For as long as the night was, the morning was that short.
The jail cell wasn’t nearly as dark and foreboding when Sam woke from a fitful sleep. The shadowy gloom of early morning had been replaced by brilliant sunlight. As the sun lit the room, Sam’s mood brightened accordingly. He rose, rubbing his head and cursing the quality of the mattress he’d just endured.
The fact remained that he hadn’t killed Felix Jackson. He hadn’t stolen Antonio’s Picasso drawing nor had he done anything else that might be considered illegal. They’d played an underground poker game, but as much as it was private, it posed no risk to anyone else. It was a home game, just with the kind of buy-in that might have made people around the world blink profusely, considering the amount of money at stake.
That was another thing – the money. Sam’s buy-in would be frozen. Eventually, Antonio would need to return all their entry fees, apart from Felix Jackson’s. But what would happen to Sam’s money? As he pondered on this, he was disturbed by the steel bolt sliding across the door from outside his cell. A meaty hand belonging to a Spanish guard pushed open the door, letting a second policeman into the cell. It was not Garcia, last night’s investigating detective.
“Mister Hoo-stone,” said the unfamiliar officer, glancing down at a list in his hand. “I have spoken to Detective Garcia and you are free to go. Please do not leave the city. We may need to speak to you again, but for now, you may return to your hotel. You are staying at the Majestera?”
“Yes. I mean, si, senor,” said Sam, rubbing his head.
“Then we shall contact you there if you are required. If you were due to leave the country, then cancel your ticket.”
“What about my money?” Sam asked the officer, but the query fell on deaf ears as the officer turned on his heels, leaving the cell guard standing idly by the door waiting for Sam to gather his clothes. The night had been uncomfortably hot and Sam had taken off his light jacket, shoes, and trousers in an attempt to get comfortable. As undignified as it felt to dress in front of his jailor, Sam pulled on his slacks, slipped on his shoes, and zipped up his jacket. The guard moved from the doorway and Sam followed him to the front counter, where Sam reclaimed his possessions with the exception of more than half-million dollars.
Well, this was one way of getting them to stay in town Sam thought. The funds couldn’t be freed up until someone admitted to the murder and the burglary. The police were funny like that.
When Sam got outside, the sun felt almost painfully bright. Bereft of sleep, Sam was finding his bearings when he recognized another man being shown out of the police station behind him. It was Carlos, the young aggressive player from the game.
“They let you out too, huh?” Sam asked.
“They let all us out. Only not Antonio, he still inside.”
“Antonio? Why him?”
“He bought the drawing. He knew how much is worth. And he make the game. He bring us here. Must be for this.”
“But he was showing us that the drawing was missing when Felix still had all of his blood inside his body. We turned around and Felix was dead.”
“All I say is don’t trust Antonio as much like you do.”
“What do you mean? You played in the game too. You must trust him.”
“No. I play Antonio in other game in Spain. He was no nice to play. He take every angle. I watch him, I was waiter. I was still learning the game. But he took a young man for every penny as you say in England.”
“I’m American.”
“Every cent. He took the shirts off his back then leave him to rot. He cleaned him out and walk away. This is no man. I swore I would not be this boy.”
“You knew the man he did this to?”
“He was my brother,” said Carlos, his square jaw flexing. “Five years ago.”
“You learn quick,” said Sam, genuinely impressed that Carlos could become a proficient high-stakes player within that time. “Where is your brother now?”
“Back home, Madrid. He do not play poker now. I do. I was taking his money back. Now I cannot if he kill the Felix man. Why he did it last night? I would win the game.”
“We all had a chance. Even Felix. Poker is a mixture of luck and skill. Unless you know of any angles I wasn’t taking when I took the lead?”
Carlos stood implacably in the midday sun. The rays seemed to bounce off his tanned skin. His hair was starting to get sticky with the sweat that was running down his brow, but it didn’t look like he noticed or even cared.
“You not be the winning.” Carlos said with an air of finality that Sam thought was unwarranted.
“Maybe, if we have to stick around in this city for a few days, we should play again. Have you ever play cash at Casino Barcelona?”
“I think I play higher than you.”
Almost in frustration at the antagonistic atmosphere emanating from Carlos, Sam looked behind them at the police station doors.
Out into the sunlight walked Mohammed and Sofia. They were chatting like two friends who had just enjoyed a coffee and a slice of cake, rather than having spent a night in the drab and uncomfortable jail cells. Sofia slipped her arm into Mohammed’s as they almost literally bumped into Carlos and Sam.
“You guys are released too?” asked Mohammed. He was actually smiling, which took Sam a little by surprise. A man was dead.
“We just got out,” said Sam. “Not soon enough. The bed was almost as bad as the floor.”
“I am used to better,” said Sofia, glancing up at the sun before flicking on a pair of sunglasses that cost more than any of the men’s outfits.
“Carlos was just telling me he plays cash at Casino Barcelona. Might I suggest we meet?” said Sam.
“To play?” inquired Mohammed.
“Of course, Mohammed?”
“Please, call me Mo.”
“All right, Mo. When the game was broken up early last night, I was well ahead. Young Carlos here thinks it has nothing to do with my skill. It would be helpful for us all to talk about what happened. If Antonio killed Felix Jackson, then he did it with an incredible display of sleight of hand that I didn’t see, and I don’t miss much. I don’t think any of us do. But if he didn’t…”
“Then one of us must have keeled him?” said Sofia, her accent cutting through the central word. She wrinkled her nose.
The question hung in the air, and none of them had the answer. They all agreed to play at Casino Barcelona. They either audibly swapped numbers or bumped phones and arranged to meet when evening rolled around.
“Until then, rest well,” said Carlos as he left, rather aimlessly, crossing the road one way, then the other, before wandering off towards the restaurants Barcelona is famed for. Sofia hailed a cab and bade Mo and Sam farewell, leaving them on the corner.
“I’ve never played with any of you before, but I was enjoying the game,” he said in a quiet voice that seemed inappropriate. Mo didn’t seem a loud or brash man like Felix, but, to Sam, there was always a feeling that Mo was acting or speaking within himself.
“I was too. You play a lot in other cities?”
“Not really. I’m a businessman. I move chips around in offices, not at poker tables, but I love the game.”
“Felix was a businessman too, right?”
Mo suddenly went very quiet. He knew what he was being asked.
“He was. I had met him through some mutual contacts and some deals, but I’d never played poker with him. I don’t think I’m ever been in the same room as him. Believe it or not, as a face on the screen, he was an OK guy.”
Mo hailed the next cab while Sam preferred the fresh air and walked back to the hotel. On the way, he called Twigs to update her on what happened.
“I’m going to be here for a few days longer,” he said. “There’s something weird about the guy. Everyone seems to have a reason to kill him apart from me… and Sofia.”
“Maybe she does and you just don’t know it yet.”
“Great, so there’s me and four killers in a room playing poker for millions of dollars. I’m starting to miss The Vic.”
“Look, you can take their money when you get home. But you’ve got to get home. I’ll take a look into this Felix Jackson guy for you, try to find out a bit more about him. You know Hunter, he’s an amateur detective if someone moves our recycling bin.”
“Thanks Twigs. I’ll call you.”
Sam was mentally exhausted and physically shattered. He’d traveled the world playing poker against the best of the best for days on end without tiring out, but one night in a police cell was more than enough to do him in. He spent the rest of his walk musing on why and how so many people with a motive to kill Felix Jackson had ended up at the same table. He needed to speak with Sofia, the only player other than Antonio he’d met before.
When he arrived at his hotel room, Sam was weary. He swiped the key and stepped inside. There, on the soft cotton sheets, Sofia was waiting for him. She was wearing an outfit that would steer that natural flow away from any intelligent conversation.
“Sammy,” she purred as she crawled towards him, “we need to have a talk, but… something else first.” Sofia’s voice trailed off and Sam let the door swing shut, a smile finally finding its way to his face in Barcelona.
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.