Introduction

Los Angeles, California

Michael Davidson's glacial blue eyes scanned the smokey poker room with negligent ease from behind mirror-plated shades. The poker room was located in the back of a bar called the Red Razor. Everyone knew that a person had to be twenty-one to enter the place, but it was safe to say, like in many other things, Michael was the exception to the rule.

At fifteen, Michael was commonly referred to as a street-brat. Meaning that the street was all he knew, and he knew it well. After running away from foster-care at the age of ten, Michael just ran hustle, after hustle to make enough money to live on. From the art of poker all the way to pick-pocketing, he was one of the best.

And Michael did make the right contacts on the long road of his life. He knew just about every underground gambling club in the city of L.A. And all of the bookies and club owners knew him on a first name basis. Two or three of them even hired him to run numbers when he was younger. And no matter what they had to say about him, they all said that he was one tough kid.

Michael walked the rest of the way into the room with a purposeful stride to the bar, running his fingers through unruly blonde hair on the way. After a little over four in some half years on the street, Michael had done fairly well for himself. He walked in wearing nice clothes and a little over five hundred dollars.

Kerry Wilson was working the small bar that was in the poker room that night. The twenty-seven-year-old redhead was one of Michael's favorite people. She was the closest thing that he had to a big sister on the street.

Kerry's greyish-green eyes twinkled when she watched Michael walk up. "Well, Mikey Davidson... Ya come to take some money off these chumps?" She asked, automatically putting out a Coke for the boy. She told him once that she would give him a 'real' drink, but he told her not while he was working.

"You think too highly of me, Sis." He said in a smooth voice, lowering his shades to give her a wink as he took a seat on the small bar-stool and slid the shades back up just as quick. Michael had started calling Kerry "Sis" after the first year he knew her, a little after his thirteenth birthday.

"Oh? So you plan on losing?" She asked with a smirk.

Michael just chuckled. "Nah, I ain't playing tonight. Mr. Jacobson wanted to see me... I got paged about an hour ago." Michael said, taking a sip of Coke. Mr. Jacobson had got him the pager when he first started running numbers for him.

"Damn, that's right. I almost forgot," She started, reaching under the bar and pulled out a box that was rapped with red paper and looked, for all the world like a Christmas present. "He told me to give you this and to tell you he'd be around 'bout ten." She finished as she laid the box in front of him.

Michael fished out a pack of Camels and a lighter from his leather jacket, lit it and just looked at the box. It wasn't like Mr. Jacobson to give presents unless it was necessary. Michael looked back up to Kerry. "What is it?"

Kerry laughed. "Hell, I don't know, Mikey. He didn't tell me. Open it and find out." She said with a light smile. She was curious to know what it was as well. She had known Mr. Jacobson a hell of a lot longer than Michael and the man NEVER bought her a present.

She watched with interest as Michael ripped the paper off slowly, only to reveal a plain box. Michael then slowly flipped the lid on it, frustrating Kerry because the lid still blocked her view. This was one of the many times that she wished she could see his brilliant blue eyes so she could see if the present, whatever it was, surprised him.

Michael picked a card out of the box and scanned it four or five times before Kerry couldn't take it anymore and snatched it out of his hand to see what it said. She read it out loud. "You'll need this for tonight," Just about that time she watched Michael pulled out his present.

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