Chapter 3

Bren' s dive bar, "The Rusty Mug," smelled of stale beer, cheap whiskey, and desperation.

The lights were dim, the music a low throb. A few sad-looking locals nursed drinks at the bar.

In the back, under a flickering neon sign shaped like a playing card, was the poker table.

Bren Kowalski spotted us first. A shark' s smile spread across her face, all teeth and false charm.

"Lisa! Honey! You came back! And who's this?" Her eyes flicked over me, dismissive.

Sal "The Weasel" Moretti, leaning against the wall, straightened up. He was shorter than me, but thickset, with eyes that missed nothing. He smirked when he saw Lisa, then looked at me with open curiosity.

"This is my husband, Mike," Lisa said, her voice barely a whisper. She clutched the $200 in her hand.

"Mike, huh?" Bren said, sizing me up. "Come to hold Lisa's hand? Or maybe you got some money to burn too?"

"Evening," I said. I kept my voice mild, my shoulders slumped a little, playing the part of a tired steelworker. "Lisa told me what happened. Tough break."

Sal chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "Lady luck wasn't with her."

"Yeah, well," I said, shrugging. "Maybe she'll be with me." I looked at the table. "Lisa's not feeling too good. Mind if I sit in for her? I don't really know the game, but, uh, how hard can it be?"

Bren' s eyes lit up. Sal' s smirk widened. They exchanged a quick glance.

A new fish. A bigger fish, maybe.

"Sure, Mike," Bren said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "The more the merrier. It's Texas Hold'em. Small table's just getting started. One-dollar, two-dollar blinds. Hundred-dollar max buy-in. Just a friendly game."

"Sounds good," I said. I pulled out a chair, deliberately awkward. Lisa stood behind me, her hand gripping my shoulder, her knuckles white.

I bought in for the full hundred, Lisa' s Christmas money.

The cards were dealt. I didn't even look at mine.

When the betting came to me, I pushed a stack of chips forward. "Fifty bucks," I said.

Sal raised an eyebrow. "Blind bet, big shot?"

"Beginner's luck," I mumbled, trying to look sheepish. "Go big or go home, right?"

The other players, a couple of tired-looking guys and one woman with hard eyes, folded. Sal called.

The flop came. I still didn't look at my cards. I threw in another twenty.

Sal grumbled but called again.

The turn, the river. I kept betting, not much, just enough.

He finally showed his hand. A pair of kings.

I fumbled with my cards, then turned them over. A pair of aces. Dumb luck.

I raked in the small pot. "Hey, not bad," I said, grinning like an idiot.

I played the next few hands the same way. Big blind bets. Sometimes I won, sometimes I lost. Small pots. Sal was getting visibly annoyed. Bren watched me, a thoughtful, amused expression on her face.

After an hour, I was up about six hundred dollars. Lisa' s lost money, a tiny fraction of it, back in my stack.

"Not bad for a beginner, huh?" I said, winking at Bren.

She smiled, a genuine, predatory smile this time.