A few minutes past midnight, Nelson dealing, Bobby caught three jacksâspades, diamonds, and clubsâas his first three cards in a hand of seven card stud. To his left, Charlie's ace of hearts was the high card on the table.
“Ace bets. Lookin' good there, Charlie.”
“Ace opens for twenty-five thou.”
“Got something there, Fishman?” Nelson asked, looking at a ten. “I'm in.”
“I'm out,” Alex said.
Dean folded and Bobby silently saw the bet. On the next card Bobby was dealt the ten of clubs, Charlie the king of hearts and Nelson a four, no help.
“Fifty on the ace king,” Charlie wagered.
“Adios,” Nelson said, turning over his cards. “You got my ten, dude.”
“Fifty and up fifty,” Bobby said, watching Charlie the way a hawk watches a jackrabbit.
“See your raise and raise you back a hundred,” Charlie said, so excited he started to bounce and weave in his chair.
“All right,” Bobby said, calm and cool.
“Next card,” Nelson intoned. “A nine to Bobby and the queen of hearts to Charlie. Running a straight flush in hearts, ace, king, and queen looking mighty pretty. And Bobby's looking at a straight. Ace still bets.”
“Two fifty.”
“Wanna be a heavy hitter, hey, Charlie? I'll see it. Two fifty it is.”
“Next card, the jack of hearts to Charlie and an eight to Bobby. Ace?”
Charlie stared at his chips for a long time. With two hundred thousand left he bet half.
“Hundred grand.”
“See your hundred and raise a hundred,” Bobby said without hesitation. “Table stakes, right? That puts you all in, Charlie. You better have cards.”
Charlie blinked and blinked again and put in his chips.
“Last card,” Nelson said. “Since Charlie's all in, I can flip them up.
“No,” Bobby said. “Down.”
“Okay, down,” Charlie agreed.
Nelson slipped a card across the felt to each player and Bobby peeked at his, the ten of hearts, the card that would have given Charlie a royal flush. Instead, it left Charlie with a flush or straight and gave Bobby a full house, jacks and tens, and a lock on the hand.
“Would you like to make a bet before you turn your cards over, Charlie?” Bobby asked.
Charlie gestured toward the empty green felt in front of him. “I'm all in.”
“We can raise the stakes,” Bobby said evenly.
Alex, who'd been gazing at the heroes on the wall, snapped around and listened to Charlie's response.
“Raise the stakes to what?” Charlie asked, his voice strained and husky.
“What would you like to bet, Charlie? A million dollars?” Bobby said with a smile. “I'll take your marker.”
There it is, Alex thought. Thrilled and exhilarated, Bobby was injecting pure savagery into the game.
“Hahaha, you gotta be kiddin'.”
“I'm not kidding. If we flip these cards over now and you lose your stake, you walk away feeling no pain. You bought in for a half million because you could afford it. You lose and walk away thinking you paid for my silence, but it isn't enough. It isn't poker unless it hurts, Charlie. A million would be nice. Hooper Fish would be better,” Bobby added.
“Jesus
!
”
Dean started to laugh, and Nelson shook his head and buried it in his arms.
“Isn't that what you came here for, Charlie, to risk everything?” Bobby asked. “To let the cards decide if you deserve what you have? It looks to me like you have pretty good cards.”
“You want me to bet my company?” Charlie asked, his heart suddenly racing. “Hooper Fish against what?”
With that question Charlie exposed himself like a fish waiting to be gutted. Alex took a deep breath and nodded, laced his fingers, and rested them on the table.
“Everything I have here,” Bobby said to Charlie, passing his hand over his chips. “About three quarters of a mil in chips, plus the one point three I put in the hotel safe. I don't know what you think your company is worth, but that's what it's worth to me. If I win, I'm the fish man. If you win, I'm busted. Finito.”
“Jesus, I gotta think about this. You have an eight, nine, ten and jack showing, and if you have a straight, I still have you beat.”
“Maybe, if you have the flush. Maybe you have a straight flush, a royal flush. In that case, you can't lose.”
“You can just turn over the cards and see who wins, you know,” Dean said.
“It's up to Charlie,” Nelson reminded, “but if we go beyond table stakes we're setting a dangerous precedent. It's really going for broke.”
“Isn't that what the game is all about?” Alex said.
“No limit,” Dean added. “The perfect game.”
“Perfect for you,” Charlie snarled at Dean. “You're not on the hot seat.”
“If Charlie's in for everything, it's only a matter of time before we're all in,” Alex said. “I say go for it, Charlie.”
Bobby smiled, a cold, ruthless smile that came from the bottom of his heart.
“Oh, man,” Charlie moaned, sweating.
“C'mon, Charlie. What's it gonna be?” Nelson demanded in his capacity as dealer.
Charlie got the shakes, trembling with such violence that he rattied
the chips and had to stand up and walk around the room, mumbling, “Oh shit, oh, shit, three generations, oh, Christ.”
“I got a deal for you, Charlie,” Bobby said. “Answer me this. How much profit did your company make last year?”
“About eight hundred grand.”
“Okay. We can simply turn over the cards now, and maybe you'll win, but if you lose, you're out of the game unless you want to buy in again. Now, you put your company in the pot, and if I win, I'll pay you twenty-five percent of the profits or two hundred thousand a year to run the company for me. I'll give you your two hundred grand for the next year in advance and you can stay in the game and maybe win your company back. That's if you lose the hand, of course. Maybe you'll win.”
Charlie's face turned gray. The hilarity and high spirits had disappeared like the Golden Gate Bridge in the fog. Dark shadows surrounded his eyes.
“Do you want a marker?” he asked. “Do you want me to write it out?”
“Your word is good, Charlie,” Bobby replied with a smile.
“Shit, I don't know what to do.”
“Take your time. Remember, the last time we played, you were the big winner. You won the girl. You might be lucky again.”
Bobby calmly laid his cards face down on the table and made a turkey sandwich in the kitchenette. Charlie was such easy prey that he feared he'd gone for the kill too quickly, putting the others on alert and blowing his chances for a real coup. He wanted them to pay for the luxuries they bought with Sally's life, and he wanted them to come willingly to slaughter.
“It looks like you have a hell of a hand, Charlie,” Alex said.
“All right,” Charlie said, and returned to the table but didn't sit. “I bet the company against ⦠against whatever Bobby said.”
“I'll call that bet,” Bobby replied and took a bite of his sandwich. “Let's see your cards.”
Charlie turned over an ace high flush in hearts.
“Very nice,” Bobby said. In no hurry, he licked a smear of mayonnaise off his fingers, leaned over the table, and flipped over his
hole cards, revealing two jacks and the ten for a full house, a superior hand to any flush. With a groan Charlie sank into an overstuffed chair and buried his head between his knees in a posture of devastation.
Son of a gun, Bobby thought, we finally have a game that means something.
Dean shook his head and said, “Talk about a hidden hand, Jeez.”
“Tough luck, Charlie,” Nelson said.
Charlie answered with another groan of anguish. “You finally got your way, Dean,” he said. “No limit.”
“Bobby had his ten,” Alex commented. “It was a lock.”
Bobby gathered in the pot, counted out two hundred thousand in chips and pushed them across the felt to Charlie's spot.
“You can stay in the game, Charlie,” he said. “That's your pay for a year. It's a lot of dough.”
“I'm ruined,” Charlie moaned. “I can't believe I'm such an idiot. It happened so fast, I lost my head.”
“You didn't lose your head,” Dean quipped. “Just your company.”
“It's all over.”
“It's not over,” Alex barked. “You're still in this game. Get your ass over here. You have two hundred G's, and that's not twiddly winks.”
“I'll just lose that, too. I always lose.”
“Come on, Charlie. Sit down and play cards,” Nelson pleaded.
“What's left to play for? Fun? Ha ha ha.”
“You're still in this game whether you like it or not. Maybe you can win it back. C'mon,” Alex insisted. “It's my deal.”
Reluctantly, as though compelled by forces beyond his control, Charlie took his seat and tossed in his ante.
“Seven stud, dealing.”
The game had an edge now, not the honed edge of a fine razor but rather the nasty, corroded edge of an old Gillette blue blade. One oâclock in the morning rolled around, two o”clock, two thirty, and with the stakes so high, most hands were decided quickly when
players folded without sticking to the end. Bobby's bets were sharp and precise, his play increasingly aggressive and provocative. Dean tried to stay with him and got stung time and again, expressing his frustration by sucking air and grinding his teeth. Nelson played scared, folding frequently, never bluffing, and winning only small pots because when he bet, everyone knew he had good cards and dropped. Charlie folded every hand, trying to conserve his chips and stay in the game although his heart was no longer in it.
Only Alex matched Bobby pot for pot, beating the other players but unable to force Bobby into a showdown. As the night progressed, Alex realized Bobby was merely waiting for the right cards to demolish each opponent the way he'd reduced Charlie to a sniveling puddle of misery. Aware of his strategy, the others were playing like frightened rabbits, but Alex wasn't going to concede the game, not by a long shot.
Caressing the blue deck, ready to deal, he decided to bluff and see if he could bring Bobby down a notch.
“Five draw, jacks or better.”
Alex dealt the hand and looked at his cards one at a time in his usual fashion. He had a pair of fives, not good enough to open.
“Dean?”
“Open for ten.”
“Bobby?”
“I'm in.”
“Charlie?”
“Out.”
“Out,” Nelson echoed.
“I see the ten and raise fifty,” Alex said.
“Shit,” Dean said. “Forget it.”
“See the fifty and raise fifty,” Bobby said.
“See your fifty and fifty more,” Alex responded.
“That's three raises,” Bobby said. “That's it, okay. I'll take three cards.”
“Dealer takes two.”
Alex peeled the cards off the deck that lay flat on the felt.
“Your bet, Alex,” Bobby said.
“Two hundred.”
Bobby grinned and tossed in his cards. “You're pretty slick, professor,” he said with a brotherly shrug. “Take it.”
On the next hand Dean dealt the same game and Alex bluffed successfully again, this time taking Bobby for three hundred thousand. In five minutes, a half million dollars had moved from Bobby's stack to Alex's side of the table.
As Alex pulled in the pot, Bobby noticed he didn't stack his chips but left them in an untidy pile.
“I guess you have so much money you don't need to count it,” Bobby jibed.
“I feel lucky,” Alex said.
“You keep bluffing and we'll see how lucky you are, Wiz.”
“You think I was bluffing?”
Bobby chuckled. “Maybe I'm wrong, Alex, but it seems to me you've been bluffing for thirty-two years. And if you can afford this game, you have to be lucky. I know I am. If I wasn't lucky, I'd be dead. Or is it the other way around?”
Patience, Bobby told himself as he scanned the table surrounded by grim faces. These guys are really crazy. How much do they have to lose before they start talking about Shanghai Bend? Maybe it's another setup. Maybe they expect Alex to win it all back so they don't have to say anything.
There was only one way to find out.