The ship was almost full by the time they arrived in Southampton. The docks, coated in a late afternoon sheen of light rain, were lit up by the re-emerging sunshine.
‘If you need me, just call. Anything but a buy-in.’ Sam said.
Dimitar subconsciously touched the money in his pocket. It felt unnaturally heavy.
‘I really appreciate your help. I could not have gotten this far without you.’
‘You have a long way to go – €30,000 is great but you need to remember what we said – and no more private games. You need to get to Marseille with enough to take him on.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘We can’t think about that right now. If it looks like you won’t make it, then we’ll think about calling the authorities.’
‘We can’t do that. He said he’d kill her. I saw him after he’d killed his wife. The man doesn’t care.’
‘He cares about something – control. For now, we have to play along with him – or rather, you do. There’s a good game on this ship. I’d say call me, but you know what the signal will be like. I’ll be helping in other ways from here.’
‘You’ve already helped so much. I owe you. Sofia will be so thankful.’
‘Then it’s worth any effort I can make. I’ll keep on at Twiggy. Maybe her friend can find some trace on Serf and how he’s travelling to Marseille.’
‘Thank you.’
The two men shook hands, and Dimitar boarded The Ambassador. The ship was bound for the South Coast of France, stopping at several ports around the east coast of France, Spain, and Portugal before docking in a week’s time. By then, half of the month will have elapsed, and if he wasn’t at the half-a-million-dollar mark, then there may not be a way to save Elena.
‘Bon voyage!’ Sam shouted from the port as Dimitar climbed the last few steps onto the deck. He smiled at his friend as he surveyed the ship. Built for pleasure, this ship would be Dimitars route to money over the next week. The €30,000 split between his pocket and travel bag was a lot of money. But so were the thousands in booking fees and spending money that Sam had helped him with – the cruise alone cost £2,000.
Dimitar waved to Sam as the sun started to dip beneath the coastline, the sky flame-red on the horizon. Dimitar noticed another man watching him a few metres down from Sam on the dock. He recognized his face from the golf course poker tournament and his bedroom window in the early hours of the previous morning.
Jeremy Rundle.
*
Peter Serf glanced down at his phone as it chimed, disturbing his perfectly calm journey in the Business Class carriage.
‘Travelling by boat. Ambassador ship. J.’
A link followed, and Serf clicked it. A web page opened that detailed every stop Dimitar’s ship would make on his sea voyage around Eastern Europe.
‘Seems your friend is a little more perceptive than I thought… or maybe he had help.’ says Serf, turning to Elena, who sat to his right at the table, offering a picturesque view of France. Their feet rested on the thick crimson carpet, and the carriage was almost deserted – only an older couple sitting 20 meters away and a single businessman half-asleep clutching a brown suitcase. They were only a few minutes from coming to a stop, the signs for Paris Gare Du Nord station sliding slowly past the train’ window.
‘Let’s not talk about Dimitar. I thought you wanted to come to Paris for you and me.’ reminded Elena, a thin smile on her face that never quite reached her eyes.
‘As you say. According to Jeremy, he is on a ship bound for Marseille. Our little parlour game worked. I’m indebted to you for your crossword clue, my dear.’
Elena thought about her father at that moment and how Serf was actually indebted to him, the man whose daughter he smuggled out of a hospital after she had been stabbed. Elena touched the wound. It was hard, the blood scabbing well, her recovery more mental than physical now.
Her strength was returning.
The Champs-Élysées is stunning in the afternoon sunshine as they walked to the centre of it. To the people around them, they look either like father and daughter or lovers in ignorant bliss of an age gap. Elena could run. She could find the nearest member of le gendarme, but where would it get her? They might not believe her or Serf could have people in the French authorities working for him like he had in Britain.
Her mind drifted back to the body on the floor of the hotel room. The cold manner in which Serf disposed of the body. The bags, the blood…
‘Have you been to Paris before?’
‘Never.’ The question pulled Elena out of her thoughts, ‘I wanted to come on the school trip, but my parents could not afford to pay for me. Now I am here with a man who can afford anything.’
‘Almost anything.’ Serf says with a smile. ‘I can’t buy happiness. I came here with my wife for our fifth anniversary. We stood under this monument and whispered our own private vows. We swore our undying love in the same place we enjoyed our honeymoon. I would have been happy to stand by those words. But she wasn’t.’
‘It is beautiful, though,’ Elena says. ‘Permanent.’
‘The Champs-Élysées?’
‘Yes. And love is too. If it with the right person.’
‘I worked too hard during my marriage. Whenever we took a holiday, I was either on a business call or I let her do whatever she wanted as… compensation. That’s not the way to be. Did you find the right person in Georgi… or Dimitar?’
‘I don’t have that choice to make anymore, do I?’ said Elena.
‘At least you have someone to choose… if he starts winning, that is. I don’t have the one I want any more.’
Serf stared up at the ceiling of the magnificent arch. Elena looked at him, wondering how crazy it drove him to discover that his wife wasn’t the person he married. How much anger is tightly wound inside him, and whether it will spool free.
Her thoughts drifted back to running. Serf would catch her.
She thinks about alerting the authorities. Maybe Serf would have Dimitar killed.
Instead, while Dimitar was playing the long game, slowly making his way on a boat to catch up with her fast train journey across France, Elena reflected on his words. He always said that poker was a long game—you didn’t win or lose in a single day; you just gained experience and sometimes got paid for it. With this in mind, she knew what she needed to do. Elena reached out for Peter’s hand and interlocked her fingers with his.
Serf looked back to her from the Champs-Élysées, he smiled a sad smile. A single teardrop started to roll down his cheek before he had the chance to wipe it away.
Elena smiled back at him – let’s play the long game.
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.