The fat man had four diamonds showing. Possible flush. The young man had a pair of black queens.
The fat man grinned, touched a hand to his thinning reddish-blond hair, and turned over his hole card. A king. Of clubs. He laughed, leaning back in his chair.
'Looks like I couldn't fool you, my boy! You won!'
The plunger flipped his hole card over to expose a third queen. 'Three of a kind!' he shouted with sudden exuberance. His hands trembled toward the pile of chips.
'Hold it,' I said, leaning over the fat man's shoulder. My voice sounded like Robert Stack's Elliot Ness. Even so, it had as much stopping power to George as tissue paper had to a rhino. I looked down at the fat man. 'Take a look at your cards. That's no busted flush.'
He leaned forward. One of the foreign guys laid a restraining hand on George.
The fat man sorted the cards out. 'King, ace, jack, ten, and... queen.' He looked up at me, then across to George. The other players developed an obsessive interest in the patterns on the casino ceiling.
'You were so anxious to bluff him out,' I said quietly, 'you overlooked an ace-high straight.' The old man stared at his cards and nodded, dazed beyond speech.
I gazed noncommittally at George and cleared my throat. 'Ace-high straight beats three queens.' I said it in as friendly a manner as possible. Just a helpful bystander. I could predict what was probably coming next.
George looked at me with eyes the color of muddy water.
'He didn't call his cards.'
'He doesn't have to,' I said. 'The cards speak for themselves.'
We shared one of those instants frozen in time that last forever and end in a heartbeat. His right hand fidgeted again. He shoved the chips away.
'Take `em,' he muttered. He said nothing while shuffling for the next deal. Stud again.
This time, Ann was ace-high on the first round. 'The pair of aces opens,' she said with a sweet smile. Maybe they believed her, maybe they didn't. Poker was as much the art of lying as was politics. Any dame that could handle something as cutthroat as a table full of men ready to rip out and devour one another's livers was a dame worth knowing.
On the second round of face cards, two of the Sicilians raised. The gaunt old man folded, stood gracefully, and headed for the bar. The fat man scratched at his nose, frowned, and threw in some chips to see the bets.
George looked at his cards. After pondering for all of a few seconds, he raised. I almost felt sorry for him.
Ann called, saying, 'Okay, so I lied.' She looked so troubled, I wondered what cards she did have.
The third round revealed no pairs among the exposed cards.
'Check,' Ann said.
The three foreigners folded and began talking to each other.
The fat man checked, too.
George gritted his teeth and made his bet. High.
The courtly old gent returned from the bar, shaking his head at the younger man's desperation.
Ann raised him. Higher. 'Maybe I don't have aces, gentlemen'her voice drawled lazily-'but I've got something just as nice.' She just let the sentence hang there, like lingerie on a breezeless clothesline.
The fat man scanned the cards displayed. He pursed his lips to blow through them like a horse. His cards slid toward the center of the table.
'I believe prudence forces me to fold.' He inclined his head to the gold and emerald figure to his right. 'You may have him, my dear. I think I've taken enough out of him, as you have out of me.'
Ann politely acknowledged his words, then turned back to the game.
