Hold ’Em Hostage (21 page)

“I'm sorry for all this.” She waved at her cloak, her sunglasses and her gloves that she now pulled finger-by-finger off her hands. Still, she hadn't risen from the chair. Because she couldn't. I felt sick suddenly as she continued, “But, I beg you to understand. I know Frank was getting serious about you. I just wanted to be sure when the kids spent time with you two that it was going to be okay for them. I had to meet you without meeting you.” She paused and sighed heavily, dropping her pleading gaze for a moment to gather her thoughts. “You don't have children. I don't know that you will understand. But I can only beg—”

Emotions that I had no idea I possessed were welling in me. As I sat back down, I spoke without thinking. “But I do understand. I don't know how, or why, but I understand. Although I don't think you have to worry about Frank exposing me to the kids, because he protects all of you on the other side of a great wall that I am not allowed to broach verbally, and certainly not physically.”

Monica shook her head, smiling bittersweetly. “He's ready. I can see it in him. I can
feel
it in him.”

A flash of jealousy ripped through me. His ex-wife knew Frank better than I did. The head in me said: Well of course she does, she's known him longer, they have children together. The heart in me said: To hell with this, let her have him back.

“Well, I'm glad someone can, because he can't.”

“Don't worry, he will.”

I was glad she was so confident. “If he ever surfaces,” I put in.

“We'll work on that,” she said, revealing herself as an investigator's wife, well versed in unexpected absences. Turning over her palm, she wiggled her fingers barely and a woman came through the side doors of the ballroom with a wheelchair.

As she eased into the chair, I said: “You certainly did have your disguise well planned. I wondered why you always beat me to the table.”

She smiled, with a touch of sadness. “You have to understand, I thought this was the best way to see you unguarded. As you are. I couldn't exactly hire you for an ad campaign for a company I don't own, or encounter you at a health club, obviously.” She paused to wave at her useless legs without rancor and with total acceptance of reality. “Neither of those would be ideal, regardless. I thought, since poker is rather new to you, that I would see you a little in control sometimes and a little vulnerable sometimes. That is the best way to glimpse a person's real character.”

“I guess you've played a long time. You are quite good.”

She nodded. “I've played for twenty years. Not big-time tournaments, but steady local games. Lately, some Internet dabbling.”

I envisioned her and Frank playing together as newlyweds. I ached. Swallowing the pain, ready to snatch opportunity when I saw it, I asked: “So tell me why Frank quit playing.”

Monica shook her head. “You have to ask him.”

Did I invite people to shut doors in my face? Here I thought we were getting along great. “I have asked. He didn't tell.”

Smiling like a beautiful, self-possessed Buddha, she said: “He will. In time.” It must be a Gilbert family theme song.

“That's the problem. I'm not very patient.”

“With Frank, you need to learn to be.”

Suddenly, I was tired of her Frank lessons. They were accurate, and dammit, why couldn't
I
give them? I forced a smile. “Where are the kids?”

“They're here,” answered the wheelchair-wielding senior citizen who flashed Monica's smile. “Off with Grandpa right now to watch the Mellagio fountains dance at midnight.”

 

F
rank's children were perfect. Well-behaved, well-
adjusted and gorgeous little things. They made me sick.

How could Frank live away from them? How could I keep him away from them? How could she let him ever leave such precious packages?

“I think you need to come stay in our hotel,” Katie told me with an endearing lisp. “I can do your hair. It looks like fire, don't you think, Mamma?”

Monica smiled. “Yes, I do, vibrant description, sweetie. Good job.”

“I bet your friend would play bull rider with me, wouldn't she?” Matthew asked his mom.

“Bull rider?” I asked.

“He rides you like a bull, hands and knees, lots of bucking, that kind of thing.” She looked skeptically at my stilettos and miniskirt. “I would never ask you to—”

I nodded. “I would love that.”

“Cool!” he shouted, starting a bout of wrestling with his grandfather, Randolph.

“I'm sorry you busted out of the tournament, dear,” her mother, Wilma, told her.

Monica looked at me and said: “That's okay, Mom. I think I ended up richer in the end anyway.”

I don't think she knew how true her words were. I had decided something seeing them, meeting them. When her mother turned away to help Katie with her bow, I asked Monica, “Do you have any ideas on where I can look for Frank?”

“I called him, after you called me,” she said. “He is on his way back. He got a little distracted in L.A. after he visited the prison. With what happened here to Rudy Serrano, he had some things he said he had to deal with.”

And couldn't answer his phone and couldn't tell me but he could tell his ex-wife. I tried to swallow my jealousy. After all I'd asked her to help, hadn't I? “Thank you.”

We watched the kids play for a few minutes, so carefree and real, that I felt rejuvenated until she added: “He
had
been drinking. I don't know what to tell you other than, I'd hoped he'd gotten a handle on that.”

I turned and smiled at her, genuinely, because I was stone-cold clear about the future. “That's okay. I think I know what he needs to keep him out of all that.”

Her big emotive eyes softened. “I hope so. God bless you if you find the answer.”

It was looking me in the face.

I
ngrid nearly attacked me when I let myself into the
suite. “Where have you been? Why aren't you answering your phone?”

“My phone hasn't rung.”

Reaching into my tassel bag, I handed it to Ingrid, who pressed some buttons and then shook it in my face. “It's silenced!”

“I didn't do that,” I mused, trying to remember when I had last checked my phone. Then I remembered, I'd left it on the table when I went to the restroom at the restaurant. Trankosky? I checked my voice mail and had twelve messages: ten from Shana and Ingrid, one from Mom and one from Frank.

“Is it Affie?” I asked, frantically searching their faces.

Shana shook her head. Ingrid waved her hand in the air. “Of course not, do you think we'd hang around for you if we'd found the girl?”

“Is it Ben?”

Shana shook her head again. Ingrid snorted, “That fool is on his own, probably sashimi by now.”

Shana and I winced. Ingrid, the epitome of sensitivity and tact, didn't notice. I listened to Frank's message. “Honey Bee, we'll talk when I get back tonight.”

Weak. He was mad at me for calling his ex and too proud to apologize for disappearing. And, I hated myself for the intense relief flooding through me at the sound of his voice.

Mom's message was typical and guilt inducing. She wanted to know where Ben was because he wasn't answering his phone. That's because he'd left his phone on his dresser to reduce the chance of being found out by the gang. Good thing, because Mom calling would have been a certain death sentence. She spoke into the phone at thirty-eight thousand decibels so that everyone within a mile radius could hear her clearly.

“Are you finished yet?” Ingrid demanded, shoving her hands on her hips.

I slipped the phone back into my purse. “Did Jack find you?”

She arched an eyebrow at me. “Yes, although I don't know why he found you first.”

“Oh, get over yourself, Ingrid. He needed to tell me something.” I looked at Shana. “Why were you calling?”

“Moon thinks she's finally got a good feel on where Affie is.”

I paused. If they'd told me this earlier today I would've scoffed. Now, I wasn't sure. Unless Moon was a setup too, but how could that be? “How did you find Moon?” I asked Shana.

“In the phone book. Why does that matter?”

“Go on with what she said.”

“You're being a bossy bitch,” Ingrid pouted.

“Takes one to know one,” I shot back.

She glared.

“I'm a little stressed, Ingrid,” I said, backing off just a bit.

“Freaking out isn't going to help.”

Well, she was right, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. She displayed the self-possession of a rock and it rubbed me the wrong way when she told me I was a basket case, even when I was.

“Moon says Affie is north of California, but west of Nevada.”

“She's talking about a lot of land,” I said distractedly.

“Hey, what did those girls say when you went to the jail?”

“That's the weird thing,” Shana said. “They didn't say much, but we went straight over to Moon and that's when she said she could get a good feel, when she touched my hand, the hand I'd used to grab the blonde's arm when she'd tried to turn away from me.”

“Those girls said they were going home to Oregon.”

Ingrid turned away from the mirror where she'd been plucking her eyebrow. “I think I need to go see those chicks. Alone.”

 

W
e didn't exactly know what Ingrid hoped to accomplish
going to the jail after visiting hours, but I wouldn't put it past her to work a miracle. She was getting on my nerves, but she also had the ability to pull off the impossible in ways I couldn't possibly imagine. And probably shouldn't. I don't know if she'd break into the jail and hold the girls' heads in the toilet 'til they talked, sleep her way into the facility with a guard she'd later hog-tie or spread enough money around to get her in then torture the girls for information. Maybe she was a shape-shifter and turned herself into a mouse, then whispered in their ears and got them to fess up. Maybe she did voodoo and scared them into a confession. None of it would surprise me, frankly, but no matter how, I certainly expected her to come back with something that would lead us straight to Aph.

The landline rang about ten minutes after she'd left. Shana was dressing for bed. I was contemplating the nonsensical series of events and evidence scattered through the last couple of days. The emotions surrounding Frank and his ex-wife kept trying to elbow their way into my thoughts, but I shoved them out. I'd decided how to deal with all that, and that decision was supposed to make the messiness go away. It wasn't working.

So I was a bit cranky when I picked up the phone. “You didn't lose our money,” the voice said.

“I lost fifty thousand, your guy won fifty thousand, that's all I was asked to do.”

“You were asked to use
our
money.”

“How do you know I didn't?”

There was a long pause. The receiver was covered. After a few moments, he said, “You'd better not get smart on us.”

“You'd better not get me to do something illegal because I know I can't help my goddaughter behind bars. The cops sniff around me any more and I'll just have to tell them what you've done.”

“You do that, and Aphrodite will die.”

“She might die anyway, isn't that right?”

They hung up. Shana stood in the doorway, gripping the molding like it was a lifeline, paling so quickly I thought she'd faint.

I went into the bathroom and threw up.

 

F
rank arrived in the middle of the night. I heard him
whisper my name at the bedroom door, but didn't get up. I was too exhausted, too conflicted to try to face him yet.

I heard Ingrid and him talking as I woke, showered and dressed. I felt too vulnerable for him to see me in my robe. I needed some armor and what better armor than my day-six fashion. It was double retro, as if single retro wasn't bad enough—sixties mod pattern in bright orange, green and yellow in an eighties body-hugging style that made me look like a walking roller coaster, coupled with some of those open-toed LoPresti boots I'd been coveting. It was sure to repel most normal people on sight. Perhaps it would keep him at arm's length until I was ready to have him closer.

Just the sight of him made my traitorous knees go weak. Clearly I had a battle ahead of me. Ingrid had just left. He walked over, handed me a steaming cup of coffee and kissed the top of my head, slipping a hank of hair I'd missed into my braid behind my ear.
Damn him.

“I missed you,” he said. “I'm sorry I didn't call and had you worried.”

“What did you expect?”

He shrugged as he turned away. “I don't know why you had to call Monica, though, Honey Bee. It's just going to complicate matters.”

“I'm not the one who complicated matters,” I returned softly. “You knew I had an ex-fiancé, a crazy twin, certifiable parents. With me what you see is what you get.”

“Not exactly.” He smiled wryly. “And, the body count that follows you in poker tournaments wasn't an advertised part of the bargain.”

Frank had me there. “Those aren't my fault.”

“And I can't escape my past.”

“I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to be honest about it, and how it affects the present and the future.”

“I told you I wasn't good for you, Honey Bee.” He actually had, sort of, in his own way, warned me. I'm hardheaded. I didn't listen. And I didn't now. He looked sad, suddenly vulnerable. I went to him and gathered him in my arms.

“Frank, why did you drink again?”

“Serrano and I shared a lot of history, a lot of memories I didn't want to relive. When I heard about what happened, I should have come right back to you instead of having that one drink I thought might make it easier to deal with. He was here to follow you, although I don't know why. He arranged to be at your table.”

“You didn't kill him, did you?”

“How can you ask that?”

“I think I know you, Frank, and then you go off like you did and I realize I don't know parts of you at all. I don't know what to think about the story Serrano told me about the murders of the men who hurt Monica in L.A. I don't know what you are capable of.”

“Loving you.”

“That part I know. A lot of the rest is still in shadow.”

“Why didn't you ask Monica when you talked to her on the phone?” he asked defensively.

“Because I don't think it's fair to ask her to relive something that must be painful to her when it's your place to tell me. I asked Joe, but he won't tell me.” I held my palms up. “Ball's back in your court.”

“We need to call Monica and let her know I made it back to Vegas safely. I think your call might have stirred up some bad memories.”

“No need to call. Go see her. She's here.”

“Here? In Vegas?”

“She's been playing at my table in the tournament the whole time. I knocked her out last night and that's when she introduced herself. We had a nice visit. Met the kids, her parents.”

Frank blinked, shell-shocked. “You met Katie? Matthew? Monica's never played in a big poker tournament before…”

“She came just to check me out.”

“That's…” He offered a small smile. “Just like her actually. Or like she was before…”

“Go find her. Spend the day with the kids. They're adorable.”

“I can't.” He regained his closed-cop face. “I have to fly to Oregon and find Affie.”

“Why do you think she's in Oregon?”

“Ingrid got the two snots in jail to talk. We're guessing they're girls from the Medula, even though they don't have the tattoo. They said they live in a compound in Oregon and a fifteen-year-old girl with a python arrived there just before they were sent off to do this job.”

“What job was that?”

“We don't know any more than that because Ingrid got interrupted.”

A sharp knock sounded at the door. I expected Joe to be there when I opened it, but instead, Trankosky surprised me, by tipping his head. “Belinda, I'm sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to have a word with Mr. Gilbert at headquarters. We need a signed statement from him.”

Frank rose, and walked away from me. “If you can't go, I will,” I said.

He shook his head. “No, you won't. You don't know where to start.”

“Tell me.”

“See you soon, Honey Bee.”

Trankosky turned to pull the door shut behind them and met my gaze. His was full of questions. I looked away. He wouldn't like the answers.

Neither did I.

 

“W
elcome to the second to the last day of the
largest poker tournament in history!” The anchorman paused in the middle of his stand-up, flashing his fake teeth. Ick. I tried not to grimace as I snuck by as far away as possible from the bad reverend who was shepherding his band of followers into the view of the cameras. “The 2008 World Series of Poker starring some of the most talented, lucky and scrappy players braving the game of Texas Hold 'Em is upping the ante today. Just a week ago, ten thousand people from all over the world began with high hopes of winning the millions at stake, each with an even chance to win the grand prize of fourteen million dollars. Today, the field has been whittled to just twenty-seven players. Tomorrow only nine will remain.” He paused and sucked in a dramatic breath. “This year, however they play under a cloud of controversy. The Reverend Phineas Paul of the Church of the Believers has been staging protests against the morality of this particular gambling game—currently the most popular in the world. Picketers carry signs denouncing the poker tournament as the devil's work. Paul has even challenged a player to give her winnings to charity, most specifically, his church.”

I suppose they were now showing my sound bite. I was glad I couldn't hear or see it a second time. Once was one time too many.

“Now, the World Series of Poker has made a historical decision. They are issuing an invitation. Here to explain it is President of the Main Event, Walker Whitting.”

“Mr. Paul, in the interest of free speech, we would like to provide a forum for you to have your say,” the WSOP president announced. “A debate of sorts. With a member of our final table to support our position that Texas Hold 'Em is a valid, healthy form of entertainment.”