Locke was a Texas native.
The game being played at this table was Texas Hold'em.
So... Locke felt that as a Texan, knowing how to play Texas Hold'em was the most natural thing in the world.
*Snap!*
Locke lit a toasted tobacco cigarette, squinting his eyes as he focused on the mustachioed "fat sheep" across from him. "Sorry about that. Lucked out again."
His luck was indeed quite good.
Unfortunately... Locke looked at the 20,000 in chips he had just won and thought he had been a bit too eager. The stoic man—another prime choice for a "sheep"—hadn't continued calling. Otherwise, he could have walked away with 30,000.
As for Robert, the former mayor of New York sitting beside him? The moment Locke mentioned he was from Texas, Robert had folded. The reason? Unknown for now.
"Shit!"
Larry Crowe, the mustachioed fat sheep, slammed his unlucky hole cards onto the table. He hailed a passing waitress. "Hey, gorgeous. Bring a whiskey for me."
The waitress nodded. With a sharp *smack* and a startled yelp from the waitress as she was patted on the rear, the mustache-man adjusted his clothes. He looked at Locke and exhaled sharply. "Wow. Looks like there's going to be blood in the water today."
Locke smiled. "I agree."
We'll see who ends up jumping overboard.
Locke looked at the dealer. "Deal."
...
Time flies when you're enjoying the game. By the time Locke fully immersed himself in the flow of the betting, the hour for the Christmas Eve banquet had arrived.
As the guests who had paid $250,000 for their tickets, they had been invited by the Captain of the Poseidon to a gala in the first-floor ballroom. Music was already drifting up from below.
Gwen, Kahn, and Jennifer had already arrived in the hall.
Gwen looked at the damp hair of Kahn and Jennifer's boyfriend, Christian. She asked curiously, "Where's Locke? Don't tell me you guys left the pool and he's still in there."
Kahn blinked. "How did you know?"
Cindy rolled her eyes. "We joined a VIP group chat. Someone just posted a video saying two perverts showed up at the pool."
Kahn's mouth hung open. Cindy gave him a look that clearly said: 'I'm making sure you can't get out of bed tomorrow.'
Christian, who was full of restless energy because Jennifer was a devout Catholic, scratched the back of his head. "Locke wasn't with us. After you girls went shopping..."
Gwen's eyes landed on the second-floor railing. She saw Locke leaning there with a cigarette, his chin resting on his hand, smiling down at them. "Found him."
Cindy and Jennifer looked up.
Jennifer gasped. "My dad is there too."
...
Back at the table.
Larry Crowe's face was beet red. The nearly 150,000 in chips he had earlier were almost gone. Meanwhile, the pile in front of Locke had grown from the initial 100,000 to around 300,000.
While the mustachioed sheep was still in, two other players had already cycled out. The first was the stoic man; he had gotten greedy on a hand he was sure he'd win, bet everything, and lost it all in one go.
'Now it's your turn,' Locke thought. He looked at Larry, flicked his ash, and smiled. "Mr. Crowe, the water is going to be quite cold this time of night."
Larry Crowe laughed loudly. "Kid, they don't call me Lucky Larry for nothing!"
Then... he lost.
"Oh, shit!"
Lucky Larry stared at Locke's hole cards. Locke's Full House (three of a kind plus a pair) had crushed Larry's Flush. Larry was devastated. "This isn't scientific!"
Locke looked at the cleaned-out sheep with a smile. "Mr. Crowe, poker is a game of luck. It just so happens that my luck has always been decent."
While his luck wasn't at the "causality-warping" level of someone like Ran Mouri, it was definitely higher than average. Otherwise, how could he always return with a full cooler whenever he went sea-fishing with George while George came back empty-handed? Luck was paramount, and his was consistently good.
Dylan, sitting nearby clutching the small profit he had managed to scratch out, felt his brow twitching. As a professional, he didn't fear other pros; he feared players like Locke who had heaven-defying luck and didn't need technique. No matter how good your skills are, you can't beat pure luck.
"Locke."
"Dad."
Locke and Robert turned to see Gwen and Jennifer approaching.
Larry Crowe looked at the beautiful Gwen as she hugged Locke. His face flushed even redder. He grunted a parting threat about a "rematch another day" and stormed off.
Robert said to Gwen, "Your boyfriend has a hell of a hand."
Gwen looked at the mountain of chips in front of Locke. "Locke has always been lucky. Every time he goes fishing with my dad, Dad comes back empty-handed while Locke is loaded down."
Robert nodded and laughed. "Don't worry, I won't mention this to George. I don't want him knowing I lost money to his future son-in-law."
Gwen kept her smile polite. "Uncle Ramsey, that's not what I meant."
Locke chimed in, "Robert, if you hadn't raised on that last hand, you wouldn't have lost to me."
Robert laughed. "I had a Four-of-a-Kind! The odds were massive. I couldn't just fold."
Locke spread his hands. "And yet, you lost."
The two men locked eyes and shared a hearty laugh. Friendship between men can be strange; after a few rounds of cards, age is ignored, and they become "acquaintances who aren't quite friends yet."
Besides, from start to finish—aside from the "sixteen" on his ID—Locke hadn't acted like a naive kid in any way.
...
"Dad, the banquet is about to start," Jennifer reminded them.
Robert checked his watch. "A few more rounds. Go on ahead."
Eating wasn't as important as the cards. Robert looked at Locke. "I don't believe your luck is constant."
Locke smiled. Sorry, but it actually was. While the maximum attribute for luck was 20, his was a constant 5.
However, Locke looked at the three people left. No more sheep. Should he go for Dylan?
Dylan saw the look in Locke's eyes and his face darkened. :I paid $250,000 for this ticket and I haven't even broken even yet, and now you want to eat me? Unfilial brat!'
Dylan stood up, ready to find another table.
Just then, a man in a sharp suit walked over. He was wearing sunglasses indoors—a very "punchable" look. He took off the glasses and sat in Larry Crowe's old seat. "Mind if I join?"
Beside him, a slightly portly man—who looked more like a driver than a bodyguard at first glance—also sat down.
Tony Stark and his bodyguard, Happy!
Gwen looked at the woman standing nearby. "Ms. Potts."
Pepper looked at Gwen, surprised, then glanced at Locke at the table. She nodded to Gwen. "Hello, Gwen. We meet again."
Tony Stark shot a curious glance at his assistant but said nothing. Locke and Dylan exchanged a look.
The dealer dealt. Perhaps because Tony Stark was in the right position, he got to speak first. He went for dominance immediately. "Ten thousand."
He said "ten thousand" with the same indifference most people say "one cent." He was just killing time while waiting for his private game to start, so he had only exchanged a casual million in chips.
Happy tossed in ten thousand to call. Robert closed his hole cards and waved a hand, choosing to watch. He wasn't an addict; he folded on bad hands.
Locke called.
Dylan smoked, using his professional instincts to read the room. A second later, his lip twitched and he folded. 'Forget this.'
Locke relied on constant luck and sometimes didn't even look at his cards. As for Stark and Happy? To them, a few hundred thousand was like pocket change; you couldn't read a "tell" on someone who didn't care about the money.
'I need a new table,' Dylan thought, scanning for a more appropriately-priced sheep.
As Dylan looked for a way out, the final round of betting reached the cap. 100,000.
Tony Stark glanced toward Pepper and Gwen chatting nearby, then looked at Locke. "Your name."
His tone was... blunt.
Locke suppressed the urge to have the Peerless Assassin come out and start swinging. He pushed all his chips forward. "You want to know? Beat me."
'You want to act cool? I can do that too!'
Locke flipped his hole cards. The dealer, now immune to Locke's luck, laid out the board.
"10, J, Q, K, A of Hearts!"
"Royal Flush!"
"Locke wins!"