Undercover Poker Party, Part 4

Sinead watched carefully as Marc received his placement at the poker tables. Rachel, the hostess, was carefully guarded with the slip of paper the assignments were written on and Sinead wondered if Victor had actually randomized it like suggested, or if he’d made some specific placements to facilitate friendly, or maybe unfriendly, terms for different players.

She’d spent the time mingling by settling into the character that she’d sort of created for herself that first time she and Marc had gone undercover at the bar with Barisha. She didn’t have to play a stupid bimbo, thank God, but she did need to make sure she was checking her instincts to dig too hard into the little things the women and men around her were saying. Two of the women she’d spoken to were definitely escorts, but it wasn’t clear if they were working, or if they worked for the person they came with. Either could have been the case. A few of the ladies around, she learned, actually were Instagram models, or working models who participated in Fashion Weeks and the like. Some of them were girlfriends, others were just guests.

Sinead had also been hit on a few times during the conversations, usually when Marc was engaged with someone else. No one had made a major pass, but one of the men who seemed to be in the entourage of the Calabrian mob was Irish and she could tell he’d taken a worrying liking to her to the point that he’d actually interrupted the baseball player she’d been talking to so that he could make his opening pass.

He was all smiles and teeth but was an ass. Sinead smiled at his jokes but didn’t bother to fake a chuckle, and then Marc had called her over to introduce her to the Hells Angel he was talking to and the guy had needed to back off.

“Good luck,” Sinead murmured to Marc as they walked over to his assigned table.

“Merci, ma petite rebelle,” Marc murmured back, turning behind his chair and sliding his arm around her waist to plant a soft kiss on her forehead as he held her close. “Be careful, yes?”

“I’m always careful,” Sinead said with a little smirk, looking up into his eyes.

“Ah, but you fell into my trap, didn’t you?” Marc grinned.

“Maybe I feigned, just to get a shot at the trapper,” Sinead answered, the glimmer of a smirk in her eyes.

Marc blinked in real surprise. "Now, did you just reference Dune?" he asked.

"You recognized it," she playfully replied, raising an eyebrow teasingly.

He let his hands fall down from her waist to her ass cheeks and give them a little squeeze. "Cette superbe paire de fesses pourrait bien payer le prix de ton insolence, petite rebelle."

Sinead shook her head, her smirk reaching down to her lips now. "Whatever it is you say,” she said in exasperation at his use of French that she couldn’t understand. Then her smirk quirked a little more. “My Duke."

Marc winked and turned back to his seat, though his hand drifted lower and brushed over her ass before pulling away. That feeling of him marking his territory like that should have made Sinead feel a little grossed out - any time her Ex, or ex-boyfriends before him, had done shit like that it had always been clumsy and annoying. The way Marc did it though was casual and secure. It wasn’t a message to others, really. Just… enjoying the fact that he could.

Sinead decided to show him she appreciated it, and after he was sitting down she leaned around his chair and gave him a kiss on the cheek before backing off.

There were three tables, each supposed to sit nine players plus the dealer, though it looked like two of the participants hadn’t shown up. Marc was sat at the only table with the full nine. Around the table, Sinead counted the retired hockey player and another guy who seemed to be a businessman of some sort in the ‘not a danger’ category. The businessman had come alone, while the hockey player’s girlfriend was busy getting a drink at the bar and didn’t seem thrilled to be there. That left six players in the ‘danger’ category however, including one of the Jamaicans, a Vietnamese man, one of the Natives, both of the Calabrian gangsters, and an older woman who looked like she should have been in the bingo hall instead of a poker game like this. She was being doted on by a pair of very large and very tough-looking Samoans, so it was hard to know what to think of her.

Andrea, Marc’s associate’s daughter, was over at a table with the baseball player and the Hells Angel that Marc and Sinead had talked to. Bikers, especially Hells Angels, were always a tough group to read - some of them were vile as shit and could hide it behind a veneer of civility when needed. Others operated by an intricate set of codes that led to very safe neighbourhoods where they operated. There were something like six different chapters of the Angels across the Greater Toronto Area and each had a different reputation. Sinead couldn’t remember if the West Toronto chapter was better or worse than the others.

Victor gave a small speech as the dealers were cracking the fresh packs of cards open and running them through the shuffling machines. He reminded the players that this was a friendly game, was more about the social aspect of things, and that anyone who caused an issue would be handled and not invited back. He also noted that side-bets were allowed if it was on something other than the results of a hand, but needed to be witnessed by a dealer and at least two other players for the result to be considered enforceable by the house.

And that was it, the games began.

Sinead had never been to a backroom poker game before, as herself or undercover, so she wasn’t really sure what to expect. It was a little… anti-climactic, really. There was no starter pistol, no ramp of adrenaline in the room. One moment Victor was making his little speech, the next the blinds were being paid and the dealers were doing their thing. Sinead had backed off to stand behind Marc, so she couldn’t even see his face, though she assumed he was at least OK at keeping a poker face.

The first hand at his table went quickly, and Marc had folded early. The second hand was much the same. The third went longer, but Marc wasn’t in the action. Sinead was starting to remember why she got so bored when her ex had turned on poker on the TV in the background.

“Settle in,” a woman said next to her. Sinead turned a saw it was the hockey player’s girlfriend. “I can see it in the way you’re standing, babe,” she continued. “Believe me, these things can go all fucking night. Rest your feet, those shoes are cute as hell but can’t be that comfortable. I’m Siobhan.” She offered her hand.

“Sinead,” she answered with a little smirk.

Siobhan laughed and shook her head. “Alright, babe,” she said. “Let’s get you a drink, and then we can talk about whether blonde or redheaded Irish women have more fun.”

Sinead scrunched up her nose as she smiled and nodded. “That, Siobhan, sounds like a great idea.”

<U>Translations</U>
- “Cette superbe paire de fesses pourrait bien payer le prix de ton insolence, petite rebelle.” - “This superb pair of buttocks could well pay the price for your insolence, little rebel.”

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