Page 10 of The San Marco Heist

Emmett encouraged each of them, toasting every good hand, and quietly nursing his drink. The stakes steadily rose, and the conversation turned away from idle small talk towards more serious matters. Emmett’s attention shifted to the man opposite him. “So, what do you do for a living?”

The question was casual, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his true intent. The two of them were the only ones left in the current hand, and Emmett was either trying to lower the man’s defenses or searching for a tell.

The man’s smile was wide and genuine. “Venture capital. It can be risky, but it pays off when you get it right.”

Emmett nodded thoughtfully. “Do you trust your gut or your statistics more?”

“Start with the stats.” The venture capitalist put his hands behind his chips and shoved them to the middle. “Then end with the gut.”

“Interesting.” Emmett peeked at his cards, a wry smile emerging before he slid them facedown toward the dealer. “Fold.”

“No way!” The tech guy nudged my shoulder and laughed. “I was sure your buddy had it.”

Something told me Emmett had the better hand and folded to keep the rest of them guessing. Show them some false tells, pretend he had the winning hand, then fold at the end so they’d question him when the stakes got big enough.

The dealer collected everything, chips were moved, and congratulations given.

“You don’t lose often, do you?” I said to my old friend.

He straightened his stacks of chips, which already contained roughly a quarter of my original buy-in. “Often enough to keep it interesting.”

The flutter of the shuffling machine signaled the next hand would begin soon. Men who’d wandered off during the dance between Emmett and the venture capitalist resumed their seats, ready for another round.

After my cards slid across from the dealer, I peeked at them, happy with what I saw. Time to start the actual game. “Say, Emmett, I don’t see your wife here.”

He snorted and checked the big blind.

“Not your wife?” I hadn’t been able to shake the memory of her since I first spotted her at the party. The gold dress had hugged some miraculous curves, and her legs went on forever, but it was her eyes that stuck with me.

“Still chronically single, Mal?”

“Married to my work, my friend.” I wouldn’t say no to a little fun on the side, but anything beyond that was liable to get messy. Women were fickle, and relationships were unreliable. My own baggage was enough of a burden to carry. “But I’m always on the lookout for a set of legs like that.”

“Trust me, buddy, she’s so far out of your league you’d get whiplash trying to find her league.”

The man to my left—the tech braggart—chuckled. “Sounds like someone I need to meet.”

“So, not your girlfriend, either?” I called and tossed in my chips.

Emmett took a genuine sip of his drink as the other players added their chips to the table. “Drop it, Mal.”

If there’d been even a hint of heartbreak or agony in that comment, I would have stopped there. But since there wasn’t, I pressed on, a ridiculous need to know more overcoming me.

The dealer burned a card and dealt the flop.

Two queens and a king, giving me a boat full of queens. “How about this? If I win this hand, you give me her phone number.”

“Done.” The answer came so swiftly, it was clear—he had a hand he was certain would win.

I wasn’t the only one who picked up on his reaction. Everyone else at the table—except for Broadway—folded.

My hand was good, and based on the flop, his only chance at beating me was pocket kings or if the next cards gave him something better. He’d checked pre-flop instead of raising, so there was no way he had the kings.

He must have been bluffing. He was too clever to give away his hand with that fast response.

There was a pounding at the door and the hostess hurried out of the room, moving faster than she had since I arrived. Tech Guru leaned back in his chair to see through to the door. His eyes widened and he scrambled out of the seat.

Not good.

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