night after night (camren)

8.

The ace of diamonds is a solo.

That was a shame for Camila, because that would've looked fantastic with paired with an ace of clubs per say, spades, or hearts. But this was the hand Camila had been dealt. There were still three people left down for this round: Camila, the Junkyard Dog and the New Guy. His name was Arthur, he was tall and thin, his hair was slightly short and blond. He was wearing dark grey jeans and a black shirt. His fingers kept twitching, Camila thought it was down to the 'no phone' policy in the building, putting him on edge, missing important emails.

She bet he was the type who stated on the internet, which is why he'd been brought to this game, recruited specifically to play with her. But the trouble was - well, not for Camila - he laughed when he was bluffing. Camila had spotted it early and then tracked it. He'd done it on a pair of fives a few rounds back that she had easily beaten with two jacks. He'd let out a soft chuckle early on too, with his king high hands ago.

Bless the newbie Camila thought to herself only, he couldn't even hide his tell and Camila could kiss him for that if he kept it up, it would only make her job much easier.

"Five hundred" he spoke confidently as he pushed another black chip forward and cleared his throat. Camila was a lion waiting for prey: still, lying, waiting for a sign.

Then it came. Starting out in his nose, much like a playful snort, then travelling to his stomach, turning into a quick, hoarse laugh.

Amazing. Camila could smell potential victory looming closer, of course, she could still smell the strong cent of cheese and tomato and grease, loads of grease from the downstairs restaurant. When she had first started coming here, to the second-floor apartment above the restaurant, she'd believed she would never get the horrid smell out of her clothes. much less her nose. But she was appering to have no problem in the laundry department, as for her nose, she was now used to the smell that she inhaled every Thursday night.

Camila never ate here, especially not with the bulky man who stood guard of the game by the kitchen, whom she didn't know the name of. Who cared for his name, to Camila he was simply Squirrel; he had bushy, very fine like hair. Camila wanted to roll her eyes, shoot him a glare or crinkle her nose at the way he held onto his plate so tightly, devouring his food. She knew better though, for many reasons, one being the distinct outline of a gun handle at the hem of his trousers. He'd never pulled the gun, it was just a reminder that a bullet could be released at any moment necessary. She shivered at the thought, but not on the outside, on the outside she showed no emotion at all, not towards Squirrel, not towards Arthur and certainly not for Junkyard Dog when he shrugged, pursed his lips, then released a long stream of air, slamming down his cards, "I'm out"

Then there were two.

Camila eyed the pot, her cards, then Arthur. Her heart tightened and a ray of nerves rushed over her, but were gone in a matter of seconds. Don't let on. She had no tells, her face was stone, She had mastered the apathetic look a long time ago, she could now fake her way through anything. A perfect liar, Camila's eighth grade guidance counsellor at school had declared her when she denied hitting a classmate after they had called another student a rude name. She lied like it was the truth and that had served her well since her school days.

Camila had to have a certain look about her in this place. Low cut shirts, extremely tight jeans and black heels for every game. Looking like she was dressed for a girls' night out, caused the newbies to not take her seriously, doubting her. The regulars knew, however. That's why the newbies were brought in. It was better when they underestimated her. She'd finally placed her chip in the pile, "I'll raise you $500" she said in an emotionless voice. This was the moment. He stared longingly at her, probably trying to found at least one tell to prove her bluffing, but he couldn't find one.