Devils: Cutthroat 99 MC

by Evelyn Glass

  “No, sir. I’ve got it covered.”

  “So I understand,” he said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “I understand that one of the players is claiming you’re his good luck charm.”

  She blushed. “Yes, but I get the dealer’s permission each time before I give the table a knock.”

  “Nobody’s complaining. The only reason I know is the promoter paid me a visit. We had to sign a waiver before you could appear on television. You’ll have to sign one, too.”

  “Me? Why do they want me on television?”

  “Other than because every man in America will be slobbering all over their television?” Ted chuckled. “Because they like the little quirks of the players, and that knocking business has their attention. When you go on and become this big star, remember us little people, okay?”

  Shayna giggled in delight. “I will, and I promise not to embarrass Tops.”

  Ted smiled. “If I thought you would, I would’ve never signed the waiver.”

  ***

  Beast was chasing the last of his breakfast around his plate when his phone buzzed. Shayna had left an hour before to go turn in her notice and get dressed for the tournament. They’d talked about it last night and decided it would be best that all their extracurricular activities stop until the tournament was over. She could get into trouble with casino management and he didn’t want to risk being disqualified. He smiled as he popped the last of the toast into his mouth and reached for his phone. They hadn’t made love last night, only snuggling until they went to sleep, but, for reasons he couldn’t understand, he didn’t mind at all.

  Before he picked up the phone, it buzzed again. He didn’t recognize the number, but opened the first text anyway, waiting while the picture downloaded. It was a picture of a white Mercedes sitting in front of a house. He was about to delete it as a wrong number, but spread his fingers apart to enlarge the photo. It was a picture of a smiling Shayna approaching the car in her dress, taken in front of her house Saturday afternoon.

  “What the hell?” he muttered as he closed the text and opened the next one. Start losing or she dies. “What the…?” He closed the text and dialed the number. As expected, it rang until he gave up, nobody answering and never going to voicemail.

  He dialed the direct services number, the one his people called when they were in the field and needed help, pronto. “Jill! I need a reverse lookup on a number and I need it yesterday,” Beast barked into his phone then rattled off the number, drumming his fingers as he waited.

  “Stand by,” Jill replied and Beast could hear the clacking of computer keys. “It was issued Tuesday by Cricket mobile on a prepaid plan. No name on file.”

  “Shit. Figures. Okay, thanks, Jill.”

  “Need backup?”

  Beast thought. “No. I’ve got it. Thanks.”

  He hung up the phone and returned to the picture. What the fuck is going on? He debated going to the tournament promoter with the texts, but changed his mind. If it were somebody trying to get into his head, he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. He stared at the picture a moment longer then deleted it and the following text before dialing the direct services line again.

  “Beast?” Jill asked in way of answer.

  “Get me Hightower.”

  “Stand by.”

  “Beast? What’s up?” Hightower asked, obviously confused as why Beast was calling in on the bat phone.

  “I need a couple of guys put on Shayna.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I got a text with a picture of her at her house along with a threat. Probably just someone trying to get into my head, but better safe than sorry.”

  “Threat? What kind of threat?”

  “The message said, ‘Start losing or she dies.’”

  “What?” Hightower cried. “That has to be prank.”

  “That’s what I thought, but then I thought of the other shit that’s going on. The tossed rooms and the attempt on the Argentines. What if they’re connected somehow?”

  Hightower hummed a moment. “Maybe you’re right. I assume we’re going to write this one off?”

  “Yes. I don’t want her to know. It’s probably nothing, and I don’t want to upset her if it turns out to be nothing.”

  “Beast, level with me. What’s with this bird? Why’s she so important?”

  Beast thought a moment. “I don’t know. I can relax around her and be myself. She doesn’t expect or want anything from me.” He smiled even though Hightower couldn’t see him. “She calms me.”

  There was a long pause. “Two-man team, around the clock in the background. We’ll keep a watch on her.”

  “Thanks, brother,” Beast said softly. The Reapers were going to be in good hands.

  ***

  “May I have your attention please!” a heavyset man called, raising his hands. “I’m Trevor Craggo, the producer for Ultimate Poker Challenge on the Cards Network. First, let me congratulate each and every one of you for making it this far. Out of the two thousand competitors that began the tournament, you are the final one hundred.” He paused and clapped his hands until everyone joined in.

  “Some of you have competed in the Ultimate Poker Challenge before, but for those new, let me give you a rundown of what’s going to happen over the next week. As you may have noticed, we have suspended a camera over each table. Those cameras will record the table, the dealing, betting and so forth. In front of each position you will find a small lipstick camera. Those will film your hole cards. Please, for the love of God, keep your cards in front of the camera so the audience at home can play along.” He paused as a chuckle rippled through the room. “Rest assured the feed goes directly to the production room and nobody can see your cards except the production crew. The production crew will not, I repeat, will not be allowed into the room during play. If we have a technical issue, we’ll close the tables before we will attempt to resolve it. Any questions?”

  There were none so he continued. “In addition to the cameras I just described, play will also be covered by handheld cameras. Their job is to capture reactions and the like. They will be moving about, but just ignore them. What you shouldn’t, ignore, however, is the fact that each table will be mic’d. The overhead camera will pick up general table chatter, but each Hole Card camera is a very sensitive directional mic, as well. We won’t be using most of the sound we capture, but please, try to watch your language. Bleeps are cheap, but they do cost money.” His last comment caused another ripple of laughter to roll across the room.

  Trevor pointed to a huge monitor beside him. “This is the tally board. It’s updated every ten minutes with the standings. If you want to know where you rank, this board will tell you. It’s a direct freed from the production room and is a repeat of the ranking we’ll be using for commentary during the show.

  “Speaking of the show…we’ll be recording every hand at every table. From that we’ll cut together twenty-six hours of the most intense poker seen on television. Each of you had to sign a waiver that stated you’re required, at our discretion, to sit for a one-hour interview. After you’re eliminated, one of the production staff will escort you to a green room for your interview. We’ll cut those interviews into the show.

  “Unlike last week, there is no set play time. Play starts at ten, just as before, but we play until twenty-five people are eliminated each day. That typically takes eight to ten hours, but it could be more or less. So make your bets count, boys and girls. The sooner you can knock someone out, the sooner you can enjoy your evening. On Friday, the final eight players will play until there is only one left, the ultimate poker player for 2015.”

  Trevor looked around the room. “Anyone have any questions before we start? No? Okay. Please form a line at the table in front of me and draw a card from the shoe. The shoe is loaded with one hundred cards, from Ace to Queen. That will determine your table. Please draw a card then take a position at your table.”

  Beast didn’t care which table he s
at at, but he did care about one thing. “Excuse me,” he said, stopping a harried looking production assistant. “I would like Shayna Shephard assigned to my table. Can you do that?”

  “She’s one of the girls?”

  “Yes, the redhead,” Beast said with a nod at the thirteen hostesses gathered together by the bar.

  “I don’t know if I can do—”

  “Then find someone who can,” Beast demanded.

  “Yes, sir,” the woman said and then smiled. “Let me see what I can do.”

  ***

  Shayna leaned in and gave the table a sharp rap with two fingers, ignoring the two cameras pointed at her, and then stepped back. She wanted to wish Beast luck, but it was carefully explained to all the hostesses that they were not to speak unless spoken to and she didn’t want to do anything that might get him, or her, into trouble.

  Beast gave her a wink and a smile as she stepped back, tossed in the big blind, then focused as the dealer began to distribute cards.

  “Ms. Shephard, may I see you a moment?” one of the production assistants asked. “This way, please.” The man led her out of the room and into the adjoining conference room where a small makeshift production office had been set up.

  “Trevor will be with you in a moment,” the man said, indicating a chair.

  She’d just settled into the chair when Trevor arrived. “Ms. Shephard, thank you for agreeing to see me. Please, have a seat,” Trevor said as she stood.

  “Am I in trouble already?” she asked with a grin as she returned to her chair.

  “Hardly! No, we have been watching you and that table knock thing you’re doing for Conor Boyd. I’ll be honest with you: the audience eats that shit up. I would like you to sign an additional waiver to appear on camera. We’d like to interview you and, perhaps, get a ‘girl on the floor’ take from you occasionally.” He slid a piece of paper across the table. “In exchange, we’re prepared to pay you twenty-five thousand.”

  She sat stunned. “So I sign that piece of paper, you ask me a few questions in front of the camera, and for that you give me twenty-five thousand dollars?”

  “Simple, isn’t it?”

  “What’s the catch?”

  Trevor chuckled. “No catch. You’re pretty, have a nice smile, and I understand you’re a doctor. Trust me, we’ll earn that twenty-five back several times over in ratings.”

  “Maybe I should ask for more money, then,” she said with a grin.

  Trevor burst into laughter. “I can tell I’m going to have to be careful around you or you’ll end up owning a piece of the show. The twenty-five is our standard contract. It’s more than fair considering we’ll require less than ten hours of your time.”

  Twenty-five hundred dollars an hour! I’m in the wrong business! Shayna picked up the pen and scrawled her name on the waiver and slid the paper across the table.

  “Thank you,” Trevor said. “Your check will be waiting for you at the end of the tournament.” Trevor waved his hand and the man that had fetched her appeared. “Ron, take Ms. Shephard over to research. Ms. Shephard, follow Ron. He’s going to take you to our research department. They’re going to ask you a bunch of questions about you and your life. No cameras or anything. You should be done in an hour or so. This is so when we interview you, we know what questions we want you to answer for the camera.” He stood and extended his hand. “Thank you, Ms. Shephard. I look forward to working with you.”

  ***

  Shayna returned to the poker room feeling rung out. She’d just spent the last two hours in a room with two women and a man as they fired rapid questions at her. How did she get started hosting at Tops? Did she like her job? How had that knock for luck business gotten started? Those and what felt like a million more.

  She took up her station at her table, nodding her thanks to Deb who had been covering for her. She smiled at Beast as he looked at her, a puzzled grin on his face. She glanced at the scoreboard. Beast had moved up from thirteenth to tenth, and one player was already out. She was still studying the board when the warning bell chimed at the same time Beast moved up to ninth and another player was marked as eliminated. She turned back to the table as Beast raked in a sizeable pile of chips, his Full House beating a Flush and a Straight.

  “Come on, Beast, you can do it,” she whispered, but far too quietly for anyone to hear.

  ***

  “Gentlemen. How’s it going?” Shayna asked the small group of men who had remained in the room nearest her, Beast among them.

  “I’m getting the shit kicked out of me,” one of the men complained. “You think you can come knock on my spot? It seems to be working for him,” he said with a nod at Beast.

  Shayna giggled. “If you think it will help.”

  “Can’t hurt,” the man replied with a grin.

  “I don’t believe in luck,” one of the men said. “It’s all about probability.”

  “Says the math whizz,” another man said.

  “You’re Paul Melichek?” Shayna asked. He was the top player in the tournament, the top-ranked poker player in the world, and was a PhD. Mathematician in probability.

  “Yes.” He smiled at her. “But having said that, if you want to come give me a rap, I certainly won’t complain.”

  “Why, if you don’t believe in luck?”

  Paul chuckled. “Any excuse to have someone as lovely as you to come stand by me, even for a moment, is a good enough excuse for me.”

  The man was past sixty, balding, a hundred pounds overweight, and wheezed when he walked, but a guest was a guest, so she twittered her professional laugh. “You’re so cute!”

  Paul elbowed Beast in the ribs by virtue of him standing to his right. “Hear that, boys? She thinks I’m cute!”

  Beast smiled and nodded. “She must dig older guys with brains.”

  Shayna giggled again, playing along. It’s how you get the big tips. “Math is such a turn on,” she breathed.

  That stopped the conversation cold for five seconds until Beast spluttered out a loud laugh, his chortle quickly spreading through the group.

  ***

  Shayna was bopping with the radio on her way home, drumming on the steering wheel as she sang along with Michael Ray while he crooned how he wanted to Kiss You in the Morning. She smiled during the chorus. It’s too bad Beast and I are on a hiatus, otherwise I would do more than kiss him in the morning!

  Beast was still sitting at number nine on the list as play ended for the evening, but she was sitting on the top of the world. The twenty-five grand would make a sizeable dent in her student loan, she was starting a new job in two weeks, and Beast was making her feel like…she didn’t know what exactly, but she felt fucking great! She may not be in love, but she was damn sure in lust, and she wasn’t sure her feet were even touching the ground.

  It’s just infatuation, her analytical side said. Yeah? Well I don’t care! I’ve never felt like this about anyone and I love it! She didn’t even care that the poker groupies had arrived with the cameras and were hanging around. It was rather comical watching the women gravitate to Beast every time he stepped out of the poker room. Beast drew the women and Fawn LeMay the men, and they were harried mercilessly.

  At first she didn’t like the attention he was receiving, but by the third break of the day he was staying in the poker room as much as possible and bitching about it, which made her feel better.

  It was almost eleven, the game running late today because of delay in starting. She was looking forward to getting home, getting a shower and something to eat, then crashing and dreaming of all the wonderful things Beast would be doing to her if they were together.

  She glanced into the rearview, squinting into the blazing headlamps of some jerk in an SUV or truck trying to crawl up her ass. She sped up trying to open up a little space, but she could only do so much in traffic.

  “Asshole,” she muttered as she watched the signal, the lights in the rearview as brilliant as spotlights. The moment the light went gr
een she floored the little car, banging it up through the gears as she wound it out in the first two gears. She got the jump on the truck with her jackrabbit start, but it was on her again in moments.

  “What a prick!” she muttered as she tapped the brake gently, then more firmly, trying to warn the tailgater off, but nothing worked. With a sigh, she signaled and turned off Las Vegas Boulevard onto Cary. It was more circuitous route home, but at least she wouldn’t have to contend with her retinas being burned out because of some jerkwad.

  She was deep in the residential area when the headlights turned from a side road and came roaring up behind her. She realized the truck was going to hit her just in time to brace before the impact sent her Civic careening, the back of the car sliding around and pointing her into the lawns boarding the street. Her car jumped the curb, sliding sideway though a lawn before plowing through a cactus garden and hitting a car sitting in the drive. She sat stunned, her ears ringing from the airbag. A moment later her door was jerked open and a man began pulling her roughly out of the car.