The Ambiguity of Murder Read Free Page B

great care. Only Moya and Cerda remained in and each bought just one card. So they had two pairs or were trying to fill a straight or a flush. To match one of their pairs with a singleton, or to complete the sequence, would be against the odds. For their part, they’d seen him have such useless hands throughout the evening that they’d dismiss the possibility that he had bettered this one …
    â€˜Throwing in?’ Moya asked.
    He stared at his cards with a blank expression, not an easy task since he liked to trumpet his successes because of the envy they generated.
    â€˜Make your mind up. Always assuming you’ve one to make.’
    He pushed one of his chips forward.
    â€˜You’ll have us all running for cover!’
    Cerda saw him.
    Moya picked up his cards, looked at them, replaced them on the table face down. ‘I don’t like spoiling someone’s fun, but I just have to raise.’ He bet four chips.
    Pons wondered why lawyers always apologized before putting in the knife – to increase their pleasure? He bet his remaining six chips.
    Cerda threw in.
    â€˜You’ve got me thinking I should be sensible and quit. But then again, maybe you’re bluffing.’ Moya reached round to his hip pocket, brought out his wallet and extracted a wad of ten-thousand-peseta notes. He peeled off two. ‘Are you up to playing with the big boys?’ A sneer curled around his words.
    It abruptly became more than just a game of poker; there was now a clash of machismo.
    Pons said: ‘Up fifty thousand.’
    Moya stared with exaggerated concentration at Pons’s stake. ‘I don’t see that.’
    â€˜Lawyers are born three parts blind.’
    â€˜There’s no bet without the money.’ Moya reached out to collect the pot.
    â€˜You don’t swindle me as easily as you do the foreigners. There’s my property. So up fifty thousand.’
    Moya fingered his weak chin that suited his scrawny, pockmarked face. ‘You’re putting your house and land up as security for your bet?’
    â€˜Ain’t that what I said?’
    He leaned back in his chair, looked around the table. ‘D’you all hear him?’
    No one spoke.
    â€˜We’ll do this the proper way so as there’s no room for complaint later on. I’ll draw up the agreement and you’ll all witness it.’ He turned to Belmonte in whose house they were playing. ‘Something to write on, Andrés, and a pen.’
    Belmonte left the room, returned with a single sheet of paper and a ballpoint pen. Moya wrote rapidly, checked what he’d written, then read out: ‘I, Santiago Pons Bonet, hereby testify that on the twelfth of February I pledge part or all of the property I own, known as Ca’n Ibron, as security against any debt I incur in the course of the game of cards played on the date in question. Further, I agree to settle any such debt when so requested after an interval of twenty-four hours and if unable to do so immediately will pay interest on the amount due at bank rate plus twenty per cent…’
    â€˜Twenty?’ shouted Pons, outraged.
    â€˜Credit is always expensive.’ He pushed the paper across. ‘Sign and we will all witness.’
    Despite the burning need to win to make a fool of Moya and the effects of the wine he had drunk, Pons hesitated. The building trade was suffering a downturn, his company was cash-light, the mortgage repayments on the house were making life difficult, and he was in no position to suffer even a moderate financial loss …
    â€˜I always said your tongue’s bigger than your cojones,’ Moya sneered.
    The slur on his manhood swept away all Pons’s caution. He grabbed the pen and signed.
    When the paper was returned to Moya, he examined it carefully before placing it under his pile of counters. He counted out ten notes. ‘There’s your fifty thousand and another