
Rebecca Tan, the youngest of the three, picked up her cards as they came to her. Her face was small and round, with black eyes, a flattened bridge to her broad nose, and an exaggerated cupid's bow to her mouth. Her chin-length hair was brown and frizzy, an obvious affectation since she could easily have taken control of it. She favored scarlet silk dresses, tailored devastatingly tightly around her slender, small-breasted figure, but the style was a dare, not an invitation, and not a dare that invited casual onlookers. She did not look dangerous, but Jordan knew her to be an evilly dirty fighter both at and away from the poker table. She was not his protegee, but that of the man to her left. She looked to Winston Long occasionally for approval. If Long showed it, it was in some subtle fashion that Jordan missed.
Long was old, very old. He allowed fellow poker players to play around with his name during a game. He had been called Cigarette, Silly Millimeter, and the one that he rather liked, Pack. It never occurred to the Westerners with whom he played that his family name meant "dragon." His face was smooth except for the fine wrinkles around his mouth and eyes. His suit was smooth black with a patina of green and looked as if he had been wearing it for fifty years. Jordan was too young to know for certain, but Long used it often. He raised his cards, perused them briefly without rearranging them, and set them facedown on the tabletop.
