Christopher Pike - 03 Red Dice by Christopher Pike

Author:Christopher Pike
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-09-29T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

I sit at a poker table trying to bluff a high roller from Texas into folding. The game has been going on awhile. There is one hundred thousand dollars in cash and chips on the table. His hand is better than mine. Yaksha’s mind-reading gift has grown more powerful in me—I can now see the man’s cards as if viewing them through his eyes. He has three aces, two jacks—a full house. I have three sixes—Satan’s favorite number. He has the winning hand.

The Texan wears leather cowboy boots, a five-gallon hat. The smoke from his fat cigar does not irritate my eyes. He blows a smelly cloud my way as if to intimidate me. I smile and match his last bet, then raise him another fifty thousand. We are enjoying a private game, in a luxurious corner of the casino, where only fat cats hang out Three other men sit with us at the table, but they have since folded. They follow the action closely—they all know each other. The Texan will not like to be humiliated in front of them.

“You must have a royal flush, honey child,” he says. “Betting the way you do.” He leans across the table. “Or else you got a sugar daddy paying your bills.”

“Honey and sugar,” I muse aloud. “Both like me.” I add, sharpening my tone, “But I pay my own bills.”

He laughs and slaps his leg. “Are you trying to bluff me?”

“Maybe. Match my bet and find out”

He hesitates a moment, glancing at the pot. “The action is getting kind of heavy. What do you do, child, to have so much dough? Your daddy must have given it to you.”

He is trying to ascertain how important the money is to me. If it means a lot, in my mind, then I will be betting heavily only if I have an unbeatable hand. Leaning across the table, I stare him in the eye, not strong enough to fry his synapses but hard enough to shake him. I don’t like being called a child. I am five thousand years old after all.

“I earned every penny of it,” I tell him. “The hard way. Where did you get your money, old man?”

He sits back quickly, ruffled by my tone, my laser vision. “I earned it by honest labor,” he says, lying.

I sit back as well. “Then lose it honestly. Match my bet or fold. I don’t care which. Just quit stalling.”

He flushes. “I’m not stalling.”

I shrug, cool as ice. “Whatever you want to call it, old man.”

“Damn you,” he swears, throwing his cards down. “I fold.”

My arms reach out and rake in the money. They’re all staring at me. “Oh,” I say. “I bet you’re wondering what I had? But you’re all too professional to ask, aren’t you?” I stand and start to stuff the cash and chips in my purse. “I think I’ll call it a night.”

“Wait right there,” the Texan says, getting up. “I want to see those cards.”

“Really? I thought you had to pay to see them.

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