Diagnosis Murder 6 - The Dead Letter (21 page)

"I can assure you I won't, he said.

She unfastened the rope and motioned him in. As he walked past her, he caught a reflection of himself in a mirror, saw the ridiculous expression on his face, and immediately snapped out of his 007 trance.

What had gotten into him?

He blushed with embarrassment, recalling how foolishly he'd acted with the hostess. How could he face her again after that?

It was amazing the powerful effect that the right clothes, the right music, and the right atmosphere had on a person, Mark thought. All sorts of psychological, emotional, and cultural buttons were pushed all at once. Insecurities washed away and wish-fulfillment fantasies took over.

Maybe when other men saw their reflections as they strode into the high-roller room, it simply reinforced the fantasy. Not for Mark. He was almost disappointed that he'd been jarred back to reality.

But he was grateful to have his wits about him again, because sitting at the poker table behind several large stacks of chips was Robin Mannering.

It would have been a mistake for Mark to confront Mannering with anything less than his full wits about him. Two other men also sat at the table, behind towers of poker chips, waiting for the dealer to begin dealing the cards.

Mark handed his Côte d'Azur ID card to the pit boss. "A hundred thousand dollars in chips, please."

He tried to sound casual when he said it, but all he really managed to do was mumble. The pit boss heard him anyway, ran his card through a scanner, then nodded to the dealer, who counted out the chips and slid the stacks across the table to Mark.

Everything Mark knew about poker he'd learned from watching old
Maverick
reruns. He hoped that would be good enough.

The game was no-limit Texas hold 'em. Every player is dealt two cards facedown. After a round of betting, five shared cards are dealt faceup. The player with the best five-card hand from the seven cards available wins the pot.

In addition to the thousand-dollar ante, there are two forced bets in each hand, called the small blind and the big blind. Before each hand, the dealer slides a button, in turn, around the table. The person to the left of the button pays the small blind bet, the player to his left plays the big blind, which is double the amount of the small blind. The next person to the left is known as the first position, and he must, at the very least, call the bets. That keeps the pot rich and the action hot for every hand. The blinds in this game were three thousand and six thousand dollars.

The ante and blinds alone made Mark's heart palpitate before a single card was dealt.

Just as the dealer was preparing to deal the hand, Roger Standiford walked into the room, and all the action at the various tables stopped to acknowledge his kingly presence. He wore a white tuxedo, which made him stand out from the crowd even more. Anyone else would have looked like a waiter.

The hotel magnate shook a few hands, patted some backs, then made his way to the poker table, where he embraced Mark as if they were old, dear friends.

"Doug, it's so good to see you," Standiford said. "How are the cards treating you tonight?"

"It's too soon to tell," Mark said.

"Try not to bankrupt me, okay?"

"That's why I'm playing poker, Roger." Mark said. "To give the house a break. Just wait until I sit down at the blackjack table."

Standiford forced a smile, then turned to the other men at the table. "Gentlemen, let me introduce you to my old friend Dr. Douglas Ross, a medical genius. He holds the patent to the key technologies behind several medical breakthroughs, including the artificial heart."

"You thinking about getting yourself one, you heartless bastard?" Mannering asked Standiford with a grin.

"Hell no," Standiford said. "A heart, even an artificial one, would be a liability in this business. Maybe when I retire."

Standiford introduced Mark to the other players, but he didn't really pay attention. All he cared about was Mannering, who selected a Cohiba from a silver tray offered to him by the hostess.

"You won't retire until you own every hotel on the Strip," one of the men said.

"Why would I set my sights so low?" Standiford said. "Good luck tonight, my friends."

And with that, Standiford walked out and the cards were dealt. The pot was at $13,000. Everyone folded except Mannering, who raised the ante for Mark to $36,000. Mark glanced at his two cards. A pair of kings. It seemed like a strong hand.

Mark studied Mannering, who was going through the elaborate ceremony of lighting his cigar. He used the first wooden match to simply warm the tip, then struck another, which he held under the cigar until the heat, not the flame, ignited the tobacco.

Mannering was completely relaxed, as if he were betting pennies.

Mark was sweating through every pore in his body and it wasn't even his money at stake. He wondered if he would have been less anxious if he was wagering his own cash, but he doubted it.

A pair of kings was a strong hand, and he'd be a fool not to ride it. He slid $40,000 worth of chips into the pot, enriching it to $76,000.

Mannering puffed on his cigar and studied Mark. "Are you a gambling man, Dr. Ross?"

"I'm here," Mark said.

"That's not what I'm asking," Mannering said.

"You don't go into a profession where you cut into people's hearts, spines, and brains unless you enjoy risk and playing for the ultimate stakes," Mark said. "By comparison, these table games are mere child's play."

"Once you've played for the ultimate stakes, as you put it, it's hard to find something else that even comes close to thrilling you as much." Mannering said.

"You talk as if you're speaking from experience." Mark said.

Mannering smiled enigmatically and tossed in $20,000, raising the pot to $96,000. "I call."

Mark showed his pair of kings. Mannering flipped over his queen and an eight Mark was relieved to see he possessed the superior hand, but his opponent didn't seem the least bit rattled.

"Sounds to me like you'd both get a kick out of Russian roulette," said one of the other players.

"But where's the profit in that?" asked another.

"Betting on which one of them lives, of course."

On the flop, the dealer laid out an eight, a four, and another queen, giving Mannering two pairs. Mark felt his stomach roll.

The dealer flipped the turn card, a six. No help there. Mark needed another king. The dealer turned the river card, a seven.

Mannering won the pot.

Mark glanced up at the ceiling, almost apologetically, to the unseen eyes he knew were watching him.

If he kept playing like this, his $60,000 in chips could be gone in the next ten minutes.

Much to Mark's surprise, he was able to hold his own for the next few hours, ending up ahead with $132,000, thanks to very conservative play that didn't pit him directly against Mannering again. He was sure Standiford was relieved. But Mark wasn't concentrating too hard on the game. Most of his attention was devoted to sizing up his opponent.

Mannering seemed to rely less on bluffs than on his unwavering faith in his own good luck. His faith seemed to be well placed. He wiped out another player's pair of aces with a pair of nines that turned into three of a kind on the flop. It earned him $250,000.

"It's unbelievable. You are the luckiest man I know," said the busted player as he rose from the table.

But Mark was certain that Mannering's streak was coming to an abrupt end.

When Mannering discarded the stub of his cigar in his ashtray, the hostess was quick to take it away. Mark knew Grumbo was waiting to bag the stub for the crime lab. The DNA drawn from that cigar would send Mannering to prison.

In the grand scheme of things, Mannering's luck had run out. He just didn't know it yet

But Mark did. And he took it as a sign that the cards would fall his way, too.

The blind bets had increased to $4,000 and $8,000. The other player folded, leaving Mark and Mannering to compete over a pot that now stood at $15,000. Mark didn't touch his cards, leaving them as they were dealt, facedown.

Mark called Mannering's bet

"You didn't look at your cards," Mannering said. Mark shrugged. "Wouldn't change anything. I have what I have."

"What about strategy? Aren't you interested in playing the odds?"

"Where's the risk in that?" Mark asked. "Poker is as much about instinct as anything else."

"Don't rule out human nature," Mannering said. "That's where the bluff comes in."

"Bluffs play on your opponent's fear," Mark said. "How afraid are you, Mr. Mannering?"

Mannering looked down at his cards, which he hadn't turned yet either. He looked back up at Mark and smiled, leaving his own cards untouched as well.

They were both playing blind.

The dealer dealt three cards faceup. A five, a six, and a seven.

Mark bet $12,000.

"Not a very daring bet. Almost tentative. I didn't think you were a tentative man, Doctor. Perhaps I misjudged you. I'll see your bet and raise everything you've got." Mannering slid $110,000 in chips into the center of the table.

"You're crazy," said the player who'd bowed out.

"And you haven't won a single hand, Ernie," Mannering said. "Looking at the cards didn't help you much. Besides, it's just child's play, isn't it, Doctor."

Mark could feel the security camera zooming in on him, Standiford and Grumbo watching anxiously to see what he'd do next. This was, after all, Standiford's money that he was recklessly gambling with. He hesitated, until he saw the hostess use a napkin to take Mannering's empty glass and replace it with a fresh drink.

She was preserving Mannering's prints for the crime lab. They had what they needed to prove who Mannering really was. Jimmy Cale's five-year winning streak was over.

Knowing all of this, Mark had to bet.

Mark smiled. "I believe your luck has turned."

He slid all his chips into the pot, bringing it to $265,000, and turned over his cards.

Mark had a queen and an eight. Even with the three community cards, he had nothing.

"Are you sure?" Mannering flipped his cards, revealing a seven and a two, giving him a pair of sevens. It was almost as if he had known all along he had the better hand.

It was unnerving.

It was meant to be.

There were only two more cards to go. Mark needed a queen or an eight or he would lose everything. The odds were not in his favor.

Was Mannering's luck holding?

No, Mark thought, it couldn't be.

The dealer dealt the turn card, an ace. Mark's odds of winning plummeted. He was one card away from giving Mannering $100,000 of Standiford's money to squander during his last day or two of freedom.

What kind of luck was that?

The dealer flipped the river card onto the table.

It was an eight.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Mark was so relieved that he'd won the hand with his measly pair of eights that he immediately cashed out. He didn't want to take a chance on losing any of his winnings.

Standiford's winnings, to be exact.

With a return of $165,000 on his investment, he figured Standiford couldn't complain too much about granting his favor.

Robin Mannering was still hundreds of thousands of dollars ahead for the night, so losing to Mark couldn't have caused him much damage. At least not in the wallet, though his ego may have sustained some bruising. But to show he had no hard feelings, Mannering stood up and offered Mark his hand.

"It's been a pleasure, Doctor," Mannering said. "I have the feeling I may have finally met my match."

"I'm certainly going to give it a try," Mark said.

"Then I eagerly await our next encounter at the gaming tables," Mannering said.

Mark left and returned to his room, where Grumbo was waiting, Mannering's glass and cigar stub sealed in Baggies on the coffee table. It was a little unnerving to find someone waiting in his room. Couldn't Grumbo have called first? Or invited Mark to meet him in his office?

"You acquitted yourself well at the poker table, Dr. Sloan."

"I was lucky, that's all," Mark said.

"Using that luck to your advantage is the mark of a true gamesman," Grumbo said. "You're being modest."

"Even if I'd lost the battle at the table, I've already won the war," Mark said, motioning to the Baggies. "We've got him now."

"I'll send these to the Vegas crime lab tonight," Grumbo said. "I have a friend there. We share a mutual interest in bugs."

"Electronic?"

"He prefers the insect variety," Grumbo said. "He'll pass the results through official channels to your son, though it may not be necessary."

"Why do you say that?"

"I spoke to the women Mr. Mannering has invited into his bed," Grumbo said.

"The ones in your employ," Mark said.

"I asked them about his toes," Grumbo said, pointedly ignoring Mark's comment. "He's missing one. He said he lost it in Afghanistan during a particularly aggressive interrogation by his enemies."

"Afghanistan?"

"Men often try to impress women with vague allusions to their secret lives of adventure," Grumbo said. "Implying that one is an ex-spy or a former military operative is a particularly common method of seduction."

"But you've never done that?" Mark said.

"Those of us who actually were in those fields usually don't talk about it," Grumbo said, picking up the Baggies and heading for the door. "Particularly in bed."

"Why?"

"Because as we all know, that's where the best interrogations are done," Grumbo said. "People are much freer with information when they are seeking pleasure than when they are avoiding pain."

Grumbo walked out, leaving Mark to wonder exactly how the Côte d'Azur's security chief had gained his experience, and whether it was as the interrogator or the one being questioned.

Mark went to bed, woke up at nine, and had a leisurely breakfast on his veranda overlooking the Côte d'Azur's pools, lakes, palms, and waterfalls.