Dimitar’s life had included many big weeks. When he was nine years old, his mother had become ill and spent seven straight days in hospital recovering from kidney stones. It was harsh, painful, and agonizing, and, according to Dimitar’s Mum, it wasn’t pleasant for her either.
When he was fifteen, Dimitar fell in love with Maria Ivanov. She became the love of his life during a week-long school trip to Bucharest, Romania. On the coach ride home, she returned as the love of his friend Ivan’s life, while Dimitar was hooked on a girl named Ana from his Science class. It was all about experimenting, and so was the bus trip.
When he was 28, Dimitar fell into a torrid one-night stand with the late Mrs Rachel Serf. Out of spite, he had pretended to be his best friend Georgi in an effort to stop his best friend from making a move on the girl he adored—Elena. This affair was revealed to Peter Serf, and when Serf found out, he kidnapped Elena from the hospital and sent Dimitar a message.
$1 million in one month… or Elena dies.
It was a unique ransom request—a buy-in to a heads-up match for everything. Elena’s life and his own were on the line, and $2 million was at stake.
That was three weeks ago. Since then, Dimitar has raised over a third of that money and traveled to Valencia, Spain, for one last chance to turn €347,000 into the million dollars he needed. He would still have to get to Marseille, where he had established Serf was holding Elena. But he couldn’t arrive without the million.
If he did, she was dead.
‘Valencia is a beautiful city, Dimitar.’
‘It’s just a city, Sam.’ Dimitar replied. Outside his hotel window, the sun was out, cacti glimmered on the balcony. The picturesque view was interrupted only by the low droning hums of the air conditioning units.
Sam Houston, a high-rolling cash game professional who had his finger on the pulse of seemingly every city, had managed to get Dimitar into a cash game. This high-stakes game would be his best opportunity to turn his bankroll into a million dollars.
‘Under other circumstances it’s just a city or a girl on your arm. Speaking of which, what exactly happened on the boat?’
‘Nothing. I won some money, that’s all.’
‘Dimitar, I’m just trying to help you.’
‘I know, Sam, I’m just tired. Tired and worn out from running around Europe for three weeks. Now you want me to sit in cash game full of sharks?’
‘I don’t want you to. I could give you the money. But Elena’s captor was specific, you have ten cash game sessions but if you put the money into a tournament, the only way you can win a million is by risking $100,000 at a time, with rebuys. That gives you one tournament. The turn of a card could end it all.’
‘So how’s it going to be different in this cash game? It’s No Limit, right?’
Dimitar could almost hear Sam smile, he presumed from his comfortable apartment in London.
‘Yes, it’s No Limit. But you’re not going in with your whole roll. You don’t need to. How much do you have to your name?’
‘Three-forty-seven, euros.’
‘OK, the minimum buy-in in €100,000, so that’s perfect. You’ll sit down with that, and you’ll win money.’
‘A million?’
‘You don’t need to win a million, you only need to win €653,000. You’ve got one week and… four hours. Double your money each day, and you’ll have the ransom money with more than enough time to get to Marseille.’
Dimitar looked out of his hotel window at the arid landscape outside. Heat rose from the ground in waves as midday approached.
‘Do you really think I can win this money?’ Dimitar asked.
‘I’m certain of it. I wouldn’t be wasting my time helping you if I thought otherwise. Now let’s talk about the players you’ll be facing.’
*
Exactly 400 miles away in Marseille, Elena had been locked in their hotel room for most of the time they’d spent in the South of France. When Serf would leave to meet with Jeremy Rundle for an update on Dimitar, Elena was expected to stay in the room as the two men spoke outside the corridor. They revealed nothing to her but doubled up on ensuring she couldn’t get away.
During the day, there were moments when Peter Serf was out of her sight. But whenever he was away, Jeremy Rundle was close by. She felt like the atmosphere had changed and that she had missed her chance to get away, to deny Serf the ability to hold her – and Dimitar – ransom by keeping her prisoner. She still had the knife but had needed to move it from under the mattress.
The first morning the chambermaid had come to change their bedsheets, Elena had panicked, fearing the discovery of her only weapon against Serf and Rundle. She’d managed to squirrel the knife away and hide it under the linoleum upon which rested the complimentary ironing board. Since then, she hadn’t touched it. But she knew it was there. Time with Serf was bearable. He was nervous, sullen, and almost silent. Rundle, however, was different. He seemed to relish playing the part of the jailer while she sat in the hotel room, looking out of the balcony at the sunlight playing off the surface of the crystal clear pool.
‘Bet you wish you could jump in that pool from here, don’t you?’ he gloated.
‘From ten floors up?’ she asked sardonically. ‘Give it a try yourself if you like.’
‘I’m not to leave your side all afternoon.’
‘Is the boss out making money while you’re minding the merchandise?’
‘You won’t provoke me, bitch.’ Rundle said, grinning. Two rows of tiny teeth made him look like a pumpkin designed by someone with small hands. ‘I’m happy to help him. He’s gotten me out of some scrapes over the years. And I pay my debts.’
‘He’s not the national bank. You’ll still owe him even after you’ve done this for him.’
Rundle didn’t reply.
‘Does it make you feel good to keep a young woman prisoner against her will? It’s at least five years in prison where I come from for aiding and abetting, and probably more because we left Bulgaria. I’m not sure you’d get time off for good behaviour inside.’
Again, Rundle said nothing. He just moved a little closer to her, from the far side of the room to the end of the bed. She inched higher up on the pillow and returned to her book while he watched her. She was in an expensive hotel room with a bed purposely built for maximum comfort. Any food or drink she desired would be hers, and her stab wound, save for a scar that would allow her never to forget her injury, was healed.
In another room with less comfort, she might have been happy. But in the gilded cage she found herself in, she was scratching at the bars.
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.