Chapter Five

Part 3

That Friday night I sat at my regular poker game with my friends, my leg bouncing up and down under the table as I waited for Brad to make his bet. The table was silent, and tension gripped the room. Both my fault. I had been caustic and impatient ever since I walked in, two things that didn’t exactly engender camaraderie. This was supposed to be a fun game, a casual thing, but tonight I had turned it into a war.

“Dude. Are you going to bet, ever?” I said flatly.

Brad shot me a look of death. “Whatever,” he said, tossing in a couple of chips.

“Good. I see your bet, and I raise you,” I said, throwing in.

“Uh, Mike?” Ian said. “You can’t raise the bet ten dollars. There’s a two-dollar limit, remember?”

I laughed. “Right. I forgot this wasn’t the real game,” I said.

Ian’s face turned to stone. I knew he was annoyed that I had alluded to the high-stakes game, which these guys hadn’t been invited to. But we had made that decision together, knowing they were too impecunious to afford it. Still, that didn’t change the fact that now I was in the poor house. I needed money, and at that moment I didn’t care where it came from. Avarice had taken over. Well, that and fear.

“Come on, Brad. Be a man,” I said. “There isn’t even any real money in that pot yet.”

“Yeah, well, my diminutive paycheck begs to differ,” Brad said, throwing his cards down. “I fold.”

He shoved away from the table, got up, and grabbed his jacket.

“What’s your problem, man?” I asked, standing as well. “When did you become so irascible?”

“Me?” Brad shot back, shoving his arms into his jacket. “I don’t even know who the hell you are, man. You’ve been more mercurial tonight than my girlfriend at that time of the month.”

I snorted a laugh and looked at the other guys. They all avoided my gaze. Suddenly I felt a pit of guilt start to form in my stomach. What was wrong with me?

“Come on, man,” I said, fighting for equanimity. “Don’t go. I’m sorry, all right? I’ll stop being an ass.”

Brad took a deep breath. “I’m just not in the mood, Mike. I’m not gonna stick around and wait for you to denigrate me again or . . . or instigate another showdown. You know, this used to be fun.”

Talk about a drama queen. “You know what? Fine. If you wanna go, go. Don’t let me deter you,” I snapped.

I sat down and pulled my winnings toward me, stacking up the few chips I could now call my own. Brad turned around and slammed the door on his way out. I could feel everyone staring at me, and I started to sweat.

“So, you gonna deal or what?” I snapped at Ian.

“Dude, what’s wrong with you?” Tyler asked.

“Not you too, Brooks,” I said.

“Mike, maybe you should abstain from this next hand,” Ian suggested. “Or the next couple. Take a break and chill for a little bit.”

My eyes flashed. “What are you, now? My mother?” I asked. The second I said it I wanted to take it back. I couldn’t believe how belligerent I was acting. But I guess that’s what sheer panic can do to you. “Deal me in,” I said quietly, tossing my two chips into the pot.

Ian sighed, looked around at Chris and Brad, and dealt the cards. I pulled my two hole cards to me and checked them. Two fours. A promising start. We all placed our bets.

“Dealing the flop,” Ian said. He sounded tired. Maybe even a little wary.

In the flop were a ten, a queen, and a two. Nothing that could even remotely help me. The best I could do now was three of a kind or, if lady luck was smiling on me, four of a kind. Brad threw in his bet. Chris raised it. Now I either had to see his raised bet or fold.

My heart pounded in my ears. I should have listened to Ian and sat this one out. Now I could either bluff and pray or fold and give up half of what I had already won. Which wasn’t much. Holding my breath, I decided to throw prudence out the window. I saw Chris’s bet.

Ian blew out a sigh. “Dealing the turn,” he said.

He turned the card over. Another ten. Okay. This was good. Now I had two pair with my two fours and the two tens on the table. Now I could even pull out a full house, potentially.

We all put in our bets. Chris raised again. I saw his bet. A trickle of sweat ran down my cheek from my temple.

“Dealing the river,” Ian said.

He turned over the card. A king. I had to hope my two pair was the best hand out there.

We all placed our final bets.

“What’s everybody got?” Ian asked.

“Two pair,” Tyler said. “Tens and twos.”

Yes! I had him beat.

“Two pair. Tens and fours,” I said triumphantly.

Everyone looked at Chris. He seemed almost sorry as he turned over the winning hand. “I got a straight,” he said. “Ace high.”

I gulped. There were the cards. He had a jack and an ace in the hole, plus the ten, queen, and king on the table. He leaned forward and dragged all the chips in the pot toward him and it took every ounce of fortitude I could muster to keep from breaking down. I was down to my last two chips. Two measly dollars from the hundred I had taken out, hoping to double it and put a dent in what I had already lost. Everyone at the table looked at me in pity and with maybe a little bit of fear, wondering if I was going to explode again. But I didn’t have any explosions left in me. It was one of the most ignominious moments of my life, and all I wanted to do was crawl home with my tail between my legs.