Dimitar was out of the sunshine in Valencia and took no notice of the evening sunset that cast a deep pink hue across the sky. He was focused only on the cards in front of him, and for the next eight hours, he won. Thanks to Sam’s advice and the insider knowledge of several tells on his opponents, Dimitar ended his first night up by €152,000, leaving his bankroll just a thousand dollars short of half a million.
It had been three weeks and one day, and at midnight, with just six days remaining, Dimitar returned to his hotel room halfway to his month-long target.
But for now, he had other work to do. He moved the desk chair to the end of the desk. Only three feet, but it was enough for what he wanted to do. He cleared everything else off the desk and sat with the hotel notepad that came with the room at the opposite end of the desk to his chair.
He took the deck of cards that he’d purchased from the casino out of his pocket and sat in the chair. He removed the cards from the deck and threw the case on the bed. Then he took two cards between his index finger and middle finger and flicked them towards the notepad.
He missed by around a foot.
By the end of the deck, he had hit the notepad a couple of times. Not where he wanted, and not nearly quick enough. But he figured he had a week to practice and make it work for him. Dimitar picked up the cards that had fallen on the floor, or were scattered on the desk, or had fallen too short. He opened up his cell phone’s Notes app and wrote down how many cards had lodged underneath the notepad.
The number was zero.
The next day, Dimitar won just €50,000, but he continued to play the best poker he’d ever played. Sam’s tips for the players still held, but they were high rollers and learned to plug leaks quicker than the usual player Dimitar would play against in what felt like a previous life.
On Day Two in Valencia, Dimitar continued to practice flicking two cards towards the notepad. He worked at this for over two hours at the end of the evening in the privacy of his room. He had even quit the cash game action a little early to put in a little more practice at the desk while sitting in his chair. As he worked at this skill, his mind began to clear.
He thought about Elena, of course, but the more he did, the more he felt like she would cope with anything that came her way until he could get to Marseille.
The number of stars between them had reduced over the past week. It would be zero when he made it to the French coast.
That night, he went to bed after his best rotation. He’d landed 20 out of the 52 cards into the notepad. They stuck out at various heights, which wasn’t good enough, and they weren’t close together, but it was progress.
‘You are here again, young man,’ said the Spanish gentleman in seat three, known to the others as ‘Bronco,’ as Dimitar sat down. The local man was as wide as his chair and about as tall. He had long sideburns and a haircut that ran half a foot down his back. Over the first couple of days that Dimitar had played cash, he’d been there. On the first day, he was to Dimitar’s direct right. On Day 2, he had sat two spots to Dimitar’s left. On both days, the Bulgarian had made money from him.
‘Every day. I like it here.’
‘You like the weather?’
‘Sure.’
‘You’re wearing chainmail.’
The table laughed. He was referring to Dimitar’s gray sweater, which he’d worn at the casino each night.
‘That’s me, the white knight.’
‘You think you’re a hero?’
Dimitar thought about how he’d raced around Europe at the behest of his enemy.
‘I’m no hero.’
‘You can hero call, no?’
‘Sometimes it’s just the right call, Bronco.’
‘Oh, you speak like you know me. You know Bronco.’
‘I like you.’
‘I am undecided about you, chainmail.’
Dimitar knew from Sam that Bronco could take an aggressive line away from the poker itself. He knew that at this stage, three days in, Sam said that Bronco would either quit or go big. Day 3 was, therefore, painful for Dimitar because while he took from everyone else, he knew what he had to do.
A board of king-ten-seven led to Bronco betting big, which, on these sorts of flops, meant he was drawing, often with a combo. The turn brought a three, which matched the suit of the king. On the river, both the straight draw and flush draw fell short. Dimitar bet with his pocket sevens, which had flopped bottom set.
‘I raise, all-in.’ said Bronco. There was close to €280,000 on the table. But Dimitar knew that if he was to win the pot and take that money, he’d still be €300,000 short of what he needed to make. He also knew that the game would likely break because Bronco would first spoil the atmosphere and then make a big play about not returning to the casino. As Sam described it, he often did this for a week or so.
About the Author: Paul Seaton has written about poker for over 10 years, interviewing some of the best players ever to play the game such as Daniel Negreanu, Johnny Chan and Phil Hellmuth. Over the years, Paul has reported live from tournaments such as the World Series of Poker in Las Vegas and the European Poker Tour. He has also written for other poker brands where he was Head of Media, as well as BLUFF magazine, where he was Editor.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
