Page 19 of No Surrender
“Damn right,” Vic muttered.
“D’Amato, Hamilton—and you, too, Kincaide. We’ve got another situation.” Captain Hargrove strode up with a look on his face that made the cops in his wake move out of his way.
“What’s up, Cap?” Vic turned so he could try to read Hargrove’s expression. He knew that the grim set of the man’s jaw and hard look in his eyes couldn’t mean anything good.
“Judge Byrnam had a heart attack. Coincidentally, she got an unsolicited item in the mail, and because of all those spooky notes, she asked her secretary to send it to the police before she collapsed. Now she’s in the hospital,” Hargrove fretted. “What do you know about poker?”
Vic and the others exchanged a glance at the non-sequitur. “Poker?” Ross echoed.
“The judge is a big poker fan—blames it on growing up with four brothers. Loves watching tournaments, plays a mean hand in charity competitions, and reportedly has an annual trip to Vegas with her law school pals,” Hargrove said.
“Let me guess—the judge received a poker chip right before the incident?” Simon guessed.
Hargrove gave a curt nod. “Yep. Got it in one,” he said. “It’s ‘mild’ as heart attacks go, but she’s in the hospital under observation, and this is likely to push back the trial date. If it turns out to be serious enough, they might assign a new judge, and that would fuck up everything.”
“Shit,” Vic muttered. “Here’s hoping the judge bounces back quickly.”
“Can I see the poker chip?” Everyone looked at Simon. “If it’s like the baseball card, then it’s also a message.”
“You think it’s significant?” Hargrove asked.
Simon nodded. “I had a vision about the baseball card. Then when I looked it up, the player’s career ended when a car crash broke his arm. Just like what happened to the D.A. Now, the judge and the poker chip. I think someone is cursing people related to the trial—and using something that ties into their favorite interests to make the trigger item irresistible.”
“Shit. That should sound totally wacko—but it doesn’t. And the poker chip is being processed with the other evidence after forensics picked it up, but I took a picture since I figured you were going to ask.” Hargrove dug his work phone out of his pocket, pulled up the photo, and handed the device to Simon.
“Pokeriffic Championship—Las Vegas 2001,” Simon read aloud from the gold imprint on the chip. “Someone want to do a search on that? Try ‘Pokeriffic 2001 heart attack’ for starters.”
“On it,” Ross replied, fingers flying on his keyboard. A minute later, he looked up in triumph. “Got something!”
Ross turned his screen so that the others could see. A list of results all repeated the same headline,Poker Champ Sidelined by Heart Attack.
“Sid Osterman, ten-time Poker Grand Poohbah and the favorite of oddsmakers to be the next Pokeriffic Champion was forced to withdraw from the tournament when a heart attack sent him reeling in the middle of a playoff game,” Ross narrated.
“He doesn’t die—at least according to these articles—but it cost him the win.”
“Fuck this,” Hargrove rumbled. “We’ve got a stalker who’s gone from ominous notes to sending items that not only show an unsettling knowledge of the target’s personal life but imply a threat. They learn as much as they can about their targets, then send them something they can’t resist.”
“Then—wham! Bad mojo takes them out of play,” Vic added.
Simon nodded. “The baseball card definitely held malicious energy,” he confirmed. “As I told Vic and Ross, I’m not a witch, so I can’t tell you for sure what sort of magic was used, but I’ve got friends who are practitioners of the craft I can ask to look into it.”
“The craft?” Hargrove echoed, looking out of his element.
“Witches,” Vic replied. “He means witches.”
“Good,” the captain said without missing a beat. “Thank fuck someone knows who to call.”
Vic felt a surge of gratitude to have a captain who not only could accept the existence of the supernatural but was willing to allow people with gifts he didn’t fully understand to help when it meant solving a tough case.
“I’ll let you know what I hear as soon as I have something,” Simon promised.
“This is not what they taught at the Academy,” Hargrove admitted. “We didn’t cover hexes and curses. If I hadn’t seen some of this stuff myself, I wouldn’t believe it. So we need to be careful because if the media gets wind of the whole ‘curse’ thing, they’ll roast us, and it will play against us with the Slitter trial.”
“I think that’s exactly what the person who’s doing this is counting on,” Vic said. “Sooner or later, this is going to take on the ‘Curse of King Tut’s Tomb’ angle with the media, especially with the strange anonymous gifts. Once poison is ruled out, what’s left? They can’t even say it’s ‘psychosomatic’ because heart attacks and car wrecks are not imagined. And once we jump the shark, we’ve lost credibility.”
“Even when the shark is real,” Ross pointed out.
“That’s why I’m counting on the three of you to figure out a way to save our asses on this,” Hargrove said. “It’s totally unfair and unrealistic, but I need you to help us. You’re our only hope.”
