Chapter 124 The Last Hand

Chapter 124 The Last Hand
POV: ELI
"Spread the word, the king of the North has arrived!"
Stan Davis raised his champagne flute from across the room and Eli tipped his head in return, scanning the suite as he entered.
The room was exactly as arranged. Stan and Isabel at one of the cocktail tables. Pam working the bar with Robert Lee and Charlie Ho. Andre Leclerq by the window with an unlit cigar, who looked away the moment he and Eli made eye contact.
And Russell Edgington at the oval table, wearing the expression of a man who had been waiting to say something unpleasant and was rationing it.
Peter Threadgill beside him. Identical scowl.
Eli ran a hand through his hair and took the seat to the dealer's right.
The dealer, Claudette, was Pam's last-minute replacement after Palomino passed word that Russell had paid off the original croupier. She had a high ponytail and a smile wide enough to fill the room and she had been thoroughly briefed. She clapped her hands twice and showed her sleeves to the table, then cracked a fresh deck.
"Ready to lose, gentlemen?" Eli asked.
"One million buy-in," he continued before anyone could answer. "Table stakes. Blinds up every ten minutes. No rebuy. You're out when you're out."
Russell waved his hand. "Thank you for that illuminating summary. Can we play now, or would you like to continue measuring?"
"That's your preoccupation, not mine," Eli said.
Stan cleared his throat loudly. "Cubans and cards, gentlemen. Let's behave."
The dealer began.
Andre, the least experienced player in the room, went first. His three nines ran into Stan's full house and he left without much ceremony. Robert Lee followed, caught between Russell and Peter's coordinated squeeze play. It wasn't subtle. Any skilled player could see they were running cousins from the first hand.
Eli folded early when the cards didn't merit otherwise and floated in the middle of the pack, watching.
His phone vibrated in his breast pocket. He checked the screen. The string of numbers he didn't need a name for.
"After midnight," Peter noted. "House calls, Eli?"
"Pleasure, not business," Eli said, sliding back from the table. "Give me a moment."
He didn't go far. He wanted Russell to hear.
"Hi, honey," he said into the phone.
A pause. Then Luca's careful voice, dropping immediately into French. The drug bust at the Monaco dock. Five hundred million euros in cocaine and liquid B, seized along with the vessel and crew. Nora was already demanding a phone call. Ten years minimum, Luca estimated. Europol was ten minutes out.
"That sounds absolutely fantastic," Eli said warmly, in English. "I'll call you when I'm done."
He pocketed the phone and returned to his chair.
One down.
The farms in Miami and New Jersey had been timed to the hour. Three hours ahead of Las Vegas meant both had already been raided by the time Eli sat back down. Thalia was in Florida, overseeing the Miami operation personally. Nevada was last, saved for the finish.
Peter went out next. Russell turned on his own ally with the precision of a man who had never felt loyalty as anything more than a temporary tactic. Peter's pair of queens died against Russell's two pair, no eulogy given. He left the table without a word.
"Kicked out your only friend," Stan observed.
"Pete carries his own weight or he's dead weight," Russell said, biting his cigar. "My father's rule."
"You do know you just said that to the man who's going to take the rest of your chips," Stan replied.
Russell smiled without warmth. "We'll see."
Four players remained. Eli, Russell, Stan, Charlie Ho.
The new deal came and Eli squeezed his hole cards. Not strong, but playable if the board helped him. He kept his face neutral and his posture easy and watched the table the way Godric had taught him, not the cards but the people holding them.
Russell checked his watch. Twice. The second time he thought no one was looking.
He's waiting for something.
The flop came. Seven of hearts, jack of clubs, four of hearts.
Eli watched Russell peek at his cards and then look at his watch again instead of the board.
"Make your move, Edgington," Eli said.
Russell slid chips forward without urgency. "What's the matter? Do you have somewhere to be?"
"Or something," Eli said.
Russell knocked twice to check. Stan followed. Eli checked.
The turn card came. Six of hearts.
Russell checked again. Stan raised five hundred. Eli called.
Russell reached up to scratch behind his right earlobe.
Right is bull.
Eli filed it away. Russell had weak cards.
Russell matched Stan's raise and added five hundred more. Stan studied his stack, cracked his neck twice, and folded. His tell was visible from across the table. Russell had spotted it too.
Three players. Then two, when Charlie folded quietly a hand later.
Just Eli and Russell.
The dealer burned the top card and placed the final community card.
Ace of spades.
Eli felt something settle in his chest. Brigail's card. The trump. The one everything started and ended with.
Russell tugged his left earlobe this time. Eli caught it. Left was truth. The bastard finally had something.
Russell smiled at his cards, slow and satisfied. He checked his watch a third time, openly now, not bothering to conceal it.
"Are you in or out?" Eli asked.
"I've never seen anyone so desperate to lose," Russell said.
"You don't have any mirrors at the MGM?"
Russell's smile shifted. "There's the charm that got my granddaughter into your bed."
Eli swallowed the acid. Said nothing.
Stan filled the silence. "Where is she, by the way? Haven't seen her since the fight."
"Running errands," Russell said.
"At midnight?" Stan leaned back. "You must really be screwed if you're working your figurehead this hard." He made the air quotes deliberately. "Why not just admit you're broke, Russell? It would be so much more dignified."
Russell ignored him. His eyes had moved back to Eli. "Did you bring it?"
He reached into his blazer and produced the Luciano chip, flipped it once, caught it on the back of his hand.
"Put yours in the pot," Russell said. "Make it interesting."
Eli stared at him. "Your chip doesn't earn a place in my collection."
"The Scarface belongs to me," Russell said, his voice dropping.
"You keep telling yourself that."
"Name your figure then," Russell said. "We both know what this is really about."
Eli leaned forward. "You know what I want."
Russell tilted his head. "She's worth more than a piece of metal."
"You make her sound like a weapon," Eli said.
"Isn't she?" Russell smiled. "And I'm holding the trigger."
Stan coughed. Hard. Then placed both palms on the table and looked at the dealer.
"Mr. Edgington," Claudette said. "Your move."
Russell checked his watch one final time. Whatever he had been waiting for had either arrived or hadn't and he had decided it no longer mattered. He sat forward and looked at his cards and then at Eli with the expression of a man who believed he had already won.
"I see a jack and an ace on the board," he said. "You have the jacks. You think you're getting trips." He paused. "But I have the strongest pair at this table."
He pushed all his chips to the center.
"Why don't you do the honors," he said to the dealer.
Claudette turned his cards. Ace of diamonds. Ace of clubs.
"Three aces," she said.
"I never bluff," Russell said, settling back.
Eli looked at the dealer. She looked at him. He slid his cards forward without ceremony.
She flipped them.
Five of hearts. Three of hearts.
She looked at the board. Seven, six, four, ace. All hearts on the turn and river combined with his hole cards.
"Straight flush," she said. "Mr. Michealson wins."
The silence lasted exactly one second.
Russell's fist came down on the table hard enough to rattle the chips. "Sonofabitch!"
Eli let himself smile. The full one, the one he rarely used in public.
"Don't take it personally," he said, watching Russell rise from his chair. "It's not your fault you don't have a heart."
Russell walked out without another word.
Eli watched the door close.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He already knew before he looked.
It was Pam. One word.
Nevada.
He stood up, straightening his jacket.
Stan raised his glass from across the room.
Eli nodded once and headed for the door.
Russell Edgington had just played his last hand. He simply didn't know it yet.