The Strip Ch. 15

The young Englishman craned his neck towards the commentator and nodded. "Thanks, Norm," he told the TV pundit, before turning back to Grace. She'd already stood up. "Look, do you…?"

The brunette shook her head. "No, Daniel, I don't want to prolong this. I've always felt bad about leaving you as suddenly as I did. Leaving was the right thing to do, but I could have handled it much better, y'know?"

He nodded as he rose to his feet. "We could both have handled things better, Grace."

She smiled at him, then took a step forward and softly kissed his cheek. "Perhaps, but I hope we'll always stay friends, Daniel. Always."

"You, too, Grace," he told her, with a rueful look. He really did want the best for her, even though nothing was more certain than his future was elsewhere. "And send Lauren my love, too."

"I will," she smiled, heading towards the door and then pausing. "I guess I'm here to cheer on Samuel," she said. "But I'm rooting for you, too, Daniel."

He gave her the lopsided smile she'd always loved.

"This is your destiny, Daniel," she added, halfway out of the room. "Don't fuck it up the way I might have done with mine. Y'hear?"

***

With sixty-two million chips, Daniel was almost twenty ahead of Samuel Smith. Allen Cunningham was the short stack, if such a term was appropriate for someone with nigh on thirty-two million chips.

Everyone knew that one good hand could significantly change the dynamics.

The Englishman felt calm. After all, the worst that could happen was that he would finish third and pocket the four and a half million dollars prize money that went with that position. It was half the amount that would go to the eventual winner, but was beyond the Englishman's wildest dreams.

Meeting with Grace had helped his demeanour. It made him realise that he wanted the best for her, but that there was nothing between them. His heart was elsewhere. He had Rosie now, and life had never been better.

"Well, well, who would have thought? A young kid from across the pond at the final table with two American giants. Can't believe your luck, huh?"

The African American had been relatively quiet for a while and it suddenly seemed the thickset man felt the need to goad him. That was a good sign.

Daniel simply smiled back at Samuel Smith, feeling no need to be drawn into any verbal sparring. His confidence was high, he'd got his second win from the tiredness that threatened to envelop him earlier, and he was focused.

He hadn't come this far to be psyched out. Besides, it was Allen Cunningham he was worried about. The poker pro hadn't seen many cards all day and yet was still as concentrated and alert as he had been when play had started—geez, how many hours ago now? Daniel had lost count.

"Let's see how long you can last," Smith murmured, checking his hole cards and placing his card protector on top of them. The angel figure was so appropriate! It was a sign he was ready to play. "That's quite a big pile you have there," he added. "Don't get careless."

The black man counted out and then pushed three million chips into the pot. "Raise," he unnecessarily said.

Daniel's Eight-Three made it an easy decision to fold.

Cunningham didn't. The quiet American gave that traditional wiggle of his nose as he calmly sliced out the same number of chips and called.

Smith glanced at the flop and then at his opponent. Ace-Queen-Eight.

His set had him well ahead, which meant that if Cunningham had an Ace, he was going to earn the maximum from this hand. Maybe even take him out? Probably too much to ask, but you never knew.

Then he'd take care of the English kid.

He bet five million. His opponent's response would provide an indication of whether Cunningham had hit.

The quiet man gave his usual sniff and began to count out his chips. He wasn't folding, that was for sure. The only question was whether he intended calling or re-raising. Smith sat impassively. Push them in, he muttered to himself. Go on, superstar, push them in.

Cunningham eventually announced raise, still internally debating the amount.

Make it big, Smith silently prayed—enough to make Cunningham pot committed. That would allow him to come over the top. Some of the press had suggested he'd been lucky to make the final table. A mixture of luck, good cards, and his aggressive style, they'd said. It was time to teach the world that Samuel Smith could play poker.

"Seventeen million," Cunningham eventually announced.

Smith's face was a mask, hiding the beaming smile that broke out on the inside. Cunningham wouldn't be folding now, not with two thirds of his chips in the pot. He'd be the chip leader in a few moments. Time for some fun first.

"Got something, Allen," he asked.

Naturally enough, he professional didn't respond, or meet his steely gaze. Instead, in traditional Allen Cunningham style, he stared straight ahead.

"Big Ace maybe?" Smith suggested, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. "Maybe King-Queen?"

He was playing with the pro and loving it. All around him, people were wondering what he'd do, probably expecting him to fold in the face of such a big raise. He knew better. So did the millions watching on live television. They'd have seen his hole cards through the lipstick camera. The commentators would be talking about him now, about how he was reeling Cunningham in like a fish. He felt invincible. He was invincible!

"All in," he eventually announced, trying to put a little hesitancy in his voice.

Cunningham's instant call was a worry—he had a better hand than the businessman anticipated, if he was calling that quickly. For a moment or two, his heart skipped a beat, relief only hitting him when Cunningham flipped over his Ace-Queen. Top two pair. No wonder he'd pushed so hard.

The noise in the large hall reached fever pitch when Smith casually flicked over his pocket eights. Not quite slowly enough to be accused of slow playing—but almost. The African American didn't care, he wanted to maximise the moment. He, Samuel Smith, would soon be world champion.

There was no anti climax, thought the arrogant businessman's heart began to thump like a drum at the though of an Ace or Queen on the turn or river.

Smith turned to Joshua and pumped his arms in celebration while Daniel commiserated with the departing professional. Smith ignored them both. With seventy-five million chips, the title was all but his. The lucky, young Englishman was no match for him, that was for sure.

***

"What d'you think?" Rosie asked as Daniel departed for the restrooms. As much as anything else, he needed to clear his head. When he went head-to-head, he wanted his mind at its sharpest. A few alone moments to compose himself would make all the difference. Get him in 'the zone.'

"Impossible to tell," Holly told her redheaded friend, with an uncomfortable shrug of her shoulders. They were both much more nervous than Daniel, but watching was always that little bit more difficult. "Smith's got the chip lead, and he's more aggressive."

"That's bad for Daniel, isn't it?" Rosie picked up. "When you were teaching me yesterday, you said that aggression was good."

Holly arched a blonde eyebrow—the redhead had a talent for picking things up quickly and keeping them in her memory banks. If she started to play, this girl would do well. Experience was all she needed.

"That's right, Rosie, but Smith is reckless with it. Daniel's a better player. He has more of a solid style, more controlled aggression. Smith will push in with anything."

Rosie frowned. "So…"

Holly laughed. "I know, confusing, isn't it? On the one hand, Daniel's the better player. On the other, Smith has the chip lead. If luck evens out, Daniel will pick him off in the right spots. He'll wait 'til he gets the right cards, right situation. Then he'll take him. But…"

"But?"

"It's unlikely that luck will even out. Over a period of time, yes. But who knows in a head-to-head? Smith's been incredibly lucky throughout the tournament, and when you're aggressive and get the cards, that makes for a powerful combination. It'll make great viewing for the neutral…"

"But we're not neutral," Rosie responded, her eyes scolding Holly for not telling her that Daniel was a certainty to win. "And you missed one thing out from your assessment!"

"Oh, did I, Miss Poker Professional?" Holly laughed. This girl was so cute! "Go on then, Rosie, enlighten me."

"He has three things Smith doesn't have," the redhead chuckled, nudging Holly's arm.

"Yeah? What's that?" Holly asked, wondering where her friend was going with this. You could always rely on Rosie to come up with something off the wall.

"You and me on his side," she firmly stated with a slight inclination of her head, as if it was beyond question. "And this…"

Holly smiled as her friend held up the crystal. It had worked so far—

***

"You can easily take this guy, pop," Josh told his father as they took advantage of the break to mingle with all Smith's supporters.

His father nodded as he downed the red-white-blue can of Energy drink in one go. In truth he was tired, almost twelve hours at the table was starting to take its toll. Maybe the marathon session with Grace and her sister last night hadn't been such a good idea?

His cock immediately twitched at the recollection and he smiled to himself. Maybe he wasn't as tired as he thought? When he'd won, he'd invite the two sisters back to his place again. Watch the two of them sixty-nine again, before fucking them, would be a helluva way to end the night.

After the celebratory party, of course.

"You okay," Joshua asked.

"Yeah, son," the black man grunted. "Pass me another one of these, will you? They'll keep me going long enough to beat the shit out of this young kid."

"That's it, pop," Joshua smiled, opening the can and handing it to his father.

"Yep," the businessman nodded, already feeling the benefit of the lemon-lime tasting energy blast. "He's been fucking lucky to last this long, but this Englishman's been my fish all tournament. Shouldn't take long. That'll make it the perfect day."

He grinned sideways at his son, and Josh immediately picked up the meaning.

"You're sure about Big Eddie, pop?" he asked, a puzzled frown flicking across his forehead. "How d'you know?"

For a split second, Samuel thought about confiding in his son. Then the recollection of Holly's warning came into his mind. If you ever fuck around with me, you're dead! And it wasn't just the words. It was her tone. He didn't usually take kindly to threats, but equally he knew when to take one seriously.

She'd served him well, and that was that. Their paths wouldn't cross again, other than at the poker table when he was world champion.

On second thought, there wasn't any point in confiding anything to Josh. That boy was headstrong, there was no point in complicating his life with things he didn't need to know. "Just take it from me," his father winked.

Joshua smiled. "Always ahead of the game, pop. So, what's next?"

Samuel rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "I've had my guys do some research. I'll be able to buy Midnight Hot at a knockdown price. Might even put that Lauren in there as the star attraction." He winked again. "That'll pack in the punters, don't you think?"

Joshua laughed again. "She's fucking hot."

His father nodded. "They both are. And maybe I'll put you in charge of the club," he continued. "Let you cut your teeth there before taking over completely. I'll be in demand at poker tables across the world over the next few years. Time for you to graduate, don't you think?"

"Sounds good," his son murmured. He'd had his fill of Europe, if he was truthful. Time to come home. "As I said, pop. Always ahead of the game…"

***

Midnight. The head-to-head had already lasted two hours and the two protagonists were, give or take, level in chips. Smith's straight to Daniel's two pair had given the arrogant businessman a twenty million advantage. The Englishman's nut flush to Smith's King high flush had redressed the balance.

All to play for.

Samuel Smith had grown quieter as play progressed. His 'fish' was cooler than he'd anticipated and with the television capturing every move and sound, he wasn't about to be caught trash-talking. When he became world champion, he wanted only good things reported about him.

Besides, he needed every ounce of concentration. His continual glances over at his son by the rail confirmed this wasn't going as well as he'd expected.

The black Ace he saw as his thumb flicked up the edge of one card wasn't unusual. He'd had his share of Aces, without anything to go with them. Just give him the monster he craved and he'd finish off this kid. How the hell Grace had ended up with this pain in the ass? Not her type at all.

His thumb flicked up the edge of his other hole card. The second black Ace made his heart leap. It was the chance he'd been waiting for. His aggressive bluffs had produced very little, let's see how the youngster coped against pocket rockets.

Slowly does it…

"Call," he casually said, bouncing his chips into the middle. Let the kid take the lead. Pick him off.

The Englishman obliged. "Raise. Five million."

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Should he push now and take advantage? Or reel his prey in? Samuel Smith sent an uneasy glance across at his opponent, make the kid think he was unsure. "Got something?" he asked, not expecting an answer. "Don't go thinking you can push me around now, will you?" He counted out his chips and pushed them into the middle. "Call."

The flop was even better than he could have dreamt. Ace-Eight-Eight. Two hearts. With his full house, he was all but guaranteed to win the hand, the question was how much money could he extract?

"Check," he said quietly, watching every expression on the kid's face.

The Englishman thought for a while. Too long. Smith nodded to himself, his internal antenna was working well. The kid either had a pocket pair or a flush draw. Or maybe King-Eight for a set? King of hearts? That would give him the nut flush draw as well as his set. Now that would be something…

Daniel tapped his fingers on the green baize. "Check."

It confirmed Smith's read. He had something or was drawing to the flush. Give him a heart, please. Please!

The turn answered his prayers. Queen of hearts.

The Englishman didn't see his broad smile, how could he? It was on the inside of Smith's face. He could check again, but if his read was right, he had the young bastard. This was being broadcast to millions across the world and he, Samuel Smith, was about to win the Main Event. Time to bet.

"Ten million," he calmly announced, cutting out and pushing four stacks of chips into the middle of the table.

The Englishman took his time responding. So long that Samuel Smith wondered if he'd misread the hand. Damn, he knew he should have checked. Or perhaps made a smaller raise? If the kid were still drawing, he'd fold.

"Call."

Fucking great! The kid had hit the nut flush flush. Suck him in… get all those chips… this was the opportunity. The opportunity!

The two of clubs on the river was innocuous.

Time for action. Push all in? If the kid had the flush, he'd almost certainly get a call. But with a paired board, the Englishman might just get away from it. He'd shown some uncanny instincts so far. No, better to be subtle, like the world champion he was about to be. Reel him in…

Make a sizeable bet, one that would confirm the kid's read on him. The Englishman would have him down for an Ace, giving him two pair. What would he expect Smith to bet with that hand? The older man felt sweat forming on his forehead? Damn! He never sweated! Make a bet before his body advertised the strength of his hand.

"Raise. Twenty million."

For a while, he thought he'd lost the Englishman. It was as if the kid was worried about the two eights on the board, as if some instinct had kicked in, telling him that his Ace-high flush was no good. Players who thought for this length of time invariably folded.

Call, dammit. At least, call!

The Englishman obliged. Hell, he did better than oblige. "All in."

Smith's face creased in a triumphant smile.

***

As soon as he made the call, the manic look of delight on Samuel Smith's face told Daniel he'd seriously underestimated the strength of his opponent's hand. He'd initially put him on a big pair, probably Kings, but the way his opponent played the hand had quickly dispelled that idea.

The Ace on the flop held no fears for Smith, which suggested either a flush draw, or a pocket Ace. Best-case scenario—two pair, Aces and Eights. Worse case, the nut flush. But the sneering smile that suddenly appeared on Smith's face indicated his hand was even better than that.

It meant only one thing—pocket Aces.

No doubt about it, Smith had a full house! Aces up!

Had he known, Daniel would have played the hand completely differently, but it was too late now. It didn't matter, anyway, did it? The African American had called Daniel's all in and triumphantly thrown down his Aces.

Daniel turned over his hole cards but Smith didn't see them. He was already on his feet and heading over to his cheering section—led by his son. The whooping and hollering reverberated around Daniel's head, as loud as at any stage throughout the day, throughout the tournament.

Stopping a couple of feet short of the rail, Smith bowed as he spread his arms wide, his conquering face beaming across the landscape of the hordes of cheering supporters.

Except… they weren't cheering anymore!?!

Their expressions had changed, shock written across their faces.

Especially Joshua's…

Daniel turned to grin at Rosie and Holly. The stunned look of disbelief on the women's worried faces was gradually evaporating. Slowly, the astonishment turned to disbelieving smiles, then to unadulterated joy. They were climbing over the rail, rushing to engulf the new world champion in their arms, tears of joy rushing down Rosie's face.

A pocket pair was a great hand if you caught, but catching quads?!

On the flop?!!

The question had then been whether he could close out the tournament with that one hand? With Smith flopping a full house, there hadn't been any skill involved. The cards had decided the winner, not the merits of either player.

Perhaps that was how it should be? How it was destined?

***

"You're kidding me," Grace mumbled, barely able to believe what she was hearing. The incredible noise in the Rio's poker hall made it difficult to hear her sister. The background noise at Lauren's end made it even more difficult. "You're at the airport now?" she shouted, cupping the mobile to her ear with both hands in an attempt to drown out the myriad of sounds competing for attention.

"It just happened so suddenly," Lauren explained for the second time. "Kay and Carly collected me from the apartment. Our flight leaves in hour."

"Tell me again," her elder sister asked. It wasn't just that she hadn't heard everything Lauren had told her, she was just having difficulty believing it.

Samuel was in a foul mood after losing the head-to-head with Daniel, and Grace didn't dare show how delighted she was for her ex-boyfriend. It was the culmination of Daniel's dreams, and how many times had she'd moaned to him about his poker? Denigrated his dreams? Her ex-boyfriend was nine million dollars richer and she didn't begrudge him a cent. He deserved it.

She wanted to add her congratulations, but with Samuel as angry as he was… well, she had more sense than to irritate him further.