Dimitar was sure he had the best hand. The flush and straight draw had both missed, and Bronco wasn’t playing like he had a big hand. But Dimitar didn’t have a week. He needed the game to continue, and he had to keep Bronco at the table for four more days.
Dimitar flicked his pocket sevens face down across the table. One of them landed neatly into the muck, but the other sprang up off another card and landed face up on the felt.
‘You went all that way with two pair?’ Bronco said. He threw back his head and brayed like a donkey.
Dimitar smiled politely, and at the end of the night, he had only broken even. He was still €450,000 short of the million and only had four more days. Bronco, however, was up over a quarter of a million.
‘See you tomorrow, chainmail.’
Dimitar did a solid job of looking annoyed, after all, he’d folded what he believed to have been the best hand. But he had ensured the whale would come back to the table.
On Day 4 at the felt, Dimitar had to reload, which was dangerous and mildly terrifying. He’d busted through one €100,000 stake when his pocket aces were rivered by pocket queens. It took him six hours but he won it all back and more. The notes that Sam had given him were still helping a little, but he’d largely forgotten them and was acting on instinct. He’d played over 45 hours of poker with the group, which had featured 19 different players across the four nights. He was starting to see patterns or play that he hadn’t three days earlier, starting to act quicker than he had two days ago, and even taking advantage of Bronco more obvi
‘You beat me tonight, but not last night, chainmail.’
‘Tomorrow, then, Bronco.’ Dimitar said with a light, warm smile. The mask of professionalism only dropped when he was back in the hotel room. This time, it was past midnight. But practice was worth it. He was getting better and better at flicking his cards, and that night, he went to bed after 35 of them had found their way into the notepad, many of them low down.
The next day, he won again. It was only €80,000, but it put him close to $865,000. He was one big winning night away. He returned to his room, told Sam the good news, and then practiced solidly for three hours. He landed 48 of the 52 cards in the notepad. The other four cards had fallen just short, and he put two of those down to tiredness in his hand, which he knew wouldn’t be a problem.
With one night to spare, Dimitar won the pot that put him over a million. It came from Bronco, who chased a flush and made it but lost a stack of €200,000 to Dimitar when the Bulgarian completed a full house on the river.
‘You got me. I am done.’ Bronco said, standing up. Dimitar thanked his other opponents and offered to buy Bronco a drink. The Spanish man accepted, and they made small talk at the bar for a few minutes. Dimitar left the man at the bar with another drink he’d paid for and was walking out of the casino when he passed the roulette wheel.
There was a tall brunette working at the wheel, and she smiled at Dimitar. He thought of Simone, who by now may well have been part of the Porto elite. Dimitar shook his head, trying to shake off the memory. He had over a million dollars to his name. He placed €1,000 on the table and asked for a single chip.
‘All on six.’ He said, and the girl shook her own head in sympathy. The wheel turned, and she spun the ball in the opposite direction. Dimitar watched the ball bounce into 23, then into 11, and was starting to walk away when the ball hopped once more before dropping neatly into the six.
‘We have a winner, ‘ the girl said, quickly altering her pitying expression to one of congratulation. She moved €36,000 in chips across to Dimitar, and he picked it up. He walked away, thanking her by leaving the original €1,000 chip for her work.
Exchanging the €35,000 in chips for cash, Dimitar left the casino with the rest of the money much closer to him in a chest-mounted phone holder he’d purchased the day before. He held the €35,000 in his hands and, on the steps of the casino, pondered his fortune for the moment.
Did he now have the devil on his side?
He walked down the steps but had to dodge around a homeless man who was huddled into the corner of stairs near a bench. Crouching down, Dimitar handed him the €35,000 in cash. The homeless man sat up straight and could barely string the words together to thank Dimitar. He got up and took off down the street before Dimitar changed his mind.
Dimitar watched the man as he crossed the street and walked directly into an off-license at the Jardí de Polifil gardens. Dimitar waited until the man exited the shop clutching a carrier bag loaded with bottles and watched until he was out of sight. A decision that had been foggy in his mind had become clear.
Now, all that mattered was getting to Marseille, and Peter Serf.
One heads-up game would decide the life of the woman he loved.
Dimitar had a plane to catch.
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.