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.