Welcome To The Bullpen
The Gamble
By Josh Williams
Men playing cards. The West blows in through Saloon doors and calloused hands move to cover over half-full glasses. Despite the sun outside the breeze still brings a chill. Skin puckers and bristles under the leather and rasping rough cotton of clothing before the heat settles back in.
One says ‘Deal’, another says ‘I wanna see that picture book shaken up real good.’ The one with the cards says ‘This ain’t no picture book, Lucas, this here’s the Devil’s Bible.’ Laughter from plains hyenas, drifted in with the wild wind.
The one with the broad-brimmed hat pulled down low speaks slower than the rest. Less agitated at the coming storm perhaps. ‘every one’s a sin, gentlemen.’ He drawls. ‘An’ don’t you just love ’em all?’
‘fellas,’ I say, looking at the money in front of each of them an’ holding up the miserable seven dollars I have left. ‘I’m a little shy. But I’d sure like to stay in.’
The man in the hat turned easily saying, ‘With what?’ I held nothing but my breath and he turned back. You don’t get even unless you play. You can’t win without a stake. ‘What would you take?’ I ask. ‘With us all bettin’ money?’ He said. ‘You’d have to be bettin’ something like, well, yourself.’
‘Myself?’
‘Not your whole self. We don’t make slaves outta honest gamblers. If you win, you win big…’ indicating piles of dollar bills, ‘if you lose, then you have to do something for the winner.’
‘You already got everything I have.’ I said.
‘Had.’ He said.
‘Deal me in.’
First card is the Queen-a-Hearts. But then ain’t it always? First sin’s always lust. Adam and Eve knew that.
I can’t help but shift a good long stare behind the bar. Tall, blonde, beautiful, dressed all in black. Lace stockings, high heels to high ass. Corsetry to make a thirsty man weep and drink up his own tears. Only thing holds a man back is those blue eyes, and the danger in them.
But cards always come too fast to waste time on women. Second up's a bullet. Spade’s Ace. Biggest card there is. Suddenly, looking at it makes me want to eat. I wave my free hand and order over another bottle, and a whole mess of whatever food's going. Loosen the belt, sit back. Hungry men don’t play cards, they just give their money away. Same reason they was hungry when they started.
Third's the Jack-in-a-box-a-Diamonds and I’m collecting pictures. Pictures with numbers next to them and the holy sign of the dollar. But you can’t do much with diamonds out here. I'll sell 'em for money and stuff my mattress so full I’ll sleep with sweet money-scented dreams.
’Til the next card. It doesn’t do anything, just hits me with Seven Clubs. Leaves me lying in a stupor, can’t even raise the glass to my mouth. Pictures, and then a Seven. I needed that like another hole in my head, and I already got seven of those. Throw dice if you want sevens, don't play cards.
Time hung so slow I didn’t know if I’d ever get that final card. But hell, what was the point now anyways? May as well just sit an' guess what it will be. Another Seven?
No, finally the King-a-Clubs comes to join its Seven. The murderer’s card and the hand is back in the pot. I can’t for the life of me see why these men have my money, not while I still have life in me. I start to imagine them dead, each in different ways. One splayed on his chair, one slumped down on the table, a knife in his back, hat fallen on the floor.
None of this stops the bidding. One dollar through seven and I'm cleaned out. Stared at by a man with money. I wanted that money. More than I had ever wanted anything. I don’t know if it was because some of it used to be mine, or if it was just good honest wantin’ for money, or if it was because it was his. His, and I wished it were mine. Maybe I could have it. He pushed his whole hill of money toward me.
'You in?' He pushes his hat back a little with the index finger of his right hand.
I nod.
‘You want to draw, or you already sittin’ on Aces?’ He asks. All I need is a Ten. Ditch this Seven, draw a Ten to make a Straight. ‘Kind of a man are you?’ He asks. All I need is a Ten. ‘Life’s a gamble, son. You ain’t alive if you don’t gamble. You ain’t a man.’
A Ten. I could walk away with nothing. Not even pride intact. Or I could play and win. Course, I could play and lose.
‘What is it you want if I lose?’
‘One thing’s all. Won’t take but a minute.’
‘One thing?’
Nodding. Ain’t no point going through life as less than a man. And anyways, today I felt like winning.
‘I’ll draw. One card.’
They took in and dealt out more cards. I threw down the Seven and left the new card resting face down. Cards turned, the first grunted, shifted his chair and stalked to the bar. Second looked at three of a kind and raised a hopeful eyebrow. The hat flipped over one at a time. All Diamonds.
All Diamonds. Hell, Flush beats a Straight. Doesn’t matter what I swap that Seven for, I can't win. I reach out and show my hand.
‘Losing,’ he said, as he drew in all that money, ‘is not knowing when you ain’t going to win.’
I stared at his five red cards, then back at my useless Seven.
‘About that thing.’ He said, and I looked up. ‘We’re here to do a job. Sheriff round here’s made some bad decisions, and some bad friends.’ He leaned forward and turned over my discarded draw card - Hearts.
‘Seven.’ He said, smiling. ‘Your lucky number?’
He picked up the Ace from the table and said quietly, ‘The Sheriff…’
I waited.
‘Kill him.’
I laughed. ‘You know how many points there are on a Sheriff’s badge?’ I ask him. He shakes his head. ‘Seven.’ I said, and drew back my coat to show him mine.
He started back, chair squealing loud along the floor.
‘Maybe I should lay my cards on the table.’ I said, standing up just as fast. ‘You and your boys handed over your guns when you came in. House rules, no trouble here. 'Cept for the local law that is. Sheriff round here is one untrusting son of a bitch and always carries something tucked in his boot. You think y'all could get to your weapons 'fore I get to mine?' I waited a heartbeat or two. ‘Life’s a gamble, son. You ain’t alive if you don’t gamble. You ain’t a man.’
He spat at me like a snake, ‘You lost.’
‘No.’ I said, ‘You just lost. Winning’s about bein' in control, not the hand you been dealt.’
He stared at me, hand twitching, nothing to draw.
‘And in this town, losing’s a mortal sin.’
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REVIEW 1
Excellent story which needs attention. First, IMO, I would use double inverted commas such as “---” not ‘---’ for dialogue. A matter of personal opinion.
This tale is worth a shot at getting published, but polish up your m/s and get rid of silly mistakes. With your story telling skills this should be easy.
Good luck.
L.Roger Quilter.
The West blows in through Saloon doors not sure what this portrays. West Wind, maybe?
‘every one’s a sin, gentlemen.’ Capital E required.
‘fellas,’ I say, looking at the money in front of each of them an’ holding up the miserable seven dollars I have left. ‘I’m a little shy. But I’d sure like to stay in.’
Rewrite to
‘Fellas,’ I say, looking at the money in front of each of them an’ holding up the miserable seven dollars I have left, ‘I’m a little shy, but I’d sure like to stay in.’
Cards turned, the first grunted, shifted his chair and stalked to the bar. - Cards is the subject, but I don’t think ‘the first’ could be a card. Tweak this sentence.
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