The tournament was not offering the kind of money that would change the lives of any of the four high stakes players who had arrived in Barcelona to play at Antonio Molina’s apartment. That didn’t matter to any of them, however. Each of them was hunting for a crucial piece of information that would allow them to find out the truth. Carlos, Mo, Sofia, and Sam all searched for a different truth. As arranged, they all gathered after registering for the event.

“So here we all are,” announced Mo, who appeared nervous. The inside of Casino Barcelona wasn’t just bright but accentuated with lights to enhance the glow of the interior design. It was a stunning casino, and it never harmed its reputation that both tournaments and cash games were regularly full.

Sam’s covert knowledge of Mo’s earlier phone conversation changed everything, but Sam revealed nothing to the other three. When Sofia asked on the way in, Sam told her a white lie claiming Mo revealed ‘nothing concrete’. The last thing he wanted to do was to reveal his hand too early. Sofia had been reluctant to say much about her discussion with Mo outside of the police station. Did Sam believe her? He wasn’t sure. Maybe Mo was bribing Garcia to keep himself out of trouble for killing Felix Jackson.

“Have any of you heard from Antonio?” Sam asked. No one had.

“Why would we hear?” asked Carlos. “That drawing is lost, and a man was killed in his house. They’ll be interrogating him.”

“How long do fingerprints take to come back?” asked Mo.

“Too long,” said Sofia. “I lost my brother in the war and we found out it had taken days to confirm it. He died in an explosion, and they didn’t have his prints. They told me that would have changed, made it much easier.”

“I never knew that, Sofia,” Sam said. There was an intimacy to his tone that the others didn’t fail to notice.

“If Antonio managed to steal the drawing, I would not be surprised,” said Carlos. “But how did he make his way around the table past three people and put a knife in this man’s neck?”

It was then the group, was distracted by a new player coming up the stairs. A player none of them had expected – Detective Garcia.

“Good evening. I see that this tournament is more than popular this evening. I’m delighted to be here with you all.”

Garcia looked very different from his appearance during the day. He still wore a suit, but it was far more casual than his police one. Somehow, Sam thought it made him even more threatening.

“Why are you here, Detective? Have you arrested Antonio?” asked Sofia.

“There is not quite enough information in our possession yet,” Garcia said cryptically. “But we hope to make an arrest very soon. Maybe the killer is in this room rather than at the police station, no?” Garcia asked. Then he wandered off to find his table.

“A killer, a detective, and a game of poker? Sounds like my kind of night,” said Carlos, grinning at the rest of the group. Sam thought it odd. Maybe the Spanish player with an aggressive style at the felt acted the same in real life. Just how hard had Felix Jackson made his brother’s life? Carlos had been seated when the group turned around from the empty Picasso plinth to glimpse Felix Jackson with a knife in his neck. Could Carlos have stabbed the American and then taken his seat again? It would have been incredibly risky, but it was possible. The theft of the drawing was the perfect distraction, and he was the only person who hadn’t joined Antonio when he noticed it was missing.

The four players took their seats in the tournament, which was moderately full for a midweek night in Central Barcelona. Only two of them shared the same felt, as Mo and Sofia moved to the same table. They sat at opposite ends but maintained a friendly discourse as play got underway.

Carlos was a few yards away with his back to the table where Sofia and Mo sat. The young, aggressive Spaniard started off how he played high-stakes cash games, by bullying others and stealing pots. He put relentless pressure on his opponents in virtually every hand.

Carlos was facing Sam’s table, he was sharing the felt with someone Carlos recognized from the previous night. It took him an orbit to recognize the waitress from Antonio’s. Once he realized who it was, he watched her intently.

She could only have been around 20 years old, but she played with a fearless nature and strategic maturity that belied her years. Raising pots that Sam led out, she was unafraid of playing at the edge of variance. So much so that when Sam engaged her in conversation, she was overly confident after winning several pots.

“You play here every week?” asked Sam.

“I play here most nights. You don’t, though. Game a bit too cheap for you?”

“I’m Sam,” he said, extending his hand. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“I thought they called you NASA,” she said with a smile. “I’m Maria Rodriguez. You met me at Antonio’s last night, but I play here more than I serve drinks there.”

“I can believe it the way you handle those chips,” said Sam. Maria was riffling the chips by separating two stacks, then bringing them together with her fingers with practiced ease.

“I’m glad you weren’t playing in last night’s game. I might not have been winning. You play high stakes?”

“This is the highest I go, in the casino anyway. I love this place. I came to Barcelona to study artwork at University, but I’ve been coming here ever since I arrived. I play online too, sometimes a bit bigger. You play online?” she asked with a smile.

“No. I like to look in the eyes of the people I’m playing. I’ll head back to the States one day, play in the World Series of Poker Main Event…maybe. But the cash games here have been too good.”

“Maybe you should qualify online for it. I might see you there. It’ll cost me a few cents as you Americans say. You can buy in for $10,000, I’ll win an online event for less than $100.”

Sam nodded and smiled, but it died on his lips, the smile never reaching his eyes. The peculiarity of being back at a poker table 24 hours after a man had died across the felt was hitting him.

“You know, Maria, last night was the first time I’ve ever left a poker table – without busting – when I didn’t want to walk away.”

“It must have been horrible.”

“That and the overnight stay in Barcelona police station. Did the police speak with you?”

“They stopped me after you were all taken away and spoke with me, but I was on CCTV; Antonio has cameras in the foyer and outside, just not inside his drawing room. Well, you know…”

The irony of Maria calling it the drawing room when the absence of the drawing had been what triggered the events, was the most revealing line. To Sam, it made him think that she still had the drawing on her mind. But a man was dead. Was that natural?

“I still can’t believe it,” he said. “One minute I’m playing the game, the next Antonio is showing us that his priceless piece of artwork has disappeared. I’d never heard him so upset; you must have heard him from outside. But the security guard came running in, didn’t he?”

“Miguel? Yes, he passed me on the stairs. I was in the kitchen Antonio has in his apartment. Antonio had texted through an order for food. Miguel ran straight into the room. He told me to wait outside the room in case there was trouble. It was so upsetting. I didn’t know the man, but to die like that…”

She tailed off. They stopped talking for a time. There was nothing Sam could say that would shake Maria’s thoughts of the same moment he was replaying in his mind. Turning to see Felix Jackson with a knife in his neck, the victim bleeding out onto the ornate poker table, tainting its wooden, multi-layered leaf designed base and stunning felt.  He should have been surveying the whole scene and the placement of the people involved. How close was Antonio to the drawing – could he have dropped it? What about Sofia? She was like a wraith, out of her seat and by Sam’s side in seconds, but was there an ulterior motive?

And what of Mohammed? He was chatting amiably with Sofia as far as Sam could see. They both knew about his business dealings with the victim. He was Felix Jackson’s only known enemy at the felt.

Just as Sam thought of the fourth and final player among their number, he heard his voice. Carlos leaped from his seat and jabbed a finger at the young man next to the dealer.

“You! I know you, and I see what you are doing! You were looking at my cards.”

The young man also jumped out of his seat, shouting angrily back.

“We all know what you did! You killed that man! Everyone knows it. You hate him from what he did to your brother. Why don’t you confess?”

Carlos rose fully as he bore over the young man from two feet away.

“You say one more word and I swear, I kill you right here in the casino. You will die right here!”

The action immediately stopped as the poker room turned as one to see the commotion. It was at that moment Antonio Molina walked up to Sam’s table. He spoke not only to Sam but loud enough so that the whole room could hear him.

“Is late registration over? This looks like a fun game to play.”

Behind Antonio, a trio of Spanish policemen was arrowing towards the tables, looking for someone. Detective Garcia chose that moment and stood from his seat with a smile, producing a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

They were obviously there to arrest someone… But who?

Carlos remained on his feet, but the three policemen moving in his direction took the wind out of his sails. Everyone was watching to see where they would end up. As it happened, they weren’t bound for Carlos, but veered right to Sam’s table. They walked past Sam arriving at the table where Mo and Sofia were sitting, and Detective Garcia reached towards the former with the handcuffs.

“Mohammed Soliman, you are under arrest for the murder of Felix Jackson.” Detective Garcia said some other words, but Sam hardly heard any of them. He looked around the room, at Carlos who smiled and sat down to continue playing, at Sofia who looked surprised that Mo was being taken away, and at Maria, who wore an expression of repressed pleasure. Sam couldn’t help feeling like he was missing some obvious tell that was right in front of him.

As the police took Mo away, he looked back at Sam. He shook his head as if to tell Sam he didn’t do it. Was Garcia getting him out of there only to be released? Would they be speaking about a deal? Either way, Garcia left his chips on the felt and escorted Mo from the table at Casino Barcelona.

Sam looked back at the target of Carlos’ rage. The accused cheater was Miguel, the security guard who had checked Sam’s details when he arrived at Antonio’s. Sam was surprised he was playing, but even more so that he might be cheating. What on Earth was Miguel doing here playing in a poker tournament?

The tournament proceeded in Mo’s absence. Poker players were never going to willingly relinquish their cards for something as trivial as a murder investigation.

“Will they cancel the tournament?” Maria whispered to Sam at their table.

“No chance. There was a shooting in Texas a few months ago. Players dropped to the floor, but a couple of minutes later, they were playing the next hand. Some of them didn’t even let go of their hole cards.”

Sam was comfortable playing with Maria to his left, but she took no prisoners and was clearly a talented player. His mind drifted and he wondered why she bothered waitressing when she could easily have made the same money playing live poker or online cash games.

As the tournament field shrank, Sofia was ramping up the pressure on her table. By the time the event was down to just three tables, the Bulgarian heiress had the chip lead. Sam looked over at her as she stroked her hair wistfully and played with the chips at the front of her chip mountain.

By the next break, only two tables remained. The tournament organizers were doing a redraw when Sam left the others, who were chatting about Mo, and headed to the cash desk.

“Are we in the money now?” he asked the man who had been handing out chips and paying out winners all evening.

“In the tournament?” he asked politely.

“Yes, the main tournament. I think we are, but I just wanted to make sure,” Sam said, leaning a little over the desk in what he hoped looked like a friendly manner. The man brought up the list to check the money places.

“Yes, sir, there are 16 players left. 18 people are paid; well done. Are you still in the tournament?”

“Yeah, I’m loving it,” said Sam. The man smiled and wished him good luck.

“What table do I go back to?” Sam asked naively.

The man frowned at the screen, but it was obviously still being updated. Sam hoped he’d timed it right and was pleased when the man’s reaction changed. Casino Barcelona operated a fairly sophisticated system whereby another tournament organizer could change the make-up of the prize pool, add entries, or redraw tables on a connected computer, and the list would appear on them all. Sam wanted to find out about one player, so needed to see both tables of eight players.

“What is your name? It just came through,” said the man.

“Sam Houston. They call me NASA.”

The man resisted openly laughing at Sam.

“You’re on table fourteen, sir. Good luck. Hope I see you win.”

“Me too, buddy,” said Sam, looking at the table layout on the screen. He was at the same table as Antonio and Carlos in the redraw. Maria and Sofia shared the same table. But the player Sam was really interested in was Miguel. He looked down the list and didn’t see his name – Miguel Ramos wasn’t there. There was only one player with an initial of an ‘M’ – that was M. Herrera.

When you played in a live casino, you had to do so under your given name, and Casino Barcelona did everything properly. Sam wondered why Miguel Herrera had changed his public name to Ramos. He wouldn’t get an immediate chance to find out, as Miguel was sat at the same table as Sofia and Maria. Sam headed to table 14 and settled in the seat immediately to the left of Carlos.

Antonio appeared a different man compared to the ashen-faced person when he noticed his beloved drawing was missing. Suddenly, with Mo having been arrested, the weight of the world that seemed to land on him when the painting had gone missing was no longer a burden. But his drawing is still missing, thought Sam.

With only two tables left, the remaining hopefuls were closer together. Play became more intimate, as it does before a final table. Everyone wants to make the final table, whether it’s the WSOP Main Event or a €100-entry nightly casino tournament like this.. No one wanted to miss out at Casino Barcelona.

They played on, battling toward the final eight players. Sam knew he was in a difficult position between Antonio and Carlos, but it was Miguel he was watching. Or rather, M. Herrera in seat 9. Antonio was in seat 1 to the left of the dealer, before Sam and Carlos.

Early in the action, Antonio raised it up from under the gun, the first position to act. Sam re-raised from the next seat with king-ten of hearts, and Carlos came along for the ride. Everyone else folded around to Miguel who called from the big blind. The flop came with a queen, a jack, and a deuce, two of which were hearts. Antonio checked and Sam followed suit. He knew that Carlos would not be able to resist putting pressure on the one with whom he had a grievance – Miguel, who had just recently accused Carlos of murder.

Miguel, however, folded. He didn’t even think about calling. Sam saw this not as a weakness but as a protective move; he didn’t want to get in a big pot with Carlos heads-up. This, Sam surmised, was more about what might be said between them. Miguel had closed up.

“You don’t want to play, now?” snapped Carlos to Miguel.

“Not with you, killer.”

“I didn’t kill that man, but I could kill you. Just raise me.”

Miguel tossed his cards away with a smile.

“You hated that American. He ruined your brother’s life, you said.”

“When did I say that to you?”

“Not to me. But you said it.”

That was Miguel’s last word on the matter, and while Carlos looked like he was attempting to bore holes into Miguel’s head purely by using his eyes, Antonio moved all in. Sam made a quick call with the draw to both a straight and a flush. Carlos got out of the way, and on the river, Sam made his flush. He shook Antonio’s hand warmly and the two embraced. As they hugged, Sam quickly whispered, “Antonio, don’t go. Something is going on in this room and I need you to be my eyes away from the table. It might help you find your Picasso.”

Antonio smiled at Sam and nodded as they broke the hug. Antonio shook Carlos’ hand and warned him off getting too angry or upset.

Antonio went to stand on the rail and ordered a drink. Miguel was moved to balance the tables and was transferred to Maria’s left at the other table. Sam tried to engage Carlos in conversation, but he resisted. Around 20 minutes had passed when Sam received a text from Sofia at the other table.

Sam had suspected Miguel was crooked. He was moonlighting as a security guard while clearly in a relationship with Maria. Why else would he have run past her into the room if not to protect her? But this was something else. There must be a reason he was keeping her in the game. Sam just couldn’t work out what it was.

“Carlos, talk to me,” said Sam, placing his hand on the other man’s bicep. “I know you hate Miguel. He has accused you of murdering Felix, but I don’t believe him.”

“Why not? I had every reason to kill him. Miguel is right, I hated that man. I cannot even speak his name. My brother didn’t just give up on poker. He nearly gave up on life. I would be lying if I said that I was sad he is dead. I am happy he is gone. The man was poison, you understand?”

Sam was starting to understand more and more, but Mo was still the man who had been arrested.

“Mo’s currently in the police station. You think he’ll be released?”

“Of course he will,” said Carlos, raising yet again. He was starting to run over everyone at the table except Sam. “He is not to blame for the murder. They have been after the wrong man. I spoke to Mohammed. I read about his disagreement with Felix Jackson. It was business. You do not kill for this reason. But I did not kill him.”

Sam took Carlos at his word, but he wasn’t so sure.

A few minutes later, after a succession of eliminations, Carlos and Sam made the final table of eight. Carlos had the chip lead, but Sam wasn’t far behind. Miguel, Maria, and Sofia all survived from the other table, though the Bulgarian heiress was now short-stacked.

Antonio watched it all with the oddest smile on his face, like there was a lot more on the line than a couple of thousand Euros.

Chapter 4-6                                  Chapter 9-10

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.