Dead Man's Hand (4 page)

I knew who the targeted
clientele were, but that hadn’t even begun to prepare me for what I saw.
 If you had blindfolded someone and brought them into this building, they
would never have been able to tell they were inside a warehouse.  It was
as if I had been transported from a seedy neighborhood right into a five-star
hotel.  There wasn’t a single, typical American warehouse feature
anywhere.  Granted, everything I knew about warehouse interiors I had
learned from television, but the stereotype made sense.  I mean where were
the unfinished walls and the endless array of shelves with their uniform boxes?

While the boxes and
shelves would have had to be moved so we could play, this was just a massive
shock to my system.  Without looking around I could sense the eyes of all
the other players falling on me, sizing me up.  I quickly guarded my face
as I pulled my eyes away from the unexpected décor.  With a mental grimace
I hoped that I hadn’t done anything to betray the image that I belonged
here.  As I began to take in the others I could see that most of them were
in the process of looking away from the entrance and me.  No one seemed to
have noticed my slip so I felt safe for the moment.  
Is this the
natural reaction for first time players
?

I eased myself away from
the entrance and began analyzing my surroundings.  My first thought was
that, apparently, Dempsey just didn’t know the meaning of the word
restraint.  Each of the walls were identically golden.  And I don’t
think it was gold paint, I actually think it was gold leaf.  I would have
to touch one of the walls to be sure but it had the shiny factor you would
expect from precious metal.  The only break in the golden walls was the
rose chair molding that, from this distance, seemed to be made of either marble
of granite.

It took me a moment to
rip my eyes away from the opulent walls, but when I was finally able to do so,
I began to gauge the distances.  I noticed that the room we were in
accounted for roughly half of the warehouse.  Well that was my best guess at
any rate
.  Perhaps my recon was good for something after all. 
Thanks
to my prep work I also knew this building only had the one entrance.  And
that meant that one of these golden walls, most likely the one across from the
entrance, had to have doors despite the fact that it looked like an
uninterrupted wall.

Well, they were
practically uninterrupted, there were a pair of bars built into both corners of
the wall opposite of the entrance. The top of those bars were lined up
perfectly with that exquisite molding.  Image was everything and that
encircling piece of stone helped to enforce the whole “there is no way out”
thing Dempsey had going.  I stopped looking at the decor and shifted my
attention to the six individuals sitting at each of the bars and dozen or so
others who were milling about the tables scattered throughout the room.

If Dempsey had stopped
with just the walls and the two bars with their accompanying stools, the room
would have been opulent enough.  But I guess it wouldn’t have satisfied
the man’s taste for the extravagant if he hadn’t included those tables. 
Scattered around the interior of the room there were twenty-four circular
tables with five chairs pushed under each.  From this distance, the
tabletops appeared to be hand-sculpted and made from various types of stone,
probably some collection of marble or granite.  In order to hold their
weight, those tabletops needed something serious for legs. Well, wrought-iron
columns would certainly do the trick.  The chairs were made of the same wrought-iron
pattern and were topped with fancy, plush cushions, colored to match the
tabletops.

Oh yes, and this
gathering looked to be catered, what with all the waiters and waitresses
walking in and around those works of art.  They all appeared to be
genuine, as evidenced by the ease and comfort with which they deposited the
food and drinks.  With everything I was seeing Dempsey had to be making an
ungodly amount of money from these tournaments.  There was just no other
way to justify showing the players this kind of five-star treatment. 
Well, I had a part to play and there was no time like the present to play
it.  So I veered to the left and headed straight for the bar.  There
were two bartenders so I headed for the nearest one, which happened to be the
only one free.

As I drew closer I
realized that there was no way this man was an actual bartender.  With his
build I figured he had to be one of Dempsey’s thugs who just happened to be
charming enough to stick behind the bar. 
Why would Dempsey place a
dummy behind the bar
?  And for the same reason I had pushed my luck
with the men at the front door, I decided to ruffle this one’s feathers
too.  So walking straight up to him I assumed the most cocky and arrogant
tone I could muster. “What would you recommend, my good sir?”

The man appeared to be
very confused by my open ended question.  To his credit, he managed to
keep his composure quite well, though there was the ever-so-slight crack in the
armor.  “Excuse me sir?”

He was providing me with
such a great opportunity and I just couldn’t help but have some fun with
him.  After all he was wasting my valuable time and I had to put up the
appropriate image.  It was easy enough to keep a straight face, I have had
a lot of practice with that, so I repeated my question with even more attitude
while looking the man straight in the eyes.  Which was quite an
accomplishment considering he was about half-a-head taller than me.  “What
would you recommend for me, my good sir?” 

Again this faux bartender
impressed me.  Despite my abuse, small though it was, he managed to keep
his composure as he offered a suggestion.  “Whisky on the rocks
sir?”  I had to give it to Dempsey, he had well-trained men working for
him and that was not cheap.

If I had been looking for
a drink, I probably would have said yes, but that wasn’t what I was trying to
do.  What I really wanted was to break his composure.  So, just
because, I tried to put him into a tough spot, “That could be good, but... but
no.  I’m not feeling all too good about that option.”  Rubbing my
tongue around the front of my lips I waited for a second before venturing
on.  “How about...” I paused, trying to think of a specific drink that
would be difficult to make.  I was never one to think about what I was
drinking.  But I quickly thought of a classic and ordered it.  “...
a
martini.”

The faux-tender quickly
went to work referencing a sheet and he tried to make the drink.  It was
fun watching him struggle, but as is true with all good things, this soon came
to an end. He quickly excused himself and went over to the other bartender.
 My bartender communicated the request and the other man simply nodded,
issued a few orders that were well within the other man’s capabilities to make
and, once satisfied the faux-tender could get through the drink orders on that
end of the bar, made his way down to me.

When he came up to me he
leaned over the bar and asked, “Sir?”

Seriously, a bartender
has this skill too
!  I mean bartenders are typically
good at getting their inquiries across, but come on, does everyone else in the
world have that skill mastered?  His question was simple enough but it was
also all encompassing.  He wanted to know if I needed any special liquor
or if I had any other instructions.  It was apparent that he was top-notch,
no faux-tender here.  With a smile tugging at the edges of my mouth I
answered his question smoothly.  “Bartender’s choice will be more than
sufficient.”

With a nod he looked me
over and went to work, deftly mixing the required alcohol for the
martini.  And honestly, I was rather impressed with those skills. 
Once all the liquor was in the shaker he began to mix the martini and, within
seconds, had speared one of the olives with a flourish of his free hand before
placing it over the glass so he could pour the drink right in.

With the drink made, he
placed the shaker down behind the bar before sliding the martini across the
counter top to me.  I picked up the glass and gave it a cursory inspection
before taking the first sip.  I let the alcohol flow over my tongue as I absorbed
the taste.  This was without a doubt one of the best martinis, if not the
very best, that I have ever tasted.  If I hadn’t needed a clear head I
would have been tempted to empty the glass, but I had my priorities. 
Either way I needed to compliment this man, so I carefully placed the glass
down on the counter and withdrew my wallet.  I pulled out a hundred dollar
bill and offered it to him. To my surprise, he looked absolutely offended that
I was offering him money of any kind.

When it was obvious that
I wasn’t going to withdraw the bill, he leaned down to me and in a hushed voice
said, “Sir, you do know that prior to the tournament the bars are open, don’t
you?”

Actually, I hadn’t known
that, so I filed it away for future reference.  As it was I did my very
best to look downright offended by his reaction.  Instead of trying to
argue with him I simply reached out and stuffed the bill into his shirt
pocket.  “I don’t recall asking how much I owed, do you?”

The bartender nodded as I
picked up my glass.  The drink was truly fantastic but I refused to
consume any more alcohol, so I released a little of my body heat into the drink
through a focused mental command and just like that, all of the intoxicants
were purged from the glass.  I have always found that it is very useful to
let people think you are intoxicated when you should be.  So I gladly took
another sip, and was pleasantly surprised when I discovered that the taste had
been unaffected, not that I had thought that it would be.  I mean I had
used that trick many times ever since I had first discovered it and, more often
than not, it had no effect on the taste.  But with this drink, any change
would have been a tragedy.

“I didn’t ask the cost of
the drink because that was a tip, nothing more, nothing less.  By the way,
what’s your name?”

“Simon.”  He
answered again with that single word, I needed to master that skill.  Just
like that he let me know that he understood, he knew I was going to ask for his
handiwork specifically for the rest of the evening.

I nodded as I kept the
conversation alive.  “Thank you for the drink, Simon.  You’re a
magician with those bottles.”  With a nod of his head Simon retreated back
to his original side of the bar, leaving me to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

Just as I sat down on one
of the stools a clipped voice, thick with a Russian accent, began to bark at me
from just behind my right shoulder.  “You know you just make us look bad.”

Before I could turn around
to ask the man what he was talking about another voice spoke up, only this time
it came from over my other shoulder.  This voice, while smooth, had an
accent but not one I could get a handle on.  “Wrong, it only makes you
stiff-necked and greedy people look bad, and personally I don’t see anything
wrong with that. There are those of us who are willing to tip the staff for
their hard work.”

Leaning in closer, the
man who had leapt to my defense asked me a question, speaking quietly enough so
only I could hear the question.  “But between you and me that was a hefty
one.  You didn’t start your drinking before arriving, did you?”

I didn’t need this right
now.  I just wanted to be left alone for a minute so I could enjoy my
alcohol-free drink.  Besides I still needed to do what I had been unable
to do previously, recon.  But I supposed I did have to be at least a
little sociable.  So with that thought in mind I decided to answer the
private question first.  Turning towards him I replied just as quietly,
“No, I haven’t been drinking.  I’m just well-off and the drink put me in a
very generous mood.”

I could tell that the
answer confused him, but he accepted it.  This man was truly one of this
societies’, well any societies’ elite.  A pompous and spoiled child who
never had to work for anything, ever.  He would never understand anything
other than his own desires.  So I dumbed it down for him.  “I happen
to like swift and confident service, which Simon just delivered, and that tip
should secure the same level of service for the rest of the day.”

This explanation made
sense to him and he smiled, though still not entirely agreeing with my show of
generosity.  From behind me all I could hear was a “harrumph”; that first
man must have moved in close enough to hear.  That or he had incredible
hearing.  I turned around but all I could see was a slightly stocky
gentleman stalking towards the other bar.  Presumably to get as far away
from me and my ideals as possible.  Watching the man stride off, all I could
think about was that this was going to be a challenging day.

As I turned back to my
drink the other gentleman spoke conversationally, “Don’t worry about Nicolai.”

I quickly turned to face
him and noticed that, by the look on his face, he was in the middle of a
strenuous mental debate.  After a couple of moments he added, “It’s just
that his wallet is tighter than an oyster’s shell.  He also cannot abide
people who freely share their wealth, even if you had a decent reason.”

Looking into the man’s
eyes I replied, “He’s crazy. You know that right?”