100 Theme Challenge #69

Sequel of #50, #51, #52, #54, #60 and #68. (And I'm not even halfway through this story, oops.)

69. What if...? 

Part VII

There was so much cigarette smoke in here that Jack felt like he was walking through fog as he took a cautious look in the small room. It was full of men stacked around tables, laughing and drinking with cards in their hands. Jack scoffed at the lack of security, they probably thought they were safe enough to not hire any more guard than one, who seemed too interested in a conversation to notice the FBI agent. He approached the nearest table, where a large amount of tokens were already piled.

He already knew they were a bunch of amateurs, playing for fun and money, and no organization probably even had them on their radar.

"Evening, folks," he greeted the men at the table, sitting down.

The man at his side looked him over. "If it isn't Jack Byrne, Chicago's dearest FBI agent."

Jack chuckled. Kevin Mason had been involved in a drug smuggle a few years ago, and even though he had been released for lack of proof, him and Jack never saw eye to eye. It might have to do with the way the officer threatened him in an interrogation room as he was sobbing he hadn't done anything. 

"Mister Mason," Jack only had to hold his gaze for the other to lower it, frustration written all over his bloated face.

"What do you want, Byrne?" Another one asked, a huge cigar hanging from his lips.

"Nothing much, I heard about this little club and wanted to see it for myself. Is there anyone who's holding this place up that I can talk to?"

Mason groaned. "That table over there, and stop bothering us."

"Thanks," Jack mumbled around his cigarette. His smoke joined the mass as he made his way through the low-ceiling room. It had been part of the rest of the warehouse, but a wall had been constructed to make that part more intimate for the men's activities. From what he could see, they were playing cards or writing down on some gambling cards, nothing really illegal in Chicago which was one of the biggest places for gambling in general. He wasn't there to denounce them anyway, he didn't have time for that, and it'd be like removing one poop from an endless pile of it. Jack was here to know more about game cards trading, because his trail had been cut at the pawn shop.

"You're taking care of this place?" He asked to the most presentable man, with his slicked hair and adjusted suit.

"Indeed, I'm Albert Moore. I never saw you before, how did you find this place?"

"It's a secret. I just need some info, and then I'll be on my way."

"He's from the FBI!" Kevin Mason shouted behind him, and Jack sighed when two muscled man raised up and walked towards him.

"I really didn't want to fight tonight..." he said, but of course they didn't listen to him. He dodged a fist and a kick and used a chair on one's back, stopping him for a short while. He twisted around and managed to hit the other one in the stomach, then his face. There was a loud bone crack, and he fell on the floor as the first groaned back up. He tried to shoulder bump him, but Jack dodged him once again and punched him behind the head, then trapped him in a headlock.

"Can we talk now?" He asked to Albert, tightening his grip to stop his victim from thrashing around.

"Fine, let go of my man. Stevie, bring Mark with you and both of you get out of here, you useless wimps. You didn't even manage a hit on him."

"That's because I'm used to bigger treats," Jack inhaled through his cigarette, that he hadn't lost by only years of expertise, before crushing it right on the table. Albert chuckled and made a sign for the others to continue whatever they were doing before stopping to watch the short but sweet fight.

"All right, cocky FBI agent, what do you want to know?"

"I'm currently looking for some trading cards."

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Does this one tell you anything?" He retrieved the card held by the victim, and that earned him a frown.

"Look, we trade a lot of stuff here; I can't remember every card we've ever traded. Maybe if you'd have a name to give to me...?"

"Does Paul Clark ring any bell?"

The man thought for a moment, then his gaze lightened up. "Oh yeah, that dickhead! He did come here to trade some cards. In fact he just wanted to buy some, and we never saw him again. He was an odd man, and now that I think of it, he was really interested in that sport team." He pointed to the card Jack was still holding. So the killer was using that false name at multiple places?

"Do you keep a register of all the items sold here?"

"No, I don't. These things are kept private between the seller and the buyer, I'm afraid, Mister FBI."

Well, shit. Jack nodded. "I don't have any other questions at the moment, then, so I won't bother you any longer."

(What is 100TC?)