Rogue Angel: Gabriel's Horn

by Alex Archer

  Roux seethed inside. The cards had been so good to him at first, and now they ran cold. He didn’t know if he could trust what he was seeing, and he hated to take long shots. It was absurd and intolerable.

  He kept his frustrations locked in, though. Even so much as a deep breath could have given away crucial knowledge about him to the other players. Those behaviors were called “tells” in the trade, and they were dangerously destructive to a player.

  Declan Connelly was an Irish launderer worth millions. He sat solid and imposing on the other side of the table. As if he didn’t have a care in the world, he sipped his whiskey straight up. He could drink for hours—and had been—and still play as though he were stone-cold sober.

  He’d also apparently brought the luck of the Irish with him. He’d hit on combinations during the night that had at first appeared all but impossible.

  “C’mon, old man,” Connelly taunted. “You’re squeezing onto them chips like they’re the last ones you’re likely to see in your lifetime.” He snickered. “‘Course as old as you are, I guess maybe that could be the case.”

  Roux ignored the insult and concentrated on his cards. He wasn’t going to let himself be baited.

  Two queens—hearts and diamonds—had shown up in the flop, the spill of the initial three community cards across the felt. Roux felt certain Connelly was holding another queen in his two down cards because the river was widely split unless someone was holding a queen. There was nothing really to build on in the river and more than likely winning the hand would depend on pairing up cards. The third card was the jack of spades.

  “We really need to get on with this,” Ling Po said. “I’d like to get in another hand before I go for the massage I’ve scheduled.” She was British and from old money. Besides her money, she also possessed her youth. She was in her twenties and was a beautiful porcelain doll of a woman.

  “Now, honey,” the big Texas wildcatter, Roy Hudder, drawled, “you ought not rush a man at two things in this life. One’s romance and the other’s poker. Give the old-timer a little breathin’ room.”

  Roux hated being called old-timer by the Texan. Hudder was in his sixties and dressed like a television cowboy in a rhinestone-studded suit. Eyes flicking over the cards showing on the table, Roux knew that he still had a chance to put his hand together.

  He held the ten and the king of spades as his hole cards. Together with the jack of spades showing, he had a chance at a royal flush. Provided that the next two cards dealt were the right ones.

  Roux knew that his luck hadn’t been running like that. It was just that he couldn’t let go of Connelly’s constant heckling.

  “It takes nerve to play this game, boyo,” Connelly said. He bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Maybe you’ve already spent yours, eh?”

  Roux called, matching the bets that had been made on the table.

  The dealer burned a card and slid the turn card onto the felt. The ace of spades stood neatly beside the two queens and the jack.

  Now a potential straight lay in waiting. Some of the betting picked up pace.

  Roux reluctantly parted with his chips. One card in his favor didn’t mean much. And he hated bidding on luck, but he couldn’t walk away from the table.

  “Growing a spine, old man?” Connelly taunted.

  Roux ignored him.

  The dealer dealt the river, the final community card that finished the seven cards the players had to make a hand from.

  It was the queen of spades. Roux couldn’t believe his luck. He kept his face neutral and didn’t move.

  Connelly’s left nostril twitched. It was a tell Roux had spotted hours ago. The man definitely had a queen among his hold cards. He now had four of a kind.

  The bet went to Ling Po. She raised the stakes a little.

  Roux pushed the rest of his chips into the pot. “I’m all in,” he said.

  Ling Po tossed her cards onto the table and Hudder did, as well.

  Connelly stared at Roux from across the table. “So now it’s just you and me, old man.” His grin grew wider. “You’re so desperate you’re trying to buy this pot, aren’t you?”

  Roux said nothing.

  “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” Connelly asked. “A big bluff at the end to show everybody you’re not afraid to lose your money.”

  Roux returned the man’s gaze without comment.

  Connelly cursed. “Bit of theatrical nonsense is what it is.” He tapped the table with a forefinger. “For you to beat me, you’d have to have the ten and king of spades. But you don’t have them, do you?”

  “The bet is to you, Mr. Connelly,” the dealer informed the big Irishman politely.

  With an impatient wave, Connelly quieted the dealer. “You’re just smoke and mirrors, old man. I still remember that bluff you tried to run when we opened this game.”

  Roux had done that purposefully because the pot had been small enough that getting busted running a bluff wouldn’t cost much. And he’d gotten caught doing it, as he had intended.

  “I hate bluffers,” Connelly said. “Either you have the cards you need to win, or you need to go home. This game’s about luck and skill, not about drama.”

  “Actually,” Ling Po said, “I prefer a man who knows how to make a production of things. Otherwise this game becomes tedious. Except for the winning and losing, of course.” She folded her arms on the table and leaned forward. “That’s what we’re all here for, right, Irish? The winning and losing? So are you going to talk and try to figure out if our friend is bluffing, or are you going to play cards?”

  The red in Connelly’s face deepened.

  Roux knew the woman’s words had seared Connelly, and they had sealed the deal. Although Roux had fewer chips, by going all in he’d shoved enough into the pot that losing a matching amount would seriously impact Connelly’s game. Roux was counting on the hand playing out and doing that very thing.

  “You don’t have it,” Connelly said.

  Roux kept silent as the Sphinx. Anything he said would potentially tell Connelly something.

  “Mr. Connelly,” the dealer said quietly.

  Like an impatient child, Connelly blew out his breath. It was the most out of control Roux had seen the man all evening. He also knew he’d never have a better chance to break Connelly’s confidence.

  “You don’t have it,” Connelly repeated. Angrily, he pushed in stacks of chips to match Roux’s wager. As if delivering the death stroke, the Irishman flipped over his hole cards and exposed the queen of clubs. “I’ve got four ladies, boyo. Unless you can come up with three kings or three aces in those two hole cards, you’re beaten.”

  “I can’t do that, I’m afraid.” Without fanfare, Roux flipped his cards over to reveal his royal flush.

  Connelly screamed a curse and pushed back from the table.

  “We have a scheduled break at this point,” the dealer said smoothly.

  Roux got up from the table and walked out into the main casino.

  Standing on the second-floor landing overlooking the main pit, Roux took in a deep breath and let it out. There wasn’t anything that felt as good as victory. If he ever lost that feeling, if he ever grew jaded with it, he honestly didn’t know what he would do with himself. Living a long life could be incredibly boring and repetitious.

  Especially in modern times.

  In the past, when the world had been wide open and a man had been free to fight wars and love women indiscriminately, when there had been so many things to discover, Roux had felt better about his long years.

  He had dined with kings, helped them slay their enemies and aided them in seizing their crowns. He’d raised armies and fought tremendous battles. Every day, those stakes had been for his life or the lives of those around him.

  Now, though, he couldn’t do those things. Warmongers tended to draw too much attention and the enmity of the world. World conquerors, he feared, were a thing of the past when all it took was one man with a satellite and
a long-range missile to put that would-be world conqueror in the grave.

  The times were so different these days, and he had started to fear sometimes that if he lived too much longer he wouldn’t be able to blend in.

  Thankfully he had gambling, though the money was never an issue. He had more than he could ever spend in his long life, and there was more to be had if he needed it.

  One of the reasons he loved Annja Creed as he did was that she had that fire in her that he could barely remember. Still, she had Joan’s sword, and that thing had never proved helpful in living a long life.

  He took out a hand-rolled cigar. It was a blend that he specially ordered. Cigars were one thing he’d never grown bored with.

  Action was heating up at a craps table. Whoever was rolling the bones had evidently been inordinately lucky. The crowd was two and three deep, all of them cheering the shooter on as she threw the dice again. Another cheer rose.

  Despite the movement going on around him and the steady current of conversations, Roux heard the light tread and sensed the movement behind him. He took another puff off the cigar and didn’t react.

  “They’re happy.”

  “Yes,” Roux agreed, “they are.”

  Ling Po stepped to his side and joined him at the railing above the pit. “You knew I was there.”

  Roux glanced at her. “Yes.”

  “Yet you ignored me.”

  “Trust me, dear girl, you’re not easy to ignore.”

  “Well, then, why don’t you pay more attention to me?”

  11

  Roux took in Ling Po’s slender figure. It was obvious from the graceful way she moved that she paid attention to her physical health and was athletically inclined. The black pants, black jacket and white blouse almost looked like a business suit, but the tailor had made certain the material didn’t hide the curves beneath. There was a generous expanse of cleavage.

  “How did you know I was there?” Ling Po’s brows knitted, and the effort almost made her look like a little girl.

  “ESP?” Roux suggested.

  Ling Po smiled. “No, I don’t think so.” She paused. “You’re a very interesting man.”

  “I am,” he agreed, and he silently thanked the gods that gambling wasn’t the only interest left to him. His infatuation with young women, especially those who felt they had to compete with him on some level, was huge.

  Ling Po laughed. “And you certainly don’t lack for confidence.”

  “I find myself emboldened by your beauty,” Roux said. “I find my spirit made larger for being in your presence. You’ll have to forgive me.”

  Her cheeks turned slightly pink. That had been unexpected. With all of her wealth he would have expected her to be hardened to any form of flattery.

  “You talk a lot of nonsense,” the young woman responded.

  “Do you think so? I thought it sounded much better than telling you that you had a great set of hooters.” Roux smiled.

  Ling Po laughed, but she didn’t bother to hide her cleavage. She seemed genuinely amused rather than put off by his crude remark. “You know, I could think you’re hitting on me.”

  Roux lifted his eyebrows. “I’d be devastated to know that you approached me with anything less in mind.”

  “You’re entirely too confident.”

  “I’ve always been very successful with women.”

  “Have you?”

  “You came over to meet me, didn’t you?”

  “Not because of any sexual allure.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “You’re old enough to be my grandfather.”

  “And that makes me even more intriguing, doesn’t it?”

  Ling Po didn’t deny it. “I like the way you handled Connelly.”

  Roux shrugged. “The man was positively begging for a comeuppance of the rudest sort. Although, if the cards hadn’t favored me, that could have been embarrassing.”

  They shared a brief laugh.

  “He didn’t know that you allowed yourself to be caught bluffing earlier,” Ling Po said.

  Roux managed an innocent look but couldn’t help grinning just a little. Ling Po was sharper than he thought. It would be good to keep that in mind.

  “Did I do that?” he asked.

  The young woman nodded. “Yes. It was very carefully done, by the way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t think anyone else caught on.”

  “Yet you did.”

  “Truthfully, I think I’m better than anyone else in that room.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  “I don’t mean to take anything away from you. You’re a very good card player,” she said.

  “Again, you’re too kind.”

  “No. I’ve seen some of the best. That’s why I’m surprised I’ve not crossed paths with you before.”

  “I play a small game.”

  “By choice. You could be on television, playing in one of the tournaments that get broadcast.”

  Roux waved that away and took another puff off his cigar. He rounded his ash into a nearby ashtray. “I’ve no interest in that. Entirely too much attention.” And there was too much of an opportunity for too many people to see him and perhaps recognize him.

  “I can’t believe you’d be shy.”

  “Perhaps I just prefer a gentleman’s game among friends.”

  Ling Po shook her head. “After the way you ambushed and baited Connelly, I don’t think so. That wasn’t very gentlemanly.”

  “He isn’t—by any stretch of a generous imagination—anywhere close to being a gentleman.”

  “No, but I have to wonder what you’re all about.”

  “Then I’ll just say that I like being mysterious. I’ve found that women think that’s attractive.”

  “It is.”

  Roux turned to face the young woman. “So is your intent in meeting me merely to get a better sense of my game? Or do you have something else in mind?”

  Her stare returned his challenge full measure. “You honestly don’t care if I take you up on that or not, do you?”

  “I do,” Roux said, “but if you feel disinclined, I won’t be devastated.” That was true, but he seriously doubted she was going to walk away. She was much too competitive. She was going to have to find out if she was his equal at the poker table and elsewhere.

  Ling Po traced the back of Roux’s hand with her forefinger. “We do have time for dinner before the game resumes,” she said.

  “We do.”

  “I’ve got a big room. We could order in.”

  “That,” Roux said, “sounds absolutely delightful.” After crushing Connelly as he had, Roux found his appetite for other things had been whetted, as well.

  “Then you’ll come as my guest.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Still robbing the cradle, I see,” a woman stated laconically. Her accent was South African, a mix of English and German with sharp edges.

  The voice came to Roux from the past. Pleasant memories and warnings accompanied the words. He turned to face the woman.

  “Jennifer,” he whispered. Dread, anticipation and wariness all spun a web within him.

  * * * *

  Jennifer bailey was a goddess of the night. When Roux first met her that thought had leapt into his head and never left. Her skin was flawless warm toffee, and her eyes were a brown that seemed to glow with an inner fire.

  Five feet eight inches tall with generous curves, she turned heads and silenced conversations every time she entered a room. Her hair was cut short and framed her beautiful face. She wore a scarlet dress that dipped low and was cut high, stopping just short of being tacky.

  As he gazed at her, Roux tried to remember how long it had been since he’d last seen her. At least ten years had passed. That meant she had to be in her early forties, but she did not look her age. Anyone who saw her would have guessed she was in her early thirties.

  Scarlet lipstick turned her
frown florid.

  Ling Po bridled at once, obviously irritated that their conversation had been interrupted. Roux smiled at that, but when it came to class, Jennifer Bailey beat the younger woman hands down.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Roux said.

  “Is it?” Jennifer cocked her head to one side to regard him. “The last word I received from you was a note on a pillow telling me you had things to do. That was thirteen years ago.”

  “Thirteen. Really? A wretched number filled with ill-fated consequences,” Roux noted.

  “It’s been a long time.” Jennifer gazed at the young woman at Roux’s side. “I can see you haven’t changed a bit.”

  “My predilections remain as constant as the North Star.”

  “And remain as predictable. That’s how I found you.”

  “It took a long time,” Roux pointed out.

  Jennifer shrugged, an elegant shift of her shoulders.

  “I’ve thought of you often,” he told her, and part of him hoped she believed him enough to forgive him his trespasses.

  “And I’ve often thought of kicking your skinny arse for leaving without a proper goodbye.” Jennifer put her hand on her hip and stared at Ling Po. “I’d also dare say you haven’t thought of me for at least ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “Do you know this woman?” Ling Po stepped close enough to Roux to partially claim him as her territory.

  “I do.” Roux made the introductions. “Ling Po, I’d like you to meet Jennifer Bailey. She’s an artist. Maybe you’ve seen some of her work.”

  “I’m not much into greeting cards, I’m afraid.”

  Roux coughed delicately. “Actually, Jennifer’s work has hung in some of the finest European and African galleries. Jennifer, this is Ling Po. Her family owns the Topaz Hotel in London, among others.”

  Ling Po didn’t appear to be impressed. Nor did Jennifer.

  “Perhaps you didn’t notice,” Ling Po said icily, “but we were engaged in a private conversation.”

  “That’s all right,” Jennifer said dismissively. “We’re old friends. Evidently you’re going to be another new friend. He doesn’t make many friends who turn into old friends.”

  “You’ve certainly got the old part covered.”