If he wasn’t such an asshole, quite possibly, but he couldn’t even look up from his phone to greet me properly at Café Du Monde, and add that to the fact that he was the Russian mafia. I remind myself again that he’s a fucking client? The cons were far outweighing the pros at this point.
Channeling my thoughts back to business, I quickly pulled my deck of cards out of my bag, the blue silk wrap sticking to my palms as I unravelled it, and began shuffling.
Most of the girls kept their cards rolled up in a specific mat created for reading purposes. Me? I liked to keep my cards wrapped directly in the silk scarf. Because the silk wrap wasn't as thick as a mat, it meant my cards were a little worn, but it didn’t bother me in the slightest. I was unusual in the Tarot Club in that I only owned one deck. Most of the other girls flitted between a couple of decks, and Charl of course was a connoisseur of them, but I was solely attached to one. My deck and I were bonded, and even the thought of expanding with a second deck had me shuddering in disbelief. My deck was an extension of myself - my thoughts, beliefs, and Magick were embedded in the beautiful lines and curves on the depiction of each card. No, I would never be a multiple deck kind of girl.
My fingers flicked between the cards, separating and rearranging the order with ease. It was almost meditative - something that I was so practiced at that I no longer needed to look at what I was doing. I had seen Charl count dollars in a similar fashion.
I looked Dimitri in the eye and asked, “So, what is the question?”
His green eyes widened in surprise, and for a fleeting moment, I watched his lips twitch as he fought off a grin. Clearing his throat he answered, “We own a car wash,” he began.
Laughter bubbled out of me. Dimitri glared at me, waiting for me to compose myself, his dark stare only made me laugh harder, and I watched his hands clench in frustration as he waited for me to finally collect myself.
“I’m sorry,” I blew out after finally getting my laughter under control, “but could you guys be any more cliché? Is this an episode of Breaking Bad? The next thing you’ll be telling me is that you have a lab somewhere.”
“There’s a reason it’s a cliché,” he gritted out, ignoring my jab, clearly frustrated with me, “it’s one of the easiest ways to launder money.”
In that one statement, everything that Dimitri was a part of was confirmed, and part of me was disappointed - as if, deep within, I was somehow hoping that Dimitri was only partially involved - perhaps as the accountant or lawyer, even if he had just admitted to having illegitimate businesses. But he had called me in on behalf of his grandfather and was entertaining me in his home over tea. Looking at the danger that coiled around him, ready to strike, I knew that even if he had lied and told me he was the accountant, I wouldn’t have believed him. The man pulsed with an intensity that was primal, he would either fight you or fuck you. And wasn’t that something - it called to me on an instinctual level, sending a flash of lust to thrum through my body, throbbing in time with my pulse.
I watched him as the small tick in his jaw became evident. The simple act of me questioning him had him fuming. Dimitri, it seemed, enjoyed unquestionable control.
And for some reason, pushing against him - not simply giving into him, gave me immense satisfaction. Later, I would be able to dwell on the why of it, but for now, I supposed we needed to get through the reading.
Holding up my hands in surrender, I smiled, “Okay, apologies, what’s the question?”
His gaze settled on me for a long minute, never once deviating from my face, as if warring with himself about whether we should continue with this reading. Shit. He couldn’t bail on this business arrangement before we had even conducted the first reading. Charl would have a hernia. Why did I have to compare him to the characters from Breaking Bad? Urgh. Way to go Corinne. I needed to at least conduct one reading for them before he called Charl and told him I was shit.
“There’s a question around the money filtering through the car wash,” he glared at me, as if daring me to mention the fact that they owned a car wash again. I swallowed audibly, keeping a neutral expression plastered on my face as I waited for him to continue.
“Our intake from the car wash itself has dwindled over the last year, but the amount of… business that goes through it hasn’t dropped in the slightest. I need to know who is short changing us.” He smirked at me, assuming that I wouldn’t be able to tell.
I inhaled, feeling the air shift around me. The plants seemed to lean towards me this time as if they too were interested in what I had to say. If you asked Zoey, she would tell you that plants are the biggest gossips around, but to me, they were simply plants. I briefly wondered if they gossiped about me and my inability to keep even one of their brethren alive. My fingers tingled in anticipation as dread pooled in the pit of my stomach.
Who will they kill with the information I give?
That thought whispered repetitively in the back of my mind as I began shuffling my deck, taking comfort in that small, familiar action. Because I had no doubt that someone would pay for these shortfallings, and the aftermath would be neither pretty nor pleasant.
He doesn’t think you can do this. One of my guides whispered in the back of my mind. As if I needed any confirmation that he doubted my abilities. Fucking jackass.
I didn’t say another word and simply pulled a card from my deck.
Images swam in my mind of a dark haired woman wearing tight jeans, meeting up with a tall blonde man. A silver Mercedes. Kissing. Money being pushed into the car. Was she a hooker? No. A solid no stood as the answer that came through. Image after image barrelled through as their romance unfolded. It began with a small smile, his fingers brushing against her knuckles. Heated, passionate sex in the backseat of the Mercedes in the parking lot of the garage. Hushed words, whispered in the shell of an ear.
I opened my eyes and looked at the first card I had laid out - The Lovers.
“Who is the dark haired woman associated with the car wash?” I asked.
Dimitri’s eyes flared in surprise.
“The only dark haired girl working the car wash is Jeanette, but she’s harmless.”
I grimaced. Checking with my guides, I asked.
Did he want the truth? Yes.
Do I deliver the truth gently or straight. Straight, don’t beat around the bush.
Great, straight it is then. I swallowed nervously.