“I can’t do it. You told me twenty-five dollars per hundred on ten grand…”

“Per week.”

“I understand, but that’s only five grand. You just said so yourself.”

“Plus interest on the interest, plus the late fees, plus expenses.”

“I don’t have it.”

“You don’t have it. You have nothing of value anywhere in the world. You own nothing. Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I could give you my car.”

“Do I look like a guy who owns a used-car lot?”

“Not at all.”

Dante stared at him. “What’s the make and model?”

“1985 Porsche 911, red. It’s worth over thirty thousand dollars. It’s in pristine condition. Perfect.”

“I know the definition of ‘pristine,’ you asshole. What do you owe on it?”

“Nothing. It’s paid for. My parents gave it to me for graduation. I’ll sign the pink slip right now and hand it over to you.”

“And it’s where, this fancy paid-for car of yours?”

“In the parking garage.”

“Valet?”

“I parked it myself to save the expense.”

“Well, aren’t you the frugal one. How far up?”

“The top.”

“I ought to have my head examined.” He glanced at his brother. “You two go up with the kid here and take a look at his car, tell me what you think. I want it checked out. Find a local mechanic if you have to.” He turned to Phillip. “The car better be as advertised. I’m running out of patience.”

“I swear it is and thank you.”

“Take a good look at yourself. Time to give up this poker shit and get a job. You’re wasting your life. Are you hearing me?”

“Absolutely. Yes. This will never happen again. It’s been a valuable lesson. I’m out of here. I’m gone. No more poker, I swear. This has been a wake-up call. I can’t thank you enough.”