Real Magic by Stuart Jaffe Page A

As long as Vincent remembered to pocket the extra cards, all would be good.
    Vincent opened with another minimum bid. Freddie called. And, thank goodness, Sammy raised. Duncan raised, too, and they were off. Freddie stayed in another two rounds before bowing out but Vincent, Duncan, and Sammy kept raising each other until Duncan had all fifteen dollars in the pot. Vincent and Sammy went on further, forming a side pot just between them. By the end, the side pot reached fifty-two dollars. Add to that the original pot of forty-eight, and they would win a round one hundred dollars.
    And they did.
    Freddie laughed as Vincent laid down his straight-flush. Duncan frowned and crossed his arms while Sammy's pissed scowl said everything.
    "I think that's a good place to stop for the night," Vincent said.
    "Oh no," Sammy said. "You stay right here until I say you can go."
    Freddie slapped Sammy's shoulder. "Quit your whining. You lost. So did Duncan. So what? Vincent never wins. Let him have his victory. Besides, you'll get it all back next week."
    "Yeah, well, I better." Sammy put his hand out to Vincent. "You still owe me fifteen bucks for the past week's entries."
    "And a dollar for mine, too," Duncan added.
    Sammy liked that. "That's right. You pay for this kid's fee, too."
    Vincent made a show of wanting to argue but knowing better. "Okay, fine." He peeled off three five dollar bills and tossed them on the table along with a one dollar bill and a smile. "Goodnight boys."
    As he walked out, Duncan remained seated. This was the real moment of truth — the real test of trust. He had another drink with Freddie and Sammy before he made his own exit, and he hoped Vincent would be back at the bar where they met. If not, he had wasted his evening and lost all of his money.

 
Chapter 8
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    Duncan wanted to run straight to Joey's Corner, but he knew he had to play his role. He sauntered off in the opposite direction and around the block, making sure to hang his head low. If Freddie or Sammy bothered to watch, they would see a guy dejected at his loss, ready to join the masses suffering through the hard times, maybe even contemplating a visit to the soup kitchen.
    Once he turned the corner, however, Duncan tossed away that cloak of sorrow, put a little bounce in his step, and headed to the bar. Though he walked at a brisk clip, he kept at a walk. Running would only draw attention, and that was something a card cheat never wanted.
    As Duncan neared the bar, Vincent stepped out and waved. "Joey's is too crowded," he said. "I'll take you somewhere else."
    "Sounds good." Duncan put a firm hand on his partner's shoulder. "First, let's settle up."
    Vincent's eyes darted all around them and his hands pulled his coat tightly together. "Are you crazy? Keep your voice down and stop with the loony business. We don't do it out here." Shaking off Duncan's hand, Vincent went on, "Just follow me and you'll get your money."
    He led the way around the block until they came to Sal's — a small Italian joint with only a few people inside. Like Joey's Corner, Sal's had a bar but alcohol wasn't the main attraction. Several wooden booths with high backs lined the wall, and at the occupied booths, every customer wolfed down a plate of pasta. Garlic and parmesan perfumed the air, and loud voices rattled off Italian from the kitchen.
    "Two spaghettis and some beers," Vincent said as they made their way to the back corner booth.
    Once they sat, secluded from the world, Duncan felt a hand on his knee. He reached under the table and received a wad of paper bills. He glanced down to count it.
    "You can trust me," Vincent said. "Heck, I didn't run off, did I?"
    Duncan counted it anyway — fifty dollars. He put the money away, looking around for prying eyes and pleased to see nobody paid him any attention. The waiter arrived with two heaping plates of pasta and two beers.
    Vincent swirled up a forkful of spaghetti. "You've got some nice card skills. Nice