Not. Clue. One.

The reigning Governor warned me in no uncertain terms, that if I caused any problems? For Him? Or His administration? His friends in Washington™ will yank me back into uniform. Find something to court-martial me for and then ship me off to some place unbelievably unpleasant to inhabit.

I do not think Sheffield or his organization actually had any knowledge or evidence of my extracurricular activities? Cause the Old Boy would probably have blown a vascular or at least have had me disappeared already.

***********

It was blatantly obvious to me that I needed to keep my slut wife on ice and maintain the illusion of our 'happy' familial appearances. Until I could secretly siphon off enough funds for a comfortable living far enough away from my in-laws vindictive reach.

And that meant I had to keep my matrimonial cunt on a tight leash to prevent her perchance for pulling orgiastic locomotions becoming public knowledge.

This is where Fredrics comes into this sordid picture. A man with absolutely no scruples or any aversion too fucking our slut.

What he does have is a strong sense of loyalty and obligation to me personally. From our Afghan days when I heroically rescued him from a Taliban™ torture chamber.

I took a bit of a vacation visiting several casinos around the country. Using this rest time to think carefully about my options.

***********

***********

Winning With The Dead Man's Hand

***********

This was not the largest casino/hotel I've stayed in nor the fanciest. However, I do like the suite I'm in and the action at the poker tables have been modestly profitable for me. So far. Knock on felt!

A supposedly Indian-owned casino and hotel on a Mid-Western reservation. American Native? North American Indian? Indigenous Peoples? First Nations? How the fuck would I know?

It seems to me that the politically correct terminology is gleefully changed on a regular basis too keep us all in a state of stupefied confusion as too whom, exactly, we are insulting.

The decorators had been rather enthusiastic with their interpretations of Native Allochthonous kitsch, gewgaws and tchotchkes.

My first impression? I wasn't at all impressed. To me it seemed all too tacky and busy. But, after a couple of days exposed to this syntheses,. I realized that it created a visually pleasant background 'noise' during my stay.

I left Atlantic City, thirteen hundred ahead after four nights of play. I always figure my profit after deducting all my expenses such as hotel, meals, transit, etc. From my gambling fund of one hundred grand. AC has some sharp players. I barely held my own against the B Team. And I didn't even play the top string.

After changing jets at O'Hare for the leg to Lambert. A luxury van service delivered me from STL to Cahokia. Where a commuter prop flew a gambler junket to the Indian Reservation.

I've always thought it was amazing how sitting down for hours, basically doing nothing, is so exhausting? It was a bit late, even for me, by the time I was checked in and reached my suite.

So I only spent a couple of hours at the table that first night. Before quitting while I was nearly two thousand dollars ahead. I felt rather smug. Tired and smug. Slept good that night for the first time in weeks.

The second night and well into the next morning, I was playing a string of mediocre hands. Once again, against a string of mediocre players.

Don't know where they bus these tourists in from but these cardplayers must be handicapped with educational systems run by Republicans™.

It was a very pleasant surprise, late the next morning, to be walking away from that table, an additional six thousand dollars ahead.

Yeah, I know! Always baffled me how many guys confuse macho posturing with poker savvy?

And definitely, yah don't see me mixing alcohol and gambling. Those 'free' drinks are a suckers bet.

At the table, all that's in the glass at my elbow is ice cubes and straight grapefruit juice with a twist of lime to pretend it's a mixed drink. I take just a small swallow and I don't touch it again. Until it's removed and replaced with a fresh drink. As I had pre-arranged with my well-tipped waitress.

After depositing my chips at the Cage, I decided to treat myself to an early lunch at the Roof-Top Restaurant. A couple of years ago, a Gourmet Magazine™ review had given them a high-rating for dishes prepared of game meat.

I ordered a tournedos platter with three varieties of wild game. Sides of succotash and oven-roasted mashed sweet potatoes. Topped off with a locally brewed Chocolate Stout, smartly recommended by the attentive waiter.

Placed before me were three small but thick filet cuts of well aged Bison, Pronghorn and Wapiti. Seared to tender perfection over an applewood-fired grill. Each with a small creamer of gravy made from it's own juices.

The waiter had apologized that they were out of Bear and Whale meat. A modest disappointment. However, I certainly was enjoying what was available.

Savoring each richly distinctive flavor while I am methodically masticating this delicious repast. My waiter brought me another bottle of the Chocolate Stout. Absolutely delicious!

As I finished chewing the last bite of Wapiti and swallowed. Washing it down with the last inch of beer. The waiter popped up to ask if I wanted another beer or perhaps some dessert?

I told him not this time and signed the slip he presented. When I handed it back to him there were a couple of Twenties folded discreetly underneath. He smiled as he felt the bills and thanked me for my patronage.

One of the Casino Floor Bosses, who had previously assisted me with resolving a couple of petty issues during the overnight games, stopped by my table and asked my opinion.

He is of middling height, a slim wiry man. Well-dressed in a silk-blend, charcoal grey suit. From his swarthy complexion and slight accent, I would guess he was of one of our 'New American Native' tribes. Sicilian or possibly Campanian?

"Mr. Braddock, congratulations for your success at the table. We hope you are enjoying your lunch?"

Pushing my chair back, I wiped my face and hands before standing up to shake his hand.

"Please! Call me Luke. This has been a superb meal. Perfect for a leisurely lunch. The Stout is well matched to the hearty flavors of well-prepared game. And the service here has been impeccable."

Taking my proffered hand in his, he sincerely murmured "You honor me Luke. Please to call me Pasquino."

I bet my eyebrows went up a notch. So, the tribe of the Corsicans are now to be heard from.

Together we strolled out of the restaurant lobby to the elevators. Pasquino got to the point.

"You may have noticed the Medical Supply Conference that has been running since Monday?'

Can't say as I have, so I just shrugged in response.

As we got off the elevator he continued "There has been some buzz about your poker skills."

I realized he was working his way to a point that might be of interest to me, so I invited him into my suite and mixed us vodka martinis.

After taking a sip of the drink I'd proffered to him, he looked down at the glass in his hand, than back up at me with shrewd eyes.

"Luke, the reason, the main reason I have approached you? Is to offer you a chance to buy a seat at a private, high-stakes poker game that is being organized by several of the Conference attendees. And, not sanctioned by the casino!"

He hesitated giving me the opportunity to think about whether or not I wanted to accept the personal risk of playing at an unsanctioned game. I nodded and he went on describing the accepted rules.

"It will be two up, three down, single-deck stud poker. Open stakes, eight seats, buy in is a hundred grand. It runs from 6 sharp this afternoon to midnight, sharp. As the organizers of this game all have early flights to catch tomorrow."

I interrupted. "You're talking big stakes and fast action ... Not so pishtemeinon, I'd guess?"

He barked a laugh at my attempt to pronounce the Finnish term and replied.

"Ante is five hundred. Minimum bid is the same as the ante. Returning players buying back in must post the total ante. No blinds, no bring-in, no markers. Private side-bets are at the discretion of the involved players.

Pondering my chances at this opportunity, I poured us a refill. Then I asked "Do you know the people organizing this? Any professionals or talented amateurs?"

With a squint and a nod, to signal me that he had vetted the players. Pasquino described the field.

"Three of the gentlemen are senior executives of major medical equipment companies, who schedule these conferences. They're competitors but have known each other many years. This is the fourth time they have held this conference at this Hotel. And each time, arrange their exclusive game.

They are very competitive players, intent on one-uping each other. There was fourth man with their social club, unfortunately he died recently. They have brought in a replacement. A younger man, who has a bit of a reputation for taking on risky business ventures. Earning a fortune selling the repackaged businesses.

The fifth and sixth seats have been filled by a couple of professional players. East Coast, West Coast. Celebrity players, that the execs like to have hanging around them for bragging rights. Each one is financed by a syndicate of investors. I do not have, uhmm, reliable details. However, I suspect the original four organizers might be their moneymen.

The seventh seat is taken by a trust-fund kid from Miami. Who has won several amateur tournaments. Old Baltimore money, shipping and insurance."

He stopped there, finishing his drink as he observed me thinking outloud.

"Well, that'll be a tough crowd! I did come to play... If the cards are friendly, I might avoid walking away stripped naked."

Pasquino smirked as he walked to the door and drolled.

"I cannot make any promises, of course. Fortune is a wickedly fickle bitch for all of us. However, I have been watching you play and I would not care to bet against your skills."

Shaking hands at the door, he finished "I will be by at 5:30 to guide you to the game and it will be my privilege to introduce you to the other players."

After calling the Hotel operator and requesting a 5pm wake-up call, I took a nap. One of my recurring nightmares woke me up around 4:30. It always takes me a few minutes to orient myself and calm down from my nightmare-induced panic attack.

A quick shower and dressing in casual black slacks. A long-sleeve undershirt and over that a lightweight, olive-green mock-turtleneck ribbed pullover. Commando style with the dark leather shooting patch and elbows.

I had just re-combed my hair, when Pasquino rang to let me know he was on his way to collect me.

We arrived at the luxury card room, several of the players were already there. Two of the old guys, standing at the bar comparing Scottish and Caribbean golf clubs they've played at. And the two pro's, sitting at the table. I vaguely recognized their faces from televised celebrity tournaments.

The other three men entered after me. I took a moment to quietly arrange my standing drink order with the cute waitress. She winked, a smile with a grimace and assured me that she understood my paranoia. "Yes sir, a friend of mine learned the hard way about never letting your drink out of your sight!"

As I took my seat, I noticed a couple of uniformed and armed security flanking the door. Pasquino had one of the security guards distribute racks of five hundred dollar chips and thousand dollar plaques to each player.

Mr. Corso, as pit boss for this private game, introduced us all and the dealer. Before reciting the agreed rules of play for this game.

Most card rooms have their rules posted on wall signs. Here, they used a large video monitor, above and behind the dealer's head.

It makes sense when you consider the exclusive nature of this private game. I noticed an unusual feature was the blinking time displayed.

I guess the old guys are serious about getting their beauty sleep!

"Gentlemen! Please ante up."

Finishing the shuffle and retrieving the cut, the dealer mucked the top card and then proceeded. Two cards down to each of us and then one up.

The old guy at the other end of the table was high card, with a king of diamonds showing. He tossed in a five hundred chip. The next old guy and West Coast folded, they had a five and a jack up, respectively.

The Kid, with the queen of clubs showing, matched and raised a thousand. With a challenging smirk at the rest of us. He was testing if he could intimidate anyone. I'm figuring he was use to playing sheep for their house payments.

East Coast snorted, but with a ten showing folded. I was next, the queen of spades face up. However, I had deliberately not looked at my hole cards. With a bland look on my face, I called the fifteen hundred and raised another thou. This was just the start of the game and I wanted a quick reputation as impulsive and reckless by time we got to the big pots.

The old guy to my left with a nine card folded. The venture angel at the other end with a jack, called. Gotta figure him for at least a second jack down.

The first old guy at the end called the two k. The Kid raised another thousand. Without hesitation I raised again, pushing in two plaques. Confused frowns all around as I still failed to look at my hole cards.

Venture threw in his hand. The obvious expression on his face was that Me and the Kid were going to be unpredictable fuck-ups.

The old guy with the king up called. I suspect he could have a second king or two in the hole? However, I'm thinking, from the glint in his eyes? He was amusing himself deliberately egging the two of us on, too bet recklessly and force us out early.

The Kid called.

Second card up.

First Old Guy got an ace of diamonds. The Kid, a four of clubs. I picked up a heart trey. Ace-king tossed in two thou. I'm pretty sure he's baiting us. The Kid raised another two thousand. I called the four, the First Old Guy matched with two.

The Kid called after a brief hesitation. Last card was snapped to each of us.

First Old guy was dealt a nine of diamonds. So missed a straight but maybe caught a flush? The Kid, a five of hearts. Even if he has a queen down, I doubt if he has better than two pair.

Me, a trey of clubs. The old guy hesitated, expecting me to finally look at my hole cards. I just looked at him and waited. He curled his lip but with a facial twitch that leads me to believe he was enjoying my intransigent behavior.

With an extravagant flourish he looked again at his hole cards. Then raised two thousand.

The look on the Kid's face was delicious. WTF if going on between me and the old guy? The Kid peeked at his hole cards, sat considering me, looked down again, than folded with an ugly grimace. I'm certain he's thinking bad thoughts about the legitimacy of my parentage.

I'd kept my eyes steady on the old guy at the other end of the table. Pretending to be ignoring the kid. Finally I looked down at my hand and saw that I had a trey of diamonds and a deuce in the hole. So, three of a kind ... I let loose a small, brief smile as I looked back over at my opponent.

Sure, he probably had me beat. Either win or lose this hand, I think I've confused everyone enough to set'em up for if I'd be dealt a major hand.

I called and pushed two plaques into the pot. The old guy flipped over the aces of hearts and spades. I nodded and complimented him on how well he played that first hand as I mucked my cards. Damn right! Without revealing.

Hey, I came to gamble. I got something better to do with my own money?

By the fourth hand, I was down twenty grand. Every other hand, I was waiting until the betting started on fifth street before I'd peek at my hole cards.

The old man to my right and Venture were the big winners so far. The sixth hand gave me a full house, jacks high. Putting me twenty up.

The seventh hand. The Kid, with a pair each of Aces and kings, went all in against Venture. Who had a straight flush. Whoops!

Gotta give the kid credit though. Obviously exasperated, he accepted that the cards were against him tonight and didn't try to buy his way back in. Just sticking around to observe the backend of the game. Probably hoping to pick up some pointers.

On the eighth hand, the old guy at the end took a big pot from West Coast. Nah, I don't think he'd done anything wrong, Yah gotta play the cards you've been dealt and hope your opponent makes more mistakes than you did.

The two other old guys went out the next hand. They got caught in a pissing contest against one another and Venture snatched the hand right out from under the two them. All that Macallan's they'd been guzzling failed to make them bet any smarter.

At eleven o'clock, five players remaining.

I had a hundred-forty thou in my till. The Old Guy and Venture had about two hundred grand each. West Coast, maybe a hundred sixty grand. East Coast, perhaps ten/twelve grand?

My hole cards were an eight and ten of hearts. Facing up, I was displaying a six and nine of hearts.

After fourth street betting, there is a total of eighteen thou, five hundred in the pot.

The Old Guy is showing an ace of clubs and a ten of spades, receiving a deuce of diamonds.

West Coast has up a pair of queens, clubs and spades and receives a four of clubs.

I'd received a four of hearts.

So, I'm left with a flush.

East Coast with a king of diamonds and a jack of clubs, was dealt a jack of hearts.

I tried not to react. But damn! I sure wish I'd been dealt that card.

Venture had the other two jacks up and was dealt a king of hearts.

With the pair of queens showing, West Coast started the betting on fifth street at two thousand.

I called the two.

East Coast went all in with his remaining ten thou. Seeing two, raising eight.

Pasquino came close just behind and to the dealer's right side. The dealer meticulously stacked the thirty-two thousand, five hundred of chips and plaques to one side. As Pasquino stated - East Coast was all in for that pot.

Looking at Venture, Pasquino gestured towards the other side of the dealer and told him.

"Bet now stands at ten thousand, for you too call, sir. Further raises would go into the side pot."

Venture immediately folded with a grumbly sigh.

We all looked at the Old Man.

The Old Man rubbed the side of his face, thinking. His bushy-browed, pale blue eyes sparkled as he looked at each of us in turn. Trying to judge our fortitude, I'd guess.

Smartly, he folded.

Pasquino stated. "It is eight thousand into the old pot for you to call, sir. Further raises would go into the side pot."

West Coast leaned forward, stretching his neck. Taking a strained moment too sharply peer at the two of us to his left.

I suspect that he must have caught out of the corner of his eye, my flinch at missing the jack? Cause his gaze almost immediately dismissed me. As he concentrated on reading East Coast.

Or, at least that was my impression. Don't want to disappoint the guy's expectations. Right? So I meekly looked down at my cards and tried to look bowed.

I'd guess West Coast have figured he had the two of us pegged. When he pushed in eight thou towards the dealer. To apply to the original pot,. Raising with another twenty to start the new pot.

Pretending to hesitate, I pretended to take a sip of my drink. Carefully dried my hand with a napkin. Then took a quick peek at my hole cards. Sat there as if indecisive, fondled my chips.

Finally, I saw the eight for the old pot. Now totaling 48 thou, five hundred. While matching the twenty in the new pot and raising it, twenty more.