The Final Hand
February 21, 2025
Detective Mark Calloway walked into the dimly lit poker lounge, the stench of cigars and whiskey hanging thick in the air. At the center of the room, slumped over a green felt table, was Raymond Holt, a notorious gambler with more enemies than friends. A bullet hole in his temple. A spilled drink. A royal flush still clutched in his stiffening fingers.
Mark turned to the lounge owner, Vince Marquez, who stood with his arms crossed. “Who was playing with him?”
Vince sighed. “Four guys. All regulars. But the real problem was the fifth player—Victor DeLuca.”
Mark frowned. “The loan shark?”
Vince nodded. “Raymond owed him big. Tonight was his last chance to win it back.”
Mark looked at the cards. “Looks like he did.”
Vince scoffed. “Maybe that’s why he’s dead.”
In the interrogation room, Victor DeLuca leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. “Detective, do I look like a man who needs to shoot someone over a poker game?”
Mark folded his arms. “You look like a man who doesn’t like losing.”
Victor smirked. “Raymond was a dead man walking. He owed money to half the city. Yeah, I was at the game. Yeah, he won big. But I walked away. If I wanted him dead, I wouldn’t have wasted a bullet.”
Mark narrowed his eyes. “Where were you at midnight?”
Victor yawned. “At my club. Ask anyone.”
Mark sighed. Victor had an alibi. But something didn’t add up.
Back at the crime scene, Mark studied the poker table again. The royal flush. Too perfect. Too staged. He grabbed the glass next to Raymond’s hand and sniffed. Whiskey. He handed it to forensics. “Check for poison.”
An hour later, the results came in. Cyanide.
Mark smirked. Someone wanted it to look like a simple shooting. But they had already killed Raymond long before the trigger was pulled.
Now, all he had to do was figure out who played their final hand.