Page 80 of A Scandal in Homeroom
Irene had said the rules were clear. Once he was out of money, he couldn’t get back in the game.
“All in,” I announced, and there was a noticeable gasp from one of the other players at the table.
From my perspective, and to use another metaphor, that wascheck.
He was potted, committed with his two-hundred-dollar raise. It made no sense not to call me. It was only an additional two hundred more dollars to him. Unless the difference between betting the additional two hundred, or holding onto it, meant he could play long enough until his next victim sat down.
“I fold,” he said.
I collected my pot and turned over my two hole cards to show him I had nothing.
He scowled and tossed his cards away face down, but I suspected he had a pocket pair, based on his original bet.
“Ballsy,” he noted.
“Not particularly,” I answered.
Because he didn’t understand the game I was playing. I wasn’t here to win money. I wasn’t even here to be entertained. I was here to gather information, which I had.
Bennet was a competent player based on what the books had taught me. His fold was a mistake, unless I was right, and he was simply biding his time.
Checkmate.
I stacked my chips and considered the waiting game I needed to play. Was the person who needed to lose his or her money already at the table? There were five of us, not counting the dealer. No one had made any super obvious mistakes that I could see, but we’d only just started playing.
The dealer reached across the table to move the blind marker in front of me. I noticed the ring on the pinky finger of his right hand. A class ring.
He was maybe six feet tall, a little paunchy around the middle. But since Adler hadn’t really given me anything more than approximate size and shape, it was difficult to be certain.
“You look familiar,” I said to the dealer. “You work down in Atlantic City?”
“No,” he answered, as he tossed the cards around the table. “Just here picking up some work.”
“Not a professional then? Really? Well, you shuffle very well for an amateur.”
“Are we going to play cards or are we going to chit chat?” Bennet asked me. “You’re new here, but this isn’t really a social game.”
I tipped my head to him. “My apologies.”
Then I tipped a stack of chips over, some landing on the cement floor, and it was clear I was getting under Bennet’s thin skin. I settled my chips back on the table and played the rest of the night in silence except for my calls.
In the end, I concluded poker was not a dull game. Not at all.
* * *
Later that Night
Reen
“Well?”
The sound startled me until I realized who it was.
“Locke,” I whispered, as he emerged from the shadow of a tree. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“You didn’t think I would wait for you?”
Actually, I did. But he’d still scared me. I’d even been careful to make sure there was no one around. I’d purposefully lingered behind to close everything up. The players were gone, the servers and dealers were gone. Coyle, who’d been oddly quiet throughout the night, had left hours ago.
