Tomorrow, when they heard what the murders were about the whole poker world would go into shock. But in a bizarre way they would understand it. Out here, it was win at all costs. In some sick way, the hustlers, gamblers, the action guys actually admired it. In poker it was kill or be killed. This just took it to a different level.
Cooper had told Jimmy there was no complicity on the part of Dallas Jack. Jimmy was glad. He would have hated to be the one to tell Sabine that Jack was being arrested and that he had had something to do with it. Cooper also told him the murder charges against Lenny Krieger would be dropped. He’d be hit with lesser charges, but they’d try to get him some help for his steroid problems.
When Jimmy came back through the lobby at Bellagio nothing seemed to have changed. It still felt as if he had entered a giant pinball machine. People scurried about, totally oblivious to what he had been through. He noticed a commotion as he walked past the lobby bar. There was a pack of poker players and fans celebrating with their new WPT champion, Scooter and his dummy, Skippy. He had upset Gus Hansen to take the title. This was good for the game. This colorful duo had already established their groupies. At least five people were hanging around, holding dummies in their laps. The power of television.
He saw Kat coming toward him with a worried look on her face.
“Dude,” she said, “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you. What’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing, Kat,” he answered. “It’s all over.” Quickly he told her that Francisco was the murderer and that he was in police custody. He didn’t tell her about almost drowning the man twice to get him to confess. He found that he wasn’t particularly pleased with or proud of those actions.
“Wow,” she said, “I’m glad that’s over.”
“Yep,” Jimmy said, “no more murders.”
“You heard the puppet guy won?”
“Dummy.”
“What?”
“He’s a dummy.”
“Well, maybe he is, but he won.”
“No, I mean the puppet—” He stopped short. “Never mind. I think it’s time for us to check out and get back home.”
“Dude,” she said, “we gotta celebrate. We both made some money— You made a bundle! Can’t we stay one more day? It is my first time in Vegas, ya know.”
She had done really well for her first time in with the big dogs.
“Okay,” he said, “one more day, and then we head home.”
“Okay, dude, but remember one thing,” she said.
“What’s that?”
“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
He hated that slogan.
Jimmy walked briskly through the casino, trying to avoid being noticed. He wanted nothing more than to go to his room. Exhausted, yet still wired, Jimmy knew it was finally over. He knew he should be proud: he had come out here and beat out more than three hundred players to make a true statement on the international poker circuit. He helped Kat play her best game yet. He even got to solve a few murders. Murders that were unsolvable unless you had the mind of a great poker player. Maybe that’s what was bugging him. He was good, possibly too good at being a detective. His dad would have been proud, and that started to scare him. God forbid that this was really his destiny. Talent should not be thrown away like that, and he knew it. He was in trouble. When was he going to get the chance to check raise Gus Hansen again? Who was going to bluff Mike “the Grinder” Mizrachi for all the chips and then casually flash the audience as they screamed and hollered? No, poker was his life now, and it was his turn to shine. With the WPT tour giving millions away each year, this would be a tough lay down. Because if you really thought about it, there were only two words that meant something in the world of poker—“all in.”