A flop of two tens and a jack with two hearts on show was perfect for Dimitar. There was no way Serf would see the move coming. When Serf bet out, Dimitar knew that he had him. All he had to do now was to cover the strength in his hand. No talk. No Hollywood. He breathed as deeply as he could without revealing it. It slowed down his heartbeat, and he called the bet.
‘Still chasing. I’m about to get my chip lead back,’ proclaimed Serf. At the start of the hand, the chips were almost even, with Dimitar having a marginal advantage. Peter Serf looked down at pocket aces and waited for the turn. A queen.
‘Does that help you?’ Serf asked. Stone silence from Dimitar. ‘I think it might.’
Dimitar bet and Serf made the call.
The river was an ace. Serf bet, big this time, positioning himself for an all-in if Dimitar raised him. Dimitar prayed that Serf couldn’t see the vein in his neck throbbing.
‘I’m all-in.’
Peter Serf considered Dimitar. He looked at his eyes, his facial features, then down to…
There was a loud bang from inside the building, and the two men looked up to the 10th floor. Elena ran down the stairs to the ninth floor, just a couple of footsteps ahead of Jeremy Rundle, who caught her up on the walkway facing the pool.
Serf looked up at Rundle, who grabbed Elena. His hands were stronger than hers, but she freed one, whirling it around madly, trying to get free. She struggled and squirmed desperately. There was a clang as the knife in her hand hit the hard stone floor.
‘Elena!’ shouted Dimitar. She didn’t react, but Rundle did, turning towards the pool and Serf. He needed to tell him what he’d seen from the room. The cards on the flop–
The belt buckle hit Rundle square in the temple as he made a futile grab for Elena’s throat. She freed her arms and pushed him back towards the walkway, where Rundle’s back hit the railing so awkwardly it crumpled, and his body tipped up, his heavy boots acting as a counterweight to his bleeding face. Up and over, he tipped, dropping from the walkway all the way down nine flights.
It took him half a second to spin end over end before he landed with a sickening crunch on the edge of the pool. Blood pooled around his head and ran down the rivulets between the tiles.
Just twenty meters and 7,500 liters of water separated the two men playing cards and Jeremy Rundle’s dead body, his neck twisted unnaturally against the pale blue tiles at the water’s edge that were rapidly turning crimson. A scream from one of the hotel guests at the bar punctured the stillness of the night air. The tarpaulin floated free of its mooring from the impact of Rundle’s legs. Elena rose to her feet and looked down at Dimitar.
‘Dimitar!’
‘Elena, come downstairs. You’re not safe up there.’
She was far safer than Dimitar had thought. From the door to the hotel restaurant, Sam Houston emerged with two policemen and a security guard. All they had to do was walk slowly around the pool, and Serf would be arrested.
‘The game isn’t over.’ Serf said. Panicked, his eyes darted left and right. ‘I call.’
Peter Serf slammed down two aces and revealed his full house, aces over tens.
Dimitar slowly turned over the two tens in his hand to reveal quads. He smiled, breathing out a sigh of relief.
‘I wasn’t concentrating.’ Serf stuttered. ‘The hand needs replaying.’
‘I beat you fair and square.’ asserted Dimitar. ‘Now, are you a man of your word?’
Serf ducked under the table for the laptop bag full of money. He placed it on the table, then quickly unzipped one of the pockets and pulled out a knife.
The crowd of onlookers gasped in shock.
‘When you’ve got no outs…’ he seethed and lunged at Dimitar, who backed out of the chair. The table was knocked over as Serf launched himself at his prey. Dimitar deflected the knife but staggered backward, and Serf landed on top of him as they fell onto the tarpaulin. As Dimitar and Serf gripped each other, each trying to gain control of the other, they both sank into the water.
The two policemen froze at the side of the pool.
‘How deep is that water?’ asked the security guard.
Sam Houston wasn’t waiting for an answer. He stripped off his jacket and dove headfirst into the pool.
Under the water, Dimitar felt his arm flood with warmth as the knife slashed across it. He kicked out desperately and saw the face of Peter Serf above as his head banged against the bottom of the pool. Stars danced in his eyes as he battled to free himself from both Serf and the tarpaulin. It was dragging him down.
He felt a hand grab his arm where it was cut, and the pain almost made him cry out in agony. He kept his mouth shut, preserving the tiny bit of oxygen still sustaining his lungs. It felt like life was being squeezed out of him as the arm pulled on his body with an almost superhuman strength.
He could see Peter Serf’s face grinning at him. His mouth opened into a twisted laugh, and although the sound around him was muffled, he thought he could hear the cackle ring in his ears.
His body started to ascend…up, up, up.
Dimitar broke the surface first, his lungs throwing water out of them and his natural instinct kicking in as he sucked in air. His hands landed on something hard, so he clung on to it. A large, fat arm stretched down to him, and he grabbed it like a lifebelt.
Slim McCoy pulled Dimitar up and yanked him clear of the water.
‘Sam? Where’s Sam?’ Dimitar gasped.
‘He went back down after the guy you were playing.’
Sam stood up, and Slim eased him into a chair. Elena came running from the hotel and threw herself at Dimitar as he breathed in with a gasp.
‘Are you OK?’ she asked, holding onto him with all her might.
‘Yeah, I’ll be fine if you don’t crush me to death,’ Dimitar smiled. He swept her hair off her cheek and kissed her firmly on the lips.
They watched the water for the longest time. From the moment Elena had burst down the stairs and onto the walkway to the second Sam surfaced, just 100 seconds had elapsed, but everyone’s lives had changed.
After what seemed like an hour but in reality, could only have been about a minute, the surface broke, and Sam Houston gasped in the air as he clung to the side of the pool nearest the corpse of Jeremy Rundle.
‘I couldn’t find…’ Sam tried to speak. The two policemen pulled him clear of the water. Then they all looked towards the pool, and as the tarpaulin drifted to one side, they saw Peter Serf’s body slowly float to the surface. No one said a word.
Serf’s mouth was open, and the light had gone out behind his grey, dead eyes.
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.