Double or Nothing Read online

  The bus pulls away and accelerates down the street. I resist the urge to look back to see if Dillon is still there. I almost manage it but have to sneak a quick glance.

  He has started gliding down the sidewalk on his skateboard.

  I watch him pass a car. That same tan car. Its headlights come on, and it drives away.

  I try to push my paranoid thoughts from my mind.

  I have a poker game to win.

  Chapter Six

  I am going to lose this game.

  I had to hand over my thousand dollars to John Jr. when I walked in the back door of the club. Before I’d even had a chance to see who was going to be playing.

  Now that I’m inside and sitting in the middle of the action, I can see that I’m way out of my league. John Jr. did try to warn me, but like he’s going to turn down easy money.

  The room is smoky, filled with the blue haze from cigars. It chokes me and makes my eyes burn. I very stupidly forgot to wear sunglasses, so now my eyes are exposed to everyone at the table. They’re all men, all older than me and all wearing dark shades.

  I can smell the testosterone in the room. I know what each of them is thinking as they sit and look at me across the smooth green felt of the players’ table. I’m a new fish, someone to knock out of the action early and without pity. I’d think the same thing.

  I take a deep breath. No, I’m not going to psych myself out of this. I have to remember that these guys may be older, or more experienced, but I’ve probably got the highest IQ in the room. I just have to be careful. Keep it conservative. Don’t get carried away. Don’t get sucked into going all in too quickly.

  I’ve only got my thousand-dollar stake, plus a few hundred I was able to scrounge from my overdraft and the remains of some credit-card cash advances. It’s going to have to last me a while. I have a pretty small stack of chips in front of me. The guys all have huge stacks.

  “Sheila!” John Jr. bellows to a server wearing a skimpy skirt and bikini top. “Bring drinks for our players.”

  The server saunters over to me first. “What’ll you have, sweetie?” she asks kindly.

  “Uh, ginger ale, please,” I say. The men all laugh.

  Let them. Let them order their double scotches and their shots of cold Russian vodka. It will only help me.

  “Stevo,” says John Jr. “Let’s get this action started.”

  “Okay,” says Stevo, opening the door. A small bald man in a crisp white shirt enters. He’s carrying a metal case.

  The man sits down in the dealer position, opens his case, and removes several sealed packages of cards. He opens them and begins shuffling. Moments later he inserts them into his card-dealing machine.

  He looks around the table at all of us. His gaze falls briefly on me. Abruptly he gets up and approaches John Jr. They speak in hushed tones. After a minute the dealer throws his hands up and returns to the table, shaking his head. He glances at me, and if I’m not mistaken, I see a slight look of concern on his face.

  He quickly explains the rules, but we all know them. Every single one of us is anxious for the game to start. Despite all our differences, we have this in common. We love poker. We can’t live without it. Gambling is like breathing. We need this.

  “Post your blinds,” the dealer instructs. We all push forward the required chips.

  He deals out the hole cards, and I wait a moment before looking at mine. Instead, I watch the faces of the men as they check their cards. Some are animated, making a show of being happy or pissed off at the results, but there’s no way to know if their emotions are genuine. I spot a couple of bad actors right away and figure they are bluffing. But at this level, it could be a double bluff.

  A couple of players are steely-faced and reveal nothing, barely glancing at their cards long enough to see what they have. This can also be a “tell”—a way for me to figure out whether they have a good hand or not. One of these guys, silver-haired with deep forehead creases and a pair of gold sunglasses, keeps so still he seems like a statue. But the fingers on his right hand twitch. I decide it is a sign he has a monster hand. Probably pocket aces. He’s itching to bet.

  I inhale, calming myself, and carefully lift the corners of my cards. I’ve got a ten and a queen, both clubs. It’s not terrible, and it could be great, but it all depends on the flop.

  We go around the table, placing bets. Two players fold right away. When it comes to me I “check” because my hand isn’t strong enough to bet on. I want to see what Golden Sunglasses will do. I expect him to bet, but he checks too.

  Now I’m sure he has a good hand. He’s trying to lure me in. I may have to fold after the flop.

  The dealer lays out the three cards. A two of hearts, a seven of diamonds and an ace of clubs. I glance at Golden Sunglasses, and he’s as still as before.

  Betting starts again, and the other players fold out of the game, leaving it to me and Golden Sunglasses. It’s his turn, so he makes a modest bet, a hundred dollars. Big enough to be serious but small enough that he could still be bluffing.

  Now what do I do? Worst-case scenario is he’s got two aces in the hole and one showing in the flop. He could have three of a kind. And I’ve got nothing, really. But I have the makings of a straight flush. I just need the king and the jack of clubs. I know the odds aren’t good. About 1 in 30,940, actually.

  You know what? I’m here to play. I need to establish myself at this table. And so I see his bet and raise it another $50. He sees my raise, and the dealer adds another card. When I see the turn, my heart nearly stops. It’s a jack of clubs. I stay very still, trying not to reveal any feelings whatsoever. I glance at Golden Sunglasses. I know he’s staring at me, even though I can’t see his eyes.

  The action is on me. I’m not sure where this is going, so I check again.

  Golden Sunglasses takes this as a sign I’ve got nothing (technically he’s right), and he places a big bet. Five hundred dollars. He’s trying to take me out on my first hand. He marked me from the get-go.

  I could fold and be out a couple hundred but stay alive for a few more hands. Or I could see his bet. Hell, I could go all in on my very first hand and hope the river card is the one I need to win this.

  My skin starts to prickle. I can feel sweat running down the middle of my back. It’s hot in here. Cigar smoke is seeping into my pores. Do I bet it all? The probability that this final card is the one I need is 1 in 43,316.

  I look at Golden Sunglasses and notice the slightest smirk flash across his mouth. It’s a blink-or-you-miss-it expression, but I see it. I decide to go for it.

  I push my chips forward. All of them. “All in,” I say. My voice is a squeak.

  Golden Sunglasses shakes his head at me a little and then matches my raise. He’s calling me out.

  The dealer speaks. “Cards up,” he instructs. We both have to reveal our hands.

  Golden Sunglasses turns his over, and my heart sinks. He does, in fact, have two aces.

  “Three of a kind, aces,” declares the dealer.

  Everyone is paying attention now. I turn mine over. There is an audible intake of breath and a few murmurs.

  I’m one card away from a straight flush, a royal flush, the hand to beat all hands.

  Golden Sunglasses is staring hard at me right now. “You got balls, little fish,” he grumbles. “Let’s see if you’re lucky.”

  “I’ve got something better than balls,” I say, finding my courage.

  All the men stare at me. “Ovaries,” I say, as if it isn’t obvious.

  Big Steve laughs his obnoxious guffaw, and that’s when I realize that he and John Jr. have been watching the action with fascination.

  “Here comes the river,” says the dealer. He pulls the card from the machine.

  His hand seems to move in slow motion as he turns it over and places it on the table.

  It’s black. Oh my god. It’s a king. It’s a club.

  I’ve just won almost $2,000.

  “Jesus Christ,” mutt
ers Golden Sunglasses.

  “Winner, straight flush,” declares the dealer, handing me stacks of chips.

  “Thank you,” I say. It’s going to be a fun night.

  Chapter Seven

  This is not fun anymore.

  I had a few good hands, and I’m up almost ten grand. It’s not enough to cover every debt I have, but it’s a damn good start. I could walk away and scrape by for the rest of the year without anyone, least of all Aggie, knowing just how bad it was.

  It’s just…there’s another big pot brewing. Golden Sunglasses and a skinny guy who looks like Steve Buscemi have bet huge. If I can win it, I’ll be totally free and clear.

  The problem isn’t my hand. I’ve got a pair of fours, and the flop is showing a pair of tens and a four. The turn card is a five. So I’ve got a full house, fours and tens. The problem is, I don’t know what my opponents have.

  They could just have pairs or three of a kind. Either way, my full house would beat them. The nightmare would be if one of them has a better full house than mine, with higher cards. The odds of that are less than 3 percent, and the odds of them having four of a kind are less than 1 percent.

  Do I bet on those odds? I almost fold, but something stops me. I can’t walk away from this. I can’t leave with an okay win when big money is still in play. I’ve got to go double or nothing.

  Before I can change my mind, I push all my chips forward. “All in,” I say, proud that my voice didn’t waver.

  I see the dealer frown.

  Steve Buscemi folds. It’s too rich for his blood. It’s down to Golden Sunglasses again. This time he’s smiling.

  He pushes his stack of chips forward, calling me. Then he flips his cards over. All the air seems to leave the room. There’s no sound, save for the pounding of my heart. It’s just me and my intense regret.

  Golden Sunglasses has pocket tens. So four of a kind. He wins. With shaking hands I turn over my cards. His smile grows.

  “I knew I’d get you eventually, little fish,” he says.

  I’m going to puke.

  I turn to talk to John Jr., to beg him for an additional stake, but he must have stepped out. It’s just Big Steve, leering at me.

  “Hey, Big Steve. Can you help a girl out?”

  He shakes his head. “You know what Junior said. Once you’re out, you’re out. No credit.”

  I can feel the bile rise in my throat. “But it’s me. Come on. You don’t always have to do what he says, right?”

  Big Steve stares at me for a long moment and then looks over his shoulder. “Fine, girlie,” he says. “Another grand.”

  I sigh with relief. “Thank you so much.”

  He calls over to the dealer. “A thousand to the little lady.”

  The dealer sighs and counts out the chips.

  Another round starts, and then another, and I do okay—until I am losing again. It’s nothing dramatic. No big hands, just a gradual slide. I ask for more and more chips, until I’m in the hole at least three grand.

  On my last hand I only have enough to post blinds before I’m all in again. I’ve got nothing. Steve Buscemi beats me with a pair of sevens.

  “Hey, better luck next time,” he offers, avoiding my gaze. I’m just trying not to cry.

  John Jr. walks back into the room, carrying a pizza.

  “Aw, what happened, Essie?” he asks with mock concern. “You get knocked out by the big boys?”

  I grab my bag and leave the table, heading for the door, but Big Steve steps in my way. Shit.

  “Whoa there, girlie. What about our three large?” he asks.

  “What the hell?” John Jr. snarls. “Stevo, tell me you didn’t loan this girl any dough.”

  He shrugs. “The little girl made her bed. Now she can lie in it.”

  I’ve always said that I love the low of defeat. That there’s nothing like getting down so far into the abyss that you think you’ll never get out. That it’s kind of great because you get to claw your way back up to the light? I take that back. This is not love. It’s misery.

  John Jr. fixes his steely gaze on me. “You going to come up with my money, kid?”

  “I’m good for it. I can get it,” I lie.

  “Good. You have until the end of the week. After that we come to you. You understand what that means?”

  I swallow hard and nod.

  The walk home is long and cold. I don’t even have any change for the bus, and the night is already fading away to dawn. I pull my hoodie tighter around myself, trying to fight off the deep chill that has settled into my bones. It’s all too real to be a nightmare.

  Once I’m back in my dorm, I look around for things I can sell. My Machine. It’s used, but if I can get a local student to buy parts, I could make cash fast. I open my jewelry box and take out anything gold, including some small rings that my dad gave me when I was little. It won’t be enough.

  I plop down on my bed. I’m going to have to ask my parents for a loan. I look at the clock. Six a.m. Dad should be up for work. I call his cell, half hoping he won’t answer. He does. He always does.

  “Hi there, favorite twin!” Dad always calls me this. I’m sure he calls Aggie this too, but he’ll never admit it.

  “Hi, Dad,” I say, sounding as tired as I feel.

  “It’s so early! Catching the worm, sweetheart?”

  “Something like that. Um, Dad, I have a problem.”

  “Oh? Everything okay, Ester?” His concern radiates through the phone.

  “Yeah, everything’s fine. It’s just…there’s been a delay in my student funding,” I say. “So I’m broke until it comes through, and I’ve got to pay for next semester soon.”

  “Oh jeez, honey. How are you surviving?” he asks.

  I bite my lip to keep from crying. “I’m okay. I just need an advance, and then I can pay you back when the funding comes in. A couple weeks, tops.”

  “Well, I’m sure I could move some things around. I’ll go to the bank on my way to work and transfer you some money. How much do you need?”

  “Well, with tuition and everything…like, $4,000,” I say. It’s not nearly enough, but it would pay off John Jr. and Big Steve and leave me something to live on.

  “Whoa, honey,” he says. “That’s a lot to come up with so fast.”

  “I know,” I say. “I’m so sorry.”

  “I can get you a thousand today and a little more later. Could you talk to financial services and ask them to make an exception? I mean, the delay isn’t your fault. I could call them myself—” he says.

  “No!” I interject. “That’s totally fine. A thousand is great. No problem,” I say.

  “Okay, sweetheart. Well, I’ve got to get to work, honey. I’ll talk to you later. Give my love to Agatha, yes?”

  “Okay, Dad. I will. Love you too.” I barely get the words out before hanging up.

  I fall back onto my bed. The room is reeling. I’m exhausted, but it takes forever to fall asleep. When I finally do, I don’t dream.

  Chapter Eight

  I sleep until noon and wake with a jolt. I check my online account and see that Dad has come through.

  I take a few photos of my Machine and post them in an online marketplace for our campus. It isn’t long before someone DMs me, asking for a price. We haggle a bit, and I sell the entire setup for $900. It’s a fraction of what it’s worth, but I have no choice. I carefully wipe the hard drive and reset it to factory mode. The kid who bought it shows up fifteen minutes later with a rolling dolly. As I help him load up my Machine, I can’t help feeling like a sucker. He pays cash like it’s nothing to him. Envy stabs through me like a knife.

  I’m almost two-thirds of the way to paying off the gangsters. Maybe they’ll take a payment plan, I think as I head to the local pawnshop. I’ve put everything of any value that I own in my backpack.

  The U-Pawn shelves are lined with MP3 players, computer parts and similar things a desperate college student would hock.

  The man behind the co
unter looks like an old ship’s captain. I dislike him right away. He peruses my items, turning over the jewelry and inspecting it with a pinched look on his face.

  “I’ll give you two hundred for everything,” he says at last.

  I gasp. “$200? That’s it?”

  He shrugs. “Take it or leave it.”

  “But…” I hold up a small gold ring with an emerald in it. “This ring was a gift from my dad. It’s special.”

  He shakes his head. “Then maybe you should keep it.”

  He takes out a scale and places the ring on it. “It’s by weight,” he says. “Not by feelings. And this tiny piece of gold is worth about fifteen bucks.”

  Fifteen bucks? I need this money so bad. What am I going to do? I take out my lucky coin and flip it a few times.

  He leans forward and watches as it lands face up on my palm. “Hey, now that’s interesting,” Captain Pawn says. “Let me see that.”

  “No!” I put the coin in my pocket. “My grandpa gave it to me before he died.”

  “Suit yourself,” he says. “You want the two hundred or not?”

  I nod, watching as he takes my possessions away and lays out the cash on the smudged glass counter.

  I grab the money and my pawn ticket and get the hell out of there. When I have enough money, I’ll buy it all back. Every last thing.

  Selling my most prized possessions took longer than I thought, and I don’t have enough time to try to find John Jr. and Big Steve before my date with Dillon. I’ll just have to take the money to them later at the club.

  I text Dillon that I’m running late.

  He suggests we meet outside the gate at the arena.

  See you soon

  Later, kid

  Will you stop calling me kid?

  Ok babe.

  Oh my god.

  I hurry to the bus stop and arrive just as my bus pulls in. I actually have some cash now, so I’m able to pay the fare. I might even buy Dillon a pretzel at the game. He did mention liking them.

  I slide into my seat, clutching my bag close to me. Stuffed inside is every cent I have. I pull out my compact and give myself a once-over. Hair, a little greasy but decent. Face, shiny as hell. A quick swipe of HD powder. Lips, forever chapped. I pull out my Dr. Pepper Lip Smackers lip balm and smear it on. So tasty, and the perfect sheer brownish-red color. I pick out an eye crust and check my teeth. Look okay. It’s not like I’ve eaten anything of substance for…how long has it been? Maybe I’ll grab a pretzel too. I pop a piece of mint gum in my mouth and try to relax for the rest of the bus ride.