Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

Miami.” He glanced up with a smile. “Poker is all about statistics and luck.”
    “Uh huh,” Ty responded dubiously. “But I’m talking gambling with money, papi , not your life,” he said with a pat of Zane’s knee. He knew all he wanted to know about what Zane had done in Miami.
    Zane’s smile widened as he set down his fork. “I’m good at both. But I’ll stick to money this time. Especially since it’s not mine.”
    “I appreciate the assurance,” Ty mumbled, privately thinking he’d believe that when he saw it.
    “I don’t diss you and your guns. Don’t diss me and my numbers,” Zane said mildly as he went back to his dinner.
    Ty glanced up at him and narrowed his eyes. He’d been thinking more along the lines of Zane sticking to gambling with money and not life and limb, but apparently Zane was still self-conscious when it came to his what bordered on idiot savant levels of number-crunching ability.
    Ty didn’t really envy the ability, but he did respect it. Ty saw things in a jumbled mess, like a jigsaw puzzle that had been tossed onto a table. He could piece that puzzle together without turning over the pieces to see what was on the other side, simply going on instinct and what felt right. But Zane’s mind instead took those jumbled pieces and categorized them, turned them all right side up, top to bottom, labeled them by category ranging from color to the name of the dude who cut them out at the factory, and then methodically snapped them into place.
    The differences in methods made them a mostly compatible, daunting team, if not occasionally at odds.
    Zane glanced up from his plate and raised an eyebrow, apparently waiting on Ty’s retort that hadn’t come. Ty frowned at him, looking to turn the conversation another direction. “What’s wrong with my guns?”
    Zane chuckled. “There’s nothing wrong with your guns. And speaking of, we’ll have to see if they got mine in the luggage too. I don’t like being unarmed.” He reached for the breadbasket, then took a fluffy yeast roll and offered it to Ty.
    Ty shook his head, smiling slightly. It was so easy to distract Zane sometimes it was shameful. “You’re going to have to carry mine most of the time anyway,” he said. “The only thing I have to wear that’s thick enough to conceal a gun is that tux.” He nodded toward the garment bags in the closet. He plucked at the shirt he was wearing. Aside from the shirts being just a little tight at the seams around his shoulders, he found that he kind of liked Del Porter’s wardrobe. Most of the clothing was made of fine linen or light muslin or cotton, appropriate for tropical locales. But there was no hiding a .38 in the clinging folds.
    “There is that, at least. Corbin’s got high-fashion taste, and that means long sleeves, even if they are silk shirts. I might get away with one blade.” Zane shrugged. “Silk is hot,” he tacked on.
    Ty nodded and looked back down at his folder before Zane could see the smile on his lips. Silk also stuck to skin like glue. He’d spent a few very sweaty nights on silk sheets that he didn’t remember fondly. Mainly because the owner of those silk sheets had tried to kill him later….
    Anyway, he also didn’t consider silk shirts high fashion, unless you were a guido and liked lots of bling, too, but he wasn’t going to get into that with Mr. Walking Shorts.
    “Corbin has a manicure five days in,” Zane said as he pushed his plate slightly away, most of the food he’d spooned onto it gone. “Does Del have any salon appointments?”
    Ty flipped through the itinerary quickly, wincing as he caught sight of the hot stone massage. He rolled his shoulders unconsciously, trying to ease the throbbing ache in them.
    “If you’re already hurting, just tell them you want something different,” Zane said.
    “It’s just up around my shoulders. I guess that’s where all the knots were,” Ty muttered as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. He flipped the page. The massage and sauna time on day five were the only spa treatments scheduled. Thank Christ. “Are you dive certified?” he asked abruptly as he looked over the details of their scuba diving session.
    “No. I’ve never been scuba diving. Doesn’t matter, though. Corbin’s certified. Where is that?” Zane pulled his itinerary closer and ran his finger down the list.
    “St. Maarten,” Ty grumbled. He was watching Zane thoughtfully, unhappy with the fact that even after all