“Another six!” Celia exclaimed and clapped her hands together with glee. “Full house beats three aces!”
Trent nodded. “‘Course, Asshole starts screaming, demands a re-match, accuses the dealer of cheating, accuses me, Jack, God, the Pope, you name it.”
“So that’s why Jack wants to kill you?”
“Yeah, he was pissed because it turns out Asshole was gonna sell Jack a bunch of property on The Strip. Jack would’ve been able to make the next huge resort-casino. Worth a fortune. But now the deal was off. Asshole backed out, screaming that Jack was a cheat and a liar. If it hadn’t been for all the TV cameras, Jack would’ve killed me right there at the poker table. Instead, he dragged me into the ‘Discussion Room’ and...” Celia was eating up the story. “Well, I got away.” He decided to omit the part of the story where Jack nearly tortured him to death.
“So that was my last game,” he said. “Susan and I tried to retire, but Jack got the GCB on me and they slapped my name all over the blacklists. No more poker.”
“Until tonight,” she said.
“Funny how things work out, huh? You always think that being the luckiest man alive would be a good thing.”
Celia stared at him. One eye narrowed slightly and she cocked her head to the side. She eyed his face carefully and then spoke, with the utmost seriousness.
“I don’t think you’re very lucky at all,” she said.
His smile vanished. Through the telling of the story, he had gotten himself worked up, excited by the adrenaline rush his lucky wins used to bring. Now he found himself spiraling back down, plummeting back to the firm ground of despair. He forced a fake smile to cover up the sudden loss of the real one.
“Neither do I,” he replied.
Celia wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. Trent’s heart felt hollow, empty. He had been dead for so long; ever since the crash. Only the moments with Susan had made him feel that spark of life, and now she was gone too. He knew that he would do anything to get her back, if he could. He wished for a moment that he could reverse time and set everything back the way it had been, before Celia and the hospital, before Salvatore, before the black shadow-thing.
But I guess that’s what life is, he thought. A series of moments that slam into you whether you’re expecting them or not. It’s a crapshoot, and everyone’s just hoping to get lucky.
He ran his hand through Celia’s hair and thought about his own little sister, who had died in a car accident the year before. It was as if life had moved on around him after he’d fallen from the plane. As if he’d already died but no one had figured it out yet. Only Susan had stayed. Only Susan had kept hold of his hand all this time.
And now there was just this teenage girl, a sudden orphan who desperately needed a real father, not an old, washed-up gambler on the lam. He looked around the kitchen. Celia needed a real life, but they wouldn’t find it in an empty casino kitchen. And if they kept running, they’d be running from death forever.
He gritted his teeth as she rested her head on his neck, eyes closed. She needed a better life than this. The running had to stop. He needed to set things stable, once and for all.
18
“OH, WELL WONTCHA LOOK AT that, guys? How sweet!”
Trent snapped to attention as a scrawny, pasty-faced fellow came in through the back door. Others followed behind. The scrawny man had an angular face and a shock of thinning hair that rested uneasily atop his scalp, a sort of oily black hair-creature, ready to escape backwards off his head at the next opportunity. His face was screwed up into a mocking sneer.
“See, I told you guys.” He looked over his shoulder at the others and then pointed at Trent and Celia. “Guy has some dark secrets in his closet. I just didn’t figure pedophilia was one of them.”
Celia glanced at Trent with a hurt look on her face. He responded by rolling his eyes. He untangled from her arms and hopped down from the stainless steel kitchen table.
“She’s my niece.”
“To each their own, I always say.” The scrawny guy shrugged and approached. “Sins can be a lot of fun, right?” He extended a hand, offering a handshake.
Trent didn’t take it. “Let’s just play some poker. Get this over with.”
The scrawny guy clapped Trent on the side of the arm. “Just playing with ya, friend. If you say she’s your niece, then she’s your niece.” He gestured behind himself. “And I guess you could say this is my extended family.”
The last of the players had come in through the back door. He was a huge guy, muscle-bound and bald, with skin as black as night. He shut the door and locked it. From the opposite side of the kitchen, Jack Mars’ voice floated through the cold air.
“Gentlemen!” he announced. “And lady, of course–” He bowed as he approached, then took the hand of the one female player, a voluptuous, red-haired beauty. Jack’s tone grew quieter and he kissed the woman’s hand. “You so rarely grace us with your presence, Miss... Barrister, is it now?”
The woman raised an eyebrow and nodded. Innuendo floated across her expression like a pianist’s fingers across a grand piano.
Jack coughed, straightened his collar, and placed a hand on Trent’s back. “Meet Trent Hawkins, everyone. I’m sure you’ve heard of him.”
No one smiled. Nothing was said. The sudden quiet set Trent’s nerves on edge. He broke it by introducing Celia.
“...his niece,” the scrawny guy added, shooting Trent a wink.
Jack continued with the introductions as he collected jackets from each of the players. “Of course, this is Tricia Barrister.”
The redhead smiled and held out her hand. Instead of taking her hand, Trent reached up and tipped his hat. She looked a little put-off as she withdrew her dainty fingers, instead using them to slide her black, fur-topped long coat from her shoulders.
Jack draped it over his arm and nodded to the giant man, who wasn’t wearing any sort of jacket, just black slacks and a mustard yellow dress shirt that seemed about to rip under the strain of his incredible musculature. Trent figured he had to be a boxer or weight lifter.
“Damon Parrish,” Jack said.
Trent reached out a hand, which Damon grasped. His fingers were as cold as metal.
“Most call me Steel.”
His voice came out rough and filled with chunks of iron that rattled together as he spoke. The nickname made Trent imagine him as a steelworker.
“This,” said Jack, giving a short bow to a thin, old, bald man in a three-piece suit, “is the most esteemed Sir Vladimir Nikoli Chyrmov.”
Vladimir nodded.
“And finally–” Jack moved over next to the scrawny guy. “You’ve already met Snake.”
“Snake?” asked Trent.
“That’s my name, lucky boy. Ladies love it.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“It’s an honor,” Snake replied. His tone seemed less than genuine. “Are we gonna gab all night or play some cards?”
They headed for the front of the casino. Trent held back.
“I can’t go out there, Jack. The cops–”
“The cops won’t see a thing,” Jack explained. “I’ve made sure the security systems are off and the undercover cops that normally work the place have been paid to turn their backs, just for tonight. Just don’t tell any of my other guests. I wouldn’t want anyone to get any ideas.”
Trent felt a wave of paranoia rising. He had never expected Jack Mars to have that level of power. Sure, he was a successful casino owner, but paying off undercover cops? There was more going on here than Trent had assumed.
The table they finally settled on was a lush, real wood-paneled affair–not the standard synthetic wood or even plastic like most of the other tables. The felt surface was crisp and fade-free. It looked new. Every hair of felt was aligned just so, as if it had been hand-combed. The dealer was a tall, middle-aged man with a blond moustache and goatee.
“Gentlemen,” he welcomed. “And Lady.” A slight nod to Tricia
. She took a seat.
Trent looked around the table as he pulled his chair up. He noticed that Celia, who hadn’t left his side but didn’t have a chair, was eyeing the other players. Tricia had seated herself to Trent’s left, a little bit closer to him than comfortable for a table of this size. Snake had pulled up a chair backwards and was leaning over the top. He was on Trent’s right. Next to Snake was the muscle man, Steel. His mouth was an impassive, thin line. Directly across the table from Trent, to Steel’s right, was Jack. Trent was surprised to see him taking a seat. He had never seen Jack play. He wondered idly if Jack was any good at poker, or if he was filling in for someone who couldn’t make it. To Jack’s right, completing the table, was Vladimir. His old, frail form looked comical in the high-backed chair, and his upper body slumped forward ever so slightly. Trent wanted to reach over and straighten the old man up, but resisted.
Vladimir spoke first, as the dealer shuffled the cards. His voice was a weak, quiet rasp that made Trent lean closer. “Trent, I should explain that Mr. Mars would not normally be playing, but over the last several years, our good friend Ramón has found that he is increasingly less capable of joining our little game. We like to keep a fixed number of players, so Mr. Mars was kind enough to fill in.”
Trent shrugged. He wanted to ask what had happened to Ramón, but he decided to leave it be. “Sure.”
Vladimir stared at Trent for a moment and then said, quietly, “Please remove your hat at the table, Mr. Hawkins. It is–” He paused for what seemed like an eternity, as if he were searching through thousands of words for the perfect one. He finally settled on, “–inappropriate.”
Trent, flustered, mumbled out an apology and pulled the cowboy hat from his head. He handed it to Celia and whispered that she should go sit in one of the chairs farther away from the table. Celia grumbled, but acquiesced.
“Now,” Vladimir continued, with a weak smile that reminded Trent of a corpse in repose. “Let us begin.”
The dealer introduced the rules: no limit Texas Hold ‘Em with a standard double blind. All of the players except Vladimir and Trent reached into their pockets and produced some form of money. Tricia produced a crisp stack of bills and placed it delicately in the center of the table. Jack did the same. Snake, however, pulled out a small brown leather bag. He tossed it onto the table and it landed with a jingle that suggested coins. Everyone glanced at him. Vladimir raised a withered eyebrow, the folds of skin around his eye pulling up with it.
“What?” Snake responded. “They’re worth a million. Count it if you don’t believe me!”
“No need,” said Vladimir. “We will trust you.” He narrowed his eyes. “This time.”
Trent thought it was an odd exchange, but was even more shocked to see Steel’s payment, a pure, crystal clear diamond, cut to perfection.
Tricia’s smile grew and her eyes widened. “Very nice, Damon. I should like to take that with me tonight.”
Snake interrupted, “Yeah, not with your poker skills, gorgeous.”
Tricia gave the scrawny man a look that might have set his wispy hair aflame.
They all stared at Trent.
Jack Mars spoke up on his behalf. “Mr. Hawkins has offered a collector’s-grade handgun as collateral.”
Snake shot back, “Well that gun better be made of solid gold! Come on, I thought he was a rich gambler?”
“Ex-gambler,” mumbled Trent. He looked at Jack, who ignored him.
“Trent is my guest tonight. Besides, that isn’t why we’re here together, now is it?”
“No,” answered Vlad.
Jack tossed the Desert Eagle onto the pile of objects in the middle of the poker table. The cold metal grip gleamed beneath the bright table lights.
Snake shrugged. “Yeah, money’s not important. That piece of shit will do fine, Hawkins.” He shot the ex-gambler another shit-eating grin.
“Great.” Trent reached into his shirt pocket for his cigarettes. He realized with some surprise that he hadn’t had a smoke in hours. He also remembered that his cigarette pack was gone.
Jack saw him fumbling and offered him one from a small silver case. “On the house.”
“Thanks.” Trent took a puff and blew smoke through his nostrils. He chuckled. “Never thought I’d hear those words from you.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Yeah?”
Jack ignored the question and turned instead to the table. “Let’s begin.”
The dealer fed them round one. Each player got two cards, facedown. Then there would be some betting and three community cards dealt face up, called the ‘flop.’ More betting, then a fourth card. Finally, more betting, a fifth card, and the final round of bets. It all added up to a lot of money, especially in a no-limit game.
Each player received one million in chips. Trent figured it would get interesting real fast.
He peered under his two facedown cards. A king of clubs and a seven of diamonds. Not a great hand, but the king might be playable. He decided to stay in, at least until the flop.
Steel, his face an impassive mask, folded immediately. Everyone else stayed in and the flop was dealt. The dealer announced it: “King of spades, four of clubs, jack of clubs.”
The king on the table made Trent’s hand a strong one. “Raise two-thousand,” he announced.
Snake laughed and rolled his eyes. “Come on, best you got is a pair of kings! You know I have pocket jacks and there’s one on the table. But hey, if you wanna gimme money...”
Snake called.
Trent figured that if Snake really had something, he would’ve raised. The little bastard was bluffing. And, as Trent predicted, everyone else folded out. No pocket aces in this crowd.
The dealer flipped over the fourth card and announced: “Fourth Street. Four of hearts.”
It would have been a nice turn for someone holding onto a four, but everyone had folded. Everyone but Snake. He was the question mark. Trent decided to goad him a little.
“If you wanna back out now, Snake, go ahead. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Well, look here!” Snake feigned surprise. “We’ve got us a table funny-man!” He nudged Steel. “Did you see that, buddy? Mr. Hawkins thinks he’s a fucking comic! I’ll raise you four thousand!”
Steel didn’t respond.
Snake had made a big production of his raise. Trent was increasingly certain that the smaller man didn’t have much of anything. “See your four thousand,” he said with confidence and pushed another stack of chips to the middle. “Raise another two.”
Snake grew quiet. “See your two. Raise you four more, you fuckin’ chump.”
The sudden silence at the table made Trent nervous. Snake couldn’t have pocket aces, could he? He decided to call, rather than raise. Best not to lose all of his money on the first hand.
The dealer turned over the fifth and final card: “The River. Six of spades.”
Trent, still shaken by the quiet, decided to check. It was a coward move at this point, but he felt uneasy about the situation. Snake, naturally, took advantage of his cowardice.
“Check, huh? Here’s a six thousand raise. You wanna just give me that money or what?”
“Call,” Trent replied, sliding his own six thousand dollars worth of chips to the middle of the table.
There was a dead silence as Snake stared at him, willing Trent to show his cards first. Trent took the dare and turned his over. “Two kings, Snake. You got anything better?”
Snake grinned. “Six, six, and– Oh, look! There’s a six on the table! I think that makes three, right?” He feigned a goofy cowboy accent and winked at Tricia in mock naiveté. “Don’t three beat a pair?”
Tricia rolled her eyes and looked away, turning to Trent instead. “I’m sorry, beautiful. He’s always like this when he gets a devil’s hand.” Her voice was sultry, whispering, but her breath stank of sulfur and kerosene.
Trent turned away, trying his best to ignore her. He was not mad at
Snake, but he was definitely shaken. Playing in on a lowly pair of sixes was one thing, but holding onto it and re-raising all the way to the river? It wasn’t just a gutsy move–in some circles, it was considered insane.
“You probably think I’m crazy, huh?” Snake replied as if he could read Trent’s mind. “But you just bet against the wrong guy.”
“Yeah?” Trent hadn’t been mad before, but this was pushing it a little. “What makes you so special?”
“Simple. Oh, and let this be your very first lesson about these things,” Snake glanced at his companions as if seeking approval for what he was about to say. No objections were voiced, so he continued. “Never, ever, ever–under any circumstances–bet against a demon holding a pair of sixes.” He tossed the two sixes onto the table, where they landed neatly beside the third. “They’ll never fold, and they’ll always get that last six. That’s just how it goes.”
And that’s when Trent realized that every pair of eyes around the table was staring at him. Each glowed a deep, blood red.
After a moment’s hesitation, he reacted. He leapt from his chair and tried to back away from the table, but instead knocked the chair over and stumbled, crashing to the floor on his backside. From the corner of the room, Celia gasped, but remained motionless. Tricia reached down and placed an elegant hand on Trent’s outstretched knee.
“Honey, don’t be concerned,” she said. “At least not yet.” She winked.
Trent found himself immediately entranced by her eyes. Though blood red like the others, he could lose himself in that crimson sea and let his fear be carried away by the waters. He awkwardly returned to his feet and righted the fallen chair.
Steel spoke, his low voice resonating through the quiet air. “Aren’t we here to play poker?”
“Yes, indeed,” added Vladimir. “Take your seat, young man. There are many hands to be played yet.”
Trent felt as though he were in a trance. He glanced at Celia. She had her hands clamped over her mouth in fear. He found himself unable to resist as Tricia laid a hand on his shoulder and eased him back into his chair.
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