“A killer, a detective, and a game of poker? Sounds like my kind of night,” said Carlos, grinning at the rest of the group. Sam thought it odd. Maybe the Spanish player with an aggressive style at the felt acted the same in real life. Just how hard had Felix Jackson made his brother’s life? Carlos had been seated when the group turned around from the empty Picasso plinth to glimpse Felix Jackson with a knife in his neck. Could Carlos have stabbed the American and then taken his seat again? It would have been incredibly risky, but it was possible. The theft of the drawing was the perfect distraction, and he was the only person who hadn’t joined Antonio when he noticed it was missing. 

The four players took their seats in the tournament, which was moderately full for a midweek night in Central Barcelona. Only two of them shared the same felt, as Mo and Sofia moved to the same table. They sat at opposite ends but maintained a friendly discourse as play got underway. 

Carlos was a few yards away with his back to the table where Sofia and Mo sat. The young, aggressive Spaniard started off how he played high-stakes cash games, by bullying others and stealing pots. He put relentless pressure on his opponents in virtually every hand. 

Carlos was facing Sam’s table, he was sharing the felt with someone Carlos recognized from the previous night. It took him an orbit to recognize the waitress from Antonio’s. Once he realized who it was, he watched her intently. 

She could only have been around 20 years old, but she played with a fearless nature and strategic maturity that belied her years. Raising pots that Sam led out, she was unafraid of playing at the edge of variance. So much so that when Sam engaged her in conversation, she was overly confident after winning several pots. 

“You play here every week?” asked Sam. 

“I play here most nights. You don’t, though. Game a bit too cheap for you?”

“I’m Sam,” he said, extending his hand. “But you knew that already, didn’t you?”

“I thought they called you NASA,” she said with a smile. “I’m Maria Rodriguez. You met me at Antonio’s last night, but I play here more than I serve drinks there.”

“I can believe it the way you handle those chips,” said Sam. Maria was riffling the chips by separating two stacks, then bringing them together with her fingers with practiced ease.

“I’m glad you weren’t playing in last night’s game. I might not have been winning. You play high stakes?”

“This is the highest I go, in the casino anyway. I love this place. I came to Barcelona to study artwork at University, but I’ve been coming here ever since I arrived. I play online too, sometimes a bit bigger. You play online?” she asked with a smile. 

“No. I like to look in the eyes of the people I’m playing. I’ll head back to the States one day, play in the World Series of Poker Main Event…maybe. But the cash games here have been too good.”

“Maybe you should qualify online for it. I might see you there. It’ll cost me a few cents as you Americans say. You can buy in for $10,000, I’ll win an online event for less than $100.”

Sam nodded and smiled, but it died on his lips, the smile never reaching his eyes. The peculiarity of being back at a poker table 24 hours after a man had died across the felt was hitting him. 

“You know, Maria, last night was the first time I’ve ever left a poker table – without busting – when I didn’t want to walk away.”

“It must have been horrible.”

“That and the overnight stay in Barcelona police station. Did the police speak with you?”

“They stopped me after you were all taken away and spoke with me, but I was on CCTV; Antonio has cameras in the foyer and outside, just not inside his drawing room. Well, you know…”

The irony of Maria calling it the drawing room when the absence of the drawing had been what triggered the events, was the most revealing line. To Sam, it made him think that she still had the drawing on her mind. But a man was dead. Was that natural? 

“I still can’t believe it,” he said. “One minute I’m playing the game, the next Antonio is showing us that his priceless piece of artwork has disappeared. I’d never heard him so upset; you must have heard him from outside. But the security guard came running in, didn’t he?”

“Miguel? Yes, he passed me on the stairs. I was in the kitchen Antonio has in his apartment. Antonio had texted through an order for food. Miguel ran straight into the room. He told me to wait outside the room in case there was trouble. It was so upsetting. I didn’t know the man, but to die like that…” 

She tailed off. They stopped talking for a time. There was nothing Sam could say that would shake Maria’s thoughts of the same moment he was replaying in his mind. Turning to see Felix Jackson with a knife in his neck, the victim bleeding out onto the ornate poker table, tainting its wooden, multi-layered leaf designed base and stunning felt.  He should have been surveying the whole scene and the placement of the people involved. How close was Antonio to the drawing – could he have dropped it? What about Sofia? She was like a wraith, out of her seat and by Sam’s side in seconds, but was there an ulterior motive? 

And what of Mohammed? He was chatting amiably with Sofia as far as Sam could see. They both knew about his business dealings with the victim. He was Felix Jackson’s only known enemy at the felt.

Just as Sam thought of the fourth and final player among their number, he heard his voice. Carlos leaped from his seat and jabbed a finger at the young man next to the dealer. 

“You! I know you, and I see what you are doing! You were looking at my cards.”

The young man also jumped out of his seat, shouting angrily back. 

“We all know what you did! You killed that man! Everyone knows it. You hate him from what he did to your brother. Why don’t you confess?” 

Carlos rose fully as he bore over the young man from two feet away. 

“You say one more word and I swear, I kill you right here in the casino. You will die right here!”