Stephano grunted, ignoring the subdued snickers from around the table. The Maryland State Police captain clenched his Robusto in his teeth and said, "I'll see you and raise you ten. Prepare to suffer horribly, my friend."

Thomas let the remark slide, dropping his gaze nonchalantly to the three queens burning a hole through his palm.

Rollo folded. Chick called, but didn't look happy about it. Then Manny went out quietly, and Paulie called it quits with his usual drama, slapping his cards down on the bare wood surface with a flourish of obscenities and sighs.

"Let's see it, pretty boy," Stephano said, jutting out his cigar in challenge as he glared at Thomas.

"You might want to use protective eyewear, boss." Thomas laid down the three lovely ladies with agonizing slowness, the queen of hearts on top.

"You suck, Tobin." Stephano threw down three sevens.

"Shit." Chick offered up a pair of fives.

As he reached out for the mound of poker chips with both hands, Thomas reveled in the feel of the tinkling, clicking bounty. Short of puffing a fine Cuban or holding a beautiful naked woman, this had to be life's finest physical sensation. It was a piece of pure triumph-a moment of unadulterated whoop-ass.

And by God, he'd had few enough of those lately.

"Your music selection is giving me a migraine, Tobin." Chick's announcement came in his customary West Virginia twang. "Haven't you got any normal music-like Garth or Shania or something?"

"My house, my tunes," Thomas said, stacking his chips in neat, color-coded piles. "Besides, Coltrane is food for the soul. You want to listen to hillbilly drivel, then hold poker night at your place."

Chick shook his head. "Right. That would be a ripsnortin' good time, I'm sure." He took a swig of beer. "I'm lucky just to escape the spouse and spawn one night a month to come here."

"I hear you, man," Rollo said, chuckling. "If we did this at my place, we'd be listening to Barney's Greatest Hits."