Death On the Flop Read online

  I smiled. “You’re going to teach me.”

  The poker tables at the Lanai were in the middle of the casino. The bouncers wouldn’t let any nonplayer near enough to the tables to see the cards, but we could see the players, if not the action. My first lesson was to watch the body language from afar.

  “Soak up the rhythm of the play,” Frank advised. “There are little things you will see here and might not understand you’re seeing them. But when you play, your mind will click them into place. You are a visual and tactile learner. That will be an easy way to teach you. Show you, then let you play the cards.”

  “How do you know what kind of learner I am?”

  “By how you reacted at the morgue. Some people can’t stand the sounds, some people can’t stand the smell. You had trouble seeing and feeling. You’re a tactile and visual learner. The best way to teach you to play will be to show you, only telling while you are seeing and then let you play.”

  We watched, although I didn’t know what I was watching for. Frank pointed to a table with one flamboyantly dressed middle-aged woman and six men of varying ages from early twenties to senior citizen. Three of the men wore mirrored sunglasses. I noticed that every time it was the woman’s turn to bet, one of the men would tap his fingers on the table, or would stare at her, or would blow out a big sigh. I didn’t notice as much of the same behavior when a man was betting.

  “Why are they trying to intimidate her?” I finally asked Frank.

  He grinned. “You noticed that, huh? Good. You might have a knack for this after all. You’re very intuitive and observant. They are intimidating her, partly because of the societal gender gap—and remember that is worse if you are playing with people from certain parts of the world, like Eastern Europe or Asia. Also, they are intimidating her because it is part of the game and they are trying to intimidate each other as well. The reason why it is becoming more and more obvious in her case is that she is letting them. Watch how she is making her bets faster, how she is starting to bounce her leg under the table—a nervous habit. See how she is peeking at her cards repeatedly, even though she’s got to remember what she has by now. They are down to The River.”

  “What’s The River?”

  “The last community card thrown out by the dealer. I’ll get more into semantics upstairs, for now just watch.”

  He fell silent and let the last round of bets take place. We, of course, couldn’t hear them but we could see her push her cards into the center.

  Frank shook his head. “They talked her into folding, and I bet she had something in her pocket to stay in the hand that long. Okay, first thing, look at your cards one time, memorize them and never look at them again. Only novices and nervous Nellies look at their cards over and over. If you get distracted and can’t remember just fold, because your repeated peeking will change the game so much, encouraging all kinds of bluffs and semibluffs, that you won’t be able to play.

  “The second thing she taught us is to never let them see you sweat. That leg bounce, even though it was under the table, was evident to any veteran poker player. Suck it up and stay as still as you can. If you need an outlet, chew gum.

  “Third, and most difficult to master, is don’t let anyone speed up your bet. Having said that, you don’t want to take so long that the dealer has to hurry you. That sends a whole different message. You can do that if you are trying to send a message to the table, but that’s only after you’ve got a better handle on the game. If you use it wrong, it just shows you are a novice, again. So if you want to show you aren’t intimidated, stretch your bet a little longer than normal, but not too long.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “Not if you let yourself ‘feel’ the rhythm of the game.”

  We watched as the woman shook her head at the dealer, stood and left the table. “Tapped too hard on the aquarium, guys,” Frank said under his breath. As I looked around for the fish tank, Frank chuckled and leaned over to whisper to me. “Those guys made a mistake. They put too much pressure on her when they could have intimidated her just a little and let her stay in the game. A fish is what veteran poker players call a poor player. And, using a fish is much more profitable for the whole table than scaring it away. A fish will give you money, but only if it stays in the game.”

  As Frank pointed to another table to watch, I was overcome with an anxiety attack. There was so much to learn and so little time. I almost gave up, but then I remembered the blood on the wall, the trashed room and my only brother. Damn his hide, but I loved him. I guess the only thing I had to lose was a game. He might be somewhere fighting for his life.

  I sucked in a fortifying breath and listened to Frank. “See the guy with all the chips at this table?”

  “How did he get all those?” I asked. In the five minutes or so we’d been watching, he hadn’t played a hand.

  “I’ve had an eye on him since we came in. He’s a stereotypical player known as a ‘Rock.’ He’s a tight player who plays very few hands, only great ones that are virtually guaranteed to make him money. Now the catch here is, sometimes to be a good Rock, you have to play like any other player every now and then, or else when you place a bet, the rest of the table will say, ‘Oh crap, he has pocket aces’ and all fold before you can make any real money. I bet if we watched long enough, we would see him bluff a hand or two. Or perhaps play one hand like a Maniac just to confuse the table.”

  “A Maniac?” Sounded scary.

  “A Maniac is a very loose player, does a lot of hyperaggressive raising and bluffing when all he has is muck in his hand. A lot of people who are gambling addicts are maniacs because they are just into risk and not the strategy. A Maniac will actually lose more than she wins. But someone who plays mostly like a Rock but acts like a Maniac at strategic times will be very dangerous, because she will be unpredictable.”

  Frank looked at me. My thoughts were written all over my face again. “Okay?” he asked uncertainly.

  “Sure. It’s clear as mud,” I answered.

  “Just keep watching. It will come together when we go upstairs and play.”

  I sighed. Playing with Frank sounded fun right about now. I caught a whiff of the testosterone heated Dove again and watched his hands tap out a rhythm on the bar. I swear the man was getting to be irresistible. I think I was definitely hard up. Perhaps they had a pill to dispel sexual attraction at the hotel gift shop. Frank obviously didn’t need one.

  For some reason, for the first time since I’d conned the poor guy into helping me, I considered that I might be taking him away from work. “You know, Frank, I shouldn’t monopolize your time like this. If you have work to do, please don’t let me stop you. Ben is my problem, not yours.”

  Frank met my gaze with a grateful one of his own, then broke it to look back at the poker games again. “I have the time. I’m kind of between cases.”

  Cases? “Are you a private investigator?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What exactly are you?”

  Frank’s gaze met mine again. “Your Texas Hold ’Em tutor.”

  “And expert in avoiding the question,” I added. “Well, I appreciate your help. It really is none of my business what you do.”

  Hmm. But I really, really wanted to know. I absolutely hate mystery.

  Apparently, Frank didn’t mind being one, though, because that was the end of the conversation for him. He nudged me and pointed at the table we could see the most clearly. “See that?”

  The dealer was shaking his head at a man who’d dropped his head nearly to his chest. The rest of the table was either glaring at him or shaking their heads. “What happened?” I asked.

  “The guy splashed the pot.”

  “There are certainly a lot of sea and water analogies in Hold ’Em,” I murmured.

  Frank nodded. “When you bet, always push the chips you are betting in a stack in front of you. Never, ever throw them in the pot. That’s what he did.”

  “Poor guy,” I said.
“He just didn’t know any better.”

  “Maybe, or maybe he just wanted to get away with gypping the pot and hoped he wouldn’t get caught.”

  “Huh,” I said, “I guess this game is never what it seems.”

  “Yeah, it is in the end.”

  “How’s that?”

  “While the players might, the cards, they never lie.”

  Ten

  While I was still pondering the possibility that blackjack players may lie a little too, Frank motioned me to follow him. “I think you’ve seen enough for now. We’ll go play and then the next time you watch, you’ll catch more.”

  We made our way back through the casino, past a live troupe of hula dancers in traditional muumuus being accompanied by a ukulele. I had to hand it to whomever researched the makings of a Hawaiian themed hotel. Everything I’d seen was pretty authentic, or as authentic as a natural paradise could be in Sin City. I’d know more than the average Jane, I suppose, my best friend having grown up on the Big Island of Hawaii. Shana is constantly harping on any stereotypical portrayals of her home state. I learned more firsthand when we’d visited her parents three years ago. Seeing all the cultures that made Hawaii unique portrayed so well in the Lanai suddenly made me want to move there. Hey, maybe I would, considering I had no career anymore. And maybe one less brother to worry about.

  I choked back a sudden sob. Frank stopped, put his hand on my elbow and scanned the area for what might have set me off. “What’s wrong?” he demanded. “Did you see Conner?”

  I shook my head and dashed away a tear from the corner of my eye. I broke free of his grip and marched on. “No. I just thought about the future for a moment and the recent past caught up with me and bit me on the butt.”

  Jogging to keep up with me, Frank chuckled. “You Texans sure have a way with words.”

  While we waited for the elevator, Frank asked, “So I’m betting there’s more than just your surprise trip to Vegas and your brother’s disappearance, isn’t there?”

  I sighed. What the hell. He already thought I was the queen of eye bags, he might as well know I was a loser in love too. “Good bet, gambler. This week I turned forty, lost my fiancé and cratered my career in that order.”

  My tone must have been about dirge level, because Frank looked at me carefully. “Your fiancé, did he die?”

  “Ha! I wish. I found him banging his barely-legal administrative assistant on his office desk. We’d dated for six years.”

  “Damn, I’m sorry, Bee. Remember, all men aren’t ass-holes.” Frank’s crow’s feet crinkled as he flashed a rueful grin. “Of course, I don’t know for a fact it’s true, but I’ve heard it said.”

  I couldn’t resist smiling too as we entered the elevator. Frank waited for the couple who rode up with us to vacate on the tenth floor before he asked, “So what happened with the ad career?”

  “Well, it’s my fault. Toby was the head of the agency, you see. I tried to be professional and stick it out. I gave it four hours after I threw his ring at his private parts, but I couldn’t stomach that image of the two of them springing up in my mind every time I saw his door closed. Besides, I couldn’t bear the pats of sympathy on my shoulders as my colleagues walked by. You’d think at forty I would’ve been a little more mature.”

  Frank’s eyes darkened. He didn’t look sympathetic, he looked angry. “You were betrayed. And you’re proud. That is not something to apologize for.”

  I offered a small smile in thanks, and then voiced what had been popping up in my head over the past couple of hours.

  “You know, it’s funny, I love the ad business, and I’ve worked in it since I graduated from Southern Methodist eons ago. But maybe I’m ready for a change. Of course, that’s the way I feel one minute, and feel totally adrift another.”

  “The rug’s been pulled out from under you this week.” Frank motioned me to go ahead of him through the open elevator doors on the twenty-fifth floor. “We’ll find Ben and then you can figure out what you can do when you grow up. Maybe be a world class poker player.”

  I laughed out loud at that one. “Ha! If I survive one hand in this tournament it will be some kind of miracle.”

  Frank slid his keycard in and held the door open for me. “Let’s get busy on creating the eighth wonder of the world, then.”

  I gasped when I walked into the suite. A poker table complete with chips and cards sat in the middle of the living room. “Where did that come from?”

  “Can’t have miracles without an angel or two in the wings.”

  I shook my head as we sat down. Frank poured two glasses of iced tea from the bar and brought them to the table. “I don’t know if you noticed down there, but you can have a drink at the table but not on the table. Usually, the casino keeps a drink cart of some sort nearby.”

  I shook my head. “I think I’ll be too nervous to drink anything.”

  “Wrong move. Definitely keep a drink there. Try to talk to the waitstaff before the tournament and see if you can order ‘the same’ or ‘another’ when the waitress comes by the table. That way, no one knows what you are drinking—you could be sucking down straight vodkas for all they know. You hope they assume that, anyway. It’s just one hand in the mind game.”

  We sat down. “Remember, Frank,” I said as I watched him slide the deck out of the box and start to shuffle. “You have to go back to kindergarten with me. I don’t play cards, aside from Old Maid with my cousin’s kids, and I have never gambled in my life. I don’t even buy lottery tickets.”

  “Why not?” Frank asked curiously.

  “It must be an offshoot of good ole Catholic guilt. Or perhaps it is the product of an upbringing where I was told life was fair. Intellectually, I know it isn’t. Emotionally, I can’t give up hope that one day it will be. So, I feel like if I won the lottery, then the natural consequence would be that something bad would happen to me.”

  Frank dealt as if there were nine players at the table. He didn’t look at me, but his crow’s feet were crinkling. “What if the something or somethings bad happened first? Maybe you should go buy three lottery tickets right now. You could win without any repercussions.”

  “Hmm,” I murmured. “I never thought about it that way. But why three instead of four?” I held up fingers. “One, Ben is missing. Two, I lost my job. Three, Toby threw me over for a girl young enough to be my daughter.” Ouch, that hurt saying it aloud.

  “Which in the end is a good thing for you,” Frank put in.

  I shrugged. “I suppose. And, four, I turned forty.”

  “I didn’t count the birthday as a bad thing because I consider turning forty an improvement for any woman.” Frank said it lightly but with a shadow in his eyes that made me think the ex-wife might be younger than forty. A lot younger.

  “Why do you say that? Because of the extra ‘bags’ we carry around?”

  “You’re never going to forget that are you?”

  “Not likely.”

  “Guess I’ll have to find a way to make up for it.”

  I tried not to read more into that statement, even though he’d hitched that teasing right eyebrow when he’d said it. “Teaching me how to sit in at the tournament long enough to give us time to find Ben would be the best way.”

  “Okay, first you need to get in the right mindset for Hold ’Em. I call it guarded cockiness. You’ve got to be realistic in this game, you have to be able to count the cards and weigh the calculated odds, but you also have to hope to win every hand. It’s confidence that you want to exude so you can knock other players out of the game when the cards won’t.”

  “Without tapping too hard on the aquarium, of course,” I added in sudden inspiration.

  Frank’s eyes lit up. He pointed with the deck at me. “You’re good. Keep it up.”

  For some reason his flattery embarrassed me. I squirmed and swept my hand around the empty seats. “You haven’t introduced me to the rest of the table.”

  “Actually, I’ve never taught
anyone to play poker quite this way before, but since you’re smart and observant, this is a crash course and we have a lot at stake, I think it might work.”

  “Just don’t tell me it’s strip poker, because I’ve already had that offer in the last twenty-four hours.”

  Frank’s head snapped up. “From who?”

  “Oh, just some hard-up kid. He was kind of cute.”

  “Smart kid.”

  I squirmed in my chair again. I wasn’t used to an appreciative man in my life. Ben was a good guy, but way too preoccupied with himself to dish out many compliments. Toby, well, I shouldn’t even go there. Just suffice it to say that Toby would have considered even a mild compliment from a stranger as encroaching on his property. He probably would’ve tried to go search the poor guy out to threaten him. For a long time I’d thought his protectiveness was cute, lately though, I’d begun to realize that’s all I was to Toby—one of his things.

  I was nothing to Frank, so of course he wouldn’t go offer to deck the kid. But his response was so unexpected that I was . . . uh . . .

  “Let’s get started,” I said quickly, before I figured out exactly what I was feeling.

  Frank, who’d been scribbling something on a casino notepad, shot me an odd look out of the corner of his eye. He finished what he’d been writing and shoved it my way. “There is the list of hands that can win, from best to worst. You can refer to it for an hour then I’m taking it away.” Royal Flush, Straight Flush, four of a kind, full house, flush, straight, three of a kind, two pair, one pair and high card “kicker,” which means you have the highest single card on the table.

  “How long are we playing, anyway?” I asked in alarm as I read through the list again.