"Hope you ain't expecting me to go easy on ya, then."

Dante's own glitch money was grubby, grungy and smelled like whiskey. It fit right in with the theme of a sketchy private eye who'd been around the block far too many times and amused him to no end. His own cards were lousy, of course, but it came as no surprise. The only time he'd ever gotten a decent hand, his life had been on the line.

His lack of surprise, as it turned out, worked to his advantage. With a hand this bad, he didn't dare hope to win in a straight showdown. No, he would have to bluff, and bluff he did. His face didn't even twitch as he looked at the cards, then turned his eyes to his opponent. After all, poker wasn't just about luck. This part was a battle of wills, and he knew this kid didn't know yet that he always got dealt a lousy hand.