Cashed In Part 17

He'd be even more full of himself now, and easier to catch as long as I got some cards every now and then. I had an eight of hearts, ten of hearts in my pocket and had to go with my gut. I called the big blind and waited.

Kinkaid reappeared, looking a bit frazzled, sweat wetting the hair at the nape of her neck. She'd avoided my table so far tonight, but was so distracted, she walked right past me. I grabbed a wad of her skirt and brought her to a stop.

She smiled at the table and leaned in to me as the jackal raised two hundred on an Ace of clubs, nine of hearts, Jack of hearts Flop. "Where is Mahdu?"

"That's none of your concern, Miss Cooley. And I hope you haven't opened your big mouth," she whispered while flashing a counterfeit smile around the table.

The dealer reminded me it was my bet. It made me uncomfortable to try to draw to a straight, but instincts are what helped me win the Big Kahuna. I had to trust them now. Still gripping Kinkaid's skirt against the arm of my chair just below the table, I pushed out a conservative raise, scaring two players out of the hand.

Jack of hearts fell on The Turn. The first two bets were a raise and a reraise. We were headed for an all in.

Kinkaid tried to struggle un.o.btrusively against my skirt hold. "Are you okay, Miss Kinkaid?" the dealer asked, his head c.o.c.ked.

"Fine," she smiled tightly. "My skirt just seems to be caught on Miss Cooley's chair."

Sneaky. I could out sneak her though. I learned from the best snake I knew, my twin. I faked a gasp, looking down in surprise. "Oh no, Miss Kinkaid, let me try to help you get it loose."

She tugged, and I tugged back, all the while keeping the telling action under the table. "Where is Eria?"

Kinkaid, her face growing red with her exertions, looked at me blankly. Tug.

"Mahdu's girlfriend? I imagine the poor young girl is easier to control than Delia Santobella. What have you done with her?"

The dealer forced my bet. I called, which was expensive enough.

Kinkaid's face darkened. Tug. Tug. "Miss Kharton is not feeling well. The ship's doctor is examining her now. I'm guessing she will have to be put ash.o.r.e in Cozumel tomorrow for a flight home."

The jackal, chip leader, at the table, went all in. Six of the nine of us joined him, which left the six of us with no chips left in front of us. Scary.

"What about Mahdu?"

"He'll turn up like Rick did, I'm sure." Tug. Tug, tug, tug.

"Or like Rawhide didn't," I murmured as a Queen of hearts fell on The River. "Or floating, like the insurance dude did."

I let her skirt go to sweep up my chips before the jackal decided to eat them he was so mad. The five eliminated players rose in their chairs, one grumbling that I played like an Internet player. One shook my hand with congratulations, the others offered well wishes from a distance as they looked longingly at their decent, actually winnable, hands that had been beaten with instinct and lots of luck.

Once free, Kinkaid leaned in to me as she smoothed her skirt. "Thank you so much for your help, Miss Cooley," she said aloud, then dropped her voice to a whisper. "And if you try to help any more in places you aren't needed, I will see you get an airline schedule as well."

With a frilly wave and genuine smile that made me want to shiver worse than her false one, Kinkaid continued her rounds. I didn't know what to think except that I was on a floating prison with a Hold 'Em player-eating monster within.

"You could leave, but then you'd have to tell Mom and Dad. Mom would freak out, Dad would want to keep you under some kind of twenty-four hour guard for the rest of your life and they would have to leave the cruise too, of course. Then, Stella, Ingrid and Callie would have to go too. Me. Think of all the plane tickets you'd have to buy." We were on a ten-minute break and I'd found one of the two people on board the ship I could both trust and talk to about the situation. Jack was not around so I was left with Ben. It was almost scarier than the homicidal maniac on board. Ben leaned over the railing and flipped the toothpick out of his mouth and into the sea. "Wouldn't it be cool if that speared a fish down there?"

"Ben, please try to focus. How come I can't wedge you off a subject you choose but when I want to talk about something, you can't stay on topic for two consecutive sentences?" I demanded impatiently.

He turned to me, leaning one elbow on the railing, looking very miffed. "Well, it went in at the right angle to nail a fish if it was going by just then."

"Impressive." I pushed off the railing. "I'm going to find Jack. " And by the way, where was Frank when I needed him, yet again?

"I thought the slimy dude you were hanging with is named Ian? Who's Jack? A new boy toy?" He winked.

I fixed him with a dead-eyed stare.

Undaunted as usual, Ben smacked himself on the forehead. "Oh, Jack. Is that the nervous dweeb?"

"Jack is a journalist."

"For the Freaks-R-Us Times?" Ben chuckled, amusing himself as usual. I made a mental note to keep him away from Jack. Ben would totally destroy his newfound confidence.

"Jack is a friend, get off his case," I warned, blowing out a sigh. I turned and strode toward the gla.s.s doors leading back into the interior of the ship. Ben grabbed my ponytail. "Ouch!"

"Wimp."

"Jerk."

"Look, Bee Bee, you've got to understand that the cruise ship wants to keep a lid on the disappearances to avoid a ma.s.s panic on board, hence the quiet investigation."

"If they're investigating at all!" I interrupted.

"I'm sure they are, and I'm sure they'll step it up once we dock. I wouldn't get too paranoid about that. Now I do agree you ought to protect yourself, so make sure you're never alone. If you aren't going to be with Slimeball, or Freakafellow, or Ingrid who could whip anybody's b.u.t.t, then call me and I will sacrifice and hang with you a bit."

"Speaking of Ingrid, what is your relationship? I'm confused."

"Me too. We're friends," he shrugged and looked off at the barely waning moon rising over the horizon.

"Come on, Ben," I said. "No woman is your friend."

He shrugged. "What can I say, she didn't want to play hide and seek with Utopia."

I rolled my eyes at his favorite moniker for his manhood. Ben winked. "I told her she needed her head examined because no one with ovaries had ever refused that offer."

"How did you meet her?"

"Actually, she's a friend of Frank's."

"My Frank?" I blurted out, then corrected myself. "I mean, Frank Gilbert?"

"The very same." Ben nodded. "I looked Frank up about a month ago when I was in L.A. for a pharmaceutical conference. We met then."

"You looked Frank up? How do you know where to look? Where does he live? What does his house look like?"

"Oh, get your panties out of a wad, Bee Bee, don't be so literal. I called him and we met for drinks at a bar."

"He's drinking again?" I could feel my knuckles whitening as I gripped my clutch tighter.

Ben shrugged. "He had a Corona. No big deal."

"All alcohol is a big deal for an alcoholic," I preached to Ben. "Next time take him to Starbucks, you fool."

"Come on, Bee Bee, a beer's cheaper than Starbucks. I was treating."

I wanted to strangle him but it would do no good. His four and a half brain cells could live without air for longer than I could squeeze.

"So how are he and Ingrid friends?" I said, evenly, considering my heart was thundering, my palms were sweating and I couldn't swallow. Ingrid was gorgeous, young, and smarter than I'd given her credit for being even yesterday. I couldn't blame Frank if they were very, very close friends.

"I don't know," Ben frowned impatiently. "Men don't ask questions like that."

"Okay, what kind of questions do you ask?"

"How about: 'Can I pork her without p.i.s.sing you off?' "

"Charming. What did he answer?"

"That a woman isn't a side of bacon, but if I found some manners I could ask her out on a date because Ingrid could take care of herself better than any woman he'd ever seen."

Why did that particular compliment make me see red worse than knowing they were lovers? I guess because I could blow a dalliance off, but admiration usually makes a longer-lasting impression.

Why did I care? Frank stood you up on the cruise, remember, you idiot. Let he and Ingrid have a mutual admiration society. So what.

"You are so jealous," Ben hooted, doing a little dance. "Your face is all scrunched up and you look a thousand years old."

The bells started ringing over the PA system, calling the players back from the break. I forced myself to focus. "So how did Ingrid and her friends end up on the cruise?"

"Frank started talking about it while she was there. I was still trying to get in her pants and so I said I could fix it so they could have a cabin. The Bee Cool agent thing was a flash of inspiration. Kill two birds with one stone."

I shot him a loaded look. "Considering the direction this cruise is going, you might actually accomplish that."

Twenty.

When the tournament resumed, a tournament hostess spread the remaining four players at our table in empty seats around the room. It was advantageous for me, since the jackal guy was out for blood. He looked seriously disenchanted with Bridget and tried to convince her to move one of the players at my new table to another so he could sit with me.

"Sir, you can get together with her later."

I laughed because that was the last thing on his mind. "The only thing he'd like to get together are his fingers around my throat," I told Bridget.

She grinned.

He glared and stalked off to his a.s.signed table. Introductions went around. This dealer wasn't into idle chitchat and spread the cards quickly. A King of diamonds, Queen of spades stared back at me from the hole. I hated it when this happened. It seemed like such a good hand but it rarely won for me. I might be able to play it smarter if I knew the table but I was coming in completely blind to the players' tendencies. So far I pegged one woman with a dwindling chip stack for a lucky neophyte (it takes one to know one) already giving in to nerves as she bounced one leg violently under the table, one grandma who by the comfortable look of her cleaned up on the felt every day at her retirement community, three men of varying degrees of middle age who probably frequented Internet games, a young punk kid whose face was hidden under a black ball cap and behind huge, mirrored h.e.l.l Cats who was chanting verses from the Koran under his breath, and the two sitting at the blinds-a nerdy twentysomething man who had a violent twitch in his left cheek and a man about my age with a five o'clock shadow who kept picking at his incisors with a silver toothpick. The man wearing an old-style Humphrey Bogart hat and a white shirt sitting at the dealer b.u.t.ton had been fiddling with his stack since I'd sat down. Now he looked up at me and smiled. Uh-oh. Ian Reno. d.a.m.n. This was going to be awkward. I forced myself to ignore him. If I didn't, I was sure I'd lose.

The dealer urged me to bet. I was just ahead of the blinds, unfortunately, so had to either fold or jump into the pot. I jumped with a small raise just to gauge the others behind me. Four of the six folded, including Ian and the two women. A check round cleared the way for The Flop.

It came three of clubs, eight of diamonds, Queen of hearts. One was good for me, the rest muck for everyone remaining, apparently, because no one bet the round. Ian was watching me intently through his mirrored lenses.

I saw Kinkaid walk into the room, spy me immediately and roam the other side. I wondered if she'd fulfill her threat if I pushed her. I thought of the note . . . stop investigating or I'd be gone too. I a.s.sumed gone meant dead, or pitched into the Gulf, but maybe gone just meant off the ship. Hmm. I thought I needed to see Miss Kinkaid's handwriting.

Jack of hearts landed on Fourth Street. The small blind raised a thousand which made all of us think he was working a royal flush. I called along with the rest of those remaining at the table. Ian stared.

And then came my scare card, an Ace of hearts. It might complete his royal flush or more likely gave someone hanging in with an Ace-high kicker enough to beat my pair of Queens. The tepid raise of five hundred by the big blind-twitch, twitch-could mean he was the one with the Ace. Still, it wasn't strong enough, I thought, or maybe he was scared of the guy with the royal flush who was next to bet. Peeking at my cleavage as he pushed his chips forward, the small blind went in for another five hundred, which to me didn't say much. If I had a royal flush, I'd be going all in. But a raise could be the equivalent for this guy, who might be a calling station. I held my breath and tried to hear Frank's advice in my head. "Go with your instincts" is all I could hear. So I did. Ian shook his head as I raised another thousand, knocking everyone into a fold except the big blind. We raised and reraised for another five thousand until it was time to show our cards.

Big Blind, whose twitch had escalated to painful-looking proportions, had a pair of Jacks.

Small Blind groaned and frantically picked his front teeth which made me wonder what he'd had. He didn't show us, though. He was the one I'd have to beat in the end, I guessed. Conservative players were always tough. Ian had removed his Ray-Ban aviators and looked at me like I was someone he'd never met before, but someone he definitely wanted to meet.

At the next break, which Kinkaid announced would be a half hour, we were invited to an apertif and cappuccino reception in an adjoining room. Our table was down to six, the neophyte, punk and silver toothpicker eliminated. Rhonda the Ruler had just been placed across from me when the bell rang.

Ian left his hat and sungla.s.ses at the table and came around to my chair, pulling it out for me. I introduced Ian and Rhonda and felt an undercurrent of-what?-perhaps dislike between them as Rhonda's lips drew in a line and Ian only nodded once, not his normal effusive self. Shrugging, I blew it off, as Rhonda was more uptight every time I saw her and Ian probably was a little torqued that I had beaten him at every hand but one.

"Would you like to join us?" I asked Rhonda.

She shook her head sharply. "I hate coffee and don't drink. I'm going to the ladies' room."

"You're a conservative player," I observed as Ian took my arm. "Which is often smart."

"You are an enigma who always wins," he said with a smile.

"Oh not always, just when I'm lucky."

"I am fascinated at how you use your mind, your heart, your gut in varying degrees with seemingly each bet. How do you decide which to listen to?"

"I couldn't tell you I have a formula. You'd have to get inside me to figure it out and let me know."

"Maybe I'll just do that," Ian said, with a small smile and an introspective look in his eyes as we entered the reception. He paused at a waiter to order me a creme de menthe. Good thing I liked them. He chose a Baileys Irish Cream for himself.

Suddenly I felt like I did when I was walking down our hallway from our cabin-as if attention was focused on me from out of my line of sight. The sensation seemed misplaced here in a room full of people. I looked around and saw Ringo standing in line for a cappuccino. He waved. I didn't think it had been my sungla.s.s pal giving me the heebie-geebies but I shrugged and walked toward him. A cruise employee, standing near Ringo, ducked his head and walked toward the door. Something about his walk seemed familiar. Was he the same employee I'd seen talking to the Marlboro Man earlier? I picked up my pace, Ian jogged to keep up. "What's the hurry?"

"I want to introduce you to my friend, Ringo." The cruise employee was almost to the door.

"Is Ringo going to run away if you don't catch him?" Ian asked.

"Wait!" I called to the employee, who didn't hear, or didn't want to wait. He disappeared out the door.

"Are you okay? Who were you calling to?" Ringo asked, putting a concerned hand on my arm as we made it to him.

"Long story," I answered.

Ian and Ringo both gave me raised eyebrow looks. I introduced them. "This is the psychologist I told you about, Ringo. Maybe he'll agree to consult on the column."

"What column?"

"Bee's asked me to do a column about sungla.s.ses and poker on her website. It's a really hot topic right now, the old-timers against wearing them versus the moderns who wouldn't be caught dead at the table without them, so it should be interesting. Annie Duke says to ban sungla.s.ses from all casinos. Phil Ivey claims to have lost a $100,000 pot because he wore sungla.s.ses and consequently misread his hand. There's a new faction claiming that sungla.s.ses dehumanize the game-make it more like an Internet game and less like an old brick-and-mortar game."

"That could be true," Ian said, well warm to the subject. I glanced out the door to see if my employee had reappeared. Nope.