Brent had given me some extra cash. I had enough for a cab back to the warehouse, and if Mikey let me go again, I had enough cash for another cab ride back to Brent’s apartment. This had actually been the case. Mikey had omitted to tell me that it was not just one night’s game… it was over four nights.

He did let me stay with Brent for the duration. Mikey had made sure I would stick to my word, because next time he had to convince me, it would be Ronny I would be influenced by, not him. I agreed, it would take more than a bag of frozen peas to get the swelling down.

I got back to Brent’s apartment, and two things ran through my mind. The first was about what was Brooke doing, but more importantly, the first night’s game.

This took over any thoughts of Brooke. I had intended to call her, but, Mikey being Mikey, just so happened to confiscate my cell phone. Why the fuck didn’t you do it earlier?

Brent wasn’t home when I got there, so I lay on the bed and go through everything in my mind. Just to make sure I am ready for the following game. I didn’t want to miss anything, so I recap every little detail I can.

* * *

The warehouse looks different, maybe it’s the guy on the door wearing a tuxedo and all the limos that are in the parking lot. Anyone passing would think it was a glitzy club that was on the down low, but in reality, it was just a shitty warehouse that had a crummy bar… and now, a poker table.

I wished Brent was dealing, that would give me such a boost. He had a good feel for the cards, and over the years we had built up some very subtle body language that had (on some occasions) affected the outcome of a game.

I walk back into the warehouse and can see a few people milling around. Mikey had made a male effort and placed a dozen plastic tables and chairs next to his crummy bar area. He provided tablecloths and ashtrays, and that was kind of unbelievable, really. I was surprised by all of it. The whole place looked… half charming, compared to my hammer scenario. The dinginess was almost gone. The place looked somewhat café style, with a hint of car tire smell.

I walk to the bar and grab a whiskey on the rocks. I had to play the part; that was what Mikey had told me to do.

I sip from my glass and look over at his office. He comes strutting out as if he is Al Pacino or Robert De Niro; he actually looks more like Joe Pesci. Even the gold rings he has on his fingers seem to be weighing him down.

Mikey introduces everyone and starts to explain the rules of the game.

“Gentleman, these four nights will be written in the history books. No place in Vegas will have had four games this big,” Mikey says.

The men look around and smile.

“Four separate games. Four different dealers. And if you drop out, someone is willing to take your place.”

I see all the players nodding their heads in agreement, one or two are looking slightly worried. I mean, maybe four nights makes them realize, they are not as rich as they thought.

“One rule is, you can’t drop out if you are winning,” Mikey says.

This makes a few ears prick up, maybe these games will be slightly different. You can’t take your winnings and run. You have to play until the death.

How fucking big is that pot going to be on the last night?

I order another drink and think about what Mikey has said, he wanted me to clean the Russians out, and now I wondered how on earth I was going to do it.

Four different dealers, though. That was the bit that interested me. I lean on the bar and rub my fingers. I wonder, can I somehow manage to get Brent into the last game?

Mikey hadn’t told me what the buy in was; he had said there was no minimum bet as long as no one was stupid. Maximum bets were capped until the last night, and he didn’t want too many players dropping out until the final game.

To make things more interesting, everyone was handed a tray of chips. Each one held half a million. Mikey said this would stop anyone knowing who had the deepest pockets. That I agreed with. I would have two chips worth twenty bucks if I had to stump up my own money.

I could see that the Russians had already taken a shine to the high-class hookers that had been shipped in for the event. Damn, four nights of cards and a woman to go along with it. What visiting card player could ask for more? Me for one. I could ask for more. I could ask for Brooke to be with me, but that was not going to happen. All I could do was think that she was with me, and do something I was not very used to doing. Pray.

I came up with a stupid idea in my mind. I could play with the top button on my shirt, pretending it was a cross. This was in my mind, the silver cross that Brooke had bought from Mary’s souvenir shop. It was stupid, but it was all I had, spiritually speaking. Apart from my skill at playing cards and reading people, my button representation was going to be my lucky charm.

Everyone finally takes their places at the table. Chips are removed from the trays and stacked up on the table. I expected Mikey to just have a large dining table or something, but he had a legit poker table brought in just for this event.

Texas Hold’em was the chosen game. It was the most popular and added that little, extra, piece of intrigue to the mix.

The dealer deals two cards to each player. Now the fun has started. The first few hands would be throwaway hands just to see how the other players went.

I sit in the middle opposite the dealer, this time around it is not up to me to make a blind bet. These are made, and everyone looks at their cards. Everyone is deadly serious and slips on their poker faces. A couple of the Russians wanted to wear sunglasses, but Mikey pointed out, this was not allowed. I wasn’t totally sure, but I thought he had made that up as he went along.

The dealer deals three cards face up. The three community cards make the game a lot more interesting, you either have something at this point, or you find you are holding a bag of shit.

No one folds, I sensed a few were holding a bag of shit but wanted to keep it close to their chest. A couple of thousand lost was not going to make a big difference out of half a million.

Raise, call, raise call. Now it is time for the turn. The fourth card is the one where you can see sweat and twitches starting to appear. The dealer turns the card, and as predicted, a couple of eyes twitch, and a nose or two move.

For some reason, I never twitch, and guys find my eyes off-putting; women drool over them, but poker players hate them.

I don’t have much of a hand, but it is worth holding onto. I didn’t want to fold in the first game; that would bring bad luck. I fumble with my top button, and think of Brooke’s cross, a few of the players must have thought this was a reflection of the hand I was holding. I could use this later. How wrong they would be.

Now it was time for the dealer to deal the final card. The river. This could make or break a hand. For a first game, my hand was already set, two pairs… that was unless the river turned out to be one of the cards I was holding, then I would be promoted to a full house.

No such luck, the card turns, and I am stuck with two pairs. That hand means nothing, it is a throwaway. Now, I have to get serious.

The second game is more intense. Cigars are lit and puffed on, and hookers put their hands onto shoulders. The hands that are quickly brushed off. All these signs give away what the players are thinking.

Still, I stare, a couple of times I fumble with my button. I pray for a miracle, not just to win, but to save my fingers if I lose. Mikey walks around the table. He watches the game, but most of the time he watches me. He has risked a lot, and he was hoping I could do what he couldn’t.

A royal flush, and there is my first winning hand. A few thousand up by the second hand. It looks like my fingers are back in action. Or somehow, Brooke’s luck had been passed to me.

“Is an addiction and addiction, if you are made to do it?”