‘Good luck,’ he said. It was a general comment, but Bambi was the only one who nodded her thanks at him. None of the others even looked up as he left the table, whether from embarrassment at celebrating his hard luck, or a superstitious dread of catching it, he couldn’t have said.

After twelve hours of playing the tournament—and three years of preparing to play in the tournament—Eram didn’t know what to do now that he was out. He couldn’t even begin to process his loss. He weaved his way aimlessly through the hall just for something to do. At every table players were stretching, bagging chips for Day 3, posting or tweeting updates. Eram hated them all. He felt sick.

What did I do wrong? I assumed a speculative hand like five deuce wouldn’t be in her range. But even if I had considered it, would I have folded my set? Probably not. Definitely not. Who the hell calls with five deuce pre-flop on the bubble? She just got lucky on the turn. I hate her. I hate poker. I’m never going to play this fucking game ever again.

Sounds of laughter cut through Eram’s churning thoughts. The casino management had turned the mezzanine floor overlooking the tournament deck into a bar-cum-viewing gallery. From there, you could sample a world-class alcoholic beverage while watching some poor schnook or other bust out of the tournament every few minutes.

The laugh Eram had heard was unmistakably Gehna’s. She was leaning against the wooden rail on the mezzanine directly above him. With a drink in her hand. Surrounded by four men whose faces spoke of rapture.

Again?

Eram acted on impulse, his lizard brain propelling him up the staircase and into the bar. He had no idea what he would do once he got there. Was he going to throw her over his shoulder and jump into the river? Make puppy eyes at her from across the room? All he knew was that this time she wasn’t getting away without at least a moral lecture or two. But before he could do anything, Gehna darted through the press of strange men and took him aside.

‘I saw what happened,’ she said. ‘That kakapo had teeth, huh?’

‘The what?’

‘Nothing.’ Gehna took his hand and squeezed it. ‘You okay?’

Eram lowered his head. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice going all funny. It seemed easier to stare at the glass that Gehna was holding.

She leaned in to bring her mouth close to his ear. ‘Tonic water on the rocks,’ she said.

‘You’re whispering.’

‘I am.’

‘You’re up to something shady, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’ She sounded pleased with herself. ‘Listen. Are you all poker-ed out, or do you still have some juice left in the tank?’

‘Gehna,’ he said in strangled tones, ‘I’m, uh, I’m really sorry. All the money you gave me, the birthday present from your grandparents, it’s all gone. I—’

Gehna shrugged. ‘Easy come, easy go. And it’s not all gone.’