hand.
“Are you gonna stand there all day and raid my sandwich tray or are you going to play?” Sweet Jesse demanded. I filled my plate up with two more of the delicious, warm Monte Cristos and sat back down at the table.
I most certainly was going to play.
Between Sweet Jesse and me, Nick and Pete fell out of the game quickly, with most of their money split pretty evenly between us. Psycho Billy held out the longest, his stack being the biggest since he had taken a bite out of Jesse with his straight. Billy was a confident player, and confidence was always dangerous for someone.
“Full house,” smiled Billy as he laid down his cards after going all in. “Sixes over tens.” I smiled back at the dope and laid down my hand. His full house was enough to go all in in most circumstances, but not in all.
“Aces over sixes,” I said, having a bigger boat than his. I swept the chips towards me as Billy rose from the table, put on his hat and coat, and tipped his chapeau to Sweet Jesse and me on his way out. I told Jesse that Billy took his losses well for a guy with the moniker of “Psycho.”
“He’s a big Hitchcock fan,” snapped the fat man as he mopped Lake Erie off his forehead. “Are you in or not?”
“Sure,” I said, reaching over to the sandwich tray to swipe the last Monte Cristo. I raised an eyebrow to my host before taking a bite.
“Go ahead,” he grumbled, looking at his watch and dabbing his forehead again. “Christ, it’s a quarter to five already!”
“Time flies,” I tried to say, which came out of my full mouth as mumbles. Sweet Jesse nodded absently and flipped his chips. Our pots were evenly matched at about ten grand each.
“In that case, tough guy, I say we raise the blinds up to $500 and a grand,” growled Jesse, confidence and sweat pouring from him. It didn’t escape my notice that he said this when I was the big blind.
“Sounds good,” I replied. “But if I win, you also throw in your Monte Cristo recipe.”
“Sure, sure,” he mumbled, eyeing my chips as if they were… well, a tray of sandwiches. “Just button your lip and play.”
Jesse and I went heads up for about an hour, with him shoving some of his chips my way and me shoving some of mine to him. It was an exercise in futility, and never once did the big, sweaty mug take a drink. Things continued that way until about six thirty in the morning. Dawn had broken and my mouth had a nasty, stale taste in it. Jesse was his usual moist self, but a smile had broken out on the fat man’s face.
“Tell you what,” said the big guy, mopping his forehead. “It’s past my bed time, so what do you say to getting down to business and making the blinds two and four grand?”
It was outrageous, and once again it would have made me the big blind, but seeing how we were out of sandwiches and beer, I decided that glory never went to the faint of heart.
“Fine,” I told Jesse. “Let’s play some poker.”
The dealer threw two cards each at us and I saw that I had a pair of jacks. Or, as I call them, a sucker’s hand. Not good enough to win most of the time, but good enough to make you believe that you had something. Across the table, Jesse dabbed his forehead and peeked at his hand.
“I’ll see and raise three grand,” he said nonchalantly, tossing in most of his chips. I watched his mug, figuring that he must have had better than my jacks. He sat motionless as the sweat ran down his chins, and his water glass remained
“Are you gonna stand there all day and raid my sandwich tray or are you going to play?” Sweet Jesse demanded. I filled my plate up with two more of the delicious, warm Monte Cristos and sat back down at the table.
I most certainly was going to play.
Between Sweet Jesse and me, Nick and Pete fell out of the game quickly, with most of their money split pretty evenly between us. Psycho Billy held out the longest, his stack being the biggest since he had taken a bite out of Jesse with his straight. Billy was a confident player, and confidence was always dangerous for someone.
“Full house,” smiled Billy as he laid down his cards after going all in. “Sixes over tens.” I smiled back at the dope and laid down my hand. His full house was enough to go all in in most circumstances, but not in all.
“Aces over sixes,” I said, having a bigger boat than his. I swept the chips towards me as Billy rose from the table, put on his hat and coat, and tipped his chapeau to Sweet Jesse and me on his way out. I told Jesse that Billy took his losses well for a guy with the moniker of “Psycho.”
“He’s a big Hitchcock fan,” snapped the fat man as he mopped Lake Erie off his forehead. “Are you in or not?”
“Sure,” I said, reaching over to the sandwich tray to swipe the last Monte Cristo. I raised an eyebrow to my host before taking a bite.
“Go ahead,” he grumbled, looking at his watch and dabbing his forehead again. “Christ, it’s a quarter to five already!”
“Time flies,” I tried to say, which came out of my full mouth as mumbles. Sweet Jesse nodded absently and flipped his chips. Our pots were evenly matched at about ten grand each.
“In that case, tough guy, I say we raise the blinds up to $500 and a grand,” growled Jesse, confidence and sweat pouring from him. It didn’t escape my notice that he said this when I was the big blind.
“Sounds good,” I replied. “But if I win, you also throw in your Monte Cristo recipe.”
“Sure, sure,” he mumbled, eyeing my chips as if they were… well, a tray of sandwiches. “Just button your lip and play.”
Jesse and I went heads up for about an hour, with him shoving some of his chips my way and me shoving some of mine to him. It was an exercise in futility, and never once did the big, sweaty mug take a drink. Things continued that way until about six thirty in the morning. Dawn had broken and my mouth had a nasty, stale taste in it. Jesse was his usual moist self, but a smile had broken out on the fat man’s face.
“Tell you what,” said the big guy, mopping his forehead. “It’s past my bed time, so what do you say to getting down to business and making the blinds two and four grand?”
It was outrageous, and once again it would have made me the big blind, but seeing how we were out of sandwiches and beer, I decided that glory never went to the faint of heart.
“Fine,” I told Jesse. “Let’s play some poker.”
The dealer threw two cards each at us and I saw that I had a pair of jacks. Or, as I call them, a sucker’s hand. Not good enough to win most of the time, but good enough to make you believe that you had something. Across the table, Jesse dabbed his forehead and peeked at his hand.
“I’ll see and raise three grand,” he said nonchalantly, tossing in most of his chips. I watched his mug, figuring that he must have had better than my jacks. He sat motionless as the sweat ran down his chins, and his water glass remained
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