Crocodile Tears - Anthony Horowitz [17]
Now Alex understood why McCain had talked about two pairs. He had actually been underselling himself to draw the other players in. And the tactic, at least in part, had worked.
“I have the knaves and that makes it my evening,” McCain roared. His eyes were bright with pleasure. He leaned forward and began to sweep all the chips toward him.
“What about my cards?” Alex said quietly.
“Your cards?” McCain blinked. He had forgotten Alex was even there. He glanced down at the table as if to reassure himself. Nothing could beat four jacks, not with only one ace showing on the table . . . could it? He relaxed. “Do forgive me, Alex,” he said. “I should have let you show your cards first. But everyone here would love to see them. What have you got?”
Alex waited a moment. He was aware that everyone was watching him. But for some reason he wanted McCain to remember this. Maybe it was just that he didn’t like being taken for granted.
He turned over the eight of hearts. And then the ten of hearts.
There was a long silence as the truth sank in. Then the audience gasped. The seven of hearts, the nine of hearts, and the jack of hearts were already on the table, faceup. Put them together with Alex’s cards and he had a straight flush . . . seven, eight, nine, ten, and jack of hearts. And in the rules of poker, a straight flush beats four of a kind.
Alex had won.
McCain froze with his hands still cradling the chips, and in that moment Alex stared at all the chips spread out in front of him. They were all his! He had just won more money than he had owned in his whole life. But even so, he regretted what he had done. McCain was his host. This was meant to be his big night. Yet he had just been shown up in front of a large crowd of his friends by an unknown fourteen-year-old. How would he take it? Alex glanced up. McCain was staring across the table with raw anger in his eyes.
“I’m sorry . . . ,” Alex began.
McCain slammed his hands together as if to break the mood. At the same time, he leaned back and roared with laughter. “Well, there’s a lesson in pride,” he exclaimed loudly, for everyone to hear. “I jumped in too quickly. I was too sure of myself, and it seems I’ve been undone by a child I don’t even remember inviting. Never mind! Alex, you’ve beaten me fair and square.” He used his huge hands to push the chips away as if trying to distance himself from them. “You can cash in your chips with the croupier. I bet you must be the richest thirteen-year-old in Scotland right now.”
“Actually, I’m fourteen,” Alex said. “And I don’t want the money. You can give it all to First Aid.”
That drew a round of applause from the audience. McCain stood up. “That’s very generous of you,” he said. “Donating my own money to my own charity!” He was joking, but there was an edge to his voice. “I can promise you it will be well spent.” He moved away from the table, a few people patting him on the back as he left.
Alex glanced down one last time at McCain’s cards: the knaves, as he had called them. They were strangely ugly—almost like freaks, joined at the chest, with flowing hair and strange multicolored tunics.
Scowling knaves versus his own brave hearts. But of course, it didn’t mean anything. They were only cards, and even as he watched, they were swept away and shuffled back into the deck.
4
OFF-ROAD VEHICLE
TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS.
Even as he made his way back into the main body of the castle, Alex thought about what he had just done. It had been an awful lot of money to give away without thinking. He could have held back a little of it, bought something for Jack or Sabina.
He shook his head, annoyed with himself. Charity was what the evening was all about. The money wasn’t his and never had been. He remembered the look of anger in Desmond McCain’s eyes as Alex had revealed his straight flush. McCain might be a born-again Christian, but he hadn’t liked being beaten and somehow Alex doubted that he was going to be invited back.
Sabina had disappeared, but Alex stumbled across Edward Pleasure in yet another of