They woke mid-afternoon, having earned the kind of sleep only lovers do.
“Sammy, why do we meet like this?” Sofia asked as she sat at the gilt-edged make-up desk, blinking slowly into the mirror as she reapplied mascara.
“In Barcelona or in bed? I think we both know the reason we end up in bed together.”
There was an indescribable attraction between them, yet no desire to turn their obvious sexual chemistry into any kind of relationship. The situation suited them both. Neither of them ever felt a need to change it.
“Who invited you to the game, Sammy? Antonio?’
“Of course. What about you?”
“The same. So, there is no difference there. There must be a reason that he brought the others into the game, though.”
“I agree. I flew from London. You from Bulgaria, right?”
Sofia paused while powdering her nose, nodding. Her hair was already pulled back into the tight ponytail that acted as her centerpiece. She could feel Sam’s eyes watching her. She liked how it felt.
“But Carlos was local to Spain,” Sam went on. “He’s from Madrid. We both flew in a couple of days ago. Mo came from Algeria, I presume.”
“Algeria? He’s not Algerian. He told me he was from Saudi Arabia when we met at the game. Anyway, he was in Spain already. That’s what he was telling me when we got released.”
“I thought you just liked him.”
“Jealousy? Sammy, I’m flattered.”
“Not like that. I thought he seemed like a decent guy. But then he mentioned the business link and… I don’t know. There’s something about him.”
“I feel like I seen him before, Sammy. Like, on the news or something.”
Sofia perfected her look, putting hard edges on her naturally soft eyes, tightening and splaying her naturally loose hair. She slipped her petite feet into tall, pointed stilettos. Sam searched for Mo’s full name, but found far too many Google entries to whittle them down.
“Try putting Felix Jackson with him in the search, Sammy.”
Sam typed in the other name, and sure enough, the top entry was instantly recognizable. The headline was even more so.
“HIGH STAKES BUSINESS IS LIKE POKER –
ONE WRONG MOVE CAN BE YOUR LAST.”
The world of big business is just like a poker game. This week, all the chips were pulled out of a key for the future of cryptocurrency and ‘ghost’ investments.
By Michael Smith
New businesses are commonplace in the world of cryptocurrency and so-called ‘ghost’ investments of various companies and individuals. Famous for mushrooming up one minute and being chopped up the next, akin to the diminutive but adaptable vegetable, cryptos are the new universal currency in the next age of corporate trade.
This week saw a blow-up in the boardroom, in a deal led by Felix Jackson’s FTU Stocks brand. FTU built its fortune in the 1980s, investing in offshore vacation properties, only to sell up, quadrupling their assets with cryptocurrency, jumping in near the infancy of the now-booming digital coin.
Felix Jackson has a reputation as a volatile CEO who more than matches the markets he trades in. Jackson was unable to reach an agreement after an 11th-hour standoff reached window-shattering proportions – literally – with the Cairo-based company g1z4 (formerly Pyramid Holdings). After deciding to pull out from a two-company part-merger, Jackson provided scathing comments about his counterpart, Emir M. Hussain.
“I did not agree with the gentleman’s colleagues on the viability of transferring assets,” said Jackson to this reporter. “In particular, the numbers did not add up with relation to merger turnaround times. This is a fast-moving business, and time is literally money. The gentleman’s chief accountant would do well to make sure the numbers add up for both parties when speaking with moving targets.”
The chief accountant in question, Mohammed Soliman, was unavailable for comment after the meeting or in the following hours, as…
“This is massive,” Sam said after reading the article aloud to Sofia. She nodded.
“He had a reason to want revenge on him because he was blamed for losing business for his boss. Does Mohammed…”
“Mo. He told me to call him Mo,” said Sam.
“He told me he was from Algeria. He told you he was from Saudi Arabia. He’s Egyptian. I’m calling him Mohammed.”
Sofia was angry, and her Bulgarian accent came through whenever she got mad. Sam found it intoxicating. He sat up on the bed, and Sofia was jabbing her finger in his face.
“He had a reason to kill him, Sammy. More than anyone. Does he come here to kill Felix?”
“What about Carlos?” asked Sam. “He humiliated his brother and potentially ruined his poker career.”
“Who cares? Is that worse than losing that kind of money?! We need to talk to Mohammed at the casino. We only have a couple of hours; let’s get ready to find out whether Carlos or Mohammed wanted to kill Felix Jackson.”
Sam inched a little closer to Sofia. He looked at down her body and she looked down at his.
“We could use our time now to look up more of Mohammed’s business dealings.”
“Yes, Sammy…”
“Maybe even look up Carlos and his online poker results…”
“Yes, Sammy…”
They’d slept well, still had plenty of time and definitely had an inclination. Sofia suddenly looked very annoyed.
“What’s the matter?” said Sam with a smile, the one she could never resist.
“I’m going to have to do my make-up and hair all over again…”
* * *
Outside the hotel, the two conspirators met for a coffee. They could hear every word that Sam and Sofia were saying.
“Things are going to plan,” said the woman. “I’m impressed.”
“Just like I told you,” laughed the man. “The best bluff has to be believable from the very first move, but you must adapt along the way. The bug works well. They’re coming through loud and clear.”
“You knowing the hotel manager helps. Now we just need to watch and wait.”
The man took the AirPod out of his left ear. She wore the right one in hers. He sat back on the bench, watching the street artists.
“I don’t know him. I just blackmailed him. What are they saying – anything more?” he asked, stroking her arm tenderly as he watched a robotic silver-painted man jerking his joints around to music.
“They’re not saying any more words. You know what they are like from here.”
She stood up, pulling him up too.
“Come on. Casino Barcelona is often full. We need to find a seat at two different tables for this to work.”
“Yes. We’ve got some poker to play. I’m really looking forward to it.”
* * *
Sam and Sofia were finally ready for the casino after enjoying the hours before meeting with Carlos and Mohammed. They caught a taxi, their minds were fully focused on what they needed to do.
They pulled up outside Casino Barcelona, the taxi stopping at the end of the horseshoe-shaped bay. Sofia stepped out first. Sam paid. As they passed through the security checks, they saw Mo taking a call on the other side. He was partially shielded by the fruit machines between the entrance and the stairs to what was easily the poker room in southern Spain. Mo did not notice them.
Sofia and Sam exchanged a glance, a look up the stairs, and a nod, silently communicating their next steps.
Sofia breezed past Mo, waving at him. He absently waved back, hushing his voice until she had passed. Believing he was in the clear, he began talking again.
“It is all in the muck if they release him,” he whispered. “I need Antonio to be in jail for us to have a chance. Don’t you understand that? Yes, Garcia. I know. OK. Look, I must keep up appearances. Yes, yes. I must go.”
Mo nervously glanced toward the entrance, presumably looking for Sam, the last to arrive. Sam waited for Mo to disappear from sight and emerged from behind one of the fruit machines, aptly named Honey Hustle.
Sam held back for a few minutes before ascending the stairs to the Poker Room.
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.