The Strip Ch. 14

This is a rewrite of 'Vegas', combining both Books. While maintaining the theme, it offers a completely different and fresh take for the main characters.

Grateful thanks go to the best editor in the world -- thesoundandfury - not only for his editing, but also for the constant encouragement, suggestions, and for helping me to become a better writer.

Chapter 14: Final Table

The promotional interview was straightforward enough. But then, it should have been. Norman Chad, the renowned poker commentator, had primed Daniel and Holly in advance. He wanted to ensure there'd be no bolts from the blue for his new poker friends.

Holly had promised the interview three months ago, providing the diminutive TV man used his influence to get the media off their backs. Stop 'The English Lovers' myth. Unfortunately, it hadn't worked out well enough to present the three-month hiccup with Daniel and Rosie.

But with their seemingly happy ending, Chad was calling in the marker. And with the Main Event starting within a couple of hours, the timing was perfect.

Settling back into his comfortable leather chair, the immaculately suited Chad began with the most straightforward of questions. They'd twice rehearsed the answer. "Tell me about your feelings on reaching the final table. On being two of the players now commonly known as the November 9. You first, Daniel."

The crinkly haired Englishman's impassive face turned into a forced smile. This was more nerve wracking than playing poker. At least Chad had given them the easy question he'd promised to kick things off.

"A fairy tale," he blandly answered. "A dream come true."

The bleary look in Chad's eyes made him realise the banality of his answer. He groaned inwardly. Pull yourself together. Stop talking in clichés. The two deep breaths he took helped, but before he could respond, Chad had turned to the blonde sitting next to him on the couch.

"And you, Holly?" the commentator asked, his eyes silently begging for a more interesting response than Daniel had just provided.

"We're the lucky ones," she answered, tossing back her wavy, blonde locks for the benefit of the camera. The heavy shades protecting her face gave her sufficient anonymity. "Poker requires a lot of skill, and a lot of luck. I think all of us who've reached this stage have needed that bit of fortune."

Chad nodded. "You can't survive without it," his squeaky voice agreed. "You've had your share of good luck so far, Daniel?"

The crinkly haired young man nodded, beginning to find some confidence from somewhere. "It's interesting, Norm. If you're a bad player you need good luck; if you're good, you need to avoid bad luck."

"So… which category are you?" Chad quipped in that deadpan way of his.

Daniel laughed, glancing at Holly. "Well, this girl is good," he answered. "As for me, I'm not so sure. But I can tell you I've seen some horrendous beats to date. Maybe mine lies ahead but so far, so good."

"Okay," the diminutive TV pundit smiled, adjusting his spectacles and flicking his tongue across his small moustache. "For those viewers who aren't aware, how many WSOP tourneys have the two of you actually played?"

Daniel and Holly sent another smiling glance at one another. "This is both of our first times in Vegas," Holly said.

"You arrived together?" Chad asked, his warm smile providing encouragement. The pre-arranged piece was designed to kill off all the rumours.

"No, not at all," Daniel confirmed with a wry smile. "We didn't know one another until we played in the Binion's tourney."

"You didn't know one another before you arrived?" Chad repeated for effect. Let's make sure the viewers understand…

"Not at all," Holly interrupted. "Though it turns out we've played each other many times online. We're both regulars on the Practically Poker site."

Daniel grinned. Ching! Another fifty thou fell into their combined coffers for the promotional reference. Not that money was a problem any longer for the Englishman.

"And this Binion's tourney…" Chad picked up. Having set it up, he'd get back to their relationship, or lack of it, later in the interview.

"That seems a long time ago now," Daniel added with a smile.

"Only a bad beat by Doyle Brunson knocked them out when they were in the last four," Chad told the viewers, with a sideways look at the camera. He turned his attention back to the couple on the couch. "Two tournaments, two final tables. Impressive, don't you think?"

"Not for us to say," Daniel modestly answered, giving his lopsided grin. "But clearly, we're both very pleased with what we've achieved so far."

"So far," picked up Chad, shuffling in his seat. "Six professionals and three amateurs remaining. It's been debated many times in the three months since we reached the final table. Just about every poker pundit is united in believing it's the year of the pro…"

"The odds are on that," Holly agreed, as the interviewer turned his gaze on her. "But you never know."

Chad nodded wisely, though it was unclear what it was he was being wise about. "So, either of you could still become another Moneymaker?"

Daniel laughed. "Not at all. Chris's epic victory in 2003 changed the face of poker," he commented as he took a drink. The sip of water helped the dryness in his mouth. "As wonderful as it would be for either of us to win, all that would do would be to make either of us famous. There's no comparison."

"Perhaps," Chad said, turning back to the blonde. This bit wasn't in the script, but with the interview going much better now, he thought he'd try a different line of questioning. "But from what I hear, you in particular, Holly, have brought a new fan base to the game. Is your appearance at the table designed to put people off their game?"

"My appearance?" she repeated, her voice and face all innocence, even if her knowing eyes were alive with wickedness. "What d'you mean?"

Chad coughed. "You know exactly what I mean, Holly. You've brought a sexiness to the game that's commented on by just about every fan and news reporter. You must be aware of that."

The blonde laughed, one hand casually pushing a strand of blonde hair behind her bejewelled ear. "There're a lot of sexy poker players, Norm," she answered, dealing with the question as easily as swatting away a fly. "Men and women. And there are lots of very good female poker players. I'm just doing my best to be one of them, but there's a long way to go."

Chad grinned. That might be 'advantage Holly', but he wasn't finished. "Just a thought, but maybe you could take those sunglasses off. Let people see your face. I've been asked that a million times, to let people see the real you."

She shook her head, her pouting lips parting as she smiled. "I'm a poker player, Norm, and this is what I look like playing poker."

"Maybe just a peek…" he tried again.

Holly didn't need to answer. Her amused smile spoke for her.

"Good for you," Chad responded, with that trademark phrase he used when he found himself behind the eight ball. His cough was one of frustration as he changed the subject. Time to get back to the agreed script and clear up the 'English Lovers' conundrum. "Tell me, Daniel," he asked, switching focus to the crinkly haired young man. "There's been a lot of press comment on the two of you being in a relationship. What have you to say on that subject?"

Daniel gave a good-natured laugh. "You know the answer to that, Norm," he said. "Anyone close to the poker scene knows the answer. Holly and I are really good friends. But I'm already taken…"

"Engaged?"

Daniel arched a dark eyebrow. "Not yet, but we're on the right track…"

Chad grinned merrily. The admission was more than he'd expected. "That's good to hear," he said, his shining eyes confirming that Daniel's answer was mission accomplished. Time for some fun. "And you, Holly? Are you taken?"

The blonde woman laughed, sweeping a hand through her silken locks again. "No, Norm, I haven't found Mr. Right as yet."

The diminutive reporter straightened his shirt. "That's very interesting. Not many people are aware, but did you know that I'm available, too?"

Holly laughed again, leaning forward conspiratorially. "Yes, actually, I know that. And if I find anyone who'd be interested, I'll be sure to let you know."

"Good for you," the commentator responded again, this time with a deadpan grimace at the poker-playing woman. Swinging around in his chair, he nodded at the cameraman. "That's a wrap."

***

"Carly? It's Kay."

"Hi," the spiky haired woman said into her cell phone. She casually raised a foot out of her bubble bath as she spoke, studying her toenails. She'd need to apply more polish before she left her apartment. Maybe black, in honour of Big Eddie's departure from her life and this world.

She gave a soft chuckle.

"Something amusing you?" Kay's voice came down the line.

"Just lying in my bath, thinking delicious thoughts," Carly murmured, switching the cell phone to her left ear so that she could drop her right hand under the welcoming bubbles. Her clit was already erect.

After one final celebratory fuck—boom—the gangster would be yesterday's news. The thought of being there when the assassin blew his brains out, just like with Desmond, sent little shivers of excitement through her. The feeling of her fingers squeezing her little bud was almost impossible to resist.

"Replaying yesterday…" the Agency Head suggested.

Carly's mind switched to the threesome with Lauren. It was such a shame the blonde wouldn't be filming with them, there was so much more that Carly would like to do with that innocent, yet knowing, little bitch. Still, Kay had enough on tape to make a killing from interested buyers. Carly's reward was the starring role she'd been promised in the three movies.

"You're okay for tonight's flight?" Kay asked.

"Yes," Carly breathed, the thoughts of what she'd done with Lauren, and was about to do with Big Eddie, sending waves of arousal through her bubble covered body. Concentrate, she told herself, but the three fingers inside her were making life difficult.

"You'll be here this afternoon as arranged?"

The panting woman reluctantly pulled her hand away from her clit so that she could suck her juices from her slender fingers. The orgasm would have to wait until this conversation was over. "Ah, sorry, that's a problem. I just have a little errand this afternoon. Can I meet you a little later than planned?"

"Little errand?"

The spiky haired woman gave a nervous laugh. "Yes, I just need to take care of a problem, that's all. Nothing serious. It won't take long."

Little errand! Nothing serious! Her fingers slid down her stomach and found her clit again. Oh fuck! The thought of fucking Big Eddie when the assassin blew his brains out, just like Desmond, had her overheating.

Do this, Samuel had told her when he'd returned her phone call, and you can do those movies with my blessing.

She didn't need his blessing for anything. Not with the money she'd earn from the three movies. But this was a man she didn't want to cross. He'd looked after her when times had been bad and she wouldn't be in this position if it weren't for Samuel Smith. She'd do anything for the man.

Besides, she'd pay him for the pleasure of being there at the kill…

***

"I've got to hand it to you pop," Joshua Smith said to his father, stopping mid sentence as Samuel's housekeeper brought more orange juice and toast to their table on the terrace. Diana was a sexy, little thing, even if she was in her mid thirties. Those black stockings on display underneath the almost obscenely short maid's uniform already had his cock stirring.

"Don't waste your time," Samuel murmured, following his son's gaze as the strawberry blonde retraced her steps. He helped himself to another strawberry. "Diana's into women, not men."

Joshua's dark eyes lit up. "Really? Maybe we should set her up with the two sisters? Yesterday was a hell of a birthday present, pop."

"Didn't I tell you?" Samuel told his wide-eyed son. He poured himself an orange juice and raised his glass as if in toast. "But don't expect that sort of gift every year."

Joshua laughed along with his father. Despite his regular flings in Europe, it had been a long time since he'd enjoyed such a raw, uninhibited night like that. Maybe Elise and Louise, the two French sisters who worked side by side in his Paris office, might be up for something similar?

"What about this Carly woman?" the young man continued. "You said you'd introduce me the next time I was in Vegas?"

Samuel gave a deep, throaty laugh. "Make no mistake, that one would eat you up and spit you out," he growled. "Alas, when she's completed her work this afternoon, I've given her a few month's sabbatical. A chance to make some money in the film industry before she returns to my employ."

Joshua pushed up in his seat, his dark eyes flashing with sudden interest. "Film industry? Adult?"

His father raised his eyebrows as he chuckled. "I'll get you a personal copy—they'll be worth watching, believe me."

The two men momentarily grew silent, each lost in their own thoughts. Carly featured in all of them.

Then Joshua pulled himself out of his fantasy. "You think she'll have the nerve to go through with this afternoon's plan?"

His father let out a belly laugh, picking up a strawberry and throwing it at his son. "Nerve? The little minx gets off on it."

Joshua caught the piece of fruit and popped it into his mouth, sucking the fruit from the stalk. "Well, pop… I guess that'll take care of Big Eddie once and for all. What next?"

Samuel threw his arms wide, pointing out over the impressive grounds in their eyeline. "This is all for you, Josh," he told his son. "This is your empire I'm building, for you to take forward after I retire."

"Retire, pop?" the younger man grinned. "I can't see that happening, can you? You're too active! What will a businessman like you do when you retire?"

Samuel's lips curled into a large smile beneath his dark shades. "Isn't that obvious. What does every winner of the Main Event do?"

***

Ending the call, Carly dropped the cell phone onto the bath mat and flopped back down into the bubbles, allowing the scented water to envelop her. Eyes closed, for a moment she basked in the luxurious decadence of the rippling waves caressing her breasts, stomach, legs and thighs.

What it would feel like when the assassin pulled her trigger? The same as with Desmond? Except this wasn't the monkey, it was the organ grinder.

With a soft purr, she slipped a hand down her flat stomach, over her smooth mound, flicking the jutting little bud that had been crying out to be touched for twenty minutes. Her middle finger rubbed up and down her wet opening as her thumb stroked her clit. She began to pant. There… that's the spot…

One finger slid inside, then a second.

"Mumph!" That was soooo good.

Her free hand joined in the fun, sliding to her breasts. Little electric jolts passed through her as she pulled on nipples that tightened into little points.

She moaned aloud. Pleasure radiated through her. In her mind's eye, she could picture Big Eddie's face as she took him towards orgasm. Then the assassin would enter. Oh, God! Her fingers moved faster, harder.

The assassin would place the gun at his forehead… pull the trigger.

Her hips lifted from the bottom of the tub as she came, breasts pushing upwards, the orgasm tearing from her throat. Would Eddie's blood erupt from his head the way her hot juices were spurting from her overheated sex?

FUUUUCK!!

***

The atmosphere was electric, with queues for seats spreading across the hotel. It seemed that the families and friends, together with the few watching professionals, had taken every available seat closest to the action. From her perfect position in the frontal reserved section, Rosie could see everything.

A member of the ESPN production team intercepted the two English players as they walked the few yards to the table after leaving the redhead. It was common practice, he explained, to tell everyone what was expected from a TV perspective, even the requirement to look at their cards in such a way that the lipstick cameras built into each seat position at the table would capture them.

It was a little like the safety announcement on a departing airplane, everyone knew the drill but it was necessary nonetheless.

"Point of no return," Holly joked to Daniel as they wished each other good luck. "Focus, y'here me? I want to see you play like Desperado!"

She knew her time at the table was limited. The noon start meant that she'd be there three to four hours maximum and the thought of giving her chips to Samuel Smith was weighing heavily on her mind. Despite the prize money she'd already won, the hundred grand bonus was an attractive proposition. But it still went against the grain…

Daniel grinned. Desperado had been his online poker non-de plume when he'd won his trip to Vegas. He'd undoubtedly improved as a player since then, but he understood the message. Stay tight… selectively aggressive.

He took his place at the table, hating the restricted view of Seat One. At least it blocked out the man who sat immediately to the dealer's left. Not that Samuel Smith had spoken to him again, not yet, anyway. But he would. He'd try and chip away at his composure again. Good luck to him…

This was a different Daniel. The reunion with Rosie had swept away all the madness, and the heartache, of the previous three months. It was doubtful he could win with so many of the top professionals remaining, but he'd give it his best shot. The only small blot on his horizon was that tape.

Grace and Lauren!

He'd dismissed it as ridiculous when Norman Chad mentioned it post interview. It just wasn't possible. But Holly had confirmed it to be true. She'd actually seen it. What the hell had the two of them got themselves involved in? It didn't make sense… but then… in Vegas, what did?

"You okay?" he heard Holly ask. His blonde friend gave him a quizzical look from her seat opposite him. His face must have conveyed his feelings.

Daniel's smile reassured her. "I'm fine," he softly replied.

"I'm okay, too, honey," said Josh Arieh, sitting on her right, with a contemptuous sneer. "You wet nursing him?"

Despite the presence of Arieh's wife nearby, the brash man's eyes flickered across her blonde locks, pouting lips, and down to the unfettered breasts pushing against her high-neck black jumper. Daniel smiled. The number of players he'd seen attempting to hit on Holly all had one thing in common: the only thing they succeeded in was in donating to her chip stack.

She knew it. She played on it. Hell, a man would have to be gay not to react.

His own cock always grew a couple of inches when he looked at her! But it was her friendship he craved, not her body. Rosie was the only one for him.

The noise from his left interrupted his thoughts. Samuel Smith was on his feet, acknowledging the cheers from his friends in the crowd. And the Las Vegas club owner had plenty of support. Why not play up to them? Being in the chip lead with over twenty six million put the man in a very strong position and gave him some heavy ammunition for his aggressive style.

The Englishman glanced to Smith's left. In his traditional green cap, Dan Harrington looked for all the world like a pensioner about to enjoy a home game. Despite being the low stack at the table, the veteran world champion was calm and serene. He'd seen it all before.