Memories of Misnight by Sidney Sheldon

Prizzi spread out his hand. “Four deuces.”

Korontzis sat there, stunned, watching Prizzi rake in the pot. Somehow he felt as though he had failed his friend Tony. If I could only have held out until we started to win.

It was Prizzi’s deal. “Seven-card stud,” he announced. “Let’s put a thousand dollars in the pot.”

The other players threw in their antes.

Victor Korontzis looked over at Tony Rizzoli helplessly. “I don’t have…”

“It’s all right,” Rizzoli said. He turned to the others. “Look, fellows, Victor didn’t have a chance to pick up much cash to bring tonight, but I can assure you all that he’s good for it. Let’s give him credit, and we’ll settle up at the end of the evening.”

Prizzi said, “Hold it. What is this—a fucking credit union? We don’t know Victor Korontzis from Adam’s ass. How do we know he’ll pay up?”

“You have my word on it,” Tony Rizzoli assured him. “Otto here will vouch for me.”

Otto Dalton spoke up. “If Tony says Mr. Korontzis is all right, then he’s all right.”

Sal Prizzi shrugged. “Well, I guess it’s okay.”

“It’s fine with me,” Perry Breslauer said.

Otto Dalton turned to Victor Korontzis. “How much would you like?”

“Give him ten thousand,” Tony Rizzoli said.

Korontzis looked over at him in surprise. Ten thousand dollars was more money than he made in two years. But Rizzoli must have known what he was doing.

Victor Korontzis swallowed. “That…that will be fine.”

A pile of chips was put in front of Korontzis.

The cards that night were Victor Korontzis’s enemy. As the stakes went up, his new pile of chips kept diminishing. Tony Rizzoli was losing also.

At two A.M. they took a break. Korontzis got Tony Rizzoli in a corner.

“What’s happening?” Korontzis whispered in a panic. “My God, do you know how much money I’m behind?”

“Don’t worry, Victor. So am I. I’ve given Otto the signal. When it’s his turn to deal, the game will turn around. We’re going to hit them big.”

They took their seats again.

“Give my friend another twenty-five thousand dollars,” Rizzoli said.

Marvin Seymour frowned. “Are you sure he wants to keep playing?”

Rizzoli turned to Victor Korontzis. “It’s up to you.”

Korontzis hesitated. I’ve given Otto the signal. The game will turn around. “I’m in.”

“Okay.”

Twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of chips was placed in front of Korontzis. He looked at the chips and suddenly felt very lucky.

Otto Dalton was dealing. “All right, gentlemen. The game is five-card stud. The initial bet is one thousand dollars.”

The players put their chips in the center of the table.

Dalton dealt out five cards to each player. Korontzis did not look at his hand. I’ll wait, he thought. It will be good luck.

“Place your bets.”

Marvin Seymour, seated at Dalton’s right, studied his hand for a moment. “I’ll fold.” He threw his cards in.

Sal Prizzi was next. “I’ll call, and raise a thousand.” He put his chips in the center of the table.

Tony Rizzoli looked at his hand and shrugged. “I’ll fold.” He threw his cards down.

Perry Breslauer was looking at his hand and grinning. “I’ll see the raise, and I’ll raise you five thousand more.”

It would cost Victor Korontzis six thousand dollars to stay in the game. Slowly, he picked up his hand and fanned out the cards. He could not believe what he saw. He was holding a pat straight flush—a five, six, seven, eight, and nine of hearts. A perfect hand! So Tony had been right. Thank God! Korontzis tried to hide his excitement. “I’ll see the raise, and I’ll raise you five thousand.” This was the hand that was going to make him rich.

Dalton threw in his hand. “Not for me. Pass.”

“It’s up to me,” Sal Prizzi said. “I think you’re bluffing, pal. I’ll call, and raise you another five.”

Victor Korontzis felt a little thrill of excitement go through him. He had been dealt the hand of a lifetime. This would be the biggest jackpot of the game.

Perry Breslauer was studying his hand. “Well, I think I’ll call, and raise another five, fellows.”

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