Sam walked the short distance to the venue. It was a private room inside a building that was itself part of a gated community. The color and vibrant nature of Barcelona faded behind each façade as the number of buildings grew. By the time he arrived, Sam needed to look up in order to see the sky. Security was tight, but Sam had been to a few games over the past couple of years and one of the security guards recognised him. The guard welcomed Sam like an old acquaintance, but still checked his passport, driver’s license and belongings thoroughly.
It wasn’t a quick scan. One guard stayed with Sam at the tall, barred gate while the other went back inside a small adjacent hut . The gate was buzzed open to let Sam in and was closed behind him. While it would appear that all of this security was frivolous and it was unlikely that something would happen at the game, the venue did not take chances. Sam knew, as he waited on the inside of the gate that he could just as easily be going back through it in moments.
A few minutes later, the second guard brought back Sam’s passport and handed it back.
“Enjoy el juego… the game, señor,” he said in a mixture of Spanish and English. Sam thanked him and walked toward the private building which was typically Spanish, thick stucco-clad white walls rising to flawless ornamentation under a sloping roof, peaking high in the sky. The residence would have cost at least €4 million. Sam had considered buying one like it, but London appealed more as a travel hub and for the presence of his friends.
Walking through the courtyard, Sam slowed his breathing and took his time before entering the building. Inside, he was guided upstairs with a curt nod from the obsequiously silent doorman, Miguel, who doubled as the dealer. The distinct click of a deadbolt falling into place hit Sam’s ears, followed by the rhythmic footsteps of someone who knew how to not be noticed. Miguel followed him, the building now locked down.
On the third floor, there was a set of double doors. Sam pushed them open and walked into the lounge area with an open-doored dining room to its right. He passed on the offer of a cocktail from an attractive waitress and headed straight into the dining room.
“Well, if it isn’t NASA.”
Antonio, the game’s host, rose from his seat and beckoned Sam over despite the presence of the other four players comfortably seated at the table.
Antonio was not a tall man, but what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in personality. His booming voice entered a room before he did, and with a russet glow to his portly face and hair like springs shooting out of his head in every direction, he was a colorful character who livened up any game of poker. He called Sam the same name every time, but then, so did everyone.
Sam walked around the ornate custom-made poker table which could comfortably seat nine players. But this cash game – as it always was in Barcelona – would only have six players.
‘I love what you’ve done to this room. It’s different – a new table?’
“A new everything, my friend,” Antonio smiled and his eyes sparkled with delight knowing his original and unique stylings were enjoyed by his friends. “The table is nice, yes, yes, but you must look at this!”
Antonio walked Sam to the back of the room where several paintings adorned the warm, red walls. They were by known artists, and valuable, but they bordered the centerpiece of a glass cabinet roughly four meters wide. This was the star attraction.
“I’ve been spending my hard-earned winnings on artwork. It is a new passion of mine,” said Antonio. Inside the cabinet were what looked to Sam like a few childlike attempts at pottery. The name plaques that sat below each piece heralded ‘artwork by Hervé Vilachevon.’
“These seem…” Sam searched for the right word that would not offend his friend and host, “different.” Antonio threw an arm around Sam’s shoulder, laughing as he did so.
“You don’t appreciate this art?” he bellowed. “You have been in London too long, eating too many fishes and chips. He is one of the most talented artists in Barcelona. Not so successful yet, but he will be.”
Sam cast his eye across the rest of the objet d’art that were encased under the glass. There were a few items rendered in jade, a couple of pieces of jewelry that sparkled in the overhead light, but in the middle of the case, set against blue felt was a small postcard-sized drawing in black ink on blotting paper. The sketch was of a man sitting in a chair, with a crown falling from head as the chair tipped up due to his weight. The man was leaning to catch the crown as it fell through the air, and had been captured in the instant before it was clear whether he would be successful or not.
‘Is it… is that?’ Sam tried to ask, his voice trembling slightly. The four other faces in the room broke into smiles as they looked at him. Antonio answered.
“It’s a Picasso.” He nodded, with a smile that stretched across his face, very nearly touching his ears. Sam turned to look at the other guests, then back to the art. It was simply done, just a few lines having made it onto the paper, but it was a thing of immaculate beauty.
“I’ve got to ask,” said Sam, moving back to the table. He felt a little light-headed, so remarkable was the drawing. Sitting in his seat, he got his answer from Sofia.
“$3.2 million at last auction,” she uttered in her clipped American English. “Antonio, you bought it privately?”
“I did. It was good value, but it cost a little more. It’s priceless. One of his drawings – not as nice as mine – went for $10 million last year in Madrid. It’s an investment.”
“It’s stunning. So we play for it tonight, Antonio?” asked Sofia. Everyone laughed. It was very much her style to joke about such matters. The heiress from Bulgaria had no need to make money, entitled to a fortune when her father died. Unfortunately for her bank balance, her 85 year old father showed no signs of slowing down, still running four separate businesses. Until such a time when he wasn’t able to, Sofia was happy to skip around the world using poker as the excuse to travel. To her, poker was a plaything, but she was good at the game. Sam always said if she treated the game more seriously, she could be really good.
Antonio found Sofia funny, but there was no way the wily old campaigner was putting his pride and joy up for grabs – yet. He laughed it off.
“Maybe if you’re winning big. Or losing big,” said Carlos, the youngest of the group. The 24-year-old Madrid-based pro played an aggressive brand of poker and cut a large figure at the table – literally. Just shy of two meters tall, Carlos looked like he spent a significant amount of time in the gym. He was nicknamed ‘The Train’ because once he got going, he was extremely hard to stop. That, combined with an indefatigable energy, he could easily keep going through the night. He was no sleeper, preferring to get into the lead and bully others with his stack.
Cash games would normally decree that there was a minimum and maximum buy-in, but Antonio’s games were private and had no need for a casino’s restrictive house rules. Everyone was required to buy-in for the same amount — €500,000. The money had to be cleared and in Antonio’s account before play, with bank permissions for any re-entries that players set up prior to the game. This information was available to all of the players within 24 hours from the start of the game.
“Is everyone ready to play?” Antonio asked, his arms wide, every inch the gregarious host. Assertions were made around the room and Sam sat down to join his tablemates, as did Antonio.
The poker table was stunning. Mahogany carved into an oval with a red felt overlay, perfectly fitted to the table top, with carved round alcoves designed to hold drinks in front of each player. The four table legs looked like the trunks of oak trees, the wood carved with the texture of bark.
Looking to the floor, Sam noticed that Antonio’s usual deep beige carpet had been removed from the room, presumably while he was redecorating. In its place, two overlapping rugs sat beneath the ornate table, presumably to protect the floor before being replaced with a single carpet that would complement the mahogany.
It set Sam off to reminisce of the dinners back in New York City, when his mother and father were between cities in a rented home. Back then, a plate of haute cuisine from one of the Big Apple’s best restaurants might be set upon a folding table with a pile of boxes in the corner ready for a forthcoming relocation. Sam blinked away the memory. It was a lifetime ago, before he lost them both.
Antonio’s voice brought Sam back from his reverie, “The game is No Limit Hold’em. We’re at €1,000 and €2,000 blinds. Is everyone happy with a €4,000 straddle?”
Sam nodded, and Sofia cheerily waved a hand in the direction of the host, diamonds glittering on a bracelet around her wrist that probably cost more than the money on the table – €3 million between the six players.
“I’m happy,” Carlos said as he tossed four €1,000 chips into the pot from the straddle position at the table. Sam was in the big blind, and he tossed two €1,000 chips into the center of the table. Sofia sat to his right in the small blind, and she tossed in one chip of the same denomination.
Antonio looked to the other two players. One was a tall, thin gentleman with skin the color of caramel and eyes of a slightly deeper brown. It was impossible to guess his age; he could have been 30 or 50. Sam watched as the man looked down at his stack of chips, counting them with his eyes in a matter of a second.
“This is acceptable,” he said.
The other player was an overweight middle-aged American man with a pear-like figure. He had a small head that appeared to widen as he waddled to the table, which sat under the muffin top of his midriff, which was the width of a small cow. In a confident and brash tone, he replied, “Sure. If that’s your limit. I’m Felix by the way, NASA. Ready for take-off?”
The man surveyed his opponents with a cool, calculating gaze, his chubby fingers drumming nervously on the felt surface impatiently. Despite his bravado, Felix looked to Sam like he was feeling the pressure, like this was a make-or-break game for him, financially or in some other way, as if a single misstep could cost him everything.
“Always,” said Sam. “Nice to meet you, Felix.”
Sam looked down at the first two hole cards of the game and saw the two one-eyed jacks – spades and hearts – winking back at him implacably. Antonio eased himself into his seat and raised his glass to five opponents who didn’t reciprocate.
“Let’s play some cards.”
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.