"You have something we want."
"Good. And you have something I want."
"And what is that?"
"Your absence," Griffen said, toying with a stack of chips on the table. "I am finding it difficult to run my operation with you people causing trouble. I don't want you in this city. I challenge all of you to a single game of poker, any game, any rules, winner take all. You can put up whatever you have against what I have."
"And what is that?"
"What did you come for?" Griffen countered.
"Your fiefdom here," Jordan Ma said.
"Then that's it," Griffen said. "I will play you for everything you have against what I have. If I win, then you butt out and don't come back. Never. If you win, then I will pack up and move back to . . . well, maybe not Ann Arbor, but somewhere."
"Somewhere not in the Eastern dragons' command," Winston Long said.
"Fine," Griffen said. "You give me a list, and I'll avoid them. If I lose. Which I doubt. What I do after that is none of your business. This is what you are here for, now. Play or don't. I'll take you down one by one. I know who each of you is now."
"What about your sister?" Jordan Ma asked.
"She's independent," Griffen said, casually. "I'm the one you're worried about. So play me. My share is worth exactly what all four of yours are together. Everything you have against everything I have."
"Who the hell are you, Sky Masterson?"
Griffen smiled. "Up until now I would have thought of myself more as Nathan Detroit, but if you want to play me for what I have, then I guess I've graduated to Sky. That is my proposition. If you don't think it's worth your while, then why have you spent months here in disguise trying to undermine my business? This is your chance to take the whole thing in one game, winner take all. If you know anything about me, you know my word is good. I will walk away. You will win. If you can."
It was a dare. Griffen could feel the excitement in the air.
Peter grinned at him. "I love it," he said. "This is the final table to end all tournaments. There has never been a larger prize."
"Who will deal?" Winston asked. "I don't trust your humans or any of your feeble dragon hybrids."
"Mai," Griffen said.
The four Eastern dragons looked startled. Rebecca tapped the table.
"Why her? She is one of us."
"Because I don't trust her," Griffen said. "But maybe you do."
"No," Peter said. "None of us trust her."
"That's perfect," Jordan said. "I agree." The others nodded.
Griffen hit her speed-dial number on his cell phone. Mai answered, sounding irritable.
"Griffen? It's after three. Why are you calling so late?"
Griffen explained what was going on. "I need you to deal poker for a private party," he said. "A few old friends. Jordan Ma and some of his associates."
"Jordan! Where are you?" she demanded.
"In your hotel, on the fifteenth floor." He gave her the number of the suite.
"I will be there in five minutes."
It took six. She hurried in through the door and stopped short when she saw the others. She let out a hiss like a snake. Jordan Ma smiled. The others merely looked perturbed. Griffen could tell they had some kind of history. Someday, he might be able to persuade it out of Mai.
"We will use our own chips." Jordan said.
Griffen frowned. "What's wrong with mine?"
"Ours is our stake." He nodded to Peter, who took a heavy leather bag from under his coat and poured the contents out in the center of the table. Hundreds of metal disks clinked, cascaded, tinkled to the felted top. Their color was pure, brilliant yellow.
Griffen's eyes popped at the sight. "Are these . . . solid gold?"
"It is commonplace among the Eastern families to hold hard assets," Mai said, waving a dismissive hand. "Very showy, but it is just money."
"Each of our chips is worth eight hundred dollars," Jordan said. "We have approximately a thousand of them. Is that what you think you are worth?"
Griffen resumed his casual pose. "No, but you will never have enough gold to cover that. I'll play for what petty amount you have."
"I will need coffee," Mai said.
Griffen waited while she brewed a pot, then accepted a cup. He needed a clear head. He had to prepare himself for the game of the century--of his life.
Griffen helped Mai set up the table. A basket of new decks of cards stood nearly full. She stripped the first one and shuffled it deftly. She flipped half the deck with the edge of one card and flipped it back again.
Griffen watched her, trying to let the rhythm take his mind off the flips his stomach was doing. He was scared. His entire livelihood was on the line. He didn't want to leave New Orleans and the life he had built there, but no other offer could prompt agreement from these very powerful and inexorable personalities. He was scared, but also angry. The latter was by far the more important emotion if he didn't let it overwhelm him. Channel that, he told himself. Be cool. Think of every trick you have ever known. Know that what you are doing is important. He stretched out his arms, intertwined his fingers, and cracked his knuckles.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Let's play poker."
"The challenge is yours, so the choice of weapons is ours," Peter said. "I declare that we play Texas hold 'em."
Griffen shrugged nonchalantly. Peter knew that he disliked the game and was taking every advantage. He would have done the same thing in Peter's place. "It won't make any difference," he said.
Mai put out the button, and dealt the first round of cards.
The first several hands were trials, as Jordan, Pack, and Rebecca felt Griffen out. Griffen, doing the same, saw that his dealers had been right: All of the tells they had spotted belonged to one or another of the three against whom he had not played himself. Peter's he knew, just as the cocky dragon knew his. That information canceled itself out between the two of them but did not redound to the others' advantage since Peter did not have time to convey it to his cohorts. Griffen coolly judged by the discards how daring each player was, how much risk he or she could take, and how good each was at calculating the odds. They were all very good; he found it a compliment that the Eastern dragons had thought enough of him to send real pros.
His phone rang several times during the game: Jerome, Val, Fox Lisa, members of the krewe, all wanting to know where he was. Jerome wanted to come down immediately, but Griffen assured him there was no need. The matter would be settled then and there; nothing Jerome did or could do would change the outcome.
He missed last-minute krewe meetings, fittings, even meals. The sun rose over nearly silent streets that swiftly filled with shouting, raucous crowds of tourists. It was Mardi Gras out there, but inside, poker was the only thing on Griffen's mind.
He only stopped to eat when his hands started to get shaky. After finishing the one whisky and water, he skipped liquor, drinking coffee or diet soda exclusively. The Eastern dragons did the same thing.
About four hours in they were all desperate for the bathroom. Griffen glanced at his fellow players through a gradually increasing lens of yellow, but he wouldn't go first. Rebecca finally broke, headed for the toilet.
"You must have the weakest bladder in the world!" Jordan Ma snapped at her, the first sign of temper from him. Griffen was glad. It meant the cool-headed dragon was breaking.
Rebecca shot him a hateful look. "I drink when I play. I have been playing. It is good to stay hydrated!"
The others, glad of the excuse to take a break, followed in her wake. Mai threw the old decks into the wastebasket after every few hands, setting them on fire with one gentle breath so no cards could be retrieved. She was like a coin-operated fortune-teller. Only her hands and eyes moved. She didn't speak to anyone, not even Griffen. She was probably angry with him for roping her in and would probably take it out on him later when they were alone, but he was glad for her silence. He focused on every turn of the card, every chip that clinked into the pot. Griffen was playing for real.