so why don't we play a hand, gentlemen?" he glanced around the table.
"Shall we begin the ante at a pound? I trust that is not too rich for your blood." K.C. chuckled. "I need to get warmed up, myself. It's been a dog's age since I've played any poker."

Mr. Howell grumbled "I was hoping for an interesting game, Cormac-you're not going to disappoint me, are you?"

If they had been watching, they would have seen Omar's forehead crease briefly in worry as he wondered just how rich the stakes might get.

"Oh, just hang in there, Mr. Howell. Give us a game or two to get into it properly before we start to make it interesting, eh?" He waggled his cigar Groucho-style and said "You wouldn't be trying to take all my money, would you now, Mr.Howell?"
"Ha. No more yours than everyone else's!"
K.C. grinned at him, "I do enjoy your frankness, Mr.Howell....You know, there's one way to find out if a man is honest-ask him. If he says 'yes,' you know he is a crook."

They cut the cards for the dealer, and Omar was selected. He shuffled and dealt with crisp effeciency.

K.C. looked at his hand. It was awful. He suppressed a sigh and hoped this wasn't an omen of ill luck for the evening.