The Armani asshole choked on his drink. Franco had two pair. So far so good. The betting continued.
The Turn: one card face-up: jack of spades.
The clouds parted. The angels sang.
There it was. His jack. Highly unlikely anyone at the table could beat him. Even if Gucci Loafers had a full boat, it wouldn’t be as high as his jacks over fours. Six players, only two had folded. The pot was up to a hundred grand.
The River: one card face-up: eight of spades.
The betting continued. Franco could win back his nut and some to spare on this one hand. The only problem: he was out of money. He waved over one of his bodyguards, turned his head from the table, and said under his breath, “go to the room and get the package.”
“Franco…”
He fisted the back of his chair. God, his back was killing him.
“There’s ten Gs in it for you. Just do it.”
The guard left the room, and Franco turned to the table. “Gentlemen, a moment please.”
The guard returned with a wax-sealed white plastic tube and handed it to Franco who, in turn, placed it in the pot. “This will cover the bet.”
“I’m not a drug dealer or a fence, Franco,” the third player in the game grumbled.
“It’s legal, and it’s worth more than the pot. Come on, boys. Live dangerously.”
The men murmured their acceptance.
The first player turned the pair of cards in his hand: ace of spades, five of spades, combined with the three spades on the table: the four, the jack, and the nine, gave him a flush. The player to his right threw down his cards in disgust. Franco was next. He turned his pair, revealing the jacks that completed the full house, his expression smug. The smugness turned to concern when he saw the look on the face of his nemesis. The man flipped his cards with a flourish: four of diamonds, four of hearts. Franco’s eyes ran to the two fours on the table.
Four of a kind.
Franco surged to his feet, the word “no” on his lips, when his chest seized and his lungs froze. He fell to his knees, then to his back. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The room became a pinpoint in the distance. He saw those pretentious crocodile loafers hurry past him, out of the suite. As the world began to fade, Franco stared up at the ornate chandelier hanging over the table and wondered where he could scrounge up the cash for another hand.