Cash Plays

by Cordelia Kingsbridge

  Even Dominic had trouble controlling his reaction. The briefcase was layered with stacks of wrapped fifty-dollar bills—tens of thousands of dollars at least, and definitely more than the buy-in required.

  “I threw in a little extra for the inconvenience,” Levi said with the perfect hint of smugness to cement this arrogant high-roller character he was playing. “Call it an entry fee.”

  Despite the dire circumstances, Dominic felt a surge of petty jealousy. No way had the LVMPD sent Levi out here with a briefcase full of cash. There was only one place in the world Levi could have gotten that money.

  The wide-eyed dealer looked to Volkov. He raised his eyebrows, then shrugged and gave her a nod.

  “Cash plays,” she said.

  A flurry of activity ensued as Levi was offered a seat at their table, three chairs to Dominic’s left—so Volkov could keep an eye on the unknown element, if Dominic had to guess. A guard whisked the briefcase away, leaving Levi just enough cash to play with everyone else on equal footing until chips could be arranged. A server hustled over to take his drink order.

  Milo, seated to Levi’s right, took it all in with a sour expression. But his reaction had nothing on Rocco, who glared at Levi across the table with undisguised displeasure. Dominic chalked it up to jealousy over the guard’s earlier cock-sucking comment and Volkov’s obvious appreciation for Levi’s good looks.

  As Dominic’s higher brain functions came back online and he began to consider the scope of the situation beyond his immediate dismay, bone-deep anxiety set in. He didn’t know what Levi’s goal was in crashing this tournament undercover, but it was a terrible idea. Someone was bound to recognize Levi sooner or later, and he was just sitting here calmly with no weapon and, Dominic had a sinking suspicion, probably no backup.

  Though Levi did his share of reckless things, he wasn’t usually this foolish. Dominic could only think of one reason he would take such a stupid risk.

  The Seven of Spades had sent him.

  Dominic was certain of that; he just didn’t know why. Was this supposed to help Levi in some way, or had the Seven of Spades decided to snitch on Dominic’s gambling in the most horrendous way they could come up with?

  Shit, maybe it was Barclay.

  The first round of the tournament kicked off at every table across the warehouse, and Dominic shook himself to get his head back in the game. Now he not only had to last as long as he could in the tournament and collect as much incriminating evidence as possible on his button cam, he had to do it all while pretending his world wasn’t imploding. This was going to require every ounce of concentration he possessed.

  He started the first hand with the dealer button two seats to his right. It was a weak position, but that was a good thing; as the game continued and he got a feel for his opponents’ play styles, the clockwise movement of the button around the table would put him in a stronger position with every hand. He’d play conservatively for now and save the bigger risks for later.

  With initial goals of sussing out his fellow players’ gambling patterns and avoiding creating any observable patterns of his own, he split his attention between the game and the conversation.

  “You don’t live in Las Vegas, Mr. Smith?” Volkov asked. He was an aggressive player, fast and loose, with a tendency to bet on almost every hand no matter how poor it was.

  “New Jersey,” Levi said. “I’m here for the restaurant development convention at the Bellagio.”

  “Oh, what an interesting line of work,” said Eugenia.

  “I actually almost canceled the trip when I heard about the recent violence. Seems like a dangerous time to be in Vegas.”

  Dominic shot Levi a look. Was that why he was here—the escalating gang violence? Granted, Dominic had spent the past couple of weeks so wrapped up in his own problems that he didn’t have a strong grasp on the situation, but he didn’t see what concern any of that was to an all-purpose homicide detective. The LVMPD had entire bureaus dedicated to gang violence and organized crime.

  Volkov made a careless gesture. “Every city has problems. This will be settled soon enough. Is still not so bad here as Los Angeles or New York.”

  “Nothing’s as bad as New York,” Levi said with a snort. He tossed his cards into the center of the table to fold.

  Volkov chuckled. The look Rocco gave Levi could have stripped paint.

  The next few hands proceeded uneventfully. Levi continued to sound the players out about the crime wave, doing an admirable job of keeping things subtle—better than Dominic had expected, in fact, and essentially doing Dominic’s job for him. All he had to do was sit there and record everything.

  Four hands in, Dominic had gotten a good feel for the table, with only two stumbling blocks. The first was that Milo remained sullenly silent, not his usual chatty self at all, perhaps still smarting from Volkov’s earlier reprimand.

  The other was that Dominic couldn’t read Levi. At all.

  Levi’s behavior did skew toward the unpredictable, which was one of the reasons Dominic enjoyed his company so much, but Dominic had always been able to assess his general mood at a glance: when he was anxious, when he was calm, when he was hiding something.

  Tonight his face was a blank mask. On the rare occasion he deigned to look at Dominic, his cool gray eyes were like shards of frozen rock.

  Though Levi’s preferred method of dealing with anger was to frost over on the surface, that was only to conceal the rage simmering beneath. The angrier he got, the higher the heat turned up, until all that fury boiled over, the ice melted, and he exploded like the hot-tempered man he really was. Dominic had seen that pattern repeated countless times.

  There wasn’t a trace of heat in Levi now. Dominic had made him so angry, pushed him so far, that he truly had frozen all the way through this time.

  As the fifth hand wrapped up with a modest win on Dominic’s part, Levi went still, the muscles in his jaw and neck tensing. Dominic discreetly followed the direction of his gaze to see Norman Mansfield, the Parks’ accountant and Danny Park’s minder, standing at the edge of a nearby folding screen and staring at Levi in surprise.

  It was probably only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity passed while Levi and Mansfield regarded each other in silence. Dominic shifted his stance in his chair so he could spring to his feet in case things went south—

  Mansfield turned away and walked to the next table over, where Danny was raucously holding court. He put a hand on Danny’s shoulder and bent over to speak into his ear. Danny frowned, shook his head—and then gasped as Mansfield dug into his shoulder so hard that Dominic could see it from where he was sitting.

  Mansfield spoke again, his expression grave. Danny opened his mouth, bristling with defiance, but one more glance at Mansfield’s face and he deflated like a resentful balloon. After pulling Danny out of his chair, Mansfield passed the table’s dealer a good stack of Danny’s chips, gathered the rest, and led his pouting charge away.

  Dominic and Levi weren’t the only people at their table to have noticed the small drama. Milo was watching with narrowed eyes, and Volkov had looked over as well, though he seemed more puzzled than concerned. Once Mansfield and Danny disappeared from sight, Levi exhaled one shaky breath and cracked his neck from side to side before his mask fell back into place.

  As the dealer had between every hand, she moved her button one seat to the left. This time, the shift put Levi on its right, the strongest position at the table. On its left, Wesley put in the small blind, followed by Volkov adding the big blind. With the initial chips in the pool, the dealer dealt two cards to every player.

  Dominic peeled the corners of his cards up to check them—pair of jacks. A good starting hand, especially from his middle position.

  Rocco was under the gun, the first to act in the preflop betting round. He folded right away. Next to him, Eugenia limped into the round by simply calling the big blind.

  Dominic didn’t believe in limping. He raised the stakes, pushing
four times the amount of the big blind into the pot. That made Spencer fold, but Milo, Levi, Wesley, and Volkov all called. When betting returned to Eugenia, she took a moment to think and then tossed her cards away with a sigh.

  The dealer discarded the burn card and set out the flop: seven of diamonds, jack of spades, four of diamonds.

  Dominic did nothing to betray his satisfaction. Now he had triple jacks, a hand he was willing to continue playing, and there was always a chance he could end up with a full house.

  Wesley folded without hesitation. Volkov bet the pot, but that didn’t mean anything; he’d bet on anything the first couple of rounds. Dominic raised by tripling his bet; Milo groaned and threw in his own cards in response.

  Levi called the raise. The dealer looked to Volkov, who spent a moment deep in thought. Then he shook his head, folded, and slung an arm around the back of Rocco’s chair. Rocco leaned against him.

  Now Dominic and Levi were the only active players left. The dealer laid out the turn.

  Seven of clubs—giving Dominic the full house he’d been hoping for.

  He didn’t act immediately. Instead, he considered Levi’s potential hands. The community cards were nothing special, so even if Levi had a pair of aces, the strongest possible starting hand, he had nothing now. The only real risk at this point was that Levi might be holding the deck’s other two sevens, which would give him a four of a kind that’d trump Dominic’s full house.

  Dominic decided to test Levi a little. He tapped the table to check, deferring his turn and forcing Levi to act first. As soon as Levi put in a bet that equaled the pot, Dominic raised him by doubling the bet.

  The action was greeted with intrigued murmurs around the table. A check-raise was an aggressive move—some would argue deceptive—but it got results.

  Levi met Dominic’s gaze. He maintained eye contact for a moment, giving nothing away, and then pushed in enough of his own chips to meet the raise.

  An air of excited tension rippled through the room. Everyone leaned in to get a closer look at the standoff.

  Levi was bluffing—Dominic was sure of it. He didn’t have shit; he was just challenging Dominic out of spite. He wasn’t even playing with his own money, so what did he care?

  The river was the six of diamonds. Dominic put in an enormous bet, wondering if Levi was really going to try to bluff his way out of this.

  Apparently, the answer was yes. Levi called Dominic’s bet and sat back with his arms folded across his chest.

  “Showdown,” said the dealer. “Mr. Greene, you first.”

  Dominic turned his cards faceup to appreciative whistles. Eugenia patted his arm.

  “Full house, jacks and sevens. Mr. Smith?”

  Levi flipped his own cards over, revealing an eight and a five. Dominic almost laughed—until he realized they were both diamonds.

  There was a long moment in which everyone just stared at the cards in stunned silence. Then the other players broke into hoots and catcalls, Spencer happily drumming his hands on the table.

  “Straight flush,” the dealer said with a bemused giggle. “Mr. Smith wins.”

  “You played an eight and a five?” Dominic exclaimed. Even of the same suit and seated on the button, that was a ridiculous starting hand to play, and it had been before Levi had obviously decided to fuck with Dominic out of pure spite once everyone else had folded. He hadn’t considered the possibility of those cards for a second.

  Levi shrugged while he raked in the giant pot, as cool and indifferent as a glacier.

  Dominic had never wanted to fuck him more.

  “That was a risky gamble,” Milo said, the first time he’d spoken since the tournament began. “Have you been to Las Vegas before, Mr. Smith?”

  The sneering emphasis Milo put on the name set off alarm bells in Dominic’s head—and he wasn’t alone. Levi visibly stiffened but retained his composure.

  “Once, for a friend’s bachelor party,” he said.

  “Uh-huh. See, I don’t believe that any more than I believe your name is Adam Smith. You think we’re stupid? I know a Jew when I see one.”

  The reactions around the table ranged from shock to disgust, everyone shifting uncomfortably in their seats as they side-eyed Milo. Volkov made a low growling noise. Dominic fisted his hands out of sight, taking a deep breath to stay calm.

  Levi slowly turned to face Milo. “What did you just say to me?” he asked, his tone soft and deadly.

  Milo was undeterred. “Something’s been bothering me since you walked in here, and I finally figured it out. You’re no restaurant developer; I’ve seen you before. You’re the Seven of Spades’s bitch—Detective Levi Abrams.”

  Time seemed to enter slow motion as everyone stopped moving and gaped at Levi. One by one, recognition crossed their faces as they realized Milo was right. Worse yet, he had spoken loudly enough to be heard by the next closest table and a couple of nearby guards. Armed guards.

  Levi met Dominic’s eyes.

  Moving in sync, they grabbed the edge of the table, heaved it onto its side, and dove behind it. People screamed and scattered as chips, cards, and cocktail glasses rained onto the floor. Volkov shouted in Russian, and Dominic ducked low just as several bullets cracked into the other side of the table.

  Luckily, the table was well constructed of solid hardwood thick enough to halt semiautomatic bullets—at least for a few rounds.

  “Please tell me you have backup,” Dominic said over the storm of utter chaos that had flooded the warehouse beyond their makeshift shield.

  Levi just looked at him.

  “Great plan.” Sometimes he hated being right.

  They were in a terrible position, out in the open and twenty feet away from the nearest bar, which was the only quality source of cover in sight. The folding screens were too flimsy to offer any protection, and it didn’t matter if the table would last because any second the guards would—

  Circle around, which was exactly what they were doing now from either side.

  Levi exploded upward, trapping one guard’s gun arm against his chest and smashing him in the face and balls. Dominic stayed low, launching himself at his own target’s knees. The guy’s back hit the cement floor so hard it left him dazed and wheezing. Dominic climbed on top, swung his right fist in a powerful hook, and knocked the guy out in one blow.

  Another gun-toting guard rushed Dominic before he had a chance to take the first’s weapon. He leapt to his feet with a roar, grabbed the man’s wrist with one hand and his throat with the other, and drove the man backward until he slammed into the wall. Using his grip on the man’s throat, Dominic smacked his head against the wall once more for good measure. Then, grunting with effort, he ripped a swath of draping off the wall, wrapped the man up, and kicked him in the stomach.

  The man toppled over, thrashing fruitlessly inside his heavy silk cocoon.

  Behind Dominic, Levi bashed one guard over the head with a chair, then spun around and flung the chair at another man to take him out like a bowling pin. He scooped a gun off a fallen guard, said, “Get down!” and began shooting out the overhead lights.

  Electric sparks and broken glass showered their advancing attackers, drawing cries of alarm and plunging their area of the warehouse into near darkness.

  The distraction gave Dominic and Levi enough time to make a break for the bar. They hurdled the counter and landed in a crouch only seconds before bullets tore into it.

  “Where’s the closest exit?” Levi asked. He was breathing hard but his voice was steady.

  “There’s one near the restrooms.” Dominic jerked his chin toward the exit in question—and the wide-open kill zone between it and their current position.

  “We won’t make it that far.”

  “At least you have a gun.”

  Shaking his head, Levi popped the magazine out to show Dominic it was empty. There wasn’t even a bullet left in the chamber.

  “Shit.”

  “We—” Levi cut himself off as
another gunshot rang out, this one way too close. He snatched two bottles of liquor off a shelf and whipped them over the bar. Shattering glass, a pained yelp, and retreating footsteps followed in quick succession.

  That gave Dominic an idea. “Keep them busy for a minute,” he said, and then shuffled over to the other side of the bar to rummage through the drawers and cabinets. Based on his personal experience, at least half the servers and bartenders here had to be smokers. Come on, come on . . .

  He made a soft triumphant noise as he came up with a lighter. Turning his attention to the shelf of liquors, he grinned when he saw a couple bottles of Bacardi 151—an overproof rum so dangerously flammable it had recently been discontinued. The bottles actually had flame arresters built into them.

  Careful to stay in cover, he liberally doused the surface of the bar with rum from one end to the other. Once the bottles were empty, he tossed them aside, picked up a dishtowel, and wet one end with a lower-proof vodka. “Get as far back as you can,” he said, guiding Levi to the rear wall at the very edge of the bar.

  “Hang on,” said Levi. He snatched a wine key off a cooler, unfolded it, and fit it into his fist so the corkscrew jutted menacingly from between his fingers. Then he returned to Dominic’s side and nodded.

  Lighter at the ready, Dominic waited for the guards to continue approaching the bar. A little closer . . . a little closer . . .

  Now. He lit the soaked end of the dishtowel, let it flare up, and threw it.

  The bar erupted in a wall of intense leaping flames. Screaming, the guards fell back.

  “Go!” Dominic shouted, but Levi was already moving. They raced out from behind the bar and down the straight shot toward the restrooms.

  One of the guards made a valiant attempt at pursuing them. Levi jumped into the air, kicked backward to send a folding screen crashing into the guy, and hit the ground still running.

  Only a few feet left to go. They were going to make it—

  They turned the corner and careened to a halt as they were confronted by two grim men aiming guns right at them. Dominic whirled around, but it was too late. Three more men closed in behind in a tight semicircle.