Smith's Monthly #22

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  “Makes sense,” she said, nodding.

  At that moment, the director picked up their money and nodded to the dealer. “Make sure you each have two thousand in chips. Dealer, put them in the air.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Las Vegas, Nevada. August 23

  ANNIE MANAGED TO get enough of a look at her first two cards with her shaking hands to toss them into the muck. Doc tossed his hand as well, and then asked her where she had gone to school.

  Between hands, they talked about her days at Princeton and his adventures on the river. The best hand she saw in the first fifteen-minute round was a pair of tens and there was already a raise ahead of her, so she had mucked them.

  Doc hadn’t gotten involved in a hand either, but by the end of the first round, two people were already gone. Eight left.

  Somewhere in the middle of the first round, in the enjoyable conversation, she had relaxed and her hands had actually stopped shaking. She couldn’t believe she was actually sitting there, playing cards with a very handsome, very famous poker player. She was going to have to pinch herself later.

  Two more aggressive players were knocked out in the middle of the next round, leaving their chips with a man who she had a read on as a good player. He was clearly chip leader with about eight thousand. Six of them left, and next to her, Doc was still acting relaxed, talking to her, and tossing every hand away, sometimes without looking at them, depending on his position and what had happened ahead of him with the betting.

  At one point near the end of the second round, he asked her what she did for a living.

  “Detective in the Las Vegas PD,” she said.

  He looked into her eyes again with that. “I wouldn’t have thought you were that old.”

  She laughed. “Thanks, I think.”

  She wasn’t sure, but under the tan she thought that this time he blushed. She was just glad he didn’t ask what case she was working on.

  Halfway through the third round, she took down the blinds with a raise on a pair of jacks, and then won another pot on a race, her ace/king against a pair of fours with the ace hitting the turn. She had started with two thousand, now she had just over three thousand in chips. Not good, but not that bad either.

  Doc was under two thousand, with the blinds at one hundred, two hundred, and didn’t seem to care or even notice. She wasn’t convinced he was even paying attention.

  Another player got knocked out and stood, shaking his head at the loss. Five players left. Beside her, Doc sort of sat up, squared his shoulders, and looked like he was about to go to work.

  Suddenly, she understood what he had been doing. He had been just staying out of the way of the dead money, the players who didn’t have a chance to win, but might knock him out with a lucky draw. Now, with only five players left, he was going to start playing to win.

  She had read about that type of strategy in a number of magazines and two books, but had never seen it so blatantly done before. She just hoped he didn’t come after her first.

  He didn’t. The weak player in the second chair, under the gun, made a small raise of five hundred and suddenly Doc came alive, coming over the top of the man’s bet with a reraise.

  The guy clearly looked like he had swallowed something sour.

  Annie folded, and so did the other two players in the blinds. The original raiser looked back at his two cards, then shook his head and mucked them.

  The next hand Doc took the man’s big blind with a decent-sized raise under the gun. Then, in the next hand, Doc took the guy’s money again when the guy limped in on the small blind and Doc raised again from the big blind, again getting the guy to fold like tissue paper.

  Annie was impressed. For three rounds, Doc hadn’t played a hand, then in three hands, he had just simply robbed the weakest player at the table of almost two thousand in chips. It was a stunning run, set up perfectly. Doc might have been talking to her, but clearly he had been paying attention to the other players as well.

  Doc folded his small blind to her big blind and then raised the next hand from the button. She folded her small blind; the big blind, who had the biggest stack, called, and so did the weak player Doc had been robbing.

  After the flop, both checked to Doc, who bet, and they both seemed in a hurry to fold. Suddenly, Doc was gaining on the chip leader. What she was watching was play far beyond her level. Maybe someday she’d get there. At least she understood what she was watching.

  Doc folded the next hand and she picked up a pair of tens on the button and raised. The chip leader beside her called her six hundred raise.

  She caught a third ten on the flop, the big blind checked, and she bet over half of her remaining chips. The bet was too large to say anything to a good player except that her hand was weak. Usually weak players, when they have a strong hand, bet small to get people to call. She wanted the call, but she wanted the big stack to think she didn’t.

  Beside her, Doc nodded for some reason.

  The chip leader thought it over and then called.

  The board paired on the turn, giving her a full house. The chip leader bet out, enough to put her all in, and she called at once, rolling her cards over as she pushed her chips forward.

  Doc again nodded as the big stack showed his smaller set. She couldn’t be beat unless he hit quads, which he didn’t.

  As she stacked her chips, Doc whispered, “Nice bet.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Two hands later, Doc came in with a decent raise, she folded, and the big stack reraised, and Doc called all in. He had about three hundred less than the other guy. Doc rolled over a pair of kings, the big stack ace/jack. When the ace hit on the river, Doc stood.

  Annie was impressed. He didn’t seem upset or anything at the bad beat. She expected him to say goodbye to her, but instead just stepped back to watch the three of them finish the satellite.

  Suddenly, she felt as nervous as she had when he sat down.

  Three hands later, she reraised with all her money on ace/king, and was called by the big stack with pocket tens. Nothing hit and she stood up in third place. No winnings, but she felt good about how she had played.

  Doc was nodding as he stepped toward her. “You played that right.”

  “Thanks,” she said. She was almost glad she had gotten knocked out and was back talking to him. Satellites came and went, but how often did a player at her level get a chance to talk to Doc Hill?

  Standing face-to-face with him, she was surprised how tall he was. She was tall, too tall she thought at times, but she still looked up into his eyes.

  “You have time for some late lunch?” he asked, smiling.

  She was going to have to be careful. That smile of his could melt just about anything, and it was having that effect on her legs.

  “I’d love to,” she said, trying to keep the stupid butterflies swarming around in her stomach from making her act like a schoolgirl. He was one of the best poker players on the planet, and extremely good-looking.

  Was she in lust or just in awe? Or both?

  Lunch with him to find out sure couldn’t hurt.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Las Vegas, Nevada. August 23

  A STUNNINGLY GOOD-LOOKING cop, who could play poker. Who would have bet that was possible? And she had an education and was fun to talk to. There had to be something wrong with her. It was a good sign that I couldn’t see what it was yet.

  Besides, as a detective, she just might be able to help me with what I was dealing with on the death of Carson, maybe give me a perspective I couldn’t yet see. But I wanted to get to know her better before telling her. Fact was, I didn’t need an excuse. I wanted to get to know her better.

  Period.

  It had been a while since I had even had a date. I could just never tell if someone was going out with me for my money and fame, or because they were actually interested in me. And even real relationships, when I found them, didn’t last long. Dating a professional poker player was
not an easy thing to do. But that didn’t stop me from continuing to try to find someone.

  Just talking with Annie had been enough to keep my mind off Carson for most of the satellite and allow me to focus on playing. That help alone had been great. I had needed it after the conversation with Verne.

  Deadly secrets. Carson was very dead, so Verne was right on that account.

  I hoped to continue the distraction right through lunch as well. Anything to keep from going back to Carson’s house. Those pictures in his bedroom haunted me, drifting around in my mind, appearing and vanishing without warning, a reality I didn’t want to accept.

  I had hated Carson for decades. Now I was so angry at my mother, I might end up hating her as well for what she had done.

  “Where are we heading?” Annie asked as we left the tournament area, heading down one of the wide aisles between the thousands of slot machines, weaving in and out of the slow-walking tourists, going in the general direction of the main lobby.

  “Café Bellagio,” I said. “Why, is there another restaurant here?”

  She laughed. “Not that I know of.” Her expression changed. “Sorry about Carson. I heard you weren’t close, but it still can’t be easy. I wouldn’t know what I would do if I lost my father like that.”

  I shrugged. “It’s been interesting, that’s for sure. So what does your father do?”

  “Retired detective. Like father, like daughter. But he refuses to quit working. I’d quit in a blink if I was making enough money with my poker.”

  “Oh, you will make money with the poker when you focus on it, not an issue, as well as you play now.”

  She blushed, her skin turning pink right up under her beautiful hair. I was starting to enjoy that blush. Clearly the dream of playing full-time poker was very important to her. Before she could say anything, I went on.

  “He’s retired, but refuses to stop working? How does he manage that?”

  “Cold cases,” she said. “He and a bunch of his buddies work on cold cases with the blessing of the department. They call themselves the Cold Poker Gang because they talk about cold cases while playing poker in my dad’s basement.”

  I laughed. “I think I’m really going to like your father.”

  She smiled. “He has his good points.”

  As we waited for the food, I asked her about some of the cold cases her father had settled and we talked about a few of them until lunch arrived. I liked Annie even more the longer we talked. There was a connection between us, an easiness that I often didn’t feel around a woman.

  “I’m sort of working on a cold case as well,” Annie said as we started eating. “Half-cold, actually. The Jeff Taylor murder. You ever meet him?”

  “Afraid not,” I said. “He was just before my time. But I have heard that when he got on a roll, he couldn’t be beat. So why the sudden interest in the Taylor murder case?”

  She looked at me for a moment, puzzled, then nodded as if she suddenly understood. “Oh, you were still up in Idaho so you didn’t hear. His grave was robbed. I caught the case since I play poker.”

  “Robbed?” I shook my head trying to figure that out, or even imagine it in a modern cemetery. “So why would someone rob his grave? Did he take his World Series bracelets with him or something?”

  “No,” Annie said, shaking her head. “That’s what makes this so damn strange. The only thing taken was a key. His son Brent put it on Taylor’s chest when he buried him. Brent said it looked like a bank key.”

  Annie shrugged and thankfully went back to eating, looking at her food instead of me.

  For a moment I just flat couldn’t breathe, then the years of poker training kicked in and I went behind what I called my shields. But not fast enough. Annie looked up and clearly saw that something about what she had said had surprised me.

  Now she was staring at me with those wonderful eyes of hers, and I had no doubt she was seeing just how upset what she had said had made me.

  Verne Adkin’s words came back like they were being broadcast over a loudspeaker in my head. He was murdered for that key. Put it away and tell no one you have it. Not even Ace.

  I focused on the hamburger I had ordered, trying to get my balance.

  “Weird,” I managed to say, looking up at Annie. She was still staring at me. “Anything about the key that gave you a lead?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Taylor’s son said it had the number three etched on the side of it. But otherwise it looked like the standard old bank deposit key.”

  Carson’s key had a four scratched on the side of it.

  They were connected.

  “So why did his son bury it with Taylor?” I asked, hoping my voice sounded calmer than I felt.

  “Brent said it was because his father clearly considered it important, but no one knew what it was for.”

  “Okay, that’s strange,” I said.

  “Real strange. My father caught that case when it happened. Brent said his dad had been claiming he knew some horrible secret and was going to tell the world, and that was what got him killed.”

  My head was just swirling, and it was taking all my poker training and ability to think under pressure to keep myself balanced.

  Annie went on. “It looked more like a robbery gone bad. The case went cold almost at once. My father never could get any traction on it. He said Taylor’s kid seemed like a lunatic on drugs at the time.”

  “Didn’t tell anyone about the key?” I asked.

  “Not a word,” Annie said. “But now with the grave robbery, dear old dad and his Cold Case Gang are going to give the entire thing another run, while I work this side of things.”

  Again, I was having trouble taking a regular breath. Verne’s words again came back strong. When I had asked him what the key was for, he had said, For keeping secrets. Deadly secrets.

  “Doc, are you all right?” Annie asked, a very deep look of concern on her face.

  I must have been sitting, thinking, not moving at all, like I did when studying a situation at a poker table. She was staring at me and I didn’t blame her.

  I forced myself to sit up, focus back on my food, even though I wasn’t that hungry suddenly. “Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking back, trying to remember anything anyone might have said to me about Taylor. Nothing’s coming up, but if something does, I’ll call you.”

  I could tell that she didn’t completely buy my answer, but she didn’t know me well enough to question it.

  Annie nodded. “Or if you hear something over the next few weeks in the tournament. Any help on this is welcome.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t decide if I should bring her in on what I was dealing with or not. I needed a night to think about that, maybe talk to Fleet and get his opinion.

  “Look,” I said, “I got a couple old-timers who are friends of mine. How about I talk to them tonight and we meet here for breakfast tomorrow?”

  “I’d love to,” Annie said, far faster than she should have. Then she realized what she had done and laughed, the blush coming up her neck. “Thank you.”

  “Anything to help out Las Vegas’s finest.” I said, smiling at her.

  “I can use all the help I can get,” she said. Then she blushed again.

  I laughed. I had a hunch I knew what had just gone through her mind. It had gone through mine as well, but I was nice enough to not say anything. Although, I had to admit, it was tempting.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Las Vegas, Nevada. August 23

  STEVEN GLANCED UP as Doc Hill and his friend walked past, leaving the Café Bellagio. They had been sitting back near the windows, he was at a table closer to the lobby. He couldn’t hear what they had been talking about, but it didn’t matter anyhow. And he didn’t care.

  He pushed away his half-eaten Caesar salad and stood, tossing some cash on the table to cover his tab. Following every move he had planned, he picked up the morning Las Vegas Sun newspaper he had been reading, folded it, and stuck it under his arm. Without being
in a hurry, he moved out of the confines of the restaurant.

  Doc and his friend stood for a moment talking near the entrance to the restaurant, then parted.

  From the looks of it, the woman was going back toward the poker area. Doc turned and headed across the lobby toward the entrance to the south parking garage.

  Steven stopped and stood beside a bench, making sure that was exactly where Doc was headed. The idiot actually had his father’s key on him, and had been stupid enough to show it around at a poker table earlier this morning. He wasn’t going to have it for much longer.

  Steven watched as Doc entered the hallway leading toward the garage, then flipped open a cell phone and dialed a number. “He’s on his way.”

  With that, he closed the cell phone, took a napkin and wiped any possible fingerprints off, then stuck the cell phone inside the newspaper under his arm. The phone would never be traced back to him even if something went wrong on the other side.

  He strolled across the huge lobby, taking his time, acting like a tourist impressed with the overdone beauty of the Bellagio’s front entrance.

  Outside, he got in the line for a cab. He would go to the MGM Grand, drop the paper and phone in a garbage can there in an area of the walkway going to the tram that had few cameras, take the train up the Strip to where his car was parked in yet another Casino’s parking lot.

  Even in a city filled with cameras, there was no way anyone would trace him through all he was doing. And soon he would have his third key and Doc Hill would be dead.

  Jeff Taylor’s key had been his first. He had killed Benson James and his wife yesterday in Medford, Oregon, and taken Benson’s key. That had been his second. Carson Hill’s key would be the third.

  And later tonight, he’d get a fourth.

  After that, there would only be five to go.

  This game was really becoming fun.