“I was curious if you took orders.” Mr. B leans back slightly.
“Orders?” Benefield scans his cards and tosses a chip onto the pile.
I add a chip to the pile, staying in this round.
H glances at his cards. He tries to look cool, but from the way he puffs on that cigar, he’s got nothing.
“Yeah, like if I have a specific request.” Mr. B continues his line of questioning while we play this round.
“I aim to please. If you have specifications, we can get you a girl who matches them.”
Mr. J glances at me, checking for my tells. I return his flat stare with an expressionless face. As the dealer this round, he holds the pack of cards. Mr. J deals out the flop, placing an ace of diamonds, a jack of clubs, and nine of hearts face up on the table.
Benefield looks at his cards. Does he have the king? King and queen? There are still two remaining cards to be dealt. He places a bet.
With my ten and eight, I don’t have a hand. Not yet, though there’s a chance for a straight if a queen or seven is dealt in the remaining two cards. I do some quick math and don’t like the results.
“Check.” I’m not raising the bet with that smug expression on his face. I could win this round, but my chip pile is embarrassingly small compared to Benefield’s.
With nothing in his hand, H must fold or risk losing the rest of his chips. Despite his poker game, Benefield’s the real threat here.
“Fold.” H tosses his cards down. Smart play. The odds are against him.
Mr. B’s question raises an alarm. Julian Townsend put in a specific order. More than specific, he requested Moira by name.
“How specific of a request can you fulfill?” I lean back and wait for Mr. J to check, raise, or fold.
“As specific as you need, for the right price of course.” Benefield’s gaze sweeps around the table. What does he see when he looks at his guests?
None of us are friends. None are business partners. He probably only cares about the dollars in our pockets and very deep bank accounts.
“If there is a particular woman I’m interested in, could you fulfill that request?” Mr. B isn’t letting his question go.
“I can. It costs more and takes longer.”
“Good to know.” Mr. B looks over at Mr. Y and the slave in his lap.
Mr. J lays down the fourth card and we go around the table again. Benefield’s smile alarms me, as does the size of his bet. He puts two million into the pot. That’s all I have left. I can fold, or I can check. What I can’t do is raise the bid.
“Fold.” With the odds against me, I place my cards on the table.
Mr. H is out of this game. Surprisingly, Mr. J goes all in, raising the bid to two and a half million. Benefield calls. Mr. J deals out the last card.
It’s a seven. I could’ve had a straight.
“Shit.” Mr. J tosses his cards on the table, revealing nothing. He’d been bluffing.
Benefield lays down his hand. Two jacks.
I don’t react. A straight beats three of a kind, but I’m already out of the game. Benefield rakes in the chips, not bothering to count them. He takes the deck from Mr. J and shuffles for the next round.
With less than two million left, I need to step things up, or I’ll be out.
There are only three of us left in this game: myself, Mr. H, and Benefield.
I make up my losses over the next several rounds. The three of us are nearly equal as far as our chip count goes with Mr. H having the least, a few million shy of the astounding sum I sit on now. In my lifetime, I’ve played a lot of poker, but nothing like this.
It’s my deal. Two cards down, we begin the bidding. Mr. H looks at his cards. He’ll bid first. He puffs hard on that cigar. I haven’t looked at my cards and won’t until it’s my turn to bid.
Mr. H checks. Across the table, Benefield’s face is glacial cold. The stakes are high. I have a feeling everything will come down to this one hand. He, too, checks. With no reason to place a bet, I follow suit and check as well.
I deal out the flop; the first three cards face up. Mr. H stares at the pair of twos and eight of hearts. It’s a strong hand, a pair out of the gate, but we all get to use that pair to our advantage.
Mr. H checks. He’s not confident in his hand. Benefield pushes in a large stack. A quick glance reveals five million in play. I need to play my hand cautiously, or I’ll run out of chips before it’s over. Good thing I’m the dealer this hand. It puts me at the end of the betting.
“Check.” I check Benefield and must meet his bid or fall out of the game. Five million go into the pot.
I deal the fourth card. Another eight.
We all stare at the cards. Two pair, another impressive combination. With two pair on the table, the only way for any of us to win is to beat that with three of a kind, a full house, or four of a kind. A straight and flush are out, both ranked higher than two pairs, but those combinations aren’t possible with what’s on the table.
Mr. H looks at his chip stack. There’s no way he can stay in the game. Benefield and I have far more at hand. He’ll have to fold.
“I’m out.” Mr. H tosses in his cards; a king and four. Smart move. He had nothing.
The stakes couldn’t be higher. I either win this hand now, or I’m out. Benefield is more than capable of making me sweat.
He leaves his cards face down on the table. I’m not sure, but his breathing is a little bit deeper than usual. Does he have a good hand? Better than mine? There’s no way to know, considering I’ve yet to look at my cards.
Or, is he simply feeling close to victory. If he has a two or an eight, that gives him a full house. Very hard to beat that. I itch to look at my cards, but if he’s figured out any of my tells, that’ll ruin me. I keep my wrists balanced on the edge of the table and stare him down.
To my left, Mr. H’s gaze darts left to right, as if unsure about everything. He’s anxious to know how this plays out.
Benefield taps the top of the table, looking relaxed as hell. Not an ounce of tension fills him. He ogles the girls, taking his time, then turns back to me, inquisitively raising an eyebrow.
Damn straight I’m watching you.
He appears as if he doesn’t care about the outcome of this game, but if I win, Eve is mine. I don’t think Benefield thought he could lose to a man like me.
He lifts a finger and calls over one of his men. The man rushes to Benefield’s side and leans down. Benefield whispers something into the man’s ear. The man gives a sharp shake of his head and rushes out of the room.
“I wonder what you’ll do to my Evie?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“What’s not as obvious is what you’ll do when you leave here with nothing.” He points to my cards. “You haven’t looked at your hand.” When I don’t answer, his brow furrows with confusion. “I see…” He drums his fingers on the table, tapping as if he’s got all the time in the world. “Winning this game doesn’t give you my Evie.”
“That is not what we agreed.”
“Yes, it is. If you win, you have the option to fight for her.” He tilts his head to the side. “How badly do you want my girl?”
“Enough to beat you at a game of poker. Are you going to place a bet or keep talking all night long?”