Hold ’Em Hostage by Jackie Chance

saw a figure sitting down in Ben’s chair. The three-hundred-pound woman in the muumuu sure wasn’t Ben. He’d busted out and they’d filled his seat with a player from a short table.
    Chip leader to a bust out in three hands? No way. Ben was too good a tournament player for that. Something bad was definitely up.

Seven
    A s if life wasn’t complicated enough, I got The Trucker in my pocket in the next deal and half the table folded, tempting me to stay in to see The Flop. The Trucker is probably the worst starting hand in Texas Hold ’Em—a ten/four unsuited. Not much you can make out of that, unless three tens fell on The Flop. I stared at Blackie and saw the lip twitch as she raised the big blind in an early position. Ack.
    My phone vibrated just then and I would have to remember to thank Frank later. I folded and walked away from the table to take the call.
    â€œHave you found Affie?” I demanded.
    â€œWow, you must think I’m Batman. I’m honored,” Frank said, just like a man, because if he’d asked me that I would’ve assumed guilt for my failure to produce, not assumed success. I sighed. “Where are you, Not-Even-Robin?”
    â€œOuch, that hurt. We’re just pulling into the Fortune, although it looks like there might not be any parking. We might have to park down The Strip and hoof it back over here.”
    â€œAny luck?”
    â€œNothing to get excited about. How are things going for you?”
    â€œI’m having a hard time concentrating.” I paused, unsure of whether to tell him about the text message warning. Sometimes death threats distracted Frank. I was afraid this latest would derail his attempts to run down the freshest leads. And although I was worried for Carey, there wasn’t anything Frank could do to find her right now other than put out an APB. Although I was worried for myself, I’d rather he get a line on Aph. I decided to wait to tell him in person, after I heard what he’d learned.
    â€œIt’s understandable. You’re still in it, though.”
    â€œYep,” I answered neutrally. “Ben isn’t.”
    â€œReally? Surprising. So, he’s just hanging out around there?”
    â€œUh, no, he left.”
    â€œWhat?!” Frank hollered into the phone. I held mine away from my ear in case there was more. “He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on you.”
    I heard him yell at Joe to pull over, then I heard street noise, the slamming of the car door and running feet. “Sit tight. I’ll be right there.”
    â€œFrank, don’t kill yourself. I’m in the middle of the game in a ballroom filled with thousands of people.”
    â€œYeah? And that’s the same kind of place someone tried to kill you the first time!”
    Oops, forgot that little detail. “Okay, see you soon.”
    I pocketed my phone and headed back to my table. I’d missed another hand, in which one of the college big mouths had been eliminated. Darn, hated to miss that fun. It looked like Blackie had done the deed. I’d probably been dealt a Big Slick on a Royal Flop, with my luck. Oh well, no use crying over cards already in the shuffle box.
    My next pocket was a spade-suited Baskin Robbins (Ace/ three, get it?). Not something I would usually stick around for, but since I was in the late position and everybody folded but the blinds, I decided to check to see The Flop. Staying was worth it for a deuce of spades, 4 of spades and 7 of hearts. If it didn’t get too expensive, I could hang around for The River. Blackie and the jockey checked. I noticed no twitch. Maybe I should go for it. I’d sure like to lower her stack. A seven of spades fell on Fourth Street. Blackie raised half her pot, which was all in for me. Damn and double damn. The jockey folded. No twitch. What had she gotten, trips? Flush like me? Straight? I counted cards, and decided to go with my gut and push.