Cut and Run 3 - Fish and Chips

about his opponents. Expert Numero Uno played aggressively and liked to bet big and bet often, but he bowed out early if he didn’t have the cards. He preferred seven-card stud. The lobes of his ears flushed red when he got excited. Expert Numero Dos played evenly, always stayed in to see the bulk of the cards, and ran a decent bluff. She liked Texas Hold ’em. But she had a bad habit of tapping one of her manicured fingernails on something when she had good cards. Armen was stoned-faced — big surprise — but just as stuck-up a card player as Zane figured him a businessman. He always chose five-card stud to force the other players to ante. Armen didn’t stay in long or risk much unless percentages were on his side. And Bianchi, he was as amenable a poker player as he was a person, laughing and smiling and talking, which was nearly as impossible to see through as Zane’s own emotionless mask. Bianchi enjoyed the poker variations, something different every time. But, as Ty had pointed out, he rubbed his cuff links when he was on to something.
    Ty’s observation had really made Zane pause and think about what he was doing. Drinking aside, he knew he could outplay anyone here, if he put his mind to it. He knew the numbers, he was patient, and he literally had nothing to lose.
    For the first hour and a half or so, Zane played conservatively, stuck to Evian over ice with a lemon twist, and kept an eye on the other players, confirming tells and, even more importantly, confirming mood. Even the best player was more likely to betray himself if he was excited or upset or angry rather than content with the world. The cards didn’t matter, because a player brought mood with him to the table.
    Zane also used the time to begin establishing a fake tell. It was a risk, but one that had paid off in the past, and it didn’t hurt anything to use it as long as he stayed consistent. Being the slick, confident Corbin Porter, Zane was sure the man would have a tell. He had too much of an ego not to. Zane chose something subtle: a brief caress for cards he was happy with. Otherwise his hands stayed on the table in clear view.
    Then Zane got serious.
    Fold if you don’t have a pair or better by the third card in five-card stud. In seven-card stud, more hands are won by the highest two pair — or even single pair — than by straights, flushes, or bigger displays. Five-card draw is all about percentages and aces. Play to scoop the pot in Omaha Hi Lo; getting half barely keeps you in the game. Play strong, high hands very aggressively in Texas Hold ’em or go ahead and fold ’em. It’s all about the numbers.
    It’s all about the chips.
    And Zane started raking them in.
    Numero Uno got frustrated early by watching his chip stacks dwindle and let his emotions get the better of him. Zane put him out with a jack-high straight after a round of Texas Hold ’em, and the man left. Bianchi started folding out more than he stayed in, content to drink his whiskey and play commentator after losing the bulk of his chips to Numero Dos’s nines over sevens in a particularly brutal round of seven-card stud.
    Zane’s chip stacks grew. Numero Dos held her own until Armen duped her out of a couple hundred thousand dollars in chips by — in Zane’s opinion — bluffing her into folding. So that left Armen and Zane with the bulk of the chips between them, and it was Zane’s turn to choose the game. Just what he had been waiting for. The prodigious chip stacks meant Armen would be more willing to play, if Zane’s profile of him was correct. What Zane didn’t know about the hard-to-read Mr. Armen was if the man would be goaded into action.
    “Five-card draw. For it all.”
    Armen raised one brow as Numero Dos let out a harsh breath and fanned herself while Bianchi started counting chip stacks. “Do you know how much money is on the table, Mr. Porter?” Bianchi asked, no small amount of warning in his voice.
    “I am aware,” Zane said easily, his eyes still locked on Armen’s.
    “What you propose takes no skill, Mr. Porter, only dumb luck,” Armen observed.
    “Oh, I’m feeling lucky tonight, Mr. Armen,” Zane assured him, despite the spike of annoyance the implication caused. Armen was stalling, and Zane could see the wrinkles forming at the corners of the man’s eyes. Then Zane deliberately smirked, throwing Armen an all-out dare.
    Armen sniffed. “Very well.”
    They both pushed their chips into the center of the table, and then