Dragons deal gm-3

by Robert Asprin

  "Are you planning to clean the rest of us out, Griffen?" Oliver asked, with a practiced wry expression.

  "It's a good exercise for me," Griffen said. "If I can't play for at least an hour on this much money, then I had better find another job."

  They laughed. He was short-stacked compared with the others, but it didn't take him long to double up and double again. He kept a deliberate eye on the blond man. He thought Kitty was probably wrong about his being gay. When one took shape-changing into account, the effeminate movements were probably just that. The mystery guest was a woman.

  He, or she, tended to tuck his cards underneath his right wrist, leaving the right hand free to play with the stacks of chips. He leaned on the left wrist. The dragon did blink a lot when he, or she, had a good hand. Griffen started reading the signs and began to chip away at those stacks.

  "Are you picking on me, Griffen?" the dragon asked.

  "Me?" Griffen said, blandly. "Just playing a little poker."

  It would take a lot of guts to go ahead and spike the game, but Griffen assumed that the Eastern dragons knew how much risk he and the others were taking to have set it up. He had to be prepared to cause trouble and call the police. Griffen merely had to beat him to it. It needed to be a hand that the other dragon was prepared to lose.

  It didn't take long. Griffen palmed a card from the deck and kept it hidden until the other dragon glared at Jock Bernucci, who had just won a hand with king-jack of spades.

  "You are cheating," he said. Griffen felt his heart speed up. Here it came.

  "What?"

  The other turned over his cards. "I, too, have the jack of spades. So you had an extra one in there? Hoping that none of us would notice an extra card in the deck? What kind of game is this? I thought it was honest!"

  "I am honest!" Jock exclaimed. "Griffen!"

  "Don't worry, Jock," Griffen said. "He's the one who is cheating. Look at this." He reached across the table and wrenched the other dragon's wrist up, scattering chips, and slipped the other card out. "He's got one he was saving for a rainy day, too. Look at that, another jack of spades." He hoped the illusion would hold. It didn't have to be good for long.

  Jock gawked at him. He sprang to his feet. "Stand up, jerkface. Stand up and let me take you to pieces." The other dragon jumped back, alarmed, tipping over his chair.

  Griffen rose and put his hands between the two of them.

  "What just happened, Griffen?" Kitty asked.

  "He cheated," Griffen said. "He had some spare cards in his sleeve. Nice of him to accuse Jock when it was him."

  "I . . . I never noticed," Kitty said. "I'm ashamed."

  Griffen kept his eyes on the other dragon, who looked as if he wanted to dive for the door. Griffen had to be ready to prevent an escape. "Don't be. He's one of the best there is. I've heard of him from . . . back East."

  "Atlantic City?" Lacey asked.

  "Uh, yeah. Atlantic City. Atlantic City Steve they call him. Very tough player, but dishonest as hell."

  "Atlantic City Steve? That's a really dumb nickname."

  "You think Minnesota Fats is complimentary?"

  "Well, no, but it was descriptive."

  Griffen kept his eyes leveled on the tall blond man. The other dragon glared at him. "I'm sorry, folks, but I think it'd be better if we call it a night. I need to handle this. Steve and I have to have a little talk. Thanks for coming. Kitty, count them out, please."

  The other players departed. Kitty lingered for a moment, but Griffen chased her off. "You did great," he assured her.

  When the door closed behind her, he looked at the other dragon. "Take it easy. We're going to be here for a while. Why not drop the disguise. I'm curious to see the face of my enemy."

  The tall blond male seemed to collapse in on himself. Griffen had watched shape-shifters of other species, but except for Val had never watched another dragon change. The body shrank at the shoulders and grew slightly at the chest. He was right: It was a woman, a short one with frizzy brown hair, dark, almond-shaped eyes, and a blunt nose. She stood rigid on the other side of the table.

  "You can't keep me here," she said.

  "I sure can. Now, call the others."

  "What if I won't?"

  Griffen knew his poker face was the best around. He just looked at her.

  She faced him down but grew more and more uncomfortable as the silence prolonged. Griffen sat down in a chair, blocking escape through either the window or the door. He blew a smoke ring, slowly, insouciantly.

  Finally, she took out her cell phone.

  Forty-six

  Griffen kept his eyes fixed on the woman until a knock came at the door. "It's open!" he called.

  Three men sidled cautiously into the room. Jordan Ma, whom Mai had warned him about, the old man called Pack, who had challenged Mr. Stearn a few weeks back, and Peter Sing. Griffen was disappointed but not surprised.

  "I knew you were one of them."

  Peter looked regretful. "I'm sorry. I came to like you. But business is business."

  "The same goes for me," Griffen said.

  "Rebecca, are you all right?" Jordan Ma asked the woman, who began to back away when they came in. She opened large, resentful eyes to him.

  "No! He has kept me here for ages! You try holding it after six wine spritzers!" She turned and fled for the bathroom.

  Griffen gestured to the other chairs. "Sit down. We still have a lot of refreshments. Can I pour you a drink? I'm Griffen McCandles, but you already know that. Won't you introduce me to your friends?"

  When Jordan didn't speak, Peter said, "This is Winston Long, and that was Rebecca Tan."

  "How do you do?" Griffen asked.

  "Not bad for an old man," Winston said, amiably. "Call me Pack." Rebecca returned and plumped down in a chair but didn't say a word.

  "Why are we here?" Jordan Ma asked, but he sat down and signed to the others to do the same. Griffen made himself a whisky and water and took the seat opposite Jordan.

  "You came here to take down my operation. Naturally, I don't want you to."

  "I do not mean in New Orleans. Why are we here in this room at this time of night?"

  Griffen lounged back in his chair and studied the other dragon. "You have been trying to take me down for months. Why?"

  "You have something we want."

  "Good. And you have something I want."

  "And what is that?"

  "Your absence," Griffen said, toying with a stack of chips on the table. "I am finding it difficult to run my operation with you people causing trouble. I don't want you in this city. I challenge all of you to a single game of poker, any game, any rules, winner take all. You can put up whatever you have against what I have."

  "And what is that?"

  "What did you come for?" Griffen countered.

  "Your fiefdom here," Jordan Ma said.

  "Then that's it," Griffen said. "I will play you for everything you have against what I have. If I win, then you butt out and don't come back. Never. If you win, then I will pack up and move back to . . . well, maybe not Ann Arbor, but somewhere."

  "Somewhere not in the Eastern dragons' command," Winston Long said.

  "Fine," Griffen said. "You give me a list, and I'll avoid them. If I lose. Which I doubt. What I do after that is none of your business. This is what you are here for, now. Play or don't. I'll take you down one by one. I know who each of you is now."

  "What about your sister?" Jordan Ma asked.

  "She's independent," Griffen said, casually. "I'm the one you're worried about. So play me. My share is worth exactly what all four of yours are together. Everything you have against everything I have."

  "Who the hell are you, Sky Masterson?"

  Griffen smiled. "Up until now I would have thought of myself more as Nathan Detroit, but if you want to play me for what I have, then I guess I've graduated to Sky. That is my proposition. If you don't think it's worth your while, then why have you spent months here in disgu
ise trying to undermine my business? This is your chance to take the whole thing in one game, winner take all. If you know anything about me, you know my word is good. I will walk away. You will win. If you can."

  It was a dare. Griffen could feel the excitement in the air.

  Peter grinned at him. "I love it," he said. "This is the final table to end all tournaments. There has never been a larger prize."

  "Who will deal?" Winston asked. "I don't trust your humans or any of your feeble dragon hybrids."

  "Mai," Griffen said.

  The four Eastern dragons looked startled. Rebecca tapped the table.

  "Why her? She is one of us."

  "Because I don't trust her," Griffen said. "But maybe you do."

  "No," Peter said. "None of us trust her."

  "That's perfect," Jordan said. "I agree." The others nodded.

  Griffen hit her speed-dial number on his cell phone. Mai answered, sounding irritable.

  "Griffen? It's after three. Why are you calling so late?"

  Griffen explained what was going on. "I need you to deal poker for a private party," he said. "A few old friends. Jordan Ma and some of his associates."

  "Jordan! Where are you?" she demanded.

  "In your hotel, on the fifteenth floor." He gave her the number of the suite.

  "I will be there in five minutes."

  It took six. She hurried in through the door and stopped short when she saw the others. She let out a hiss like a snake. Jordan Ma smiled. The others merely looked perturbed. Griffen could tell they had some kind of history. Someday, he might be able to persuade it out of Mai.

  "We will use our own chips." Jordan said.

  Griffen frowned. "What's wrong with mine?"

  "Ours is our stake." He nodded to Peter, who took a heavy leather bag from under his coat and poured the contents out in the center of the table. Hundreds of metal disks clinked, cascaded, tinkled to the felted top. Their color was pure, brilliant yellow.

  Griffen's eyes popped at the sight. "Are these . . . solid gold?"

  "It is commonplace among the Eastern families to hold hard assets," Mai said, waving a dismissive hand. "Very showy, but it is just money."

  "Each of our chips is worth eight hundred dollars," Jordan said. "We have approximately a thousand of them. Is that what you think you are worth?"

  Griffen resumed his casual pose. "No, but you will never have enough gold to cover that. I'll play for what petty amount you have."

  "I will need coffee," Mai said.

  Griffen waited while she brewed a pot, then accepted a cup. He needed a clear head. He had to prepare himself for the game of the century--of his life.

  Griffen helped Mai set up the table. A basket of new decks of cards stood nearly full. She stripped the first one and shuffled it deftly. She flipped half the deck with the edge of one card and flipped it back again.

  Griffen watched her, trying to let the rhythm take his mind off the flips his stomach was doing. He was scared. His entire livelihood was on the line. He didn't want to leave New Orleans and the life he had built there, but no other offer could prompt agreement from these very powerful and inexorable personalities. He was scared, but also angry. The latter was by far the more important emotion if he didn't let it overwhelm him. Channel that, he told himself. Be cool. Think of every trick you have ever known. Know that what you are doing is important. He stretched out his arms, intertwined his fingers, and cracked his knuckles.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Let's play poker."

  "The challenge is yours, so the choice of weapons is ours," Peter said. "I declare that we play Texas hold 'em."

  Griffen shrugged nonchalantly. Peter knew that he disliked the game and was taking every advantage. He would have done the same thing in Peter's place. "It won't make any difference," he said.

  Mai put out the button, and dealt the first round of cards.

  The first several hands were trials, as Jordan, Pack, and Rebecca felt Griffen out. Griffen, doing the same, saw that his dealers had been right: All of the tells they had spotted belonged to one or another of the three against whom he had not played himself. Peter's he knew, just as the cocky dragon knew his. That information canceled itself out between the two of them but did not redound to the others' advantage since Peter did not have time to convey it to his cohorts. Griffen coolly judged by the discards how daring each player was, how much risk he or she could take, and how good each was at calculating the odds. They were all very good; he found it a compliment that the Eastern dragons had thought enough of him to send real pros.

  His phone rang several times during the game: Jerome, Val, Fox Lisa, members of the krewe, all wanting to know where he was. Jerome wanted to come down immediately, but Griffen assured him there was no need. The matter would be settled then and there; nothing Jerome did or could do would change the outcome.

  He missed last-minute krewe meetings, fittings, even meals. The sun rose over nearly silent streets that swiftly filled with shouting, raucous crowds of tourists. It was Mardi Gras out there, but inside, poker was the only thing on Griffen's mind.

  He only stopped to eat when his hands started to get shaky. After finishing the one whisky and water, he skipped liquor, drinking coffee or diet soda exclusively. The Eastern dragons did the same thing.

  About four hours in they were all desperate for the bathroom. Griffen glanced at his fellow players through a gradually increasing lens of yellow, but he wouldn't go first. Rebecca finally broke, headed for the toilet.

  "You must have the weakest bladder in the world!" Jordan Ma snapped at her, the first sign of temper from him. Griffen was glad. It meant the cool-headed dragon was breaking.

  Rebecca shot him a hateful look. "I drink when I play. I have been playing. It is good to stay hydrated!"

  The others, glad of the excuse to take a break, followed in her wake. Mai threw the old decks into the wastebasket after every few hands, setting them on fire with one gentle breath so no cards could be retrieved. She was like a coin-operated fortune-teller. Only her hands and eyes moved. She didn't speak to anyone, not even Griffen. She was probably angry with him for roping her in and would probably take it out on him later when they were alone, but he was glad for her silence. He focused on every turn of the card, every chip that clinked into the pot. Griffen was playing for real.

  To the others, this was not life and death. Except possibly for Peter, poker had never been their sole support. Only Griffen knew the desperation of needing to make money by his wits and skill. They could not have that edge. He did. This was more than life and death. He had barely begun to acknowledge his heritage, to learn what it meant to be a dragon, to take on his own power and learn about it. He was not going to get driven out of town by a bunch of tourists. His muscles ached, and the chair padding felt thinner and thinner as the raucous afternoon became loud and musical night, but his mind stayed sharp. It had to.

  Gradually, the stacks between his wrists grew larger and larger, as the piles belonging to the others shrank. Winston Long went all in on a hand that Griffen knew from his twitching eyelid was a bluff. He confidently matched the call as well as a side bet from Peter, and stripped the table bare of brilliant gold coins when his hand proved the stronger. Pack removed himself from the table, with a philosophical half smile. The remaining players showed signs of desperation. Griffen found himself grinning ferally at them. This was real card-playing. He felt more alive at that moment than he had in months. Being an executive, a responsible human, a lover, a friend were satisfying, but not like this, not like a game of chance where every move was significant. Every hand could bankrupt him and send him into exile.

  Rebecca got more nervous as her stash of gold ran down. Griffen took advantage of it by making large raises against her in each hand that she seemed to have mediocre cards, according to the rapidity of her blinks. Peter let out an amused snort when he saw what Griffen was doing but didn't intrude or try to rescue his fellow dragon. In fact, he seemed almost pl
eased when Griffen finally wiped her out. Rebecca pulled away from the table with a grim face and went to join Winston. Griffen heard her whispering angrily. Winston tried to calm her. She got up and started pacing.

  "Stop that at once," Jordan Ma ordered, without looking up from his cards. "Winston?"

  "Sit down, child," the old dragon said.

  Rebecca regarded him with dismay. "But he has taken all my gold!"

  Winston raised weary eyes. "You lost, young one. He won. That is how it works. You knew it was at hazard. Now it is gone."

  "I want it back! He can't keep it!"

  "Stop it!" Jordan ordered. Rebecca glowered at him. Griffen watched his hand carefully. Jordan circled his forefinger on the back of his hand once. So the cards were good, but not that good. Griffen pressed his lips together. He had ace-three unsuited, but Jordan wouldn't know that. He pushed out eight stacks of the heavy yellow coins.

  "I am putting you all in."

  Jordan looked up at him in surprise. Rebecca's distraction had made him lose track of the betting. He looked down as Mai turned over the river card. It was an ace. One pair. Jordan hesitated.

  "Call or fold," Griffen said.

  Jordan glanced at his hand. "Call." He stacked his remaining eight piles of chips and gold in the center, his advancing armies meeting Griffen's.

  Griffen turned over his hand. Jordan bent his head a fraction of an inch. "Very neatly done, Mr. McCandles. Very neat. You caught me off guard, and I fell for it." He threw in his cards without revealing them. Mai gathered them up. Griffen wished she had shown him what he had beaten, but it wasn't really that important.

  That meant the last dragon standing was Peter.

  Griffen looked at him. He still saw the friendly young man with the gelled-up hair who had become a friend to him over the last couple of months. He realized that on the one hand, Peter had betrayed his confidence to the others. On the other, they had played some good cards, each relishing a really worthwhile opponent. Griffen gulped coffee to prepare himself for a multihour session. It would take a long time to finish Peter off. Griffen was getting tired, but he could do it.