Long Game by InSilva
Disclaimer: didn't create any of the Ocean's characters.
A/N: this was a half-written oneshot from last year and I thought it was high time I finished it. :)
Summary: set between O11 and O12, someone from Danny's past is determined to make his presence felt. Rated for profanity.
Farrell Thompson was content. Born into wealth, he'd started life with every advantage and he'd continued taking advantage ever since. All about whom you know and what they know and how you can use that knowledge.
There'd been a little blip in all that, of course, a little financial misbehaviour that he hadn't quite been able to explain to the authorities. A small misunderstanding that he hadn't been able to buy his way out of. He'd had the bad luck to be caught after a string of high profile cases and the judge had made an example of him.
Six years inside, out in three. He'd done the time. It wasn't a beach holiday even when he'd been moved to a softer prison but it hadn't been without its moments. When you had natural charisma, it never went away. When you had a quick mind, it never failed you. When you had money, it never stopped you having fun.
And when he'd got out eleven months ago, there'd been a fanfare of publicity, money still talked and a jail sentence was positively trendy. Life had just clicked back on track.
That was why he was here and checking into this exclusive hotel. Playing high-stakes poker was one of his guilty pleasures. The thrill of taking down some smug bastard… The delight of watching confidence crumble… The satisfaction of walking away even richer…
This particular poker gathering had been one he'd been coming to since way before jail. Twice a year, different locations, big bucks. The players changed. Biggest loser on the night was out and out for good. Farrell smiled every time he saw someone new at the table. It meant there was someone else he'd outlasted and someone else to take down.
He'd missed the poker game that had happened a week after he'd got out but at the last meet six months ago in May, he'd been welcomed back into the fold without any dissention. There'd been three players he recognised. The Arab prince, the Russian oilman, the South African diamond mine owner: they'd been members before he himself had been. A few casual questions and Farrell had the background on the other three. All businessmen. One of them had been part of the group for a couple of years now and two of them were debutants. For one of them, it was his first and last game: Farrell had cleaned him out. His skills hadn't gone away. Neither had he. He was back and he wasn't going away again.
As his bags were taken up to his room, Farrell turned on his heel and headed through to the bar. Thoughts of a drink disappeared in an instant.
Sitting at a table was Danny fucking Ocean, smiling, eyes twinkling, deep in conversation with some blond guy who was laughing and joking right back at him. Farrell's own smile was immediate and wide. This was an unexpected bonus.
He could tell the exact moment that Ocean saw him. The laughter all died away to be replaced by shock and surprise. Peripherally, Farrell saw the blond frowning at Ocean and then turn his head curiously towards Farrell. Good. He liked to make an impression.
Without waiting for an invitation that was never going to come, Farrell pulled up a chair and joined them.
"Well, hello, Danny. Long time, no see."
Ocean recovered his composure. "Oh, I could have gone a little longer, Farrell. I didn't know you were out."
"Don't you read the papers, Danny? I was top news story."
"Must have missed that headline."
Farrell's eyes flicked over to the blond. Good-looking, snappily dressed, one of those faces that it was impossible to put an age to.
"You gonna introduce me?" he drawled.
Ocean looked like it was the last thing he wanted to do.
"Farrell Thompson, Rusty Ryan." Reluctant. Grudging.
Farrell gave Ryan a long, lingering once-over that he just knew had Ocean gritting his teeth. Funny, he'd always marked Ocean down as straight but there was no gainsaying preferences.
"You had this waiting for you on the outside?" He clicked his teeth appreciatively. "I did hear you were married and separated, Danny. Irreconcilable Rusty?"
Ocean wasn't even beginning to disguise the anger and Ryan's face was pale, with a faint tinge of pink. Fury? Embarrassment? Whatever. Looked like he'd touched a nerve.
"I'm sure you've got somewhere you'd rather be, Farrell."
"Not at the moment, Danny," he said pleasantly. "Right now, I'm wondering how much you've told Rusty about me."
Nothing. Farrell was certain. Rusty was trying not to show it but his eyes were desperate to ask the question.
"Farrell-"
"Oh, Danny…it'd be wrong not to share." Not to mention nowhere near as entertaining.
"I think you'd better leave." Rusty's voice. Soft and gentle and ever so slightly threatening.
Farrell ignored him.
"Danny and I were cellmates for a good six months before I got moved to a place of more comfortable incarceration. And we used to get along just swell, didn't we, Danny? Even though you didn't approve of everything I got up to."
"I didn't approve of anything you got up to!"
"Lonely nights in prison, Rusty. Guy can get bored."
All of his focus was on the blond who looked like his mind was racing. Ocean was leaning forward in his seat, trying to draw his attention, desperate for the story not to be told. Farrell ignored him too.
"Money gives you power, Rusty. I owned that prison. And I was in the position to grant lots of little privileges. If someone pleased me…amused me… My little gatherings… What did you call them, Danny? Circuses? Made me sound like a Roman emperor."
Men scrapping for his attention…doing things to themselves that he suggested, that he commanded…
"What can I say?" Farrell shrugged and smiled at Rusty. "Willing degradation fascinates me."
Rusty's mouth was tight. The snarl on Ocean's face was undisguised. Rusty's eyes started to flick across to Danny and then stopped, his gaze fixed back rigidly on Farrell's face. Farrell grinned delightedly.
"Oh, Danny didn't take part. Tried to break it up though, one way or another, didn't you, Danny?"
"I tried," Danny agreed harshly.
"That was when I had him join the audience."
A sharp hiss of breath from Rusty. Memory, live and fierce and miserable in Ocean's face. Farrell moved in for the kill.
"You see, money and power can get you anywhere in this life-"
"Farrell!"
Annoyed at the interruption, Farrell turned his head. Striding towards him was bespectacled Charlie O'Leary, one of his fellow poker-players, the surviving new boy from last time, in fact.
He stood up and shook O'Leary's outstretched hand, covering it with his own. Power handshake. Let O'Leary know who was boss. O'Leary wouldn't know it but he was in Farrell's firing line tonight.
"You ready for the game?" O'Leary asked.
"Born ready," Farrell said lazily.
O'Leary stared at Ocean and Rusty and before O'Leary could ask, Farrell was dismissing them with a shake of his head. No one important. No one worth introducing O'Leary to.
"Well, see you later, Farrell." O'Leary started walking away. "Let's hope Lady Luck is smiling."
"Lady Luck?" Ocean asked as Farrell sat back down.
"Poker, Ocean. Little game with cards. You may have heard of it. Hey, maybe you and Rusty want to join us?"
Ocean's mouth twisted. "Maybe you want to take your cards and-"
"Danny…"
Barely above a breath and Ocean shut up at once.
Intriguing. Farrell cocked an eyebrow.
"Come on, Danny. For old times' sake. A friendly hand or two…"
Ocean was glaring at him now, positively seething with unspoken words of hatred.
"What about Rusty? He looks like he might enjoy playing. You like to think what he'd have got up to inside-"
"Shut up." Whispered.
Farrell was relentless. "Has he got a sweet tooth? I remember some very nice chocolate being on offer. You remember what Vaughan Carr did for that?"
"Shut up." Gritted teeth.
"You think it took the taste away?" Farrell mused.
"This poker game..." Rusty's eyes were fierce.
"No!" Ocean hissed at him.
"Oh, you'd be welcome. Did I mention that the entry stake is a million dollars?"
Rustyblinked. Ocean was silent.
"You're strictly small-time, Ocean," Farrell told him. "That was always your problem. Thinking you could mix it with the big boys."
"Enough," Ocean muttered, standing up. Rusty slowly got to his feet too.
"You couldn't take me on in prison, Danny," Farrell taunted as they walked away. "What ever makes you think you could start now?"
Ocean froze. Farrell could see Rusty looking anxiously at him. Slowly, Ocean turned round.
"I've got a spare million kicking around," Ocean said and he meant it and that was a surprise.
Farrell kept his expression amused and condescending. "Good. Be in the Opal Room at ten o'clock tonight.
Ocean gave an abrupt nod of his head and then turned on his heel and went, Rusty at his side.
Farrell waited till they were well out of sight and then dug out his phone.
"Kirby? Find out all you can about Danny Ocean, ex-con, and a man named Rusty Ryan."
Danny turned the shower off and stood on the bathroom mat, towelling himself dry. Not like a shower was going to make a difference to the way he felt. Just being within spitting distance of Farrell Thompson and all the old helpless anger had risen up in him again.
"Danny, Danny, Danny…" Farrell tutted loudly, leaning up against the bunk. "Do I get the feeling you don't approve?"
Danny lay on the bottom bunk and concentrated on his magazine, steeling himself not to give Farrell the satisfaction of a reaction.
"With all these little gifts I keep giving…I think people should look on me as a benefactor…"
So much for stony silence. Danny threw the magazine down and got to his feet, eyes blazing and Farrell grinned.
"Since when was benefactor defined as a manipulative bastard?"
"You know that I don't make anyone do anything. They do it to themselves. You should just accept facts, Danny, let me do my thing-"
"Not a chance." Low, determined and sincere.
"You think you can beat me? I never lose."
"Oh, there's always a first time. You ended up in here, didn't you?"
"You take me on and you won't win, Danny," Farrell promised. "I'm untouchable."
"We'll see."
There had been nothing that he could do to stop it. Farrell's money and influence had eaten its way through the guards and the prison population. Farrell had protection.
And out in the real world…?
Danny walked through to the bedroom and saw Rusty sitting in the easy chair. Immediately, he started to shake his head.
"Rus, you shouldn't-"
"Yeah, yeah." Rusty's eyes told him to save it. "Tell me."
Danny sighed and turned and picked up the crisp white shirt from the bed and pulled it on. "I can handle it."
"You looked like you were handling it," Rusty agreed. "Just not very well."
He looked up at blue eyes that could read him as easily as they could read a novice card-player holding four aces.
"I want to do this, Rusty."
"I know. And we're going to. Just…"
Blue eyes full of concern.
Yeah.
He wasn't going to lose it.
Down in the restaurant and Farrell was sitting at his private table behind a elaborate wooden carved screen. As he'd finished his steak, his attention was caught by a nearby conversation and he peered through the latticework. Danny and Rusty. Idly, Farrell listened.
"Rusty, everything's going to be fine."
Just a hint of exasperation. As if this was ground the two of them had been over more than once.
"First rule, Danny."
"Leave emotion at the door. I know."
"All I'm saying is I could play instead of you. Think about it."
"And I said I would. Can we eat now?"
"Always."
The tension and the concern faded from their voices. Farrell liked the idea that he had put it there in the first place.
Kirby called him as his pannacotta arrived.
"Danny Ocean. Smooth-talking conman, pickpocket and thief. He's been quiet since he got out of jail and I mean quiet."
Small-time. Farrell's nodded. He wasn't surprised.
"And Ryan?"
"Ocean's partner. Blond hair, blue eyes and he dresses…shiny."
That was Ryan alright.
"Very close to Ocean. They worked together a lot when Ocean was in business. Nowadays? Well, he's bought a hotel but rumours are that's just a cover. Once you're a con artist and you know how to handle cards, I guess that never-"
"He's a cardsharp?" Farrell interrupted.
"Don't know if I'd say that but I spoke to Wallis Garrow. He remembers Ryan from when he was starting out. From what Wallis says, he's pretty slick.
Interesting.
"Thanks, Kirby."
"Any time, Mr Thompson!" Kirby fell over himself trying to get his words out. "You know you can-"
Farrell closed the call and went back to his dessert.
Farrell was last to the Opal Room. The other players were already seated, chips ready in front of them. Farrell's eyes were drawn immediately to Rusty, sitting ready to play, chips on the table, Danny in a chair behind him.
"New player," Garkhov grunted. "And friend."
"Said you'd recommended them," Koetzee added. "Their credentials checked out."
Farrell's eyes wandered over to Huq, the cashier, who nodded. The big screen on the wall showed everyone's entry money and it would track progress over the course of the night.
"You not playing yourself, Danny?" Farrell asked, sliding into the seat opposite Rusty.
"It's Danny's money," Rusty said quickly. "But I'm the one handling the cards."
"I'm not sure that's allowed," Farrell smiled. "Besides, Danny… Don't you want to play with the big boys yourself? When we met in the joint, I thought that was your dream."
There was a ripple of reaction at the revelation that Danny was an ex-con.
"We kind of took a vote on it before you arrived, Farrell." It was pinstriped O'Leary sitting on his right. "We figured it's OK. As long as you don't mind. As long as Danny keeps well back."
"Danny keeping out of the action? Doesn't seem likely…" Farrell smiled as he saw all the words that Danny wasn't saying. "Besides. I did a little research on you, Rusty. Word is that you know your way around a deck of cards."
"You're a professional gambler?" Koetzee asked with interest.
"Yes," Rusty said at once.
"No," Farrell corrected, his eyes on Rusty's, telling him that he knew the truth. "And call me unreasonably suspicious but I do object to you taking part."
He held Rusty's gaze, waiting for him to look away. After a long, long moment, Rusty sat back in his chair and turned to Danny with a half-shrug.
"S'OK, Rusty," Danny said tonelessly. "I'll play."
They swapped chairs and then Danny was sat opposite him, all dark eyes filled with fierce loathing. Forget O'Leary. Farrell had a new target in mind.
"Gentlemen, can I have your attention?" Huq was laying down the groundrules as he always did at the start. "Let me explain how this evening works."
It was all very simple. Seven players, seven million dollars. If anyone lost all their money, that was the end of the game. You could pull out at any time and lock down your money but the game continued until there was one player left. And that player – that winner - took half of any locked down money.
Rusty was quite comfortable with all that. What he was worrying about was Danny, tense and unhappy and only just hiding it. It had been a while since he'd seen Danny in quite such turmoil and he was trying his best with everything he wasn't saying to talk him back from the edge. Punching Farrell wouldn't help. In any case, if anyone was going to punch Farrell, Rusty wanted it to be him. After what Danny had told him. After what Danny hadn't told him…
"He's rich and he's a bastard, Rus. Why is that so fucking common? And you know one of the worst things?"
Danny's eyes were filled with pain and anger directed in on himself and Rusty hated the sight of it.
"There was this moment – just this very brief moment - when we first met…when he walked into the cell and he was smiling and relaxed and taking everything in his stride…just this tiny moment when I actually thought I might like him."
Danny…
Yeah…
Now, Rusty was sat in the same room as Farrell just itching to take this man down. It had been a long time coming.
Danny couldn't look at Rusty. If he thought too long and too hard about what Farrell had done, he was going to let it all show in his face and then there would be no saying what Rusty would do.
This had to work. It had been a long time coming.
Early rounds and no one was winning, no one was losing. Farrell hadn't been able to pick up any tells up from Danny but it was obvious that Danny was wound tightly. Just a few little nudges…
"You're playing cautiously tonight, Danny. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, you know. I remember a young man called Linford Collins playing a game of double or quits…"
Danny studied his cards.
"Bigger the stakes got, greedier he got…"
Danny's fingers tightened.
"Things he was prepared to do…"
Danny's jaw set.
"C'mon, Farrell." O'Leary alongside him was getting restless. "Hurry up and bet."
"I'm taking my time, O'Leary. Just like always, eh, Danny? No sense in rushing things."
"O'Leary's got a point." Koetzee waved a hand. "I want to finish this game before my next birthday."
Farrell controlled the flicker of annoyance. "Alright." He threw some chips into the middle of the table. "I'll open."
He wouldn't rise to the bait, he wouldn't rise to the bait…
And sitting not very far away, Danny knew Rusty was thinking exactly the same thing.
First break and the Arab prince had already locked out. Farrell wasn't surprised. The man followed a similar pattern every time, playing safe and making sure he sealed a place at the next gathering. Now, he was lounging in the soft seating area, scanning the stockmarket columns in the broadsheet.
Most of the players were taking the opportunity to freshen up or to stand up and stretch their legs. Farrell wandered over with purpose to where Danny and Rusty were standing and talking in low voices.
"You enjoying yourself sitting at the big table, Danny? Is it everything you dreamed it would be? What about you, Rusty? You having fun?"
Danny flashed him a tight little smile. "Not as much fun as we'll have when you're wiped out of the game."
"Oh, I hope you last till the end," Farrell told him, the lightness falling out of his voice. "I want to make the most of this. I want to see your face when you realise you've lost. You've chosen the wrong game to play me at-"
"Any of you want to grab a drink?"
O'Leary. Interrupting.
"Only the other guys are…" O'Leary tailed off and shrugged towards the waiter, currently taking Garkhov's order.
Farrell gave a curt nod of dismissal but O'Leary didn't look like he was in a hurry to leave.
"So, Mr Ocean, you're quite the gambler. Do you play poker often?" O'Leary asked.
There was genuine interest in there. Almost as if pinstripes was in awe of Danny. Farrell's lip curled and he walked off.
The businessman locked out early into the second session. Farrell barely noticed. His focus was Danny and humiliating him: stripping him of cash and crushing, once and for all, that ridiculous self-possession. To show that self-righteous bastard that he, Farrell, always won.
Farrell dealt the cards, slowly, deliberately, talking as he did so.
"You know, gentlemen, when I was inside, it was always the new guys who missed their home comforts the most. Not hardened to prison life. It was such a shame." He dealt the last card. "What do you all think you'd miss?"
"Cigars!" Garkhov gave a bark of laughter.
"Nah," Koetzee shook his head. "Whisky."
"Women," the businessman called over with enthusiasm from the couch where he was slumped, glass of whisky in one hand, cigar in the other. Women were apparently the one thing he was missing at that moment.
"What about you, O'Leary?" Farrell asked, not at all interested in the answer, his eyes on Danny.
"Well, actually, I was wondering what you missed," O'Leary said, looking up from his hand. "Because prison's prison, isn't it? Rich as you are, you're still locked up inside. You're still shut off from the world."
"I missed nothing," Farrell insisted angrily.
"Well, maybe the cards, eh, tovarisch?" Garkhov grinned. "You like the thrill of it all."
"Maybe," Farrell muttered. He looked up across the table at Danny. "Maybe I found other games to play."
The game halted again at 1am.
"And that's it for me, gentlemen, I'm out," Garkhov announced as trays of beautifully-prepared sandwiches were brought into the room. "May the best man win."
"I will," Farrell and Koetzee said as one and gave each other a cool smile.
"And then there were four," O'Leary said softly.
Garkhov, Koetzee and O'Leary were in deep discussion by the table of food; the Arab prince was now on the phone, presumably to his broker; the businessman had passed out on the couch and was snoring softly.
Glass of whisky in hand, Farrell watched from the other side of the room as Huq politely took Danny to one side to check a few details and Rusty excused himself and headed to the restroom. Farrell gave it a moment, threw back the contents of his glass and followed Rusty.
As he walked in, Rusty was washing his hands. Farrell caught his gaze in the mirror and smiled. Rusty's face tightened and Farrell's smile grew wider.
"Danny and you," Farrell mused, walking up straight up behind him. "Tell me. Did it all begin somewhere like this? Soft lights, a little moment together alone?"
"Fuck off, Farrell," Rusty said with feeling to his reflection.
"Did you miss him when he was inside? Did you worry about him being faithful? You didn't need to. Danny was a good boy."
Rusty's mouth opened and closed and Farrell pressed further.
"Maybe you wished you'd been there with him. I could have made life sweet in there for you two, Rusty. I granted all sorts of favours. Little privacy? Little one-on-one time with Danny? I wouldn't have asked for much in return. Maybe had you…kiss my feet?"
So close that if he took another step, they'd be touching. So close that Rusty couldn't move away. And Farrell wasn't letting Rusty's gaze in the mirror go.
"Or maybe I'd just have asked you to suck Danny's-"
A soft faint noise and Rusty looked pale and terrified and so young and Farrell loved it.
"-toes," Farrell finished sweetly and the look on Rusty's face was just-
"What you two doing in here? Getting engaged?"
Fucking O'Leary! Damn it! Another moment or two and he'd have sent Rusty running back to Danny, that composure thoroughly cracked. Gritting his teeth, Farrell took a step away from Rusty and ran the taps, making a show of rinsing his hands as O'Leary stepped up to the urinal.
"See you both outside," Farrell rapped out.
He went back to find Danny. He wanted to let Danny know what fun he'd been having.
Realisation gripping him, Danny was almost running towards the restroom door. Farrell at large, all mouth and vicious…
He stopped in his tracks as Farrell reappeared with that damn smirk that Danny knew only too well plastered all over his face. He'd been saying something, doing something…
Then the other two men stepped out of the restroom and Danny was full of apology and concern and he was reading "I'm OK and don't worry" and Danny felt pride suffuse him.
Rusty was calm and tranquil and sending all that serenity in Danny's direction. Everything under control.
Don't-
I know. I won't.
Danny took a deep breath and when he looked at Farrell again, he was ice.
"Danny, Danny..." Farrell spread his arms wide in mock-apology. "You go letting him out of your sight and who knows what will happen?"
"Farrell, a date in a men's room might be your idea of a good time but it certainly isn't Rusty's."
Farrell was up close and personal, eyes level with Danny's and Danny held his gaze, unblinking.
"You want to make a little sidebet?" Farrell murmured. "You want to play for some other stakes? Because I've got some ideas about what might make things a little more interesting."
Danny's eyes flicked over Farrell's shoulder at Rusty and back again and his mouth twisted.
Farrell could feel the hatred and the tension oozing off Danny and it was exactly the same as it had been when they were inside. God, he'd missed this.
"I've just been chatting to Rusty. I reckon between the three of us, we could come up with something…"
…humiliating...degrading…shameful. He didn't need to finish that sentence for Danny to hear what he was saying and judging by the look on Danny's face, Danny was remembering dozens of little indignities and Danny was imagining Rusty on the receiving end and Danny was this close to losing it.
"We playing again?" O'Leary asked, walking past them and back to his seat.
"Yeah, can we get back to the game?" Koetzee called over. "I'm anxious to take your money."
"Relate to that feeling." Danny muttered and now he had the emotion back under control. "I'll get my kicks when you lose your million dollars, Farrell."
Disappointed, Farrell grunted and stepped back to the table. "Let's get this over with."
The cards didn't run for Koetzee. The South African dropped out at the next break, locking down with a regretful sigh. That left O'Leary, Danny and him. O'Leary was ahead but not by much. Danny and he were neck and neck. Farrell grudgingly admitted to himself that Danny was surprisingly good at poker. Hard to read and making the most of the hands dealt. Well, good. The best games to win were the ones where he had to work for it.
"You're lasting longer than I thought you would, Danny, I'm impressed. I'll take two. You wonder how long Rusty would have held out?"
"I'll take three," O'Leary said and Danny dealt the cards.
"Stamina's never been an issue," Rusty remarked from his seat behind Danny and it should have been a snappy comeback but there was still a trace of what he'd seen in the restroom mirror in Rusty's voice. No way that Danny couldn't hear it too.
"I can be very persuasive," Farrell said, not looking anywhere except at Danny. "Took six long weeks for Adrian Fenton to come round, didn't it, Danny?"
Adrian Fenton, young kid that Danny had tried his best to keep away from him.
"I'll take one," Danny said hoarsely, dealing himself a card.
Farrell grinned. "And so did Adrian."
The game moved on. O'Leary was still in front but Farrell had overtaken Danny now.
Farrell prided himself on his instincts. On being able to sense the hand that was going to be the one that killed the game dead. And this, by God, was it. They were three rounds of betting in and Danny was confident enough to open and then to raise twice. Farrell looked down at the cards in his hand and across at Danny. He could almost taste the victory.
"I'll raise," Farrell said.
Danny suddenly licked his lips and called. Maybe he suddenly glimpsed the danger. O'Leary called too as he had done since the start of the hand he'd dealt. Farrell raised.
"I'll call," Danny said, pushing chips into the centre of the table.
Good. Good.
"Me too," O'Leary nodded, following suit.
"Let's finish this." Farrell jump-raised. All in. He saw Danny's face pale.
"I…I can't…" Danny looked down at his pile of chips. It wasn't enough to see him. "I can't."
"Then you'd better fold," Farrell told him.
"But I've got…" Danny's fingers tightened on his cards and it could be a Royal Flush but there was no way Danny could lay them down, not without funds.
Farrell warmed to his theme.
"You'd better fold and you'd better sit there with your three hundred dollars and keep quiet. You'd better watch as a better man teaches you a lesson – the same lesson that I tried to teach you in jail. That you cannot beat me. Oh, it's taken a while but maybe you've finally got that into your head. Some things are worth waiting for."
Danny's face... It was everything Farrell could have wanted to see.
"Uh…sorry to interrupt…I'll call," O'Leary said uncertainly.
Farrell ignored him. Instead, he kept looking at Danny as one at a time, he laid down the four eights and the single black King.
"You imagine you're this big man, Danny. And you're nothing. You are nothing."
He reached out to scoop up the chips and frowned as he felt the hand on his arm.
"I think a steel wheel beats that, right? Did last time I checked."
O'Leary. Farrell looked down at the table at O'Leary's cards. Ace, two, three, four and five of hearts. A straight flush. Impossible. Impossible.
"But…but that's…"
Numb, Farrell watched as the pot – his pot – moved across the table to O'Leary.
"That's my hand," O'Leary finished with quiet satisfaction.
"Mr Thompson?" It was Huq. "You have no funds to continue in the game-"
"I fucking know!" he snarled. He rounded on O'Leary. "A hand like that and you call? You fucking call?"
O'Leary's was unreadable. "Maybe I wanted to play it safe."
"As Mr Thompson is not able to continue, the game is at a close," Huq announced and look at them, Garkhov, Koetzee, all of them perking up and staring. He'd run them all close in his time. He'd nearly had all of them out. No love lost.
"Fuck you!" Farrell was on his feet, fury rippling through him. "Some Johnny Come Lately and you think you're going to kick me out of this game?"
O'Leary shrugged. "You're out of money, Farrell."
He was. He glared across the table at Danny and there was no longer pale, no longer loser written all over him. Farrell rounded on all the other players.
"This doesn't count. This doesn't count," he howled.
"I think you'll find," the Arab prince said, "it rather does."
"You're out, Farrell," Garkhov nodded.
It was the smile that did it. The slow smile of satisfaction that lit up Danny's face and Farrell wasn't sure of exactly what happened next but he had Danny up against a wall, his arm pressed against Danny's throat and there were hands – Rusty? O'Leary? – trying to pull him off.
"What can I say, Farrell?" Danny's eyes were stony. "Some things are worth waiting for."
Danny had watched as Farrell had departed loudly and gracelessly once Huq and the others had made it clear that he was now persona non grata at the poker games.
It had felt…wonderful.
And now they were back in Danny's hotel room and Rusty had arrived and was pouring whisky and it still felt wonderful.
You OK?
Am now.
Rusty nodded with satisfaction. "How's he doing?"
"Alright." Danny's face clouded over. "I shouldn't have let Farrell get close to him."
"We shouldn't have," Rusty corrected. "But he handled it well."
"Mmm." Danny still felt guilty.
"He wants to learn," Rusty pointed out quietly. "Cottonwool isn't the answer."
Slowly, Danny nodded. It wasn't.
"Where is he?"
"He's changing." Danny's eyes twinkled. "Although I think he might have taken a fancy to that suit."
Not even funny.
"You don't fancy hanging on to those pinstripes you're wearing? Could be a whole new look."
"Oh, you're full of it," Rusty muttered as the bathroom door opened and Linus appeared dressed in jeans and a stripey top and looking as fresh-faced as he had when they'd met him. "That's my suit, kid," he said in a voice that brooked no argument.
"Well, of course, it is..."
Linus looked bemused as Rusty pulled the clothes from his arms and then flushed as Rusty started to strip. Linus turned his head, keeping his gaze averted.
"It went well, didn't it, Danny?"
Danny looked over at Rusty, easing his way into an outfit as shiny as Farrell might expect…
Nearly a year ago and Danny had picked up the newspaper and seen the headlines. Farrell Thompson free. His fingers had scrunched into paper and he'd been momentarily blinded with fury and memory.
Telling Rusty had been hard. Laying himself open meant that Rusty felt the pain and the powerless too.
Research and they'd identified the poker game as the arena for revenge. Handling the cards was never going to be a problem: anticipating Farrell was another matter.
"If Farrell digs for info on me, he's going to find you." Fact. "So…"
"…we let him think he's found me. And-"
"-while he's busy going after us-"
"-we can let him trap himself."
They both played it through in their heads and it worked.
"It can't be your first game. You'll need to-"
"-establish-"
"-earlier. Yeah."
They needed to involve a third party and the only downside of that meant sharing. There was a pause and then a reluctant sigh and a grimace.
"I'll call Linus."
"Danny?" Linus prompted.
He couldn't have done it without them and he raised a glass of thanks. He saw Rusty understand and smile with a roll of his eyes and he saw Linus hesitate and nod.
"It went wonderfully, Linus."
And the warm feeling inside was going to stay there for a long, long time.