Wild Card (A Sinatra Thriller Book 2)

by Alan Lee

  Louis the butcher snorted. “You don’t believe that.”

  “I do. What’s the better option? Your countries are corrupt and full of Sean Connery.”

  “Beg your pardon? Did you say…”

  Jen Harmon next to him. “Do you mean chicanery?”

  “That’s what I said, chicanery. An elite American word, look it up, Englishman.”

  “I don’t know if you’re right about the White House, my friend,” said the Prince. “But you’re right about my country. Corrupt as hell, as Americans say. Run by the mafioso. That’s the only reason I have money.”

  “Because you’re an assassin?” said Jen Harmon. “You guys can’t be serious.”

  “I am, my love.”

  “You are not.”

  “It’s true. That’s why I came to America,” said the Prince.

  Phil Ivey, usually silent, said, “You’re here to kill someone.”

  “I am.”

  “Who?”

  With the hand holding his drink, the Prince casually pointed at the rich man next to him. “This gentleman.”

  The rich guy, Melvin, dropped the chips he toyed with. “What,” he said and his face drained of color.

  Jen Harmon’s face did too. “That’s not funny.”

  “It’s not a joke. This is Melvin, a pervertito. He comes to Italy twice a year and spends his…what’s the phrase…his trust fund money? He buys Italian children.”

  Melvin the rich pervert cleared his throat. “That’s…that’s not…” His hands began to shake. He tried to speak but couldn’t and he wouldn’t look anyone in the eye.

  “We should keep the table classy and not discuss it further. Use your imagination. Immaginazione. But, once he is dead, his tens of millions will pass on to someone who will not prey on the children in my country. That is why I took the job.”

  Melvin began to cry. He wiped his mouth and blubbered something about his bitch sister. She stood to gain from his death?

  “Got’damn,” muttered Phil Ivey. “Some crazy shit.”

  “This is horrifying,” said Jen Harmon.

  The Prince shrugged. “This is business.”

  The dealer, trying not to listen, sent more cards skidding across the felt.

  Melvin tried to pick his cards up but couldn’t. Reached for his drink with twitching fingers and spilled it onto the floor. “Y-you…you can’t,” he said and he made a waving motion at the Black Jacket guards. “You…there’s protection and…”

  The Prince indicated the monitor displaying statistics. “Do not worry, my friends. Melvin the monster is nearly out of money. As am I. A moment more and he and I will be beyond the protection of Signore Rickard’s scary men. We will leave. Together.”

  “You can’t. I didn’t…I didn’t do…”

  “Yes you did. I have all the evidence, including photographs. And yes I can, my friend.”

  Jen Harmon turned her head to whisper to Manny. “This is awful. I can’t believe this. Should we call the police?”

  Manny’s throat was growing a lump. He was the police. But this was one problem too far for him to solve. He said, “I doubt your cell phone can dial 911. No police allowed here.”

  Louis the butcher ran the tip of his thumb across the point of his knife. “Children. Les enfants. Bah. Cut his throat here. I want to watch. You can borrow my blade.”

  “Good grief, I’m never coming back.” Jen raised her voice. “Mr. Rickard, you can’t allow this.”

  Rocky Rickard strolled close, his countenance somber and grave. “The affairs of these two gentlemen concern me only as long as they are active participants in the tournament. After the game, we wish them the best and send them on their way.”

  The dealer told Melvin, “It’s your turn to act, sir.”

  The rich and shaking man was too destroyed to look at his cards. Sitting next to the man sent to kill him. He pushed the meager remains of his chips into the middle and prayed for a miracle.

  The miracle didn’t come. The cards landed against him, Oliver Wright scooped the pot, and he was done.

  “Ah, excellent,” said the Italian Prince. He stood and tossed his few chips into the middle. “I surrender. I never stood a fighting chance, amicos. I was only passing the time. Accept my chips into the next pot while I get a drink and wait for my appointment with Melvin the monster.”

  “I-I won’t leave. I’ll stay h-here in the c-casino, you son of a bitch.”

  The Prince stood tall and dark over Melvin, like the Grim Reaper. “You lost, cagna. You have no protection and you have no hope. Don’t make it worse.” He raised his arms in a salute to the remaining players. “Good luck, my friends! In bocca al lupo!”

  The spectators lining the rails above increased in number, eerily hushed. The remaining players at the table didn’t know what to do, where to look. Melvin’s hands were intertwined and pulling on one another, and he was trying to watch the Prince from the corner of his eye.

  Rocky Rickard clicked on his microphone. His voice lacked previous enthusiasm. “A short break now. The five remaining players will continue the game aboard Only The Innocent, our yacht. All aboard. We set sail in thirty minutes.”

  27

  Manny needed to place in the top two. He could do it. He could. A few more hours of withering concentration and patience and luck, that was all.

  Seagulls and pelicans screamed overhead as Only The Innocent surged carefully from her berth into Fort McHenry Channel. Manny had only been in the illicit casino a few hours yet reemerging into the bright world felt like coming home after years underground. Nearby shipyards rang harsh with machinery and men. The casino’s crystalline yacht looked like a white swan moving through brown swamp and sludge.

  The water cleared as they churned into the Patapsco River. A sea breeze brought salt and sun, cleaning their atmosphere of the heavy dock stench. Partiers moved toward the bow and the stern and the large pools waiting there. Ubiquitous servers carried trays of champagne and white wine.

  Varvara stood beside Manny at the rail, squinting against brilliant sunlight reflecting off the choppy waves. Her pale Russian skin would burn soon, Manny thought—another deficiency of that ridiculous country. Her long hair seemed to catch and hold the wind like a cape, and she spilled her champagne as the boat pitched up and down. “You play cards better than husband. He would be out of game by now.”

  On Manny’s other side, the governor. The reason he was here. Benjamin Curtis seemed to be regaining a little life the farther Manny made it in the tournament. His color had returned.

  “You might do it, pal. Playing like a champ,” he was saying, but Manny ignored it. “I swear, by god, I’ll owe you the rest of my life. My long long life.”

  Armed men trailed Curtis everywhere, ready to capture their prize should he try to run. Or swim.

  Beck was aboard, but he didn’t know where. With Rocky, of course.

  The Italian Prince and Melvin had disappeared.

  “We will be rich,” said Varvara. She was drunk and she said it like, We illbeich. “You and me, Sinatra, da?”

  Manny hadn’t told her that much of her winnings would go toward freeing the governor of his financial entanglements. Paying off his debt to save his life and save America the public scandal.

  He rubbed his eyes. A mess. He was in a mess and surrounded by idiots.

  The partiers aboard Only The Innocent cheered as they passed under the 695 bridge. The latticework in the sky cast strange shadows on the water. The boat moved out into the upper regions of the Chesapeake Bay and dropped anchor near Hart-Miller Island.

  Hidden speakers chirped to life and Rocky’s voice emerged. “Ladies and gentleman, it’s time to play for twenty-seven million dollars.” More cheering. “Players please report below deck.”

  Manny descended an impressive staircase into the inner sanctum. To his surprise he discovered the yacht had been constructed as an elaborate shell surrounding the poker room. Big enough for at least fifty people and roo
m to spare, high ceilings and skylights. Most impressive was the floor—glass with a view of the murky water below.

  Rocky’s voice. “Welcome, finalists and fans, to Only The Innocent’s poker room, the world’s most exclusive table. US Presidents gamble here, as do movie stars, CEOs, rock stars. Any and all degenerates with millions or billions to lose find themselves on this hallowed ground.”

  Manny and Oliver Wright locked eyes across the room. The man inclined his head slightly, a polite bow. Stupid British and their damned manners.

  Phil Ivey and Jen Harmon talked quietly nearby, and Louis the French butcher was cleaning his fingernails with the throwing knife and inspecting the water swirling below the glass bottom. Black Jacket guards stood near all exits. Perhaps thirty onlookers drank cocktails and whispered to one another.

  A thrill ran up Manny’s entire body.

  Seats were drawn at random. Manny was placed between Ivey and Harmon—he knew seating position was important but he didn’t know why, another of his poker shortcomings. Across the table from him, the Englishman and the Frenchman.

  A small monitor in the wall displayed statistics. Manny was in last. Soon he should devise a plan to get the governor out, in case he lost the game. He needed to talk with Beck, needed to communicate with Weaver, but his ear piece was long gone and all phones had been confiscated.

  The dealer flicked cards to the players and onlookers gave a slight cheer. The game was on, the clock running once again on the governor’s life.

  Rocky called, “Ladies and gentlemen, one final treat for you. This portion of the boat has a flat glass bottom. Our yacht will be discharging chum directly below the poker table in an attempt to trigger bull sharks. Often we see these large and aggressive animals lurking below. They are common to the Bay and it’s a sight to behold when they are in frenzy just under the glass. An appropriate metaphor, isn’t it?”

  Manny had gotten this far through self-restraint and luck and he wasn’t about to alter strategies now. The problem was, all the lesser players were gone. The remaining players were far far better, and he was the chum. He could count on no more stupidity to carry him through.

  The table played cautiously the first hour, Manny losing very little. But the stakes kept raising and soon he’d be in trouble. He needed some aggression, but…when? Against who? He felt lost.

  He folded for the seventh straight time, stood, and went to the bar. To his surprise, Jen Harmon joined him there. She asked the bar tender for wine and then quietly spoke to Manny.

  “You’re doing well. Keep it up. But stop glaring.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For one thing, you’re more beautiful when you smile instead of glare.” Her cheeks pinked, a charming blush. “But second, the entire table knows that you have good cards when you glare. The assassins know to duck out. And I don’t want them to beat you.”

  Manny’s mind boggled. He was tipping his cards by glaring? Ay dios mio, el era un idiota.

  “Gracias, cariño.”

  “You’re welcome, Sinatra.”

  “But,” he said. “Aren’t you hurting yourself by telling me this?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll beat you anyway. Phil and I know about ten other tells you give off.”

  “Ah. I am humbled.”

  “You’re still gorgeous. Too bad I’m not single.”

  “Yes. Too bad.”

  Manny returned to the table with a water bottle and a margarita on ice. Absurd of him, not to realize he was telegraphing his strength.

  Half an hour later, the dealer gave him two Kings. He kept his face passive, even putting on a half smile. Oliver Wright and Louis bet large, trying to push him around, but Manny remained strong; he won big, the smile tricking his opponents into giving away too much of their money.

  Jen winked at him.

  The crowd gasped as shark-like shadows flitted through murk under the glass. Thick bodies swirling and vanishing. The boat injected more chum to invigorate the predators.

  Something heavy squeaked against the glass below Manny’s feet. He said, “I hope your plan isn’t to jump overboard and swim, Englishman. Lugging a body behind you and fending off sharks would be tough.”

  Oliver Wright said, “And I hope that isn’t the extent of your imagination. Assuming ‘swim for it’ is the best plan other countries can cook up, sir.”

  Oliver had a boat waiting, Manny knew. Possibly he’d rented a small but fast speedboat, which he’d pilot south before boarding a larger vessel. By the time Manny got ahold of the Coast Guard and convinced them of the emergency, Oliver and the governor could be in international waters. If he could communicate with Weaver, she might utilize airborne assets to identify the boats. But he had no way to reach her.

  The first real shocker of the day came half an hour later. Cards were dealt and Phil Ivey raised. Louis the butcher called and then Jen Harmon raised again. Jen and Phil, the best players, had been avoiding each other, but now…

  Phil Ivey grinned. “What are you doing, Jen.”

  “Playing cards, sweetie. And I’m ahead.”

  Phil Ivey raised her again and she moved all-in. Her entire stack in the middle.

  The crowd sucked in air as Phil called her bet. Over fifteen million in the middle. Both players at risk.

  Jen showed her cards. Two Aces.

  Phil showed his cards. Two Aces.

  The room got a big laugh, as did the players, until the flop was dealt—all hearts. And Jen had the Ace of hearts.

  Phil Ivey groaned and gave Jen a playful shove. “You’re a tramp, you know that, right.”

  The dealer turned the next card—another heart. The audience shrieked in unison.

  Jen Harmon had a flush and Phil Ivey was crippled. Under two million now. Jen hugged him and said, “Sorry, sweetie,” and Phil laughed, and Manny marveled at the poker professionals, able to win or lose millions without an uproar.

  The next hand, Phil moved all-in again. Louis the butcher called and turned over Ace Queen. He dominated Phil’s Queen Jack. The better cards held, Louis won a big pot, and Phil Ivey was done.

  As Jen stacked her mountain of chips, Manny wondered, “Is this game just luck?”

  Louis the butcher scoffed and said something offensive about Americans in French.

  Jen said, “The cards dealt are luck. How you play them isn’t. But yes, Phil just got really unlucky.”

  Rocky Rickard returned to his seat next to Beck. They had their own raised corner with a view of the poker action.

  “Sinatra’s in fourth; he just won a million dollars. If he survives one more player, he’s guaranteed to make at least three.”

  Beck said, “Not enough to call off your attack dogs.”

  “Not mine. But yes. Let’s talk about plans after the tournament.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rocky laid his arm around the back of her chair. “You and I should go somewhere.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am.”

  “I’m only here to keep an American governor from being assassinated,” she said.

  “But if you weren’t?”

  “I…”

  “Regardless of what happens with the governor, you and I still need to leave,” said Rocky.

  “Why?”

  “There’s going to be violence. Can’t you feel it? Sinatra and the Englishman are going to kill each other. Some of my associates have sent hired killers aboard, ready to kill you both if necessary. And if what you say is true about the Black Jacket guard in the shooting range, someone else is trying to kill you or Sinatra or both. The whole thing is dynamite ready to blow. Best if we leave.”

  “I…I can’t. I won’t. I have a job to do, Rocky.”

  He took a deep breath and held it. Released it and said, “I can’t promise I can protect you when the flag goes up.”

  “I’m an American agent. Maybe it’s me that will be protecting you.”

  Rocky made a pleasing humming nois
e. “Mmmm, I’d like that.”

  “I thought you might.”

  “Have I told you how lovely you look in that dress and those heels?” He reached up to touch the glasses she wore, the glasses that matched Manny’s. Manny wasn’t wearing his, but if he decided to use his pair she wanted to be ready. “Plus, somehow, you make spectacles looks sexy.”

  Despite herself, she smiled and shook her head.

  Below them, sharks circled.

  28

  Manny’s need for money was desperate. He could survive three more rounds before going broke. He needed aggression. Time to stop hiding in the trenches and taking potshots.

  The dealer slid him cards.

  Ace Four.

  An Ace. With only four players, he was probably ahead. And this was a game of probabilities, that’s what Beck said.

  Harmon folded. So now it was him versus Oliver Wright and Louis. He said, “I’m all-in.”

  Immediately the two men folded.

  The next hand, he was dealt a King and a nine. He decided to play and the flop delivered another King.

  He said, “I’m all-in,” and he won again.

  He won the next hand too, taking a pot off Jen Harmon, who was ahead and playing loose. His aggression caught the table off-guard, winning back-to-back-to-back, and suddenly he had money again.

  The fourth hand. Cards spun to the players. Manny peeked.

  Jack Jack.

  Very strong.

  “Let me guess,” said Oliver Wright. “You bloody well plan to move all-in again.”

  “Afraid?” said Manny.

  Oliver didn’t answer. He raised, $300,000. He and Manny had a similar amount of chips.

  Manny’s brain thrummed. He had pocket Jacks. He was almost certainly ahead. Should he call or raise? What would Phil Ivey do? What would Jen do? They would raise, almost certainly.