Page 34 of New Orleans Rush

“Call or fold.”

Oliphant’s blunt tone tore Huxley from his melancholy. A reminder why he was here. “I’ll raise you fifty.” He added his bills into the growing pot. At least the poker game was going according to plan.

Oliphant’s mustache twitched, predictably. Huxley had forced a slow play, folding on hands he could have won, drawing out the games to let his money dwindle and feign desperation. Until his final deal. Five-card draw was his game. Simple. Clean. Tough to win unless you were dealt a killer hand. Thanks to his deck-stacking skills, he’d made sure everyone’s hands were exceptional.

Oliphant matched the raise.

Ms. Terious was next, twisting the diamond stud in her ear. “Y’all won’t be satisfied until I walk outta here broke and bare as the day I was born.”

The visual made Huxley shudder. She was his mother’s age, with a thick mole on her cheek, enough makeup to sink a ship, and stray chin hairs. Her late-night act involved disappearing objects down her expansive cleavage.

Dazzling Delmar scrubbed a thick hand over his dark beard, considering his cards. A delay tactic. Huxley kept his face blank. He knew Delmar held four of the five cards needed for his full house. He knew because he’d dealt him those cards purposely, just like he’d expertly switched to a new deck of cards last round. Passing Delmar his missing king on the final deal would be child’s play.

As a kid, Huxley would stay up all night, his flashlight lighting his Star Wars comforter, cards flipping through his fingers. He’d shuffle and reshuffle, stacking decks and picking up cards until blisters formed. In school, he’d play for lunch money. Later he’d play for favors to keep his brothers out of trouble.

Tonight he played for his father’s theater.

Delmar slapped his bill onto the pile. “The wife will string me up by my balls if I lose her Louis Vuitton money.”

He always commented on “the wife.” A ploy to play down his hand, just like Ms. Terious lamented leaving the club broke and battered. They also didn’t counter with a raise. Aggressive play would scare others from sweetening the pot. A pot growing ever so nicely.

Horatio Heinzinger was last, the barely twenty-year-old who couldn’t disappear a T-bone in a room full of pit bulls. The subpar magician would be lucky to bench press forty pounds, but, thanks to Daddy, the kid could buy and sell half of New Orleans. A welcome addition to their table.

Horatio clacked his teeth, a typical ritual. He scratched his nose next. So predictable, as had been his attempt to drop a card onto his lap when dealing two games ago. Being caught was shameful. It meant your skills lacked finesse. It also meant you had to fold. Horatio folded every round.

Ever the go-getter, he pushed on. He called the bet and raised another fifty. He must like his three deuces. Lucky for him, Huxley had a fourth waiting for him next deal.

Everyone called the kid’s bet, growing the pot. All asked for a draw on the last round, swapping their undesirable cards for new ones. Huxley dealt and watched as they scanned their hands. It was a thing of beauty, knowing what you’d dealt, learning the tells that would serve you in future games. How Ms. Terious chewed her left cheek when she was pleased, how Oliphant flared his nostrils.

Now came the fun.

Thinking they had it in the bag, his associates went big, tossing in Benjamins like hundreds grew on trees. The stakes grew. Only Delmar folded, throwing his cards on the table and his hands in the air. The final pot was nearing two grand. Huxley’s biggest score in ages. The sum meant he wouldn’t have to keep lying to Fox and Axel about the “something else” he had on the go. Plus, if he had to be in a smoky room opposite a tacky dogs-playing-poker poster instead of dating Beatrice, he’d better walk away with a serious score.

The final move was his. He studied his royal flush and blinked a few times too many—his fake tell to make them think he was nervous. “Ms. Terious won’t be the only one walking out of here broke. This game is getting too rich for my blood.”

Oliphant blew a stream of smoke toward him. “What’s the problem? Spent too much on fixing your theater?”

Huxley nearly crushed his cards.

It was the first time Oliphant had mentioned the construction work. Worried he’d punch him in the throat, Huxley had avoided the topic, but he was certain the beady-eyed brat was behind the complaint, thanks to his unrelenting Marlow family vendetta.

There was a time Oliphant had been borderline tolerant. He had apprenticed under Max Marlow, leeching off the great man’s knowledge. Although Huxley had never liked Oliphant, his father had enjoyed fostering eager magicians, until Oliphant had given up stage secrets to a competitor. The idiot had let himself be seduced by a blond spy. He’d claimed to be a victim and begged to stay on under Max’s tutelage. Max had told him a good magician would have sensed the scheme a mile off and sent him packing, after warning other illusionists to steer clear of the incompetent man.

The incident had damaged Oliphant’s reputation. Although he’d tried to regain a portion of his pride through the poker games, losing to Max time and again had only increased Oliphant’s Marlow family hatred. He also knew how strapped Huxley was for cash.

“It’s funny,” Huxley said, tamping the ire in his voice. “I’ve never heard of the woman who lodged the blight complaint. Odd for it to happen out of the blue.”

Oliphant puffed another smoke stream. “Odd, indeed.”

“So odd it would make one wonder if someone had a grudge against the Marlow family.”

“With a family like yours, I imagine it would be hard to narrow down the suspects.”

Huxley clenched and released his jaw. “We are a colorful bunch.”

He could call Oliphant out, but there was no point. The theater was an eyesore and had needed fixing. But if Oliphant took his grudge further, he’d learn Fox wasn’t the only Marlow who knew more than he let on. Huxley had enough dirt on Oliphant to silence the man for good.

Oliphant stubbed out his cigar and dumped the butt in the ashtray. “Guess you need this win, with all those costs. But if I’m correct, you pulled the last bill from your wallet.”