Against The Odds (Anna Dawson #1) (16 page)

My hand reached for my horseshoe pendant. I tapped it three times then rang the doorbell. The door opened immediately, as if someone had been standing at the door, waiting on me.

“Hello,” I said to a small Asian man. “I’m Anna Dawson. I hope I’m not too late.”

“They have started already,” is all he said, then stood back from the door and waved me past him.

“Are you Mr. Stankowski?” I asked figuring the chances of that were pretty slim.

“No. I am Mr. Lee. I host these gatherings for Mr. Stankowski,” he said as he took the lead, winding his way down a long hallway and into a large, beautifully furnished room. Opulent, yes, but still very livable. Warm colors. Great textures. Lorelei would have loved it.

Mr. Lee led me to a gorgeous dining room table at the far end of the room. From this view I could see where the men were playing cards.

It was in the circular, glass room that extended over the hill. The poker table was abnormally large, and was the exact angle of the room as though it had been specially made to fit.

I was really starting to like Mr. Stankowski. At least until he tried to win my money.

From here I could see eight players, five of them with their backs to me. I would make nine. I liked a table of nine or ten for a high stakes game best. It gave you more time than a smaller table to get the feel, find your pace.

And more people whose money you could win.

“How many chips do you wish to purchase, Ms. Dawson?” Mr. Lee asked.

I realized he had Carla’s job, though without the
People
magazine.

“What did the others buy in with?” I asked.

He looked at me as though I asked for privileged information. He then looked me over from top to bottom, probably wondering how I’d found my way into these hallowed halls.

I liked Mr. Stankowski’s taste in houses and décor, but not so much in his game-runners. I’d have to remember to tell Carla how much better she was than this guy.

Assuming Pitt covered the point spread tomorrow and I’d be allowed back into one of Vince’s games.

Thinking of that slumbering giant back at the Omni, I smiled and said to snobby Mr. Lee, “I asked what the others bought in for.”

He sniffed and grudgingly said, “Thirty thousand.”

Shit. I hadn’t brought enough. These were bigger fish than I’d thought. These guys weren’t pros and they played monthly at these stakes?
 

There was some money to be made in Pennsylvania.

“I’ll take twenty thousand in chips, please,” I said. Mr. Lee didn’t even try to hide his smirk and right then I vowed I’d watch that smirk slip away when I cashed out the majority of the chips by the end of the night.

I handed my money over to him, still in the envelope Lorelei had put in my desk drawer. He counted out nineteen-five in chips and put the other five hundred to the side.

The cut for Mr. Lee. Five hundred times nine players; a forty-five hundred dollar night for answering the door, cashing chips and making sure everybody’s drink glasses were filled. Plus whatever Mr. Stankowski paid him on the side.

Not a bad gig.

I looked down at the table and saw a waiter, filling drinks, asking the players if they’d like anything to eat.

Mr. Lee didn’t even have to fill the drinks himself. Hell, even Carla closed her magazine, got off her ass and filled up my Diet Coke for me on occasion.

He put my chips in a tray, carried them himself—I was paying for some service after all, it seemed—and led me down the steps, across the sunken, sumptuous living room and to the circular alcove.

“Gentlemen,” he said, and waited for the men to stop talking. Like he was announcing me at a ball, he said, “May I present Ms. Anna Dawson.”

I’d decided to use my real name on the off chance that one of these players would recognize me as a pro. I didn’t want them to think I was trying to put one over on them.

“Ms. Dawson,” a robust man said as he got up from the table and headed toward me. “I’m Ralph Stankowski. Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you. It’s a beautiful home, Mr. Stankowski. I was admiring it from below. I’m afraid that’s why I’m late, I’d wanted to take the Incline up, but didn’t realize it shut down for the evenings.”

“Damn, I wished I would have known that, I have a private key for one of them, I could have gotten you up here lickety-split.” Probably in his early sixties, his face was as round as his body—not necessarily fat, but definitely round. His smile was genuine, as was his disappointment for me that I hadn’t gotten to ride in his Incline.

I smiled at him, instantly liking the older man. But then, after the boys, I had a partiality for old men.
 

No, not in that way.

“Well, we’ll be sure you get down the Mount in an Incline,” he said, leading me to the empty seat.

“I might have to take you up on it, sir,” I said. “You gentlemen don’t look like the type to even leave the loser with cab fare.”

The men all laughed and whatever uneasiness there might have been about a woman joining the group was gone. They knew I knew there’d be no concessions made to a woman at this table.

I wouldn’t expect any.

“Mr. Stankowski, I—”

“Ralph. Ralph. Please call me Ralph,” he said, taking my chips from Mr. Lee and putting them in front of the only empty seat at the table, then shooing Mr. Lee away with a bit of a scowl, raising my estimation of Ralph Stankowski.

“Ralph. I appreciate you letting me sit in on your game. It’s nice to be able to play when I’m away from home.”

“And where is home, exactly, Ms. Dawson?” the man directly to my right asked.

“Las Vegas,” I said. “By way of Wisconsin,” I added, hoping that at some point in the night it might bring up talk of the Packers and that could lead to talk of the Steelers.
 

But the men were much more fixated on the Las Vegas part of my heritage. One man even leaned forward. “Las Vegas? So you must play poker a lot?”

I liked Ralph enough that I was totally candid. “I’m a professional player.”

There was some murmuring amongst them. I thought I heard a, “I thought that was her”. I didn’t know whether they’d take exception to my joining their game or not. Some private players like the idea of playing with a pro, beating a pro. It gave them bragging rights.

“Shuffle up and deal,” the player on my right said, deciding my fate.

“Anna, let me introduce you to our regular players,” Ralph said and did the introductions with six of the other players. All were men about Ralph’s age, all had the look of money about them. Of course, they wouldn’t be here if they couldn’t afford it.

I paid close attention to the names, committing them to memory, so that I could pass them on to the authorities if I believed any of them to be the big loser from Superbowl Thirteen.

I wasn’t expecting to get that lucky. I was just hoping that this circle of high rollers would have heard of the man who supposedly lost so much that year. Pittsburgh wasn’t
that
large of a city.

Ralph finally got to the last player, one I hadn’t noticed until now, and I realized keeping track of names wouldn’t be necessary.

“And this is a new player too,” Ralph said, almost suspiciously. “Danny Lowenstein.” He waved his arm to indicate the man who sat in the seat that would be directly across from me.

The man stood, walked around the table and came to a stop directly in front of me. “Ms. Dawson, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m a big fan of yours.”

My poker face firmly in place, I stuck out my arm. “Thank you, Mr. Lowenstein,” I said in a crisp voice as I shook hands with Jack Schiller.

Chapter Thirteen

R
ight away I knew I couldn’t win tonight. Not because the players were that good, although a couple of them were.

No, I couldn’t win because Jack and I were two new people at their table. If either one of us walked away a big winner they’d smell a scam. And they’d be right, but not for the reasons they’d think. But that didn’t mean I had to lose, either.

Let Jack hold up that end.
Danny Lowenstein
. I didn’t know whether to read his name choice as an homage or a bad omen for the night.

Once we were all seated, a waiter came around and took drink orders, a few players at a time. The man on Jack’s right ordered bourbon, and when it was put down next to Jack I saw the hungry look he gave it.

“Coke,” he said to the waiter. He looked across the table at me. I didn’t know what he expected to see. Acknowledgement of his sacrifice? Censure? Applause?

He’d get none of them from me. I intended to totally block him out for the evening. I admit, I was miffed that he’d had the same idea I’d had about getting to know the high-rollers of Pittsburgh. Not relying on phone calls to Pittsburgh’s finest—fine as they may be.

I should be proud that my instincts were dead on, but the competitor in me was just plain irked.

Introductions done, drinks ordered, we settled in for some poker. The first hour was mostly silent as the players got the lay of the land. The regulars feeling out the new players. Jack and I testing the others in a couple of hands.

I think Jack bluffed a couple of times, but I wasn’t sure—and that fact alone impressed me. And pissed me off even more.

I quickly concluded that these guys knew what they were doing. And I also got the feeling that once again there was more to Jack Schiller than I had guessed.

When everybody relaxed, and conversation started, it was taken up by the fact that a pro was amongst them. I answered the usual questions I do when playing with amateurs who might not have played with a pro before: What’s the most I ever won at one time? How did I get started? What’s the most I ever lost at one time? Is Phil Hellmuth really as big of an asshole as he appears?

I told a couple of good inside stories about players they would have seen on television. The men seemed to loosen up around me, and at about that time Jack won a large pot.

“So, Danny, where ya from?” Ralph asked Jack as most of the men’s attention turned to him, the only unknown left at the table. The one pulling a good deal of their chips to his side of the table. “When my buddy called to get you a seat at our table he just said you were in investments and from Seattle.”

“Portland,” Jack said.
 

“Right, right, Portland,” Ralph said. “My mistake.”

But it wasn’t a mistake. Ralph was trying to trip Jack up. Sure, there had to be more important crimes going on in Pittsburgh than a bunch of guys playing poker. But, this was an illegal game for a lot of money. Ralph was just trying to make sure he was on the up and up.

Jack had no intention of busting up the game, but that didn’t mean he was who he said he was.

Suddenly, I was very grateful that I’d told Jimmy to have his “guy” stick to the truth about my identity. Keeping track of lies while playing poker—its own set of lies at times—was more than I could handle after a JoJo escapade.

“Although,” Jack said as he folded his cards to my raise, not even throwing a glance my way. “I’ve been in Portland only a couple of years. I’m originally from the Bay area.”

He said this with a hint of taunt in his voice, but I wasn’t sure why.

“A Raiders fan,” one of the other men—Herman somebody—asked. It wasn’t a question, and there was evident disgust in his voice.

“Yes, sir,” Jack said. “And proud of it.” He smiled and I allowed myself to appreciate the sight. He smiled so seldom, and when he did…dangerous.

There were catcalls and boos across the table and then it hit me.
 

The Patriots were the archrival of the Steelers these days, but these guys were all older and back in the day, nobody hated each other more than the Steelers and the Raiders.

Jack was probably from the Bay area like Botz was from Philly, which is to say not at all. But discussion went to talk of old time Steelers with warp speed. Jack caught my eye, for just a fraction of a second, and raised a brow at me.
 

“I fold,” I said, though I had a pretty good hand. Damn, I didn’t need to be here at all, Jack was getting the job done all by himself. And I wouldn’t even be able to walk away a big winner and rub my chips in Mr. Lee’s face.

When faced with such turbulent emotions in a setting which demanded passiveness, I did what women have done since the beginning of time.

“Mind if I help myself, Ralph?” I asked motioning to the buffet table set up along one of the outer walls.

“Please, Anna, absolutely. We’ve got people who will bring you whatever you want.” He looked around for the waiter who’d just stepped out, and I was in just pissy enough of a mood that I hoped he’d give Mr. Lee hell about the staff not being there when needed.

I got out of my chair. “Thank you, but I need to stretch my legs a bit.”

The spread was magnificent. It sure as hell beat whatever Carla ordered in for Vince’s games.

One of the other men, Len, came over with me and we chatted a bit while I stuffed my face. When it looked like I was finishing up, he came close and said in a low voice. “You wanna get a couple of guys at the table riled up?”