Gabriel's Horn
frustrations locked in, though. Even so much as a deep breath could have given away crucial knowledge about him to the other players. Those behaviors were called “tells” in the trade, and they were dangerously destructive to a player.
    Declan Connelly was an Irish launderer worth millions. He sat solid and imposing on the other side of the table. As if he didn’t have a care in the world, he sipped his whiskey straight up. He could drink for hours—and had been—and still play as though he were stone-cold sober.
    He’d also apparently brought the luck of the Irish with him. He’d hit on combinations during the night that had at first appeared all but impossible.
    “C’mon, old man,” Connelly taunted. “You’re squeezing onto them chips like they’re the last ones you’re likely to see in your lifetime.” He snickered. “‘Course as old as you are, I guess maybe that could be the case.”
    Roux ignored the insult and concentrated on his cards. He wasn’t going to let himself be baited.
    Two queens—hearts and diamonds—had shown up in the flop, the spill of the initial three community cards across the felt. Roux felt certain Connelly was holding another queen in his two down cards because the river was widely split unless someone was holding a queen. There was nothing really to build on in the river and more than likely winning the hand would depend on pairing up cards. The third card was the jack of spades.
    “We really need to get on with this,” Ling Po said. “I’d like to get in another hand before I go for the massage I’ve scheduled.” She was British and from old money. Besides her money, she also possessed her youth. She was in her twenties and was a beautiful porcelain doll of a woman.
    “Now, honey,” the big Texas wildcatter, Roy Hudder, drawled, “you ought not rush a man at two things in this life. One’s romance and the other’s poker. Give the old-timer a little breathin’ room.”
    Roux hated being called old-timer by the Texan. Hudder was in his sixties and dressed like a television cowboy in a rhinestone-studded suit. Eyes flicking over the cards showing on the table, Roux knew that he still had a chance to put his hand together.
    He held the ten and the king of spades as his hole cards. Together with the jack of spades showing, he had a chance at a royal flush. Provided that the next two cards dealt were the right ones.
    Roux knew that his luck hadn’t been running like that. It was just that he couldn’t let go of Connelly’s constant heckling.
    “It takes nerve to play this game, boyo,” Connelly said. He bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Maybe you’ve already spent yours, eh?”
    Roux called, matching the bets that had been made on the table.
    The dealer burned a card and slid the turn card onto the felt. The ace of spades stood neatly beside the two queens and the jack.
    Now a potential straight lay in waiting. Some of the betting picked up pace.
    Roux reluctantly parted with his chips. One card in his favor didn’t mean much. And he hated bidding on luck, but he couldn’t walk away from the table.
    “Growing a spine, old man?” Connelly taunted.
    Roux ignored him.
    The dealer dealt the river, the final community card that finished the seven cards the players had to make a hand from.
    It was the queen of spades. Roux couldn’t believe his luck. He kept his face neutral and didn’t move.
    Connelly’s left nostril twitched. It was a tell Roux had spotted hours ago. The man definitely had a queen among his hold cards. He now had four of a kind.
    The bet went to Ling Po. She raised the stakes a little.
    Roux pushed the rest of his chips into the pot. “I’m all in,” he said.
    Ling Po tossed her cards onto the table and Hudder did, as well.
    Connelly stared at Roux from across the table. “So now it’s just you and me, old man.” His grin grew wider. “You’re so desperate you’re trying to buy this pot, aren’t you?”
    Roux said

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