High Stakes



  HIGH STAKES

  by MARK HOCKLEY

  Copyright 2010 by Mark Hockley

  Eyes. Wide, flick slowly up, then down. Nervous. Scared.

  Fixes on something below.

  Cards held tightly. Two queens.

  The man holding them is maybe thirty of so. Average looking.

  The room is very dimly lit, shadows stalk the edges. A high table lamp illuminates the playing area.

  He shifts his gaze to another man sitting opposite him. This guy regards him with a steady, affable look. Calm, collected. He also holds two cards. He's maybe late thirties with dark, mischievous eyes. He wears a t-shirt with a large ace of spades emblazoned across it. Let's call him Ace.

  On the table before them there are five cards laid out face up. King rag-rag-rag-rag.

  There's another figure seated at the table. The dealer. His face is also in shadow. ­Hard to make out.

  "I think you've got something there, buddy. You're looking confident!" Ace says this in a Southern drawl, all friendly like. But his eyes tell another story.

  The other guy looks anything but confident. Sweat trickles down over his face. He looks stressed to the limit. This game is obviously very important to him.

  There's an average sized pot on the table. Both men still have plenty of chips. Finally he drags his gaze away from his queens and looks warily at his opponent. "Look..there has to be..another way to make this right. Please..." The words hang in the dead air.

  Ace just gives a smile. "Please," he savours the sound of it. "I like that word. It has a nice ring to it."

  There is desperation in the other's voice now. "I'm asking you...please."

  "But you haven't bet yet. Is your hand so bad you need to beg?"

  An amused chuckle follows this. "Maybe you should just fold and move on to the next hand."

  The other guy looks deflated, hope beginning to evaporate. He coughs, clearing his throat and speaks in barely above a whisper. "Why? Why are you doing this?"

  Ace seems to consider this for a moment. His expression open, thoughtful. "Because I want to. ­Because I can."

  A flash of anger darkens the other man's face. "You bastard." He says this as if spitting poison from his lips. He stares at Ace with rising fury, his body tensing.

  But before he can do anything, a handgun is pointed towards him. Held by the Dealer. His features still obscured by darkness.

  "Steady the boat, buddy," Ace says coolly. "No point in getting upset and going on tilt. Play your hand. You know something, you could even win!" Ace is all good-humour, but it has a sour edge. Something rotten. Like fruit left too long in the sun.

  The man glances at the gun and then back at Ace. After a few moments he forces himself to calm down a little. But there are tears in his eyes. Both of fear and despair. He glances back at his two queens. Then back at the cards on the table. He eyes the king waiting there.

  "Fold." He lets the cards fall to the table. They land both face up.

  A smile plays on Ace's lips as he looks at his own cards and then lays them down also face up. He just has trash. Nothing. "You need to have a little more courage, buddy. A little more backbone."

  The other man just looks disgusted, but says nothing.

  Now both men toss in their blinds and the dealer throws out a new round of cards. Ace picks up his two cards and casually looks at them.

  His opponent takes up his cards almost reluctantly.

  A pair of aces.

  He knows he must show no sign, no reaction. He stares at them for what seems like an endless span, unable to think straight. Sweat runs thick over his forehead and down past his eyes. He tries to steady himself. Eventually he looks over at Ace.

  Who stares right back at him. Analyzing him.

  It's all he can do not to gulp.

  Now Ace throws in some chips. "Make it a hundred."

  The other guy looks at his two cards again. They're still aces. He reaches for his stack of chips. "I raise."

  He moves in five hundred chips and his opponent gives him a flash of teeth. "Got something?"

  Keeping his eyes down and his cards close to his chest, almost hugging them, the man stays mute. This gets Ace thinking for a few seconds. "Call."

  The next cards are dealt. ­The flop is ace of hearts, king of spades, ten of spades.

  Now the guy has trip aces. It's looking good. ­Very good.

  "You like?" Ace is mocking him and he knows it. He still remains silent. "I'll give you some room to flex your muscles. Check."

  The man reaches out for his chips. And pushes in maybe a third of his stack. "Raise to a thousand."

  Ace opens his eyes wider, playing dramatic. "You do like." He thinks for a few seconds. Enjoying it. Getting off on it. "Let's see another card."

  He matches the thousand.

  The other guy is straining to keep himself neutral, determined not to give anything away. There is the tiniest twitch in his left eye now. He becomes increasingly aware of it. Maybe it's the sweat trickling in there, but resists the impulse to wipe it away.

  The dealer lays down the 'turn' card.

  It's a king of diamonds.

  "One more chance to show some courage. I check again." Ace grins, wolf-like.

  Now the man has to really think, concentrate. He works out the possibilities. Calculating.

  He pushes in more chips. Another thousand.

  It gets a reaction. Amusement. "If your hand is so good, buddy, why don't you just go all in?" He gives a knowing look. "I'm not so sure you really know what you're doing." He fingers his chips. "I think I'll just go ahead and raise."

  Two thousand joins the pot

  The two aces seems to loom up at him. Full of promise. "I...call." He matches the bet.

  The dealer places down the final card, the River.

  It's the final ace. The ace of spades.

  Ace lets out a cry. "Oh Lordy! Now would you look at that!"

  But the other guy just stares down at the card and then looks over at the one matching on the T-shirt facing him. "I'm all in." He says this is a dead, monotone voice. He seems wiped out emotionally.

  "Finally showing some backbone, buddy. Way to go!" Ace fingers his cards for a moment. And then places them flat down on the table. Maybe he's going to fold. "Do you know what, I'm really sorry buddy, but I'm going to have to answer a call of nature. I just can't hold her in any longer!"

  He smiles. And stands up.

  "Wait! Please...don't. Finish the hand. Please...just finish the hand." The man is more desperate than ever, his eyes wide with terror.

  As if something huge was riding on the decision.

  "But I'll be coming right back. The game's not over yet." Ace makes to move away from the table and now his opponent stands too, ready to grab him, stop him, do something, anything but let him walk away.

  The gun in the dealer's hand moves in the man's direction and he hesitates.

  "Sit down." Ace says this in a flat, no-nonsense tone and very reluctantly the man retakes his seat, his gaze on the weapon pointing at him. "Now don't go peeking at my cards, will you?" Ace ambles over towards a door to the shower room and the other man watches him go with utter dread.

  Ace turns the handle, enters and closes the door behind him.

  Within the small room there's a basin, a bath and lavatory. Ace walks right up, unzips and urinates. But he's not alone in there.

  Propped up in the bath are two figures. One a woman, around thirty. The other, a boy. Maybe ten.

  Both have their hands and legs bound. Both are gagged.

  Their terrified eyes follow Ace as he finishes, turns to the basin and washes his hands. He doesn't look at either of them when he speaks.

  "Poppa is playing a game of cards." He tur
ns off the tap. "He thinks he's winning. And do you know something, he's playing for real high stakes." Now he dries his hands on a paper towel. "He's playing to save your lives. I told him I'd let you go if he wins and I'm a man of my word." He turns to leave and finally looks down at them. "Problem is, I really don't like to lose" The woman and the boy watch him with horrified eyes. The boy struggles a little, but all he does is slip further into the tub.

  "Don't worry, it won't be long now." Ace chuckles quietly. "And then we'll get to know each other a little better."

  He opens the door and leaves.

  Watching as Ace returns to the table, the other man is a mess. He body shakes, his eyes flit from the gun to Ace. "Please...please...you didn't hurt them did you. The game's not finished! They are okay, aren't they? Please tell me...tell me."

  "Don't panic, buddy. We all play by the rules here." His gaze moves subtly towards the dealer. "Now let's see what you've got. I call."

  He sits down and pushes all of his chips in.

  Slowly, hesitantly, the pair of aces are laid down to make four of a kind. The man stares at them, hopeful, terrified.

  And for the first time Ace looks taken aback. He frowns.

  But then he flips over his cards to reveal Jack and Queen of Spades. He has a royal flush.

  Ace smirks at him and the other man looks dumbly at the cards. He's beaten. Tears run slowly down over his cheeks.

  "Good...but not good enough."

  Suddenly the man stands up. He's quivering, tears blurring his vision, but now he's ready to fight. What other choice does he have.

  Ace's grin is ready to split the sides of his face.

  The dealer's gun is aimed right at the man's heart. ­Finger putting pressure on the trigger.

  "You lose," Ace sates with unreserved satisfaction. "Say goodbye."

  They hold a look, victor and loser.

  "Goodbye," the man says, but there is just the smallest sign, a glimpse of something that Ace can't put his finger on.

  "What?" It's all Ace can think of to ask, because he doesn't like what he sees in the other guy's eyes. "What the..."

  But Ace doesn't get to finish. The gun shot is very loud inside the small room.

  Ace goes down. Blood runs and stains the worn old carpet.

  The other man just stares. First at Ace's body slumped on the floor. Then at the dealer. Who now has the gun pointed back at him.

  Quietly at first, then growing louder, the man begins to chuckle. "Don't point that thing at me. It might go off." The dealer lowers the gun and the guy sits back down at the table. "I really think Hollywood missed out on a star when they let me slip through the net. I was really good, don't you think? He believed every word."

  He looks at the shadowy features of the dealer, but there's no response.

  A completely different guy now, no more sweating, no more agitation or anxiety, he's in control. "That was the best yet. Amazing! Will you set up another game? Maybe in a couple of months?"

  Finally, after a long pause, the dealer speaks. The voice is inhuman, guttural...demonic. "There will always be another game. Always. ­Now go and see to our guests."

  The guy smiles slightly and there is a hard glint in his eyes. A sense of excitement too.

  He takes from his pocket a small switchblade and flicks the blade out. As he moves towards the door of the shower room, he stops briefly and glances at the dealer with an unreadable expression. Finally he opens the door and enters, closing it behind him.

  The dealer sits in the shadowy gloom, quite still. "There will always be another game. A game for the depraved and the soulless. For the lost and the damned. Because in here the game never ends." Despite the fact that there is so little light, there is just enough to get a sense of his features now, a glint of yellow, reptilian eyes. And then, as if speaking to an unseen audience. "­How about you? Do you want to play?"