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Bluff by Papirini

Bluff
by papirini



There was no turning back from the game.


The poker played was five card stud, with 100,000 dollars in the bank and a extra gold Rolex on the line. To most of the players in the seedy basement room, there was a great stake to be had in the prize at the center of the table. It was more than enough to keep them afloat in there less than respectful businesses for the year.

For Detective Lennie Briscoe, there was a dangerous killer of four to be caught in the deal. And he was sitting right across the table from the world-weary detective, looking as innocent as could be.

"So deal out already," he looked over to see one of his opponents - a black dude with a moustache and lime green shirt - drawl with beer on his tongue at the dealer. "We haven't got all night to do this, bitch."

Lennie merely gave a polite smile as the young woman - Asian, not more than eighteen – silently flipped the cards out to each the three remaining players that hadn't fallen into a drunken stupor, her eyes glancing at each player carefully as they picked up their hand. She was unusually short, with bright day-glo streaks in her hair, and a short black skirt that barely covered her buttocks and fishnet garter. She had, however, beautiful golden-red hazel eyes, a rarity in the genetics that indicated she was not full-blooded Asian.

A real diamond in the rough. Briscoe thought. A shame. Too pretty to be down here with this lot.

"In my day," The detective nodded towards the black man as he picked up his cards, "we'd call something like that 'toots', 'broad' or 'dame'."
"Well, Jenkins," The black man drawled out the psuedonym like a curse as he took up his cards and nodded towards the third party, a thin white dude who was rubbing his fingers through his blond hair. "Your game is obviously old-fashioned. Me, I like my 'hos like I like my beer. Cold and gold, baby!"
"Mmm," the blond guy nodded, not paying attention to what was going on. "Cold and gold. And she has to know how to deal."
"Oh, this one sure does." The black man looked hungrily at the Asian. "We both know from the experience we've had this week, don't we?"

Briscoe nodded absentmindedly as he looked at his hand. It was pitiful to behold. A real stinker - a pair of threes and a high king. And he just bet his watch, his retirement gift, on the disgusting deal.

Looks like I'll have to bluff on this one. Briscoe's eyes shifted left to right to each player. Let's hope I'm a better liar than these two bozos.

"So you worked at Grumman, old man?" The white boy spoke as he lay two cards on the table. "My grandpa worked there for a few years. Worked on the LEM."
"Oh, which one?"
"Apollos 11, 13, 15, 16....and 17, I think."
"Oh? I worked on Apollo 14 and then transferred to Boeing." Briscoe threw out his two cards and put 10,000 in the pot. "So I didn't know your grandfather too well. We were all working on different projects at the same time, unfortunately. You look like him, though. His name was....ah, Graham, right?"
"...Yeah." The boy's face brightened up as he responded, putting the rest of his money into the pot. "That was my grandpa."
"He knew a lot about avionics." Briscoe nodded. "Knew every piece on that the LEM he made, I heard. And he knew how to clean himself up afterwards. He was a man, real clean on the job."
"Yeah...."

As the black man tossed his cards out, he pinched the dealer in a sensitive place, licking his lips greedily as he did. Turning beet red, the prostitute quickly tossed her hair around, allowing her perfume to fill the room.

Mmm. Briscoe couldn't help but be intrigued as the scent reached him. Like dew from a new moon night. For a cheap hooker, she's got class.

"Your grandfather." Briscoe paused. "He was also a good mechanic. Really good. I heard he could clean a car engine just like that."
"Yeah." The white boy nodded. "He could."
"Can you?"
"Well...." After a pause, the boy put down his cards. Three of a kind. "I'm ok. Not good with cars."
"I see."
"I kick ass," the black guy drawled as he slammed down his pair. "I KICK ass!!"

At this, Briscoe shook his head. It was men like the flush, laughing triumphantly at his supposed win, that made the hard-working guys like Ed Green look bad. It even made wavering former drunks like himself want to never drink again.

Briscoe was almost tempted to knock out a few teeth on the guy for being an idiot. Almost.

"So, old man." The boy leaned forward, a smile on his face. "What have you got?"
"...Would you like to know?" Briscoe smiled, his bluff in place, his ace in the hole ready. "I think I have everything in the pot, Jack."
"Is that so?" The boy nodded. "I think you're bad at....bluffing...."

At this, the boy's voice trailed off. Briscoe suddenly felt the boy stare at him. He could also feel the stare of the ten-dollar whore on him as well, though he didn't find hers nearly as apprehensive.

"How'd you know my first name, Jenkins?"
"The way I know a lot of things, Jack." Briscoe still kept his cards to himself. "I know how you have problems dealing with the constabulary. Especially when people decide to sell out on you."
"What do you mean?"
"Well..." Briscoe nodded. "Like, if someone, say, ratted you out for illegal gambling 'cause he took your money. And you, say, popped a few bullets in him and a few others and then lit them on fire. What would you say to that?"

The reaction was almost instantaneous. Nearly knocking the table over onto the dealer, Jack jumped up, bringing his gun from his pocket. His hands slightly shaky, he pointed his gun at Briscoe, who quickly stood up at the sight of the barrel.

"Hey, hey, woah, easy with the gun, kid!"
"What the hell do you want, old man?!"
"No need to be overreacting. I'm just an avid card player, same as you two." Briscoe had his hands up in a casual gesture. "I just want to know why you sent Gunther Konig, his girlfriend and his family to the morgue on 14th St. is all. Was it over a game of cards like this one?"
"You....you fag!" Still pointing his gun at the detective, Graham nudged the black man. "Yo, Ben! Ben!! He's here to mess up our party!!"

Nodding apathetically, the black man stumbled out of his chair and took up his gun - a Magnum - which he also pointed at Briscoe. His aim, however, was very unsteady, and he looked ready to fall over.

"Aaww, come on, Jack." Briscoe snorted. "You really want to kill a cop over something like this?"
"Why not? You're not bugged or anything." Jack cocked his gun. "No one else would know if I did do it."
"No, you're right," Though Briscoe was worried that the situation was very quickly going against him, outwardly he shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not bugged. Nothing we say here would leave this room.”

“Damn straight it won't.”

“But cops in almost every precinct are looking for you.” Briscoe smiled. “Even after you used your grandfather's engine cleaner on the bodies and tried to burn them to erase evidence, we were able to trace the gun back to your dad. And not just the gun; we've got you in a lot of other ways on all those murders, and we can prove it all scientifically. So if you kill me, trust me, you'll be facing a lot worse than me when it comes to my buddies down at headquarters."

This gave Jack a moment of hesitation. Briscoe wasn't completely telling the truth; they hadn't traced the gun – the gun which, incidentally, Jack was using at that moment - back to his dad, at least, not as far as he knew. Nor was every precinct looking for someone Briscoe himself would have otherwise considered a amateur hustler and gambler whose worst offense on record was picking up an obvious undercover policewoman. Briscoe was alone on this one; he didn't even have his partner to back him up.

He did trace the engine cleaner back to his grandfather, though. It was a start on closing the noose, but not enough to save the detective at the moment.

"No...you're...you're lying!"


Just as Briscoe went to take a step back and go for his gun, Jack finally reacted. His gun shook as it was aimed at Briscoe's head; Jack was more than ready to shoot at the slightest provocation.


"You...cheap bastard!” Jack was literally gasping for air in his rage. “You piece of.....the cops don't have anything on me!! You know it, I know it, everyone knows it!!"

Regardless of what information Bruscoe really had, all he needed was another moment, another bluff, to give Jack enough hesitation so that he could finally collar him - or at least, Briscoe could escape with some useful information. Unfortunately, the sound of the black man's drunken laughter had Briscoe realizing that he had Jack's partner to deal with as well, not to mention that he may have blown his cover too soon to do anything useful. Getting killed by a two-bit teen was becoming more and more probable by the second.

That was when there was a sudden movement from the black man's left.

"UWAAH!!"

Jack's partner was so drunk that he barely even noticed as the small, pale fist shot across his face, causing his neck to make very ugly sounds as he crashed on the floor with a thud. The Magnum flew out of the black man's hand as the hooker faced Jack, standing to her full height as she did so. Her hazel eyes were flashing at him, and her pink-streaked hair covered her face.

“You...”
"That's for him calling me a bitch." Briscoe could feel the tension between the two of them as the girl spoke, her voice small and high like a child's. "And Jack. I promised my mother before I came that I wouldn't let you get away with what you did."
"Ch-Chibi-Usa." Jack's eyes widened as he saw her stand against him. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

“What does it look like, Jack?”

“It looks like she kicked your friend's ass.”

SHUT UP!!” Jack pointed the gun at the girl. “You cheap whore. Don't you know who you're messing with? I'm the one who paid for that dress you're wearing!! I'm the one who brought you here off the streets!!”
"Bringing me to this dump with a dead man's money so you can degrade me. You really know how to show a girl a good time, don't you, Jack?"


Suddenly, there was a brooch-shaped item in the girl's hand as she kept speaking. It could have been a badge, but from where he stood, Briscoe wasn't sure.


“I'm not used as easily as you think.” She took a step forward, her tiny voice driving each word home like knives. “Because....I don't deal with murderers unless I'm bringing them to justice."
"Justice....you...." At this, Jack pulled the trigger. "Stupid pink-haired cunt....!!"

At the sound of the weapon firing, Briscoe didn't even have time to get his own gun out to stop Jack. He didn't need to; suddenly a flash of pink light appeared before him, enveloping the bullet before it entered the prostitute's heart, and shattering it to a thousand tiny pieces. As steel pellets flew across the room, the Asian girl was on Jack Graham, kneeing him hard in the stomach.

"Hoof!" Jack fell to the ground, howling in pain. "What the hell?! What the hell....you bitch!?! You....you're helping...that...that old ass!!"
"My thoughts exactly."

Briscoe wasted no time after that. Walking over, he picked up his watch from the table and clasped it back on his wrist.

"A full house always beats a pair." He slapped his cards down on the table face-up, almost as an afterthought. "I guess I would have won the hand anyways."

Then, walking with a stride, Briscoe bent down to the ground, bringing Jack's hands out and forcing the gun away from him with his foot. Whimpers came from Jack as this was done.

"Jack Graham, you're under arrest." From his pocket, he took out his cuffs and slapped them on his suspect. "For the murders of Gunther Konig, Mina Konig, Max Konig and Rachel Roth. You have the right to remain silent...."
"Jesus...." Tears were falling from Jack's eyes. "Aw, ow...how...?"
"Anything you say can and will be used against you in a law of court. You have the right to an attorney...." Briscoe stopped when he saw the pained expression on Jack's face. "You know what? I'll read you the rest of your rights in a minute. I want to take this all in.”

“Damn....it.....”

“You know, your expression is priceless."
"That.....bitch....hit....me."
"Thank god for that." Briscoe turned to talk to the girl. "By the way...it's Chibi-Usa, right? Thanks for bluffing for me. It really...."

Briscoe's voice trailed off. There was no trace of her to be found, only the smell of her perfume.

The smell of new moon dew, dancing on the skin of a golden-eyed princess pretending to be a prostitute.




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