Le Français

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Le Français is an original Law Enforcement series playing with the Cop/Not-a-Cop trope, mixed with some social power play, and (hopefully) realistic BDSM elements. The series will jump between categories based on the content of each part. This series is commissioned by the fantastic ThL!

In this chapter you can expect poker, investigations, and a fist fight.

Marc and Sinead at the Poker Tournament.

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Chapter 67

Marc stood for a moment, stretching his legs as he took off his suit jacket in between hands. The game had been going on for over an hour and the room was starting to get a little warm. Other than some glances to double-check that the Detective was alright, he'd been focused on the game. With nine players around the table there was a lot of information to try and take in.

So far no one had gotten knocked out - the blinds had raised three times and had hit $100 for the Big and $50 for the small, which also meant the minimum bets were now $100. The first half-dozen hands had been exploratory as everyone at the table settled in and started to get a read of those around them. Several knew each other already. The Italians started out bickering, shooting little playful verbal jabs across the table at each other. The Jamaican to Marc's right seemed to be cold towards the Vietnamese man, shooting him looks every once in a while, but was very respectful of the older woman to Marc's left.

The businessman, who introduced himself as Paul Crane, was enamoured with the fact that he was playing with the retired Hockey Player - the questions seemed to help the athlete settle in at first but had gotten a little annoying over time.

"Allow me, Mr Fornier," Rachel said as Marc took off his suit jacket, appearing beside and behind him as if from the ether.

"

Merci,

Miss Rachel," Marc said with a smile and a nod, handing over the jacket.

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" Rachel asked. "A drink, perhaps?"

"If you could just mention to my companion that I would like to speak to her for a moment," Marc said.

"Of course," Rachel nodded, carefully flattening his jacket before whisking it away to be hung up.

"She likes you," the older woman said as Marc sat back down.

"I don't know about that," Marc said with a little smile.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you found a card with her number on it when you get that coat back," she said, then offered Marc her hand to shake. "Susan Steinmeyer."

"Marc Fornier," Marc replied, shaking her hand. Her grip was strong despite her age, which had to be in the seventies. "It's lovely to play with you, Madame Steinmeyer. You are a very shrewd statistician, I think."

The older woman smirked a little. "I helped my husband run his jewellery store for forty years, and now my sons for ten. If I couldn't spot a tell, or do the math in my head, we would have been done for."

"A very impressive feat, Madame," Marc grinned. He wasn't actually sure

what

he thought about her - most jewellery businesses were legitimate enterprises, but some were fronts for laundering cash or other organisations. Not to mention the fact that there was a legitimate diamond cartel to deal with.

Marc got his cards for the next hand and quickly checked them. Four of Diamonds, Ace of Diamonds. On his turn, he called the minimum bet of $100, then felt Sinead's hand touch his shoulder. He glanced back at her. "

Un moment, ma petite rebelle,

" he murmured. She nodded and withdrew her hand.

The betting finished and the dealer burned a card and laid out the flop. King of Hearts, King of Diamonds, Six of Spades. Paul Crane folded first, but the native man beside him raised three hundred - he likely had something to interact with the Kings. The hockey player folded, and the Italian next to him had folded after his first glance at his cards, so it came to the Jamaican. The dark-skinned man seemed to think carefully for a moment, looking across the table at the Native man, before raising another three hundred, spiking the bet to $600 total.

That brought things to Marc, who had a decision to make. He didn't have anything to interact with the Kings in the river other than the King of Diamonds making a potential flush. That left another flush, a full house, four of a kind or a straight flush on the table if he could get there with two more diamonds on the turn and river. A $600 bet was a good chunk of his chips to risk - he hadn't won a hand yet, so the little bets here and there had been nibbling at his holdings.

Still, he wasn't there to win, he was there to get information.

"Call," Marc said and put $600 worth of chips in the pot.

Susan folded, as did the other Italian, which left the Vietnamese gangster tapping his cards as he glanced around the table until he finally called as well. That put $2900 in the pot, and four players aiming for it, and the bet was back to the Native man who had to call or raise again. He narrowed his eyes slightly, eyes flicking from Marc, to the Vietnamese man, to the Jamaican, and he called, raising the pot to $3200.

The dealer burned another card and laid out the turn - a five of spades. Useless for Marc, and the end of his run since it meant he couldn't make his flush. The Native man checked, sending the bet to the Jamaican, who checked as well. Marc folded, not wanting to try and bluff his way through the mess, and that sent the betting to the Vietnamese man. He bet another $500, which could have been read as either a signal that he intended to bully his way into the pot since it was the largest bet made at the table in the first hour, or that he was baiting out some more cash.

The Native had to respond, and he called, raising the pot to $4200. The Jamaican didn't seem to want to back down and he called as well, raising the pot to $4700.

The dealer burned a card and put out the river - Queen of Diamonds. Marc had been so close to his flush. The betting went through checks again and landed on the Vietnamese man, who broke his poker face to purse his lips and cock his head to the side as he looked at the other two men's chip piles. "All in," he said, pushing his chips forward.

That put the other two men on the back foot. The Native was next up and he thought for a long minute before folding, flicking his cards forward. He'd gotten into the betting a few times early on and was down a little bit more than either of his opponents, so he'd need to go all-in as well.

The Jamaican, on the other hand, was up a little bit on the Vietnamese man, so he could call without going all in but it would mean he'd be fighting from a very, very low stack if he lost. The black man took his time, blinking several times as he seemed to be doing the math in his head of what he had versus what his opponent could be holding.

The tension was cut as a loud groan, and some half-hearted clapping, erupted at another table. One of the other businessmen stood up, looking flustered, and gestured in a throwaway gesture as he left his table. The first man had fallen, and from the looks of it, he'd gotten taken in by Gregory's daughter Andrea.

The fact that he wouldn't be the first to get knocked out seemed to steel the Jamaican, and he called the bet. The pot was a little over $21,000. The Vietnamese man, for his part, didn't flinch.

The dealer called for the hands. The Jamiacan revealed a full house, Kings over Queens. The Vietnamese man had two pairs, Kings and Aces.

The second man was knocked out as the Vietnamese gangster nodded in acceptance, then stood and nodded more firmly in recognition to the Jamaican and left the table.

With the tension, and the hand, over Marc turned and Sinead stepped up behind him again, leaning in. "Any problems?" he asked quietly.

"Not so far," Sinead whispered. "Nothing of interest though."

"There's still plenty of time," Marc said.

"I know," Sinead smirked. Then she kissed him lightly on the lips. "You know, it's kind of fun being your arm candy? Everyone is looking at me and wondering if we're in love, or if it's a show, or something else."

"Let's keep them guessing," Marc said, his lips brushing against hers as he said it. His hand touched the back of her thigh, and he kissed her a second time before pulling away. "Would you mind getting me a glass of wine,

ma cherie?

" he asked at a more normal volume.

"Of course," Sinead said, trailing her fingers over his shoulder as she left. The dealer was done shuffling and was tossing out the next hand.

Chapter 68

Returning to the bar, Sinead smiled a little as she slipped back up onto her barstool next to Siobhan. The hockey player's girlfriend wasn't quite drunk, but she was definitely happy and had allowed Sinead to signal the bartender to cut her off. That didn't stop Siobhan from being a giggly mess as she talked about moving up to Canada from down in the States. She and her boyfriend had been dating for almost ten years while he'd been in the League, and most of that time had been spent in Dallas and California.

Toronto had been a big change, but the popularity of the Leafs compared to the more Southern US teams had made a big difference. She actually got recognized on the streets here sometimes.

It was actually sort of

fun

talking to Siobhan, where she felt like there wasn't any pressure to be more than what she looked like. She didn't need to prove anything to the blonde woman.

That didn't mean there weren't any issues going on, however. The bartender had just poured Sinead another pair of glasses of wine - one for Marc, and one for herself - when the Irishman from early squeezed into the space next to her at the bar.

"Yeah, I'll have a Guiness and a shot of that Grey Goose you got up there," he said, then turned and acted surprised like he hadn't known who he was going to be standing next to. "Well, hello, ladies. Can I entice you into taking a shot with me?"

"A shot sounds pretty good right now," Siobhan said with a grin.

"Not for me," Sinead said. "I'm good, thanks. And Siobhan, I thought you said water for the next hour was the right choice?"

"Vodka is as clear as water," the Irishman smirked.

"He's so right," Siobhan giggled.

"I think we'll both pass, thanks," Sinead said, making eye contact with the bartender and shaking her head. He acknowledged that and set just one shot on the bar next to the tall glass of Guiness. Sinead turned to Siobhan fully, putting her back to the walking cliche pointedly. "Hold my seat," she said. "I just need to bring my man his glass."

"Of course, babe," Siobhan grinned at her.

Sinead took her glass, and Marcs, and headed back for the table. She even managed not to hesitate when she heard the Irishman mutter, 'Flaming cunt' under his breath. She strutted to the poker table and leaned in, setting Marc's glass down on the lip designed to hold the drinks.

"Might have a problem with a pushy asshole," she murmured softly into Marc's ear.

She could see his jaw clench just slightly and he nodded once.

"I can handle it," Sinead said.

"You shouldn't need to," Marc said. "I'll keep my eye out."

"Thank you," Sinead said and kissed his cheek. "But I can handle myself."

Marc caught her hand as she went to pull away, looking up into her eyes. "I know,

ma petite rebelle,

" he said. "But you don't

need

to."

Sinead wasn't sure how she felt as she walked back towards the bar to make sure Siobhan didn't get swept up by the low-tier gangster and make some mistakes.

Chapter 69

Marc watched as Sinead returned to the bar and her new acquaintance, the hockey player's partner. For just a moment he mused at what it might have been like to have them both in his bed - the other woman was certainly attractive and seemed to be a spirited flirt as she welcomed Sinead back with a wink and a playful pat on the hip. But, for all that Marc knew that he was something of a deviant, he also wasn't the kind of man who would ever consider approaching someone who was clearly engaged in some sort of relationship.

Which made the actions of the man trying to horn in on Sinead all the more despicable to him.

Keeping an eye on Sinead out of the corner of his eye, Marc paid the small blind for his next hand and then received his cards. A seven of spades and a two of diamonds wasn't worth anything, so he folded quietly at the first opportunity. The action at the table was slow to develop this time, with Susan slow-playing her bets as she eyed the other players from across the table.

The Irishman wasn't

quite

stepping over the line of propriety, but he was definitely pushing it. He was standing next to Sinead at the bar and Marc could tell that he was stopping himself from going so far as to put a hand on Sinead's back, but otherwise was putting 'the moves' on both Sinead and her friend. Marc wasn't entirely sure what the man was thinking, other than the fact that he must have been thinking with his dick. It was the only reasonable explanation other than that the man felt 'untouchable' for some reason. Maybe because Marc wasn't a known criminal element, and neither was the hockey player?

Susan took in a small victory at the end of the hand, refilling her chip pool, and another hand was dealt out. This time Marc had pocket 10s so he stayed in, and was slightly more distracted as he had to pay attention. By the end of the hand, he ended up with two pairs, not awful by any means, but the ferocity of the hockey player and the Jamaican allowed him to realise that at least one of them must have had the potential straight that was showing if not something more. He folded and escaped from the betting before it skyrocketed. When he looked back over at the bar he saw Sinead shoving the Irishman's hand from her forearm and her quietly scolding him.

Marc cleared his throat, looking over at the two Italian gentlemen at his table. He didn't really know much about 'the Mafia' beyond pop culture references and was unsure if his partial watch-through of The Sopranos really gave him any insight at all into how the Toronto Mafia operated, but he wasn't about to take a blind risk without checking. "Excuse me," he said once he had the attention of both men. "I believe the blond Irishman came with the two of you? He seems to be agitating my companion."

One of them just smirked at Marc. He was thin, with a severe face and nose that reminded Marc a little of a man he'd known growing up from Nice in southern France. The other, a more swarthy gentleman with thick black hair expertly coiffed on his head but also thick on his arms and knuckles. He frowned and looked over his shoulder at the bar, then called something sharp to the Irishman. Marc recognized that it was Italian, but it was so quick that he wasn't able to put his rusty, and small, knowledge of the language to use. "

Liam, tieni il cazzo nei pantaloni. Stai facendo incazzare i soldi facili.

"

The Irishman looked over, giving an innocent look to his boss, or superior, or whatever the man was to him. Then, when the Italian turned back to the table, 'Liam' made a slight grimace before slowly turning his back to Sinead and her acquaintance, acting as if he hadn't been flirting with the women at all.

"My apologies," the swarthy Italian said curtly, nodding. Marc nodded back in thanks. The man had spoken in quick, fluent Italian but was also clearly Canadian-born and raised when he swapped to English. Marc had a feeling he must have spent a significant amount of time in Italy, which he assumed would make sense if the man was truly a member of the Mafia.

The game continued on, and while Marc had a couple of solid winning hands to bolster his chip expenditures he didn't rake in any massive pots to put him back to his starting winnings. He wasn't, however, fairing too poorly. Susan seemed to almost take pity on the businessman Paul Crane as she took him out of the action on a hand that Marc could have read from across the room. The man took it jovially, shaking the hockey player's hand energetically and repeating that he'd been thrilled to meet the veteran of the game.

Other players were getting knocked off from the two other tables as well. Some stuck around, clearly enjoying the atmosphere and the free drinks, and Marc noted the hostess Rachel circulating between both the tables and the guests, while Victor paid specific attention to the players who were getting knocked out.

Smoothing over frustrated feelings, or discussing 'business?'

Marc thought.

Marc finally found another hand for himself that was worth pursuing, particularly since he'd been the big blind and had to chip in. The King and Queen of Diamonds sat on the table in front of him, and he ended up facing off with the thin Calabrian, the hockey player, and Susan. The flop gave Marc another two diamonds, though neither were the 10, Jack or Ace so a Royal Flush was out of the question. That still left him a possible Flush however if he could squeak out one more diamond from the turn or river. The betting accelerated, pausing at Susan before she called, and the pot ended up at $3,300 before the turn. The dealer expertly burned a card and then revealed the turn, a king of spades. By Marc's quick math, it shouldn't have helped anyone make a potential hand unless someone had pocket kings handing them a three-of-a-kind. Since he was holding a king himself, it wasn't very likely someone else had the other two.

The hockey player backed out, passing the betting to the Italian, who took the initiative. Susan took a long moment to consider before matching, and Marc took his own moment to run calculations in his head while watching the thin man. In the end, Marc had to just go with his gut - he was risking a significant portion of his chips already and had to bank on a diamond being the final card for the river. It was almost impossible to know what the actual percentage chance of it

being

a diamond was considering all the other cards that had been dealt out and folded, plus the burned cards, but in the end, he could only plan so far.

And instinct had never truly led him astray before.

"Raise," he said, quickly separating out the chip. "One thousand even."

Translations

- Liam, tieni il cazzo nei pantaloni. Stai facendo incazzare i soldi facili. = Liam, keep your dick in your pants. You're pissing off easy money.

Chapter 70

There was a small round of clapping over at Marc's table, pulling Sinead and Siobhan's attention.

"Looks like your man just won a good hand," Siobhan said, flashing a grin at Sinead.

She was probably right; Sinead could see Marc smiling and nodding his acceptance at some sort of smart play he'd made. No one was standing up and leaving the table, so he must not have knocked someone out, which Sinead was thankful for - she already felt like she was sticking out too much.

"Someone's getting lucky tonight," Destiny said. She was a gorgeous woman of Pakistani descent and one of the two escorts who had eventually come over to join Sinead and Siobhan at the bar. The woman was wearing a dress that looked like she must have been sewn into it, and the telltale bumps of nipple piercings fronted the considerable expanse of warm, brown cleavage she was showing off.

"Aw, she's blushing," Spirit chuckled. "Leave Sinead alone." The other escort, and friend of Destiny, was a leggy blonde with a similar sized chest though hers were definitely 'aftermarket.'

"Funny," Siobhan said, flashing the ladies a playful smile. "I thought it was you two who would be getting lucky."

"Not me," Spirit sighed with a little roll of her eyes. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Cornelius is a fun time. He takes me out to nice dinners, buys me nice things, etcetera. But the sex?

When

it happens, which is only sometimes, it isn't exactly 'getting lucky.'" Spirit was the companion for a businessman who looked to be in his mid-sixties, so Sinead was a little surprised that sex wasn't on the man's mind more often with a pair of legs and tits like Spirit was walking around with.