Queen of Diamonds: Ania Trilogy, #2

ONE

Ania

The highway sign gave her a choice, and Ania always believed in choices.

Left two lanes for L.A. and then maybe even north to San Francisco.

Right two lanes heading straight into Las Vegas.

While she knew she was going on to California, she still liked the idea of having an option.

She had a while to think about that.

Casting a quick glance over to the black leather computer bag on the passenger seat, she patted it softly then did a happy little tap with her fingers on the steering wheel. It was a small purchase she had made at a Best Buy back in Denver. A nice satchel, all business, shoulder strap, buckles and zippers, the whole bit.

Looking up into the rearview mirror, she curled a loose strand of luxurious hair behind her ear and studied herself. She was happy with this color, thanks to Lyla’s Boutique in trendy Vail. Different than her old color, but still a blonde. Her new dark green contacts weren’t bad either. She tried a few quick looks. Smiling big now, then trying a tight thin smile but working the dimples a little.

She pushed the ultra-modern glasses up a little higher with a perfectly manicured finger. The sleek, charcoal-colored frames held nothing but clear glass, but it sure helped the look. She frowned, then arched one eyebrow up as if questioning something, then gave the butter-melting smile again. A natural born actress.

Finding the right disc in the console, she slid it in and turned it up. The trip through Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, and Utah had been purposely chosen over driving south first to Dallas and then cutting over and down to L.A. Just in case she was followed coming out of Chicago. Just in case. Not that she had really expected that, but hey.

Going this Interstate 80 West route, she would be able to see somebody coming a mile away, literally. Much lighter traffic this way, fewer people and even fewer cops. In general, less everything. Unfortunately, that meant less to do and see on the way too, but Bob Seger had kept her company. Despite her young age, she had always liked the older rock guys. There were no better road songs than Seger’s.

Plus, the trip hadn’t been a complete bore. Two nights ago, while going through Lincoln, Nebraska of all places, she stopped for a drink on a whim. Met a guy who looked just like Brad Pitt and as it ended up probably better than him in bed. He was a graduate student at the University of Nebraska.

The bar was on the edge of campus, not unlike a few at DePaul she used to hit back in Chicago. Wet tables, loud music, lots of shots, and a lot of fun. No bad stuff, no crimes committed, just living life without a care in the world. She’d left him sleeping it off with a stupid smile still on his face. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember his name. Better that way.

Her eyes went back to her business bag, and she thought about how long the two hundred thousand in there might last. She wouldn’t be crazy with it, but there would be expenses. It was hard-earned cash, not to be pissed away, at least as she figured it. Hell, that was the way her daddy taught her to earn a living and damned if she wasn’t good at it.

No doubt, this haul would keep her off the grift for a while. The ice hidden in her trunk, on the other hand, that would need some additional labor to turn into cash. Big cash though, it would be worth the effort. That was the real deal here. Those rocks were her Super Bowl, the lottery ticket that finally hit. This would be no back-alley deal.

She would just have to see how this rolled. Most importantly, she wouldn’t push anything or try to force something. There was plenty of time. Slow and easy is how she would play this. Let things happen in front of you, not behind you. One of her dad’s favorite sayings.

Ania smiled. It certainly wasn’t anything that she couldn’t handle. There were men who could help her get this done, and if there was one thing she was best at, it was getting men to do what she wanted them to.

She knew a guy in San Francisco. Sort of. Los Angeles, she didn’t know anyone, but you couldn’t go five feet without meeting the right kind of man in that city. So, either way…but probably L.A. Maybe.

Ania changed lanes without signaling and then accelerated into the interchange that took her to Las Vegas. She did it without thinking, but as soon as she took the wide turn on the freeway and straightened the wheel, it felt good. It felt right.

Sin City. Never been here.

Seger was singing about turning the page and she turned it up even louder.

She could have some quick fun and maybe even get some serious business done too. There was certainly big money here but maybe not the right kind for the ice. Never know.

Ania cruised slowly down South Las Vegas Boulevard and tried not to gawk. The big places she had always heard of floated and glittered by. Caesars, the MGM Grand, the Mandarin, Luxor, Mandalay Bay, Bellagio, and on and on. A light show like she’d never seen.

She wasn’t going to mess around here and stay somewhere just off the strip. Fuck that. She was going all in, as they say here. Just for a couple of days, but hey. Turning around in a parking lot, she came back for another pass and picked the hotel just like the decision to stop here in Vegas. Bang.

She pulled in, and as she approached, going past huge water fountains and seeing the sheer size of this illuminated monster, she knew it was going to be good. She prepped as she slowly drove up.

The Magnum. Celebrating its first anniversary, the sign said. Holy shit, she muttered as she pulled to a stop. She didn’t have her glasses on anymore—didn’t fit the occasion. She gave her hair a little shake so it wasn’t so perfect and undid one more button on the blouse. She put on her best what’s the big fucking deal? face as a valet attendant helped her out of the car. She had two small roller bags in the trunk and her satchel, which was already over her shoulder.

Hold on, I need my purse from one of the bags. She smiled at him after opening the trunk herself.

Of course, ma’am. Welcome to the Magnum. Is this your first time in Vegas?

He was her age, probably twenty-four or so, but just goofy as hell. That’s okay, though. Not everyone can look like Brad Pitt, and goofus here might just be helpful in some way, you never know.

No, Will. No, it’s not, she said. She liked name-tags for just this reason. He didn’t even catch onto how she knew that right away. He was too busy trying to think of something cool and clever to say next. She threw her hair over a shoulder, put her purse inside the bigger bag, and then dangled the keys to him on one finger. Be careful with the car, okay?

Oh yes, yes I will.

Ania stood and waited, smiling her trademark smile at him. She wore jeans that looked painted on, nice heels, and had one hand on her hip.

He blinked twice and smiled back at her.

Will? She smiled that smile and cocked her head a little to one side.

Oh…Uhm, I will, wait, I mean okay. I’m, I’m really sorry. He waved to bellman at the curb and turned back to her. Michael will help you with your bags, while I do you-rrr car. Red-faced, he waved even harder for Michael.

The lobby took her breath away, but her expression remained flat, one of those been here done this looks. Approaching the front desk, she swore to herself, two days, two nights and that’s it. No more.

The guy at the desk was efficient and quick. She was lucky. Not only did she get one of the last rooms available, she got upgraded to a suite.

Eyes are everywhere in a casino, and she happened to look up and right into a camera while waiting for him to get her room card. She casually, but at the same time, quickly looked down in her purse, as if she was looking for something. Overreaction? No doubt about it, she thought to herself. She just didn’t need to be staring straight up at them. Any cameras, especially security cameras, were just never a good thing. Never.

Your suite will be on the tenth floor.

Actually, one of your regular rooms will be fine. I’m only here for two nights. She smiled and got her purse out. God knows what a suite would cost here.

We had a cancellation from one of the top players who just got eliminated. Please, enjoy it, Miss Kozak. The upgrade is on me. The desk clerk smiled at her.

Top players?

The World Championship of Poker. It’s being held right here at the Magnum. You’re just in time for the final round.

He took out a map of the property and pointed to restaurants, shops, several pools, massage stations, the casino, and nightclub. There was everything a person could possibly think of or want, and all of it was available twenty-four hours a day.

Thanks so much, she smiled with a heavy sigh, but all I want right now is a steamy hot bath, a big fluffy robe, and room service.

We can certainly take care of that right away. He grinned, raised a hand, and waved for someone to help her with her two small bags.

A girl could get used to this, she thought as the elevator whispered her up to a little slice of heaven.

TWO

Cord

I’ve always been a coffee drinker, and this morning has been no different. From the large silver carafe, I pour my third big cup of this special dark roast from Morocco or some damn place. It’s only around eight thirty or so.

Not a cloud in the morning sky, and as I look down at the cars and people, spectacular casinos and hotels are everywhere you look. All that glitz and glamour, but I realize how much I’ve grown to hate this damn place after just a few days. Vegas is wild and fun, but you can’t stay here very long. Or I can’t anyway. Soon as this little hoop tee doo is over, and I’ve done all the right things for the WPA as last years’ champ, I’m gone. Besides, I’ll have the Atlantic City tournament in two weeks and the Champions circuit starting in New Orleans. Both of those are kickass.

I look away from the wall of windows and walk to the small living room area of the suite. There ain’t much left to pick at on the service cart they brought up earlier besides one last piece of bacon. I look at it for a second and then down it like I haven’t eaten in a week.

Earlier, I’d had eggs, bacon, couple of English muffins with butter and real peach marmalade. Hell, I’m almost human again. The best Vegas casinos have always been able to sling some seriously good food around, and the Magnum is definitely one of the best. I’ve always believed that breakfast, and I ain’t talking about bean sprout yogurt and fresh broccoli juice here, is a highly underrated meal.

I had needed that, too. Not just because of me being over-served last night, as my daddy used to say. The Maker’s Mark just kept coming, so what was I supposed to do? Oh hell no, it was also because of what had happened earlier in the evening at the final table.

There had been only five card players left at the beginning of the round. When it was over, there would be only two who would play tonight for the WPA Gold Bracelet and about ten million in cash.

The room phone rings, and I almost spill my coffee. Who in the hell do I want to talk to right now? That’s an easy answer, and I just let it go. Looking at my watch again, I finish the last swallow and then pour another cup.

I’m pacing all around the suite and finally walk back to the wall of glass. The morning paper is on the bed. I’d tried that already. Nothing will do but to drag my ass back through the flames again, so I just need to finish this painful little recap, I guess.

Kenny Whitten had been so pissed off when he had gone out that he went straight through the ballroom doors to the airport. Didn’t say y’all can kiss my ass, go to hell or nothin’. His girlfriend had been left to pack everything up and had to meet him at the airport. He’s always been that way, a little California brat, just a pouting little baby. Tried to run everyone off with straight bluff. To his credit, it did look like he had it, and he sure bet it up, but you know this is poker and he wasn’t the only poker player sitting around that table. I ran away from the hand, had absolutely nothing to stay with anyway and everyone else folded too, but old Larry stayed and broke Kenny like a dry twig.

Next to be booted out, not even ten minutes later, was Karl Steiner from Germany. Nice enough guy, but hell, luckier than shit just to get to the televised rounds. Went all in on two pair, and he was looking strong right up to the end until I hit that third eight I needed on the flop.

That left three players. Yours truly here, Larry Mantrell from Ada, Oklahoma, and René Gaust from Lyon, France.

Larry was old-school, a gentleman and had been playing for forty years. He used to give Doyle Brunson a go for his money way back in the day. He’s still damn good, but he’s old and shaky. This week has been like his one last hurrah. It’s been a magical kind of tournament for him. Cards when he needs them, plenty of luck, and everything he tries, he hits. He hasn’t made the final table for years.

Then there’s René Gaust. Sweet René, as I call him, just to piss him off, is someone who’s just so damn easy to hate. He has the normal snooty-ass French arrogance thing going, basically dismissing everyone around him as some breed of dog. Truly a French blueblood, his family is loaded and connected throughout Europe. Along with over two centuries of continued, inherited wealth, they own the majority stock of the single largest telecommunications company in France.

And oh yeah, he’s young, really young. Twenty, I think. Women love him, always a couple hanging on him. Baseball cap on backward, dresses like a high school kid, which he almost is, wears earphones and sunglasses to hide his eyes. He’s a talker during games too, heavy accent, almost constant chattering. Trying to distract, to anger or to get your nerves all jangled up.

Did I mention the little bastard is good? Probably the best all-around card player I’ve ever seen, if he keeps playing like he does now. I mean, I’m only thirty-one, a professional for a short five years, so it’s not like I have all these big rivalries yet. But Gaust is one of maybe four or five top players that I just can’t quite completely figure out.

I’ve won a lot of money already, and I won the big dance, the World Championship, right here last year. I plan on winning a lot more, so if there’s anyone I want to beat and beat bad, like scrub the floor with him bad, its guys like Sweet René. Spoiled little rich, French prick. Other than that, he’s an okay guy.

A chirp breaks up my miserable memories of last night. My cell rings this time, and I look to see who it is. It’s not Laura like I thought, though, and I don’t recognize the area code. I let it go to voicemail.

Laura and I probably ain’t gonna work out. In fact, forget the probably, as much as I wish it wasn’t true. She’s gotten pretty damn tired of me flying all over creation, and I’ve gotten pretty damn tired of her, period. This is not her world, and it never will be. San Antonio is her whole world. I’m kind of with her on that, but I hate to break it to my little Laura that there are about ten more years of this deal yet to play out. Growing up the way I did and seeing my dad bust his ass to get paid nothing, I’m never going back to living like that.

I gotta say this, I’m having a helluva lot of fun. Playing cards all around the U.S. and the world for that matter. Beating silver-spoon assholes while I’m at it. Making damn good money, eating better than the King of Siam, drinking the best there is, playing hard and I’m not talking cards all the time, staying at the finest hotels and sleeping until noon when I can sleep. What doesn’t work for you in that list?

Laura just wants to have a family and go to high school football games again. That blonde girl that’s in the other room right now, though? The one all tangled up in those satin sheets? Well, she just wants to have fun. That’s kind of where I’m at right now. My mind hangs on Laura for a second because we’ve always been together. Always, being since we were seniors in High School.

She just doesn’t hold me anymore though, and my mind drifts back to sitting at that table last night. Three of us. We had been playing for over an hour since Steiner had been bounced from the table. Old Larry is short stacked, with René holding the chip lead over me, but not by much as we both keep winning hands.

Larry’s not getting cards, and he’s folding a lot. On the other hand, I had just won a quarter-million-dollar hand with a jack high. Hey, this is poker and that’s the way it is. Larry is getting desperate now and that’s never a good thing.

The old man suddenly and firmly goes all in on a hand. He’s always been a hard read, because he’s got that tired old hangdog look and he doesn’t help you with other tells, either. Winning or losing, he just looks like he’s beat to shit and ready to die. I look at René right away because at this point I don’t really care what Larry has in his hand. What matters here is what the little French asshole on my right is going to do.

"Ahhh now, what do you have there, my old, old friend? Hmmm? René gives Larry a sneer and laughs quietly. Nothing. That’s clear. The Frenchman looks at his two cards, the table, at Larry and back again. Then he waves a hand at me and shrugs without even looking at me. And my big Texan here, pfft, what does it matter what you have, eh?"

We sit through about five minutes of that bullshit and then Sweet René just folds.

René wanted me to play him, and maybe even lose, because he knew that I wouldn’t just give it to Larry. It would be too bloody for him to get in with both of us. Why risk it? He had the chip lead and knew he’d most likely be playing me for the championship tomorrow night anyway.

The Frenchman was right. It would be him and me. I had two pair, sevens and aces. Larry could have something I guess, but I just didn’t see it. He was done, and it was just a matter of time.

I’m in. I say it casually and