In Hold’em, Big Julie’s game, strategy and skill were as important—maybe more important—than luck. And that’s what the uncles were here to help her with.
The dealer swept the cards into a pile, shuffled, and dealt.
This hand, Hope remembered the proper etiquette and left her cards on the table, just lifting the corners to see their number and suit. As she looked at them she spoke to the men. “I appreciate your time for this,” she said. “I know it’s got to be boring for you.”
“Embarrassing, is what it is,” Pete Wisniewski said.
“Yeah, the three-dollar table,” Weary said. “In public.”
Isaiah shook his head. “Could it get any worse?”
“You could lose,” Hope said, scowling at them. “You could lose to a girl.”
They all laughed.
“No chance of that, Little Hope,” Sharp Eddie said, grinning widely.
“The tutoring session is only for a short duration of time,” Jim Thickpenny said soothingly. “We can manage our obligations so that in effect we are engaging in a high-stakes poker vacation. We anticipate that we’ll enjoy the unique Vegas experience. And when you engage in your customary obligations, we’ll play some serious cards.”
Hope smiled at him fondly. Jim had never really gotten over being a politician. She glanced at her cards again, seeing a five of spades and a two of clubs. The only thing she could do with small, unsuited cards was fold, taking herself out of play and losing the chance to win the pot.
She tossed in her cards when her turn came.
She watched the play develop, trying to assess what the other players had and why they’d played their cards the way they did. She knew that on a given day, bad luck and bad cards could bring down a good player. But over time, a good player would make money playing cards because skill eventually and regularly trumped luck.
The dealer shoved the pot over to Marty.
“You looked at your cards twice,” he said. “And you had a bad hand. You didn’t look twice when you had a good hand. It’s too soon to know if that’s another tell, but watch out for that, Hope.”
“Maybe she should wear bracelets,” Isaiah suggested. “So that when she moves her hands, they’ll jingle and she’ll remember to hold still.”
“Good idea,” Pete Wisniewski said. “Maybe a hat, too. Or sunglasses. Something to hide the eyes.”
“Do my eyes give me away?” Hope asked.
“Not that we can see,” Sharp Eddie said. “Not yet. Just saying. Common problem. Eyes give away a lot of people. Eyes and hands.”
The dealer scooped up the cards and shuffled, and Hope sat back, waiting for her two cards. A skitter of nerves ran through her fingers. She had a lot to learn—and a lot to shop for—before she’d be ready to play Big Julie for the ranch.
But she’d get there if she had to work twenty-four hours a day and buy out Las Vegas’s entire stock of sunglasses, hats, and bracelets. Because she wasn’t letting a little thing like accessories keep her from getting the ranch back.
By late afternoon Tanner was slumped in a chair in the interview room of the FBI’s Las Vegas bureau, watching his future fade before his eyes. After the last time he’d worked for the agency, he’d hoped he’d never have to do another job for these hapless twerps. FBI demands didn’t come often, but when they came he could never say no. Today his luck had run out, so here he was. Deep in the belly of the beast, with no chance of getting out or getting off.
“Face it, Wingate,” Special Agent Roy Frelly said to him now. “We got you.” He sat across from Tanner and leaned back in satisfaction. He was a big guy, with a spongy pot belly, beefy shoulders, heavy jowls, and short hair gone gray. Judging from his appearance, he was looking at retirement in two weeks at the most.
He’s showing extreme confidence, Tanner thought. Can’t be good.
“Yeah, I’m unclear exactly what you think you’ve got,” he said. Where the hell was his lawyer? He’d called Jack a half-hour ago. But maybe traffic had held him up. Traffic could be a killer any time of day.
“We got a gig for you,” agent Lee Gauger said. He was shorter, stringier, and younger than Frelly, but his hair was just as short, his confidence just as annoying. “You’ll love it, because you love cheating at poker.”
“I haven’t cheated in almost twenty years, which you know,” Tanner said, wondering what the agents wanted and not