It threw the city's skyline into a lazy blush, coquettish and yet somehow, beneath that touch of rose, still just as debauched as ever from what he glimpsed of her by glancing into the rear-view.

"Au revoir," he murmured, his voice torn away from him by the cool wind that whipped around the bridge. It made the skin on his arms ripple with gooseflesh despite the heavy humidity that seemed to have been displaced the instant he'd roared off from the plantation's gravel drive.

Jean Luc really needed to tighten the security around that place, Remy smirked. Or maybe, Jean Luc really just needed to tighten the security on him if he'd expected him to hang around any longer than he already had.

He'd overstayed his welcome, and he knew it. Moreover, he didn't need the hospitality, the strained smiles and subtle looks shared between the elder members of the Guild. They no longer wanted him, hadn't wanted him for the better part of a year, truly, and that was just fine by him. Sometimes, you needed to collect your winnings and get clear of the table as quickly as possible.

The bike was his fee for tolerating Jean Luc's sly scheming for the better part of a year while living cloistered beneath the hand of the very family that had cast him out.

Remy gunned the engine, cutting off a sedan in the right lane with ease though the driver blared his horn, and urged the bike faster as if the increased speed would lend a little more ease to his flight.

He glanced at the rear-view again, mindful of the settled weight in his chest when he looked back at his home. She called to him - that blossom on the horizon with her worn cobbled streets and her heady perfume. The city that was laced with the scent of bougainvillea and creeping myrtle, coming to life when the sun finally faded and her lights winked on for the evening. She was a nocturnal creature, dissolute and sultry; his first love and his mentor. She'd weaned him amongst her streets and back alleys, made him hard by running her rooftop gauntlets, and heated his limbs while learning the taste of her on his tongue. He'd miss her for the short time he'd be gone, but like a loyal mistress, the city would welcome him back into her embrace if… when… he returned.

This time, at least, his departure didn't stink of the same shame that he'd experienced when he was eighteen. This time, the city had forgiven him his trespasses, if only by half.

Remy smiled, releasing the handlebar beneath his left hand, and pressed his fingers against the back pocket of his denims. The square corners of a pack of cards angled beneath his touch, and with practiced ease, he slid the small burden into his palm. He flipped the worn package open with a thumb, keeping one eye on the road, and pulled the first card from the top half out with his index finger.

He chuckled to himself.

The deck was short one card. Its absence was irritating, yet, at the same time, it provided an unusual comfort. He could guess easily where she would have kept it.

"Feeling a lil' lonely, mon gars?" he chuckled, peering down at the solitary King of Hearts that he'd extracted from the deck. "Remy thinks it's about time t' take care of that old ache, ein? S' burnin' something fierce."

It was the perfect excuse, though he didn't need one.

Remy snapped the King back into the deck and steered the bike towards the interstate, the blare of car horns shadowing his reckless driving.