Bruce Wayne was charming, Al had to admit that. But he was lousy at poker.
He knew how to play, and he was a fairly good bluff. But talking distracted him.
Al liked a man who was easily distracted. So she talked.
She talked him out of more than a thousand dollars and his sparkly cape. If they had been playing strip poker, the man would have been in serious trouble.
She was a little surprised at how easy it had been to distract him from his obvious goal in getting her alone. But she was in no mood to remove what little clothing she was still wearing. So they played poker and talked about work. His work, her work—mostly her work. If he hadn't been such a charmingly obvious idiot, she might have suspected him of trying to pump her for information. She did suspect that there was a bit of a thrillseeker inside this shallow buffoon. His guarded curiosity about costumed crime was…well, it was adorable. But she tried to set him straight.
"People put on the masks for all kids of reasons, you know." Three of a kind. Should she try for a full house? "Mostly it's for revenge. There's some injustice, always something earthshaking and intensely personal that drives them over the edge. They just have to right the wrongs, because no one else is going to do it for them. You understand?" He looked uncomfortable, almost angry. She let her manner soften. "But there are other reasons, too. I'm not saying the villains are the good guys. There's something incredibly selfish about the way they go about righting their wrongs. And there's also the financial matter—for some of them, it's about a kind of security they couldn't have otherwise, but mostly it's just greed." She picked up another king. Full house.
"Is the money really that good?" he asked. "I mean, doesn't Batman usually cause problems? How secure can it really be?"
Al winced. Batman. Jonathan—trying to stand, falling at Batman's feet, fighting just to draw a breath…
"It's not all about money. And, no, it's not always that secure." She unclenched the hand that had tightened into a fist, and forced a smile. "That's the nature of gambling. Well, Brucie?" She glanced significantly at the pile of money between them.
"I call."
"Good man. Lay your cards on the table. No more bluffing."
She laid out her full house. He showed her his own hand—a royal flush.
"This means I win, right?"
"Dame da…" She laughed as she shoved the pile of cash at him. "Fine. Play me for a fool. But I'm keeping the cape, you card shark."
"I would never—"
His guileless expression hardened into something else when the screaming started on the other side of the door.
"Jonathan!" she whispered, alarmed, before she realized that he was more likely to be the cause of the panic than a poor victim trampled by the crowd.
Bruce looked at her as if he expected her to break down in hysterics.
"You'd better stay here where it's safe." Without waiting for her confirmation, he pulled a disappearing act that would have made any stage magician proud.
"Fine by me," Al said, and started scooping his forgotten poker money into her ill-gotten sparkly cape.
Who said gambling didn't pay?