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Me r in
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Sep 20, 2021 11:35
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Mystic Mongol posted:The idea of people watching me write real time fills me with The Fear, no thank you. I mean, same, but that's sort of why I'm doing it. If I don't I might just waffle around and not end up writing anything. But with my Internet Reputation on the line...shame is a powerful motivator. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1mPqnsinjC8eaSEdy7HUE8jAbEDjdRMhDWNEUFQAwaes/edit?usp=sharing Watch the disaster unfold in real time!
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Oct 9, 2021 01:27
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Last Call 1563 Words The guy to my right was full of poo poo. I could tell that, no question. One of his eyes was lazy but that didn’t stop it from twitching every time he glanced down. Dead giveaway, even if he hadn’t been sweating a bucket a minute. He’d pushed in too much too fast, with too much showing. Bullshit. The next time he looked up from his hand I tossed him a big old smile, with a slow wink at the end for good measure. I toyed with a pair of red chips as I pretended to have a think. The chips weren’t in play, just a personal good luck charm. They tended to draw attention, though, and that made them another useful tool.“Call,” I said, while I pushed out chips to match his raise. He swallowed hard and looked away. I know I shouldn’t play with my food; it ain't professional, but sometimes I just couldn’t help it. Poor kid, he was in way over his head. I could have pushed back with a hard reraise but he would have folded like a cheap cigarette. My gut told me one bluff was all he had him in. Leave him a little wiggle, though, and he might hang himself. To my right was a player of a different school altogether. Real hard rear end. His hat was pulled down low over his face, leaving nothing but the hard scar of his mouth and the wobble of the unlit cigar hanging there for me to work with. Dodging was poor form, in my book, but not a lot I could do about it. Not my table, not my rules. But hell, hiding told me something, too. The fella across the table was the main attraction; the reason I was here and the only serious card player I’d come across in this whole two-bit town. Gable Griftin. The game was his, the table, the tavern. Hell, from the way I heard it, most of the town, too. We’d been at it for an hour, maybe. The two other players still had chips to play with but they were a sideshow, mostly. From the first hand it had been one on one, heads up, the other two players so far outclassed they didn’t even realize it. They couldn’t even see the game we were playing. “Your play, Mr. Jacobs.” Griftin said, jarring me back to the game. Lot more chips in the middle than the last time I’d glanced up. He’d pushed out his stack, all in, and just as I’d thought the kid had folded under pressure. I took another long study of my hand, and back to the cards on the table. Let the moment linger a little. No reason to, really. The only play left to make was mine; call or fold, and I knew what I was going to do. Had since the flop, in fact. But there’s always the next hand to consider, or the next game. Whatever game that turns out to be. Griftin and I were close enough that matching his all-in was the game, one way or the other. Just clean up after that. A bit of dessert after the main course for the victor. Not the first time we’d toyed with it this game...he’d pushed more than once, so had I. Hadn’t been the right moment for either of us to make the call, though. I took a moment to look up at my opponent. He was a slick looking son of a bitch, give him that. Fine black suit, snakeskin boots to match. Black top hat like a proper gentleman. A pearl handled revolver peaked out from a hostler that probably cost more than my entire ensemble; hell, I knew it did, and me in my Sunday best. From what I heard, he’d made his stake back west, hustling cards, mostly, same as now. Only there were whispers of other things, too. Some said he’d made his own luck when the cards didn’t turn his way. Rumor was, before he’d turned all respectable and bought himself a town, he’d been a killer. I could see it there, in his eyes, as I watched him across the table. Cold and black and not a touch of pity. I wondered, too, as I reached for chips and shoved the lot into the middle of the table, what those cold, dead eyes saw when they stared into mine. For good measure, I dumped the pair of red chips on the pile, too. Every chip I had was in that pot, now. And for the first time Mr. Grifter’s eyes showed some life. Glee, I reckoned. Glee and greed. What a dynamic character he was turning out to be. He flipped his cards even as he reached for the pot, a hearty belly laugh telling me what I already knew. I’d played right into him, and the game was over, despite all the players left at the table. “Well played, Jacobs. drat fine game,” he said, as he restacked his winnings. “Plenty of potential. Give it a few years, you’ll be a proper touch.” “Cards have never really been my game of choice, being honest. Thanks for the chance, just the same,” I said, pushing back my chair and standing. I nodded to the other two men still in the game, tipped a few coins to the pretty lady dealing, and made my way to the bar. I ordered a drink or two, waiting for the next hand to play out. As I’d guessed, the pleasure went out of things for Grifit after my exit, and he made short work out of LazyEye and Cigar. Fifteen minutes later he joined me at the bar. “Buy you a drink?” he asked, holding up a handful of my own drat money. “Never say no to that,” I replied. He was the sort to need a proper wallow in his victory. Just like I’d figured. He settled into the stool beside me as the barkeep brought the round. “Passing through town? Aiming to stay? Could find work for a man who knows his way around a poker table.” “Be gone by tomorrow, I expect. Just one bit of business left.” He reached into his pocket and drew out the two red chips I’d brought with me, the ones I’d tossed into the pot at the end. “These chips...almost seems like I’ve seen something like these before. Back west, isn’t it? Little casino off the Woodchuck river?” He grinned wide, showing bright white teeth. “I remember now. drat near cleaned the place out. How about that.” “Not quite how it went, Mr. Griftin. Way I heard it, someone got the best of you.” He raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And who’s been telling stories like that? I’ve been beat, sure, but you can be sure I remember every time. And I walked out of that little bit of nowhere with every coin and chip in the place.” “That’s drat near true enough, as it goes. Only chips left were those two in your hand. But you didn’t win, did you, Griftin. I heard you just shot the place up when you lost.” The friendly smile left his face and his fist clenched around the chips he held. “I’d like to hear who is telling tales like that, Mr. Jacobs. I’d like to answer their slander with lead.” He caressed the fancy hilt at his belt as the words left his mouth. “I do. I was there. My ma’ beat you cold, and you slaughtered every eye who saw your shame, then you looted the place. Just because you lost to a woman.” “You did make one mistake, though. You missed me, though, Griftin. I was just a little thing, cowering under a table in the corner.” I showed him my teeth. “You shouldn’t have missed me, Mr. Griftin.” He swallowed hard, but otherwise he didn’t make a move. I watched his eyes. Still a killer’s eyes, but there was something else there, too. Fear. Good. I downed the shot, stood away from the bar. “Your play,” I said, as I drew back my duster to show the gun at my hip. It was a cheap piece of hardware, a long crack down the handle making it seem barely fit to fire. But, like me, it was game enough, and ready for another hand. The place cleared out quick as you please. The bartender thought about protesting for a moment, took another look at me and made for the door with the rest of them. Smart man. For the last time, I stared into those black, soulless eyes. For once, I liked what I saw. I waited. He stepped away from the bar, protesting, but I paid him no mind. Just distraction. And as I expected, midsentence, he drew, fast and clean. Still a killer. But while he’d been playing cards and drinking in taverns I’d been training and dreaming every day for this moment. This one chance. His pistol came out quick but mine was quicker. A thin cloud of smoke drifted from my battered second hand pistol as his rattled to the saloon floor. I dropped the pair of red chips on his corpse as I stepped over the mess. “Guess that makes you all in, Griftin,” I said, as I stepped out onto the dusty street.
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Oct 9, 2021 03:57
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