You need to be logged in to your Sky Poker account above to post discussions and comments.
You might need to refresh your page afterwards.
You need to be logged in to your Sky Poker account above to post discussions and comments.
You might need to refresh your page afterwards.
Comments
A nice work of fiction Slip. Too many coincidences for it to be genuine although I did believe it at first. Coincidentally I have the new Rory Gallagher CD which is a special pack containing a crime novella written by Ian Rankin. The style of writing perfectly matches yours.
Posted by FlyingDagg
I had some work to do this morning – I had to go see Fat Harry about a guy who’d been shirking his duty on the booze we’d sold him. But I didn’t mind. It was a nice day. I took my baseball bat, but as it turned out I didn’t need it.
It was Amber’s birthday last night. I picked her up this real sweet fur from a guy I knew at the market, and there was enough left over from my game against TK and Lamb to spill for a necklace too, though if I’m being honest, I didn’t have to spray too much for the jewels. Sometimes it pays to be me in this town, you know.
Amber loved the gifts, even if I’d not wrapped them. Guys didn’t do that kind of thing, with the ribbons and the bows. Way I see it, the fur and the diamonds should be good enough, cause you ain’t gonna be wearing the paper. I said it before, but she’s getting to be a rope round my ankles. Maybe I shouldn’t of got her anything, cause now she thinks we’re a bigger deal than we really are. Anyways, I got my eye on this sweet New York Irish girl who works the notepad at Ellie’s Diner uptown. Badge says her name’s Rose. I reckon I’ll be seeing a bit more of her come the weekend.
I ain’t played much poker since I took Lamb to the cleaners a few days back, though I’ve seen him and a few of the others working the deck down at McGinty’s. There’s been talk of a tournament, so I been thinking bout organising something. Nothing big, just a bunch of the regulars in the bar, maybe a few of my crew. Seems the game’s more popular than I figured when I saw them two guys playing it, cause most everyone seems to be doing it now.
When I got back home after seeing Fat Harry, Amber was waiting for me wearing the fur and the necklace and not much else besides.
I been juggling Amber and Rose, the Irish thing from Ellie’s, for a week or so. I’m pretty sure they both think I got bits on the side, but thinking ain’t knowing, and as long as there’s doubt then I’m good for a while longer. Right now I’ve got it good, and the minute that changes, I cut them loose.
This new guy came into McGinty’s last night. Russian I think, or somewhere thereabouts. All I know is that he wasn’t from around here. He went by the name of Ivan Ovich. Tall guy he was, and young too. Maybe early twenties. Kid looks like he ain’t started to shave yet, and there’s this smile on his face that don’t know when to quit.
Anyways, this Ivan kid turns up with his own pack of cards, so it seems the Commies play as well. He lights up one of them foreign cigars and fans out the cards in front of his face like some Japanese geisha, before he starts to shuffle them. It’s obvious he wants someone to sit down with him, but there’s something about the way his fingers move across the cards that tells me I’d be best standing by and watching for a bit. Sooner or later somebody will give him a game – I’ve seen these hustlers before.
Sure enough, John comes up to him from his place by the bar. Now, John’s one of them strange characters that I ain’t figured out yet. He’s got this odd ink on his wrist – says 127. I asked him one time what it meant, and he tells me it’s how many men he killed in the Great War a few years back. Could be a bluff: hard to tell. Guy’s got one of them faces that don’t change either way. I reckon it’s the amount of times he been asked that damned stupid question.
So John sits down with Ivan, and before the Russian’s even dealt the cards he starts talking about odds and percentages and strange things I’d never heard of like equity and merging your range, whatever them thing are. John looks back at me and we both share a shrug, before he turns back to young Ivan and tells him to deal the cards and shut up.
I laughed and finished my whiskey.
I go back to my whiskey and nod for TK to pour me another, and then I feel this tug at the bottom of my jacket. I look down and it’s Matty B, the shortest guy in my crew. He looks up to me and I help him up onto the stool. I ask him of he ever gets a sore neck having to look up at normal-sized people all the time, and he just smiles and shakes his head. He kicks his legs back and forth on the stool like some schoolkid.
TK comes over with my drink and asks Matty B for his I.D. It’s the same joke every night, but it never gets old. Matty B is ages with me. We grew up in the same neighbourhood. I used to dress him up in soft white baby clothes, get him to cuddle a stuffed elephant, and push him round the streets in a carriage. Eight out of ten people who pinched his cheeks and said how good looking he was didn’t even realise he was thirteen at the time.
TK pours Matty B a shot of the same stuff I’m drinking and tells him not to tell his mommy and daddy that the nice old man behind the bar let him have it. We all laugh. Matty and I turn round and watch John and the Russian playing.
I kind of want to get involved, and now that Matt’s arrived, we’ve got a good four, and just as I’m about to make the suggestion, the bell above the door goes again, and in slides Amber.
Anyways, she’s getting enough attention from everyone else so I turn back to my drink and the game between Ivan and John, who seem to be the only men in McGinty’s not taken by her legs. Even TK has stopped polishing his pumps. I almost forgot little Matty B on the stool next to me until he clears his throat. Amber swings close and Matty gets an eyeful.
She wants to go out – maybe grab dinner and take in a movie – but I’m done with all that stuff, at least for tonight. Matty looks up at me like I’m all kinds of crazy for turning her down. I want to tell him that he’s welcome to have a go if he wants, but I know he’s not man enough to handle someone like Amber. Would be fun to watch him try, but I couldn’t do that to the poor guy.
I tell her to go back to the flat, pour herself a few brandies, and wait for me there, but she doesn’t seem keen. She’s all dressed up. Probably took her an hour to put her face on. For a minute there neither one of us says anything, and then she puts her arm around Matty B’s waist and lifts him off the stool. He looks at me like he’s asking for permission: I slip him ten bucks and tell him to be careful – girls like Amber sometimes eat their prey afterwards.
Then she leads him out the door, and all them heads are cranked back the other way.