Dead Man's Hand (10 page)

With a warm,
though rather unsettling smile she said,   “Well they both meet
everyone who comes to the tournament, only my father does it at the front
door.  Good old pops, he and his underlings pat down everyone who comes in
here.  Well, almost everyone I guess that’s another small benefit of being
family here, I’m trusted by them.”

With a
shocked face I stammered, “Your… father is…” 

She tried to
hide a laugh behind her hands but did a perfectly horrendous job of it. 
When she was quite finished, I wasn’t able to get out any kind of coherent
thought, so she went on, “Yes, Marcus I was looking for you after watching your
little performance at the door.”  As she spoke I watched a smile break out
on her face, which threw me even more off balance.  “And I’m quite sure
good old pops told my uncle about you as well.  Oh you should have seen my
father’s face when my uncle shook your hand and left you intact.  I’m
certain he would have preferred seeing you trussed up and roasting on a spit.” 
I had thought I had seen her biggest smile earlier but somehow it was still
widening, despite the constraints of her face.

I think it
was my laughter that caught her off guard, and if I am going to be completely
honest it caught me off guard a little as well.  But she went absolutely
red in the face.  Before she could say anything I tried to explain my
laughter as best as I could.

“Here you
thought I was trying to curry favor from you, because you thought I knew about
your father and uncle, like everyone else probably does.  But I honestly
had no clue.  And to top it off, all this time you were using the anger I
brewed with your father to make him and your uncle uncomfortable.”  She
didn’t offer a different explanation so I just sat there dumbly staring at
her.  She was very good, I had never even suspected that she could have
had an ulterior motive for choosing to sit down with me.

When I looked
back at her face, I could tell that the red was slowly dissipating, which was
too bad in a way, that blush suited her.  But I could tell that she was
trying hard not to join in my laughter. “You have to admit, this is absolutely
hilarious. Well I can definitely say that you’re one of the deepest people I
know.”

Eyeing me
with the same type of measuring stare that her uncle had used on me earlier she
eventually replied.  “Thank you, I think.”  She watched me nod before
she laid her head back on my shoulder and continued.  “That’s the closest
anyone has ever come to offering me a genuine compliment in quite some time.”

Her head felt
right laying on my shoulder like that, so I let my voice flow naturally as I
thought very carefully about what I was about to say. “I might be able to offer
you more.”

“Is that
so?”  She asked in an almost musical tone. 

I tilted my
head just enough to see her face.  “Or rather I might be able to offer you
more after the tournament is over.”

There was no
turning back now. Feeling more than a bit nervous and hoping, not mention
mentally crossing my fingers that I had not been completely imagining things, I
asked, “Would you like to have a meal with me after the tournament?  My
treat of course.”

“Marcus, are
you asking me out on a date?”  Her voice was thick with the playful
teasing that let me know she was pleasantly surprised.

In answer I
leaned down just enough that I was able to kiss the top of her forehead before
answering, “I believe I just did.”

“Well in that
case just make sure you’re not at my table when we start, I would hate to ruin
our first date by taking all your money so early.”  Her words were laced
with such an inviting tone that I knew she was wearing a broad smile that
everyone in the hall could see.  But I didn’t care right then, so with a
broad smile of my own I kissed her forehead once again.

After a few
moments of silence, that as far as I was concerned could have lasted a while
longer, she tilted her head so I could get a good look at her face.  With
a warm smile she whispered into my ear, “Now whatever you do Marcus, don’t win
my money.  If you did that, I don’t think I’d be able to accept your offer
of a date.”  I knew she was only teasing me, at least, slightly teasing
me.  Her tone of voice held a mixture of playfulness and
seriousness.  “Thank you, for being you.  You have no idea, what your
kindness mean to me, or how good it makes me feel.”

“Like I told
you earlier, Bella.  You’re not bound to either your father or uncle;
there’s always a way out, you just have to look for it.”

She sat there
looking up into my eyes and I could see her thinking about the possibilities,
and I could swear that she did see a way out.  But before I could ask she
whispered a reply into my ear.  “With you, I think there actually could be
a way out.”  She said with a dreamy smile.

After kissing
her forehead for a third time I gave the room another once over, not that I
expected to find anything from my seat, but I had to look.  I knew there
had to be a door here somewhere, but I still couldn’t find any trace of
it.  I took a deep breath and I decided to ask Bella what was going to
happen next. Since she had been here last year I figured she had to have some
idea about the proceedings.

Matching her
whisper I asked, “Since you already know about my ignorance, I don’t mind
asking you a silly question.  Where are we actually going to play?” 
Gesturing around the room I added in a regular voice, “I mean we can’t be
playing here.”

With a shrug
she thought for a moment before she answered me. “To tell the truth, I don’t
know, I’ve only been to one other tournament but based on that one…”

“Wait?! 
I said as I laid my right index finger across her lips. 
She had only
been to one tournament and she won it? 
Of course that was when I
realized what she had been trying to say, so I lifted my finger from her lips
as I asked the next question that popped into my mind.  “What do you mean
based on that one?”  When she didn’t answer me I looked down and saw that
my finger was still laying across her lips so I sheepishly removed it and
waited for her answer.

“Last year’s
tournament wasn’t held here.  My uncle uses a different warehouse every
year.”  She said it as if such extravagance was as natural as ordering a
hamburger from some fast-food joint.  But then with Dempsey, it might be
the same thing.

Once again I
looked around and with a new perspective I took in the majesty of the room once
more.  And I was floored.  A new location every year, talk about a
display of opulent wealth.  “What does he typically do with this place
after the tournament is finished?”

“Well here is
an excellent example of where you benefit from being a genuine friend.” 
She squeezed my hand to make sure I recognized what I was getting.  “All
the woodwork and paintings are done by a couple of master craftsman that my
uncle has his hooks into, so that doesn’t even cost much, from what I know, it
doesn’t even cover the cost of materials.  And that is amazing when you
consider what just the time of a couple of masters would normally cost.”

“Your uncle
certainly knows how to get the most out of his connections, doesn’t he?” 
I asked dryly without bothering to hide my disgust.  I had a certain
amount of respect for anyone who had reached that kind of mastery of a trade
and just like women and children I went out of my way to protect them from my
scams if I could.  And if I couldn’t I certainly made sure that they were
fairly compensated for their time and trouble.  After all fair was fair.

“Well that’s
what my uncle is best at, but there are some areas where he just doesn’t have
that kind of pull.  Take the tables and chairs for instance.  As far
as I know he doesn’t have any hooks into anyone who could craft them, at least
not yet.  He has to buy them at their regular price.” 

“That’s got
to hurt his ego.”

 “Not
really.”

“How could he
possibly not…”  She reached up with her left hand and laid a finger across
my lips bringing my protest to an abrupt halt.  When I looked down at her
she was smiling and I could hear the words she was thinking,
fair is fair.

When she was
satisfied that I wouldn’t press on with my objection, she continued.  “He
sells the tables and their chairs to any of the players who want them. 
And of course he sells them at a substantial markup, he knows not everyone will
buy the furniture.  And since he has men all around the building he isn’t
exactly worried about a player trying to take one without paying for it.”

When she saw
my stunned face she simply shrugged his shoulders.  “He sells more than
you might think, this is a unique experience and if you think about the people
who are here it makes sense.  Plus the fact that each year the design is
different enough.  While these are far plainer then last
year’s
, they’re still remarkably ornate.”

“And he
manages to sell how many?”

“Last year he
sold half of them, but that is something he enjoys.”

“So what does
he do with whatever stock he can’t sell?   I mean what could he
possibly do with tables that each cost a small fortune?”

“Having already
made a profit, he leaves behind whatever stock is left over. When the police
eventually arrive they find the furniture with an attached note gifting it all
to whoever happened to find the warehouse that year.

I sat there,
staring at the furniture, and started to calculate what the price tag of these
tables and chairs would have to be.  I finally decided to give up,
whatever their cost a policeman’s taxes would be destroyed by such a gift, if
nothing else. “The cops have got to hate these presents by now.”

“That is
precisely why whatever is found ends up being donated to charity and since
everyone knows my uncle is the one who had them made…”

I could see
where she was going with this. “Don’t tell me that he gets a tax right off to
boot?”

“Now that would
be all kinds of screwy wouldn’t it? But no, he hasn’t managed to get a tax
break yet.  But what I was going to say was that it doesn’t stop the
charities from loving him for the donations.”

With disgust
rising in my chest I was beginning to find it hard to breathe.  How had a
man like Dempsey managed to insulate himself to such an extent?  How could
the people who were supposed to help those he exploited be thankful for
anything?  I was busy thinking about everything Bella had told me when she
nudged me in the stomach.

Looking down
I saw her pointing to the interior wall directly across from the main
entrance.  There her uncle stood waiting for silence.  “It looks like
he’s ready to get things under way.”  Glancing up she reminded me,
“Remember we start at different tables.”

 “This
tournament doesn’t pre-arrange seating?”

“You’ve had
ones that do?”

“Always.” 
I answered confusion in my voice.

“Well my
uncle is a great believer in free form.  So we can sit wherever we
want.  I’m hoping that I get a table full of the chumps to start.”

Before I
could reply she placed her right index finger on my lips again and then pointed
at her uncle, who had gathered all of the attention in the room.  Again I
couldn’t help but be impressed by the range of the man’s voice.  Without a
microphone, at least not one I could see, and without yelling, Dempsey managed
to speak at a volume that carried to everyone in the room.

That was when
I realized the room must have been engineered to carry someone’s voice from a
few particular spots, including the doorway.  “Well I think it’s about
time to get down to the real business at hand.  We have a tournament to
begin don’t we?”

A few of the
more spirited billionaires responded in excited affirmation, again allowing the
professionals and his men to tag the cannon fodder.  But more telling was
that Dempsey had timed their response with the opening of a pair of doors into
the next room behind him.  Now I remembered looking at that particular
stretch of wall and I hadn’t been able to see anything that even resembled a
door.  Bella had told me that he had some master craftsmen working for
him.  More than anything else these doors spoke to the true level of their
capabilities.

The door had
been so well crafted that the seams were practically nonexistent. Or perhaps
they were hidden behind that interesting molding that ran vertically around the
room, which seemed to make more sense.  Well, I would find out for sure as
soon as we entered that room, but I was certain that was how it had been done.

Hiding the
door’s seam was not his primary goal.  No, the main goal was pure
showmanship.  It had looked like someone or rather something had ripped
the walls apart.  Dempsey was going for shock and awe, it would most
likely fail to impress the scattered professionals, but the rich were certainly
impressed.

Addressing
the assembled players, Dempsey said, “If you would all please come this way.
 We will begin just as soon as everyone has chosen their seat.” 
Instead of waiting for the players to enter first Dempsey turned around and
walked through the doorway followed closely by his personal attendants.

Flashing
Bella a smile I leaned over and whispered mock annoyance and aggravation, “Well
I guess that means we have to get up, doesn’t it?”

With a sight
chuckle she looked up and answered, “I suppose it does at that.”

Standing, I
turned and, ever the gentleman, offered my hand to help her up. With a smile,
she graciously accepted it.  Now that we were both on our feet I offered
my arm as I bowed my head ever so slightly.  She must have been desperate
for some pampering because she latched onto my arm as her eyes were overflowing
with joy.  Arm in arm we started crossing the room, making our way to the
newly opened doorway.  As we approached I was able to see the hinges and
lines of the exposed doorway, and now that I saw it open I was cursing at
myself for missing it before.

I had thought
the room I was in had been the absolute lap of luxury.  But as we walked
into this new room, I saw an even greater level of magnificence.  I guess
I should call the room we had been in a lounge, and based on what I saw in
here, we must have been roughing it as far as the social elite were
concerned.  You could really tell who Dempsey was catering to.  After
a small gasp rushed from my lips Bella squeezed my arm just a little as she
whispered to me, “Don’t worry.  I won’t tell anyone how new you are.”

“No you don’t
need to, I think I just did that for myself.”  Though I could tell she was
just as impressed as I was, despite being Dempsey’s niece.  She had more
than likely grown up with this kind of opulence, or had she?  I put her
background out of my mind and studied the room.  I would just need five
minutes and I could ensure my financial freedom for a good five years if not
longer.  How much money did Dempsey poor into these things?  Was any
of it reused?  This room would have to be reused or he would go
broke.  “Does your uncle reuse any of this stuff?”  I asked Bella in
a whisper.

“It all looks
mostly familiar, so I’d have to say yes.”  She answered with a whispered
to match my own.

“Mostly?”

“If I had to
guess I’d say he reuses the materials.  But he’s very fond of never having
the décor be the same.  At least that’s what he’s told me.”  She
answered quietly.

With partial
understanding I spoke aloud trying to pull everything together.  “So he
takes these decorations down has them reworked so they’ll look different yet
retain a slight sense of familiarity.”

“Sounds about
right.”

The room was
expansive and in the middle there were ten full-sized poker tables, like the
ones you would see in Vegas or on the televised poker tournaments.  But
those tables were nowhere near as elegant as these tables appeared to be. 
Not with all the different gems inlaid into each leg.  As if the gems weren’t
enough, the tables themselves looked to have been manufactured from
silver.  I couldn’t see what the playing surface was made of but I was
certain it would be over the top.

Surrounding
the tables was a walled off gallery, making the oval room feel more like the
ancient Roman Coliseum than like a poker hall.  Though with that
comparison all of the players did appear to be standing in for the gladiators
of old.  I began to idly wonder who would be standing in for the
audience.  But that question was answered when I noticed that there were
already people in the stands.  We were a new form of gladiator. 
Where
did all these people come from?

Again my
guiding light saved me from embarrassment.  “More people want to be on the
floor than can.  For the ones who weren’t quick enough, they can still
come and watch.”

“But they
didn’t come in…”

“My uncle is
very good at hiding doors,” she noted, pointing out the doorway we had just
came through.  “When you think about it, is it all that surprising that
you didn’t see them enter?”