‘How am I supposed to play you heads-up when I only have cash money here and you’re god knows where?’ Dimitar asked.

‘That’s already taken care of. When you and I have completed our session, I’ll send someone to you. They’ll either collect my winnings or hand you yours.’

‘Thought of everything haven’t you?’ Dimitar snarled. ‘Why did you have to take Elena? Just send her home, it’s me you want. Then maybe we can settle this like men.’

In the background of Serf’s screen, Elena barely moved. Dimitar searched her eyes for any signal she could give, but there was nothing. Serf’s eyes continued to dance in the light.

‘Since the dawn of time, fighting has never been fair, Dimitar. The biggest caveman got the largest sabre-toothed tiger for his meal. The king with the largest army and the greater weapons would win almost every war. What you propose would be similarly imbalanced.’

‘And what you are doing isn’t? You expect me to win a million dollars and play you for Elena’s life?’

‘Of course not,’ Serf laughed. ‘I expect you to fail then to beg me for her life with whatever you can win. I will then show you what it is like to lose someone you love with all your heart. You showed me this feeling when you killed my wife.’

‘You killed her, Serf. Not me.’

‘You did it. If you hadn’t seduced here, slept with her, none of this would ever have happened. You killed her and now you need to learn to take responsibility for your actions.’

‘Come and see me. I’ll show you actions.’

‘Now, now. The game is the best way to decide. Poker reduces us all to our base elements. And I want to see your bones. I’ve already logged in; it’s a private game on a reputable site. Just follow this link and I’ll meet you at the virtual felt. That’s all the action you will get.’

Serf disconnected momentarily, leaving Dimitar bathed in the darkness of his room. He switched on the bedside light as a cold rain fell lightly outside. London’s sky was dark, but thousands of rooms were aglow across thousands of houses of the sprawling city. New York might be the city that never sleeps, but London was the city that tried to go to bed while suffering from a bout of insomnia.

Dimitar got out of bed and sat at a desk in the corner of the room. A small bookcase to his right was filled with books on poker strategy. Sam’s bookcase was full, possibly containing every book ever written about poker. A scattering of biographies stood out amidst the wall of game theory. Phil Hellmuth, Doyle Brunson, Stu Ungar, names from poker’s infamous past, leapt out at Dimitar. He had seen these giants of the game and had watched them on the TV screen back in Bulgaria as a boy. Now he’s trying to emulate their lives, albeit over a smaller time frame. He had already turned €1,100 into £63,400. He now needed to turn that into a million. He wondered how often his poker heroes had to do it while a loved one’s life was at risk.

The online poker site loaded up in seconds, and there was ‘SerfSup’, sitting opposite Dimitar when he clicked on the only empty seat at the private heads-up table. The name ‘BulgaBoy’ had been preselected by Serf.

Serf was seated with $40,000 USD in chips at his virtual seat, and Dimitar saw he had the same amount. A quick Google currency check let Dimitar know that he was risking over half of the money he had won. £63,400 is a lot of money. It could go far. But if he wins, then he’ll have over $100,000. And that might make reaching the million dollar goal in the remaining three weeks and a day possible, if not plausible.

A new video call rang through, and Dimitar answered. Serf looked comfortable as a thin smile played across his lips. Dimitar didn’t smile back. He took his tablet out and plugged it into an outlet behind the desk. He switched the poker site to the tablet, allowing his cell phone to continue displaying Serf’s face through the video call. He set both devices to directly face him so he could watch the table and his opponent at the same time.

‘Are you ready to play?’ Serf asked, more than a hint of menace in his expression. Dimitar noticed Elena at his shoulder, her hand on Serf’s back. She nodded as imperceptibly as she could. She was doing anything she could to prevent herself from looking at the corpse by her feet.

‘When do we take a break?’

‘At 55 minutes past the hour, every hour, until one of use loses $40,000.’ Serf responded coldly.

‘And the other wins it.’ Says Dimitar.

‘Exactly. Let’s play.’

The first few hands were by-the-book small ball. The button player raised, c-bets, wins the pot. On the fifth hand, Dimitar looked at his screen and saw the seven and eight of diamonds. He remembered how Elena had always loved diamonds, how they felt and shone, and how the colours and shapes would dance around when the light hit them just right. She didn’t have any, neither of them could ever afford any, but she loved them nonetheless. They had spoken about one day affording them.

Dimitar raised it up in position. Serf three-bet to $1,600 and Dimitar called. The flop came down king-high, with two low diamonds, a three and a four. The flush draw, and a possible backdoor straight.

Serf bet out $2,000, an obvious overbet, and Dimitar just made the call. The turn is a queen of spades, a bad card and the straight was dead. There are two overs to his cards and he was playing with air. Serf bet $4,000. Another bet that was bigger than expected but only slightly bigger than half the pot. Over Serf’s shoulder, Dimitar saw Elena looking at the screen. He put on his best poker face, trying not to react, but he needed to see if she would give anything away. Serf’s face was stone. His expression gave away nothing that Dimitar could discern through the small screen on his phone. He could have a king, queen, a straight draw with low cards, or even a bigger flush, although that was unlikely. Or he might have nothing at all.

Elena glanced away to the left. Anything one does at the poker table, like looking away from a big hand, can be a tell. But it could mean that Elena didn’t want to give anything away.

‘You have a draw?’ Dimitar asked.

There was no movement from Serf. Elena finished her chocolate bar and held onto the empty wrapper.

‘Can you beat an ace, Dimitar?’ she asked.

‘I didn’t tell you to talk!’ Serf said in response. “Keep quiet, or all bets are off, and you know what that means.’

Dimitar made the call. The river was the ace of clubs. No diamond flush. Just eight-high in his hand. But that ace. If he had a chance of bluffing his way to winning the pot, this was it.

‘Eight thousand.’

‘That’s a big bet, Dimitar. Did you miss your flush draw or do you have the ace?’

Dimitar breathed deeply, silently, hoping that he would give away nothing. Small physical irritations started to manifest as he stared at the screen, aware that he was being scrutinised by a man who had missed the obvious signs of his wife’s affair but had correctly read the fear in his opponent’s eyes at the top of a mountain. That was why Serf had taken Elena. Peter knew what Dimitar was afraid of and had put him in that position to always have an advantage.

But was Peter afraid of an ace in this hand?

Elena was stoic, staring blankly at the screen. She reached for her drink and took a big sip, her eyes never leaving the screen – she wasn’t looking at the cards, she was staring at Dimitar. He couldn’t look back to get a read on her. The money was too important. He was playing for a ticket to save her life. Serf made the call and opened his jack-queen with the jack of diamonds.

Dimitar had lost the first big pot, and had lost it early in the match.

‘Nothing at all.’ Serf smiled. ‘And now less chips to fight with. You should have been looking at me, not your girlfriend.’

Elena cursed, throwing her chocolate wrapper at the camera where it rested in the corner of Dimitar’s viewscreen on his phone. He looked at the ace of clubs and grimaced. It had cost him eight thousand dollars, which he could not afford to lose.

‘You had it all worked out. Everything in front of you now – on the river.’ She said, staring at the screen. Dimitar bowed his head, trying not to reveal how disappointed he was to lose the hand, attempting to conceal the weakness and doubt he felt building in his mind. He was down over 25% of his stack, and they had only been playing for twenty minutes.

An hour in, just before the first break, Dimitar was starting to tire. Playing for as long as he had in the golf club tournament, then heading straight into an online heads-up battle for $40,000 had drained him. He wasn’t prepared for it, and he would be nearly a 3:1 dog when they sat back down and the blinds went up. Only 100 big blinds were on the table, and when he returned from the five-minute break, it would be with just 32 of them to his name.

‘I’ll see you in five minutes, my friend.’ Said Serf, switching off the camera. Elena had not had a chance to communicate anything to Dimitar, who utilised the toilet break for what it was intended. He drank some water to help hydrate his brain. He kept losing small pots. He had been trying to preserve his stack too much and not attacking Serf’s pile of online poker chips enough. One of them was going to lose the $40,000 tonight. That wasn’t the right mindset, Dimitar realised as restated the thought – Serf will lose $40,000 tonight, and I’ll be closer to saving Elena.

‘If I hear you speak again, I will not be so polite. I know you want your man to win, but he is outmatched, and I will show him how little hope he really has.’

‘Because you can play poker better than him?’ asks Elena. ‘You think that is the measure of a man? What about kindness, security… love?’

‘Love? Don’t even speak about love. Love is twenty years of waking up next to each other. He ruined that when he slept with my wife. And I will ruin it for him.’ Elena could hear the hatred pouring out in his words, poisoning his every thought.

‘He wasn’t trying to hurt you, he was trying to get back at Georgi, who hurt him. If you want to blame someone, blame Georgi.

‘Easy to blame someone when they are already in the ground.’

‘It’s not easy to say,’ Elena said, tears forming behind her eyes. ‘I loved him. With all my heart once. But he wasn’t interested in love. But Dimitar is. I can see it. Who are you to keep me from living my life, just because you don’t have one of your own?’

Serf didn’t respond. He simply ate some food, drank the last measure of his whisky, and poured another one into the same glass. He did the same for Elena, instructing her to sit opposite him so she would not be visible.

Play resumed. At first, Dimitar won a few pots. He had changed to a more tight-aggressive style, surprising Serf, who folded to a couple of c-bets and quickly dropped $4,500 to a pre-flop four-bet from Dimitar, who had just the king-eight of hearts.

The stacks were still uneven but closer than they were when heads-up play resumed. Serf was down to $48,500, and Dimitar had crawled back to $31,500. Serf three-bet it to $8,000 pre-flop. Dimitar looked down at ace-queen. He knew how strong that hand was when playing heads-up, but he also remembered the words of the late, great Doyle Brunson, that it is the hand that had cost him the most money in poker.

‘Raise to $16,000.’ He said with authority, no longer afraid if Serf shoved. Dimitar was surprised when Peter only called.

Maybe he also has an ace high. Ace-jack would play back at him just like that. The flop didn’t have an ace. But it did have a jack and a queen, along with what looked to be an innocuous five of hearts. Top pair, top kicker for Dimitar. He bet another $8,000, leaving him with just one-quarter of his stack, hoping to look weak and induce the shove. If Serf had hit the jack, it’s the right move – to force Dimitar to slip and be a massive underdog or play for all the chips.

Serf only called. The turn was the deuce of hearts. Almost the perfect card for Dimitar. It’s in the same suit as the five, but the jack and queen were in different suits. He had already taken Serf off suited cards from how he played pre-flop. Constantly jibing Dimitar about catching a flush it revealed how scared he is of chasing them himself.

Dimitar considers betting, but doing so would give away his strength. He looks at Serf and is certain that Serf has nothing. Dimitar is sure that he has the best hand.

The river is the ace of spades. Two pair for Dimitar. He looks at the video call, and although he couldn’t see Elena in the background, he guessed that Serf repositioned her to remove any possible chance of an unintended tell. Another sign of weakness, that he needed to take advantage of.

Dimitar hovers his mouse over the all-in button, looking down at the screen. Time seems to slow as he flicks his eyes up to the screen and releases the button, moving his last remaining chips to the middle. Halfway through the half-second sequence of events, Dimitar spotted a physical tell in Serf. His chin juts forward just a bit. It was a miniscule movement, but Dimitar recognised the expression as one of triumph. Serf snap-calls and shows his hand, king-ten – he hit Broadway on the river.

‘Thank you for the game, Dimitar. Dead on the river. Now what does that remind me of?’

Serf is smiling as there is a knock at Dimitar’s window. He’s on the ground floor of Sam’s apartment, and the shock nearly has him jump out of his skin. He looks at the face of Jeremy Rundle, the runner-up to Sam in the golf tournament. Dimitar opens the window.

‘As you can see, my friend is ready to collect my winnings.’ Serf says through the video call.

‘Sorry. Rules of the game.’ Rundle states apologetically.

‘Since when did you know Peter Serf?’ asks Dimitar.

‘I’d just hand over the money, if I was you.’ says Rundle dryly, his face etched with something – fear, guilt, a lie of some kind? Dimitar knew he didn’t have a choice. He’s on camera, and Serf could see everything he was doing. Dimitar hands over the cash, more than half of the money he had won up to now.

He was now down to just £30,000, and first week of the four he had to raise the million dollars is gone.

What is he going to tell Sam in the morning?

Serf had just hit a miraculous river. Dimitar needed a real-life miracle now or he would never see Elena alive.

Dead Beat – Chapter 6

The few hours of sleep felt more like a long blink than a proper nap to Dimitar. Barely three hours had passed when he was awoken by a knock on the door by Sam.

“Thought you might like a cup of tea to celebrate last night,” the smiling Englishman said. Dimitar shared a false smile, and Sam put the tea down and went. The untouched tea had lost all its heat by the time the Bulgarian arrived at Sam’s kitchen table, the steam long gone, reflecting the chill in Dimitar’s heart.

‘I need to tell you something.’ Dimitar croaked, his throat still dry from a lack of sleep and the stress from the losses. He could feel his pulse in his temples, a constant reminder of the pressure he was under.

‘This doesn’t sound good.’ Sam’s face tightened with concern, his jovial demeanour replaced by a serious, focused expression.

‘It isn’t.’

Dimitar explained what happened after the tournament with Peter Serf. He explained how the big win at the golf club was decimated in the online session and how he was now down to just €30,000. Still, it was a decent amount of money but nowhere near the million-dollar ransom, that he had just 22 days left to raise. As he spoke, he couldn’t help but notice Sam’s eyes narrowing, his fingers drumming on the table in an unconscious display of anxiety.

‘I should probably be mad at you – protecting your bankroll is everything in poker. But I can’t say I would have done any different in your shoes. Not with everything on the line.’ Sam’s voice softened, empathy lacing his words.

‘Thanks, Sam, ‘ Dimitar said, slightly lifting his spirits.

‘How did you play him?’

‘Online, on my phone. No, no, it was on my tablet.’ Dimitar corrected himself, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over him.

‘Then we need Twiggy, and coffee.’ Sam declared with a decisive nod.

A few moments later, Twiggy, who was a little more familiar with technology and information retrieval than one would have expected, joined them at the table: ‘Friends in low places,’ according to her. Along with a trusted acquaintance working from somewhere Sam and Dimitar neither needed to nor cared to know about, Twiggy managed to bring up the Facetime call with Peter Serf. The three of them crouched forward on the sofa, gripping their coffee cups. They saw Serf concentrating on the game, but Twiggy kept spooling back to the section of the video when Elena was on the screen.

‘You should have been looking at me, not your girlfriend…’ repeated Serf on the screen. Twiggy rewound, and Serf repeated the line.

Dimitar’s frustration grew with each replay, his fingers clenching and unclenching around his coffee cup.

‘Are you trying to torture me? That ace on the river killed me.’ Dimitar groaned, rubbing his temples.

Suddenly, Twiggy’s face lit up, coming to life as it became clear to her what they’d been looking for.

‘Do you see it?’ Twiggy asked Sam. The high roller amongst them narrowed his eyes, scrutinising the footage. He asked for it to be shown again. Then he noticed it, Sam’s eye registered what she was looking at and cocked a half-smile.

‘Is anyone going to enlighten me?’ asked Dimitar, his patience wearing thin.

It was Twiggy who turned first to tell him. ‘Watch it again, this time focus on Elena. But not her face or her body. Watch her actions.’

She set the footage up and let it play. Dimitar watched the hand play out. He heard Serf repeat the line, saw Elena toss the wrapper toward the camera, grimace, and then back away from the screen.

‘Their destination is right there for you. Does your girlfriend like word puzzles by any chance?’

‘She does, how did you know that? Her father does the crossword every day. She used to joke with me that she could do it quicker. It was a challenge between them.’ Dimitar said, a faint smile crossing his lips as he remembered her playful competitiveness.

‘I can believe it,’ said Twiggy. ‘She threw the Mars bar wrapper towards the screen at a very specific time. I think she’s waited for the perfect moment and the choice of chocolate bar was very specific.’

‘It must have been the only one available,’ claimed Dimitar. ‘She never goes for one of those.’

‘Which is exactly the point,’ Sam chimed in. ‘She ate the chocolate purely for energy. It’s the Mars on the wrapper she wanted you to see. She holds onto it and only throws it when the ace drops on the river.’

‘I still don’t get it,’ said Dimitar. ‘You’ll have to spell it out.’

‘It’s funny you say that. It’s remarkably simple. An ace is shown as a capital ‘A’ on the card. You said she was heading south, so we can presume that France will be their first port of call. But I think we can be even more specific. The Mars bar wrapper, tossed at the camera as soon as the ace landed? Break it down like a crossword clue: Mars – A.’

‘Marseille.’ says Dimitar, says Dimitar, realisation dawning on him as he exhaled deeply.

The ship was almost full by the time they arrived in Southampton. The docks, coated in a late afternoon sheen of light rain, were lit up by the re-emerging sunshine.

‘If you need me, just call. Anything but a buy-in.’ Sam said.

Dimitar subconsciously touched the money in his pocket. It felt unnaturally heavy.

‘I really appreciate your help. I could not have gotten this far without you.’

‘You have a long way to go – €30,000 is great but you need to remember what we said – and no more private games. You need to get to Marseille with enough to take him on.’

‘And if I don’t?’

‘We can’t think about that right now. If it looks like you won’t make it, then we’ll think about calling the authorities.’

‘We can’t do that. He said he’d kill her. I saw him after he’d killed his wife. The man doesn’t care.’

‘He cares about something – control. For now, we have to play along with him – or rather, you do. There’s a good game on this ship. I’d say call me, but you know what the signal will be like. I’ll be helping in other ways from here.’

‘You’ve already helped so much. I owe you. Sofia will be so thankful.’

‘Then it’s worth any effort I can make. I’ll keep on at Twiggy. Maybe her friend can find some trace on Serf and how he’s travelling to Marseille.’

‘Thank you.’

The two men shook hands, and Dimitar boarded The Ambassador. The ship was bound for the South Coast of France, stopping at several ports around the east coast of France, Spain, and Portugal before docking in a week’s time. By then, half of the month will have elapsed, and if he wasn’t at the half-a-million-dollar mark, then there may not be a way to save Elena.

‘Bon voyage!’ Sam shouted from the port as Dimitar climbed the last few steps onto the deck. He smiled at his friend as he surveyed the ship. Built for pleasure, this ship would be Dimitars route to money over the next week. The €30,000 split between his pocket and travel bag was a lot of money. But so were the thousands in booking fees and spending money that Sam had helped him with – the cruise alone cost £2,000.

Dimitar waved to Sam as the sun started to dip beneath the coastline, the sky flame-red on the horizon. Dimitar noticed another man watching him a few metres down from Sam on the dock. He recognized his face from the golf course poker tournament and his bedroom window in the early hours of the previous morning.

Jeremy Rundle.

*

Peter Serf glanced down at his phone as it chimed, disturbing his perfectly calm journey in the Business Class carriage.

‘Travelling by boat. Ambassador ship. J.’

A link followed, and Serf clicked it. A web page opened that detailed every stop Dimitar’s ship would make on his sea voyage around Eastern Europe.

‘Seems your friend is a little more perceptive than I thought… or maybe he had help.’ says Serf, turning to Elena, who sat to his right at the table, offering a picturesque view of France. Their feet rested on the thick crimson carpet, and the carriage was almost deserted – only an older couple sitting 20 meters away and a single businessman half-asleep clutching a brown suitcase. They were only a few minutes from coming to a stop, the signs for Paris Gare Du Nord station sliding slowly past the train’ window.

‘Let’s not talk about Dimitar. I thought you wanted to come to Paris for you and me.’ reminded Elena, a thin smile on her face that never quite reached her eyes.

‘As you say. According to Jeremy, he is on a ship bound for Marseille. Our little parlour game worked. I’m indebted to you for your crossword clue, my dear.’

Elena thought about her father at that moment and how Serf was actually indebted to him, the man whose daughter he smuggled out of a hospital after she had been stabbed. Elena touched the wound. It was hard, the blood scabbing well, her recovery more mental than physical now.

Her strength was returning.

The Champs-Élysées is stunning in the afternoon sunshine as they walked to the centre of it. To the people around them, they look either like father and daughter or lovers in ignorant bliss of an age gap. Elena could run. She could find the nearest member of le gendarme, but where would it get her? They might not believe her or Serf could have people in the French authorities working for him like he had in Britain.

Her mind drifted back to the body on the floor of the hotel room. The cold manner in which Serf disposed of the body. The bags, the blood…

‘Have you been to Paris before?’

‘Never.’ The question pulled Elena out of her thoughts, ‘I wanted to come on the school trip, but my parents could not afford to pay for me. Now I am here with a man who can afford anything.’

‘Almost anything.’ Serf says with a smile. ‘I can’t buy happiness. I came here with my wife for our fifth anniversary. We stood under this monument and whispered our own private vows. We swore our undying love in the same place we enjoyed our honeymoon. I would have been happy to stand by those words. But she wasn’t.’

‘It is beautiful, though,’ Elena says. ‘Permanent.’

‘The Champs-Élysées?’

‘Yes. And love is too. If it with the right person.’

‘I worked too hard during my marriage. Whenever we took a holiday, I was either on a business call or I let her do whatever she wanted as… compensation. That’s not the way to be. Did you find the right person in Georgi… or Dimitar?’

‘I don’t have that choice to make anymore, do I?’ said Elena.

‘At least you have someone to choose… if he starts winning, that is. I don’t have the one I want any more.’

Serf stared up at the ceiling of the magnificent arch. Elena looked at him, wondering how crazy it drove him to discover that his wife wasn’t the person he married. How much anger is tightly wound inside him, and whether it will spool free.

Her thoughts drifted back to running. Serf would catch her.

She thinks about alerting the authorities. Maybe Serf would have Dimitar killed.

Instead, while Dimitar was playing the long game, slowly making his way on a boat to catch up with her fast train journey across France, Elena reflected on his words. He always said that poker was a long game—you didn’t win or lose in a single day; you just gained experience and sometimes got paid for it. With this in mind, she knew what she needed to do. Elena reached out for Peter’s hand and interlocked her fingers with his.

Serf looked back to her from the Champs-Élysées, he smiled a sad smile. A single teardrop started to roll down his cheek before he had the chance to wipe it away.

Elena smiled back at him – let’s play the long game.

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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.

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Edited by Maury Orton and Shawn A.