Crocodile Tears by Anthony Horowitz Read Free Book Online

stopped spinning. Everyone had gathered around the table to watch this strange contest—two men, a boy, and five white rectangles that, combined with the turned-down cards, could mean so much or so little.
    “Interesting cards,” McCain muttered. “If either of you have another ace, you’ll have two pairs. You could win the entire pot . . .”
    Why had he said that, Alex wondered. The odds of two pairs at poker are not huge. Why even mention it? Was he perhaps challenging them? Or could it be that he was trying to divert their attention? Suppose he had three of a kind . . .
    “I’ll tell you what,” McCain went on with a fast check of his watch. “It’s the last game of the evening, so why don’t we have a bit of fun?”
    McCain lifted his hands theatrically, touched the two thumb tips together, then laid his palms flat on the table. There was a stir from the audience as he used the wedge to slide all his chips forward, the piles collapsing on top of one another as at least fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of chips were spread across the table. One or two people clapped. Everyone knew what was happening here. It was all or nothing. This was one of those games that any serious gambler would remember for the rest of his life.
    “I’m going to make it easy for you,” McCain said. He ran a hand across his jaw as if he were trying to smooth it back into place. “I know the two of you don’t have enough money to match my bet, but I’m feeling charitable.” He smiled at his own joke. “Put all your money in and we’ll call it even.”
    The accountant drummed his fingers on the table. “Are you trying to pretend you’ve got the third jack, Desmond?” he asked. He had a clipped, nasal way of speaking. His eyes were small and almost colorless; Alex watched them dart from McCain to the cards on the table and somehow knew that he was about to make a mistake. “I think you’re bluffing,” he went on. “You’re just trying to scare us away. Well, it’s not going to work.” He slid his own pile into the center, the plastic chips mingling with McCain’s. He’d added about ten thousand dollars of his own.
    Twenty-five thousand dollars! Any thought of charity had suddenly disappeared. It was a fantastic sum of money to be determined by the turn of two cards.
    Alex glanced at his own pile of chips. It looked pathetic in comparison with the others, but he assumed McCain’s invitation extended to him. “I’m in,” he said.
    “All right, Leo!” McCain nodded at the accountant. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
    The accountant flicked over his two cards. There was a mutter of approval from the spectators. He did indeed have another ace—the ace of diamonds—plus a two of spades. Adding them to the faceup cards gave him two pairs—aces and jacks—a very good hand. McCain really would need three of a kind to do better.
    It should have been Alex’s turn to show his cards next, yet McCain ignored him. “Too bad, Leo!” he crowed. “‘God hath delivered you into my hand’—as it says in the first book of Samuel, chapter twenty-three.” The silver crucifix glimmered briefly as he leaned forward and picked up his cards. He paused for a moment, then turned them over, one at a time. The first card was the jack of clubs. Three of a kind. It beat Leo easily. But then came the real triumph. He turned over the second card to reveal the other black jack—the jack of spades. The audience exploded. The odds of getting four of a kind in Texas Hold ’Em are 4,165 to 1. It was incredible luck. It was almost miraculous.
    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