The Picasso Flop

by Vince Van Patten

The man didn’t waste any more time. He got out.

  “What the hell—” Jimmy started, but Devine cut him off. He grabbed him, turned him, and smashed him into the wall again, then pressed all his weight up against him. Jesus, Jimmy thought, this is turning him on. Jimmy tried to squirm away from the contact, but Devine held him fast.

  “I figure you for these killings, Spain,” he hissed into Jimmy’s ear. “You’re big enough, strong enough, arrogant enough, and you’ve got a motive.”

  “What’s my motive?” Jimmy asked, with his mouth against the wall.

  “I don’t have that figured out,” Devine admitted, “but when I do, you’re mine.”

  “Why don’t you play a new tune, Devine?”

  The detective pulled him back from the wall, then smashed him into it again, chin first. Jimmy felt the skin split.

  “I’m gonna put you away, punk.”

  “What about the pool?” Jimmy asked. “I was nowhere near the man when he—”

  “I ain’t figured that out, either, but I will,” Devine said. “Maybe you had an accomplice.”

  “Either fuck me or let me go, Andy.”

  He felt Devine stiffen, then suddenly the pressure was off him. When he turned around Devine had backed off several steps. He was breathing hard and looking uncomfortable.

  “Don’t call me Andy,” he said finally.

  “Think it over, Devine,” Jimmy said. “Even without the fact that I was down by the pool when Jesse Dell went through the window, I didn’t know any of them. What would my motive be?”

  “How the hell do I know?” Devine said. “For all I know you had a bet with somebody. Just know this, Spain. I’m gonna have you, no matter how hard you kiss up to that bla—that bastard Cooper.”

  With that Devine turned and left Jimmy alone with the pay phones. He took his handkerchief out and held it to his chin. Some blood but not bad. He wouldn’t need stitches. Maybe nobody would even ask him about it when he went back to the game.

  Jimmy decided he needed to concentrate on the game and let the cops do their job. The only way to stay out of Devine’s crosshairs was to stay at the tables, and that was what he intended to do. Let the WPT and the Bellagio, the Travel Channel, and whoever else was interested solve the murders themselves. He was a poker player, not a goddamned detective.

  And he was going to play poker.

  PART FOUR

  THE RIVER

  The cash card. The river of dreams. At last you can fulfill your fate.

  —Jimmy Spain

  THIRTY-TWO

  Jimmy was playing his game but with only half a brain. The other half was thinking about some of the things Devine had said and some of the things he had seen up in that hotel room. He never would have predicted it, but each part of his brain was acting independently, and surprisingly both were doing their job.

  Oh, he had to be reminded once or twice that he was in the big or small blind or that he hadn’t anted, but that was working to his advantage. Some of the other players were getting annoyed with him, thinking that it was part of his game. But as far as his cards went, he was making the correct plays. It was amazing that he could play so well using only 50 percent, and no one knew it.

  The other 50 percent was processing things said to him that had eluded him until now. And Devine, smashing him painfully against the wall but somehow giving him valuable information. Big, arrogant, powerful. Who else did those attributes fit?

  And then add into the mix what Vic Porcelli had told him—that the killer was probably going to turn out to be someone he’d already spoken with. A picture started to form in his mind—his half a mind.

  The picture impossible, improbable, but if true he was safe in concentrating on getting through this day and making it to the final table. If he was right, nothing else would happen until later that night.

  It was several hours after he had returned to the game that he suddenly heard the applause. He expected to see that Doyle Brunson had been eliminated, or even Dallas Jack, but instead he saw the applause was for another player who had just been knocked out of the tournament—Kat Landrigan.

  It was at once a nice moment and a terrible one for her. She brushed past him, her shoulders slumped, close to tears.

  She was missing the whole point of the moment.

  “Excuse me,” he said to the table. “A short break.”

  He rose, unmindful of the looks some of the players were tossing his way, and hurried after Kat.

  “Hey,” he called, because she was about to break into a run. “Wait up.”

  She stopped and turned, swiped at her eyes.

  “I blew it.”

  “Did you hear that applause?”

  “What?”

  “The applause as you left the room.”

  She frowned. “What applause?”

  “If you weren’t in such a hurry to get out, you would have noticed the respect they gave you, kid.”

  “Respect?”

  “That’s right,” he said. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of, Kat. You did great.”

  Before she could respond, Mike Sexton came over.

  “Miss Landrigan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Would you be willing to do an interview for the WPT?”

  “Interview?” she repeated.

  “Well, yes,” Sexton said. “Seems you’re the last woman out. We want to shoot some tape on you, show it during the telecast.”

  “You mean, like a one-minute feature?”

  “Oh, probably more than that,” Sexton said.

  Jimmy looked at Kat, who gazed back at him, almost glassy eyed.

  “Applause?”

  “Lots of it.” He looked at Sexton. “She’ll do it.”

  “And what about you?” Mike asked.

  “What about me?”

  “Aren’t you, uh, her coach?”

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” Jimmy asked, and walked away.

  Initially, Jimmy had thought the interview with Kat was a bad idea. But a very quick second thought told him different. This way, Harold would be able to see for himself that Jimmy was doing what he was supposed to be doing.

  They had never discussed how long he would be doing it though. Certainly he wouldn’t resign after this tournament. She had acquitted herself extremely well, but that didn’t mean she was ready to go out on her own. Not with these wolves.

  As for declining his own interview opportunity, he had done that for two reasons. First, he wanted it to be her moment. And second, he still was not quite ready to raise his own profile—although it had definitely been raised as far as the Las Vegas Police Department, the World Poker Tour, and the Travel Channel were concerned, due to his involvement with the murders as some sort of amateur detective.

  But Jimmy had to get back to his own game. They were getting very near having only two tables and, by the end of the night, should be down to the final table. The next day’s action would start later, as it would be taped for the WPT show.

  Jimmy still had several things nagging at part of his mind, trying to coalesce into something that made sense. But he wanted to try to commit his full attention to making the final table. He wasn’t sure he could push everything else completely out of his mind, but murder was going to have to wait until later.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Jack McClellan called a halt to day four at 11:35 P.M. They were down to six players for the final table. Jimmy had made it, although he was short stacked. And what a final table it was. Some of the greatest and most charismatic players on the tour had gotten there. Tomorrow Mike Sexton would be put to work as he and his cohorts would be working that final, exciting table.

  At the table with Jimmy would be pros Antonio “the Magician” Esfandiari; Mike “the Grinder” Mizrachi, three-time WPT tour winner; and Gus Hansen. The last amateur in the game was Jason Read, who had won his way into the tournament playing online in a HollywoodPoker.com tournament. The final player at the table was also a pro, but kind of
a surprise to all. It was the always strange but amusing Scooter Thompson, along with his dummy, Skippy.

  There were congratulations all around and advice to get a good night’s sleep. This would make sense, since the winner would be taking home a whopping 1.8-million-dollar first prize, and Jimmy would have a shot at it. However, something gnawed at Jimmy. He had a suspicion about who was killing posse members, but before he could say anything to the cops, there were still some things he had to find out.

  “Jimmy,” Kat said, and threw herself into his arms. “I’m so proud of you.”

  He hugged her back. “Thanks, kid. But what about you? Not disappointed?”

  “I was,” she said, “but not anymore, dude. There’ll be other tournaments, and now I know for damned sure I can play with the pros—thanks to you. What we need to concentrate on now is you winnin’ this one.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Somethin’ botherin’ you?”

  “I’m a little preoccupied.”

  “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” she realized, then leaned close to him. “The murders . . . it’s so creepy—I’m just trying to blank it out of my mind.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes widened. “You know who it is? The killer?”

  “No, I don’t,” he said. “I have an idea, but—”

  “Who? Dude, you gotta tell the cops.”

  “I’m not going to say anything right now, in case I’m wrong.”

  “So what are you gonna do? Maybe this isn’t safe. Dude, who knows who they could be killing next?”

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m just going to nose around, only this time I’ve got someplace very specific I want my nose to go.”

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  “Yes, you can. The last two posse members. Do you know their names?”

  “I didn’t the last time you asked, but I do now. Pete Belton and Mike Flanagan.”

  “Full-fledged members of the posse?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Any others?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “There were just six.”

  “Okay,” Jimmy said. “I need to find some people. One of them is Mike Sexton. Can you locate him for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “Tell him to come to my room as soon as you do.”

  He could’ve called Sexton’s cell phone, but he didn’t want to waste time. He wanted to find Vic.

  “Is that it?”

  “No,” he said. “After you talk to Sexton, find those other two posse members. Get them to my room also.”

  “Dude, how am I supposed to do that?”

  “Charm them if you have to,” he said, “but get them there.”

  “What’re you gonna do?”

  “I need to find somebody, but I’ll be in my room when you get there.”

  “What’s this all about, Jimmy? You ain’t gonna do, like, a Monk thing, are you?”

  “Monk?”

  “Yeah, you know,” she said, “Monk, the TV detective. Brings everybody together so he can say ‘This is what happened’?”

  “Oh, you mean like Columbo.”

  “Columbo?” She made a face. “Dude, who’s that?”

  “Kat?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you get moving?”

  “I’m outta here. Next hand, please, folding like a lean-to.”

  Spain smiled to himself. Some things never changed.

  As she moved away into the casino to find Sexton, Jimmy found a house phone in one of the elevator courts.

  “Vic? Did I wake you?”

  “I’m watchin’ TV and raidin’ the honor bar again. The old lady’s downstairs someplace. She found a new penny machine she loves called—what was it?—Hot Hot Penny? Somethin’ like that.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m fine,” the Philly cop said. “I talked with Cooper and that douche bag Devine, convinced them I was just nosy. They decided not to lock me up for obstruction.”

  “You’re going home tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah,” Vic said. “Why? You need somethin’?”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy said, “I need your help again.”

  “I’ll be right there, kid.”

  Jimmy told Vic to meet him in his room, and gave him the number. Then he hurried upstairs to get there before anyone else.

  Vic was the first one to arrive. He went right to the honor bar while Jimmy told him what was on his mind.

  “That sounds kinda far-fetched. Hey, you didn’t eat your almonds.”

  “Go ahead, they’re yours. That’s why I need your help, Vic, so I don’t make a fool of myself.”

  “So, what can I do?”

  “Two things,” Jimmy said. “First, I want you to keep those other two kids from the posse safe.”

  “Bodyguard? For how long?”

  “Until Mike Sexton can arrange for two members of the Bellagio’s security force to take over. He should be on his way up here right now, along with the two kids.”

  “Okay,” Vic said. “What’s the second thing?”

  “I saw a computer in your room. Is it a good one?”

  “The best,” Vic said. “The department paid for it. Me bein’ a captain, they want me to stay in touch. It’s wireless and I can get on the Internet like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  “I need you to check out something medical.”

  “Medical. You’re in luck.”

  “Why?”

  “My old lady, Margaret, was a trauma nurse for years. Just retired last year. She should be able to answer any question you have. And if she don’t know the answer, she can find it on the ’Net.”

  “Hey, that’s great!” What an added bonus that the little woman who’d been dragging Vic around was a nurse.

  Just then there was a knock at the door.

  “Can I get one of these beers in here?” Vic asked, with his head practically inside the honor bar.

  “Sure, go ahead,” Jimmy said. “This is probably Sexton now.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  After Jimmy introduced Vic to Mike Sexton, Sexton agreed to talk to his boss, who would talk to the head of security for the Bellagio.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Steve’ll get somebody up here.”

  “Good,” Jimmy said. “Now all we need is for Kat to get those two guys up here.”

  “Do you want to tell me who you think the killer is?” Sexton asked.

  “Not yet, Mike,” Jimmy said. “I may be way off base here. I might just be catching somebody doing something other than murder. I want to be pretty certain before I shoot off my mouth.”

  “You gonna tell the police?” he asked.

  “Once I’m satisfied I’m right,” Jimmy said.

  “You want a beer?” Vic asked Sexton, reaching into the honor bar.

  “Why not?” Sexton said.

  Another knock on the door announced Kat’s appearance with the posse members in tow.

  “Jimmy Spain,” she said, “Pete Belton and Mike Flanagan. The last two members of the posse.”

  “Not even,” said the wet-eyed young man, Belton.

  “What’s that mean?” Jimmy asked.

  “We’re, like, kinda members,” Flanagan said. He had a twitchy right eye that Jimmy wondered about. New, or just this week? “We never got to make, like, any decision or anything. That was all Tim and the others.”

  “Nobody’s gonna wanna kill us,” Belton asked, “are they?”

  The two young men looked around the room, hoping for a favorable response from somebody.

  “We don’t know, son,” Sexton said, “but why take the chance?”

  “Damn cops won’t let us leave Vegas,” Belton complained. “They want this maniac to try for us.”

  “Look,” Jimmy said, “this is a policeman from Philadelphia. He’s here on vacation but has volunteered to help.”

  Vic lifted his beer in greeting.

 
“He’s going to stay with you until Mr. Sexton, here, can get some security from the Bellagio. He’ll keep you safe, and they’ll do the same.”

  “This old dude?” Belton asked dubiously.

  “For how long?” Flanagan asked.

  “Hopefully,” Jimmy said, “this will all be over by tomorrow.”

  “Hey,” Belton said then, “ain’t you on the final table?”

  “He sure is,” Kat said, “and he’s gonna win.”

  “That reminds me,” Jimmy said, looking at Sexton. “What time does the final table start, Mike?”

  “Five P.M.,” Sexton said. “My partner and I will be there to shoot it for the show.”

  The late starting time would work in Jimmy’s favor.

  “Where are we gonna do this?” Vic asked. “Their room is too dangerous.”

  “Mike, can you get another room in the hotel? Registered to no one?”

  “I’ll talk to Steve,” Sexton said. “He can get whatever he wants from the hotel.”

  “Then see if he can get some security guys to take the job when they’re off duty,” Jimmy said.

  “Who’s gonna foot the bill for that?” Sexton asked.

  “Hey,” Jimmy reminded him, “I’m in this because the WPT asked me, remember? It’s the least they could do, don’t you think?”

  “Right, right,” Sexton said. “I’ll talk to Steve.”

  “What do I do, Jimmy?” Kat asked.

  “Wait a minute, Kat,” he said. “Vic, Mike, why don’t you get these boys situated?”

  Vic and Sexton put their beer bottles down, and Vic said, “Let’s get to it, then.” He looked at Jimmy. “How you gonna know where we are?”

  “You know,” Jimmy said, “it’s probably better if I don’t know for now.”

  “Okay,” Vic said. “You’re callin’ the shots. Oh yeah—just give Margaret a call, and she’ll help you out with what we talked about. Just, uh, wait till mornin’ huh?”

  “Okay, Vic. Thanks.”

  Vic herded Sexton and the two dazed posse members out of the room, leaving Jimmy alone with Kat.

  “What’s my job?” she asked.

  “To stay safe.”

  “What? Dude, I wanna help.”

  “You are helping,” he told her.