Page 40 of The Black Trilogy

Ah, Vegas. The city of sin, and believe me, I’d embraced its reputation. I’d also learned to play poker there. On my first trip, my husband had bought me into a game.

“We’re in the gambling capital of the world. Put the drink down and play,” he told me.

I knocked back the last of my cosmopolitan while he gave me a five-minute crash course in the rules. Full house, straight flush, three of a kind, yadda, yadda, yadda.

“So, what it boils down to,” I said, “is if the cards have people on them, bet. If they’re the same suit, bet. Otherwise, fold.”

“Something like that.”

At three in the morning, I stumbled out of the casino with chips overflowing from my handbag.

“I thought you said you didn’t know how to play?” my husband asked.

“I don’t.”

I didn’t even know what my last hand was. The cards had been too blurry. But before I could explain that, I fell off the kerb and he carried me back to our hotel.

After that night, I made an effort to learn the rules of poker properly. Now when I won, it was due to strategy rather than blind luck and alcohol. Whenever I was in Vegas, I played, and the guys at work had a weekly Wednesday night game I joined when I was home. Who was topping the league now? My money was on Dan.

While Vegas was always fun, I’d preferred the underground poker games I sometimes played. Men invariably underestimated the pretty girl, which meant I could act like a ditz then wipe the floor with them. That was always fun, especially when they got angry. I loved a good fight.

But there was none of that tonight. As the moon rose higher, I won a couple of big pots, and soon I had a nice collection of chips. A million imaginary dollars, ten stacks of black ten-thousand-dollar chips, all the same height. OCD city, baby, OCD city.

Ben, Huey and Louie lost their chips and quit before twelve. Lightweights.

“Better go get the brats,” Ben said.

Dewey left soon after them, dividing his chips among Luke, Mark, and me. “I promised mother I’d have my sister home by half twelve, and we’re already late.”

What was it with mothers in this part of the world? They kept grown men firmly under their thumbs. Still, it helped me. I knocked Mark out at a quarter to one with an outrageous bluff—his cautiousness came to the fore, and he folded.

One to go.

“I’ll round up Portia and Arabella while you guys fight it out,” Mark said, and he disappeared off to search for them.

That left me alone with Luke.

“You’re not a bad player,” he said. “Where did you learn?”

Err, time for another bluff. “My grandma taught me when I was little. We used to play for pistachios. She was a shark.”

“She taught you well. I learned at boarding school, playing for tuck-shop credits.”

“You went to boarding school? Isn’t that a bit old fashioned?”

“They’re still around. I started there at eight. My father liked the idea of having a son, but not the reality of it. We got on better when I wasn’t home.”

“How about your mother?”

“You’ve met Tia.”

So, it seemed Luke’s childhood hadn’t been idyllic either, although his had been eased by liberal applications of money. With the cards dealt, we played another hand and Luke managed to take a few chips off me.

“Nice bluff.”

“You don’t know I was bluffing.”

Not for sure, but I did now, because he looked away when he answered. With only the two of us left in the game, it was easier to figure him out. He clenched his teeth when he had a bad hand. Subtle, but it was there.

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