Chapter Text
The cigar smoke wraps around the table giving off a hazy glow. Even with this distraction, Oliver’s senses could read every ‘tell’ of the other nine poker players at his table. It was truly his table as he was cleaning up. The patsies stunk of fear, stress, indecision and some false confidence. Little did they know that he could practically read their hands as they were dealt. Before he became a vampire he was a supreme poker player and after, he was in a league of his own. The lack of a need to sleep and the loss of the ability to become intoxicated made him even sharper as the night wore on. He could taste the mood of the room and knew when to push and when to ease off. Drop a hint here or fake a ‘tell’ there, he would lure them in and start emptying their wallets. He loved this, particularly after he had fed.
Elio’s mind would periodically probe for his, but at the table he could blank him out. Vampires have a strange bond, connecting a sire and their progeny. Like a hive-mind, they communicate by emotional response between their kin almost constantly. He felt the others, sensed their dangers or elation and most definitely their delight when feeding.
He tried to put Elio out of his mind and focused on the pleasure of playing with people’s lives. He could be gracious or kind if he wished but he definitely had no aversion to slitting their throat in a literal or actual fashion.
Usually, Oliver couldn’t be too obvious with his winning. He did not want to be photographed nor be recorded as he collected a championship trophy. He preferred to play smaller competitions or out of the way casinos; he could earn fifty to a hundred thousand dollars without too much commotion or question.
Tonight was different. He had made his mind up to answer Elio’s call and to make his way back to Europe. He didn’t plan for this to be a friendly visit. He would have liked to walk straight into the Villa and give Elio a piece of his mind, but he would need his wits about him for that. Since he knew he wouldn’t be returning to the States for a while he didn’t care how many bridges he burnt, he just needed to get as much cash as possible.
Oliver played ‘No Limits poker’ at Bellagio in downtown Las Vegas. It was bigger and flashier than he usually preferred to play in but the main thing was that there were a lot of players with money to burn. The place was plush – a healthy mix of high rollers and drunken tourists, all throwing about their cash vying to win the pot. The guy opposite was trying to use an excess of cash and calling every time he could to control the table but he was a rubbish player. ‘Not tonight sucker’ Oliver thought to himself and he took him for a clean $100,000.
At weekends the big sharks came out, so it wouldn’t be easy pickings, but Oliver is a predator of a calibre they didn’t recognise nor understand. He just had to be patient and make sure he wasn’t chasing the low percentage draw. The shark at his table was an older bald guy wearing a turtleneck. He seemed to always have the cards hand after hand. Oliver started to watch his hands as he played. To a mortal eye nothing would have been off or obvious. He was just lucky, the cocky shit. As he continued to watch, he saw it. He knew it would there … the ‘sleight of hand’ trick. Oliver called the waitress over to refill his drink, and made out to give her his phone number. With his cash as he played, he slipped her a note for the management. Two minutes later in much commotion turtleneck was escorted to a backroom. He glared at Oliver as the goons pulled him away, his face as red as his turtleneck was white. Now that dealt with him, back to the game.
Elio always hated the few times Oliver would go out and play poker. He couldn’t understand the interest that Oliver had in leaving him and worse, he was controlling of the people who would enter Oliver’s world. Elio would not tolerate even the slightest sign of affection towards anyone other than him. Ironically, he demanded complete and absolute loyalty and yet all and sundry had to accept his whims and dalliances in whatever direction he chose for them to go. Just a simple greeting or opening a door for a stranger would entail a jealous rage that could last for days. One of these outbursts had already cost Oliver one of his dearest friends and confidant. That boy’s temper knew no bounds and Elio had no issue with welding his maleficence.
Oliver left the table at 7am and cashed out. It had been a great night, walking away with just under four million dollars. He was buzzing from the noise, smell and lights. He needed some time alone to prepare himself for his long journey ahead. It would take all of his patience and control to be trapped in the metal tube full of tasty mortals. He had booked a first-class seat for his flight to Paris. The separation from temptation would help and he would be less obvious to the other travellers. The crew would not question any of his proclivities and desire for isolation. Flying was hell.
Vampires didn’t need to sleep. They don’t eat or drink unless they want to blend in. He had little to no interest in the mindless television shows or Hollywood drivel. He would have to stock up on some classic literature and the red Loeb edition of Lucretius that he treasured and still took everywhere with him.
The sun was rising as he stepped out of the Casino and headed towards the carpark where he left the hire car. He heard him long before he smelt him coming up behind him. He didn’t bother to turn, he knew that specific smell.
“Hey, Fuck face… you owe me!” The bald shark shouted.
Turtleneck was back and wasn’t happy. A wicked grin crossed Oliver’s face. He would play along for a bit. Oliver didn’t see the rising sun shining off the bald man’s grubby scalp, but his senses told him everything in the finest detail as the man drew a switch blade from his jacket.
Oliver’s mind wandered to thoughts of the myths associated with Vampires and the dangers of daylight. Yes, they usually do prefer to hunt at night and yes, the sun’s burning rays were a little inconvenient for their very pale skin (Sunburn was a bitch) but they didn’t burst into flames, crumble to dust and definitely not like Stephanie Meyer suggested that vampires ‘sparkled, like thousands of tiny diamonds’. “Bitch… please!” Oliver said out loud.
Turtleneck’s body jolted with Oliver’s response, thinking it was directed at him. “That’s not very nice, boy! You wouldn’t like me to cut your pretty face!”
Oliver knew he could take this scumbag in a second but wanted to manoeuvre him into a better position, out of the ever watchful eyes of the carpark closed circuit cameras. Turning abruptly and raising his hands a little, he took one step back and turtleneck moved in closer. Two steps back, closer again and finally between a van and one of the columns that punctuated the space. Oliver relieved his would-be attacker of the knife. His eyes grew wide as the man’s brain slowly caught up with what was happening. The shine of his slightly protruding eyeballs dimmed as Oliver bled the fucker dry. Depositing the corpse under the van he silently walked away. Smiling contentedly to himself, “The perfect end to a perfect evening.”
Like a dark cloud on his blood-intoxicated mind, he could feel Elio sharing his pleasure in feeding. He used to wish he could be rid of his presence from his thoughts but sadly, despite appearances, vampires are never truly alone.