THE GAMBLER

BY: Dante Fresse

He fought for wins, but never knew how to conquer. Jacob sat down at the poker table. After a long drag from his cigarette he said, “Another,” raising his bet with two stacks of chips. He sweated as the chips glistened in lock eyes with him. He expected success in this pot. 

Jacob lacked an instinct for betting. Instead, it was the act of merciless failure that appealed to him, smouldering over itself, and then simmering after each loss. His gambling instinct was akin to a smoker’s which said–“pick up another one”–after he was losing. Or to a fighter who fought but never knew how to draw a fist.

“All hands to play,” the dealer said as he gestured at two cards planted on the table. Raise the bet, you have two aces. He shook his head as a voice from his mind spoke to him. The table was quiet. On one end, a man in a tan suit fidgeted with the large pile of chips in front of him; on the next end, a woman in a dark blue suit sat confidently smoking a cigarette. 

“All in,” Jacob said. He looked at the pot greedily.

Chips were passed across the center of the table. Jacob grabbed the drink in front of him tightly, watching as the dealer put the cards down. The man in the tan suit smirked and showed the cards confidently. With a pair of kings, he seemed positive that he had won the pot. But, Jacob dropped his aces on the table and the dealer’s eyes widened, passing the massive pile of chips over to him. 

He won. The rush of adrenaline put new life in Jacob. Smoke outside, count the chips, then play again–you haven’t made out with everything, yet. The tan suited man exchanged a morose look with Jacob, and he noticed a nametag which read ‘Josiah’ on his suit pocket. Jacob got up from the table in a daze. Jacob recited a mantra he made to combat the voices in his head.  

My voices are not me. 

I am not my voices. 

Outside, the cold air washed his face. Another night out without calling me. Jacob reached for his phone in the inseams of his pocket; it rang. 

Jacob picked it up, the screen read ‘Susan’ across the top. 

“Where are you, babe?” the voice responded. 

“Hang up,” a man from behind him said. 

Don’t put the phone away, he’ll kill you. Get back to the tables, now. Jacob clicked ‘End’ and put the phone away. 

“How’d you beat my hand?” Josiah asked.

“Beginner’s luck, I just didn’t think about it,” Jacob replied.

“But, you lost all night,” he replied.

Jacob didn’t move a step closer. Instead, his mind concentrated on a point faraway in the distance. “I need those chips from you,” Josiah said. 

Jacob took another drag of his cigarette. “Why?” The man stood closer to him. And starred menacingly at Jacob, Josiah said, “My friends and I rigged a gambling operation of their own.” He motioned to another man nearby to come closer. “We were supposed to win that pot. We want the money back.” They all left in a black SUV. 

 

They drove until they reached a large warehouse exterior. Josiah opened a gigantic door and it slid slowly while Jacob starred inside calmly. Don’t move–run now, he’ll take our money. Josiah pushed him inside. The chips felt heavy in his pocket–the $100,000 weighed him down. 

“I want that money back,” Josiah said. Jacob played with the chips anxiously in his pocket. The heaters bellowed smoke intensely in the room. Don’t look in his eyes–turn around and run. Josiah’s eyes were red from the smoke. Jacob felt the exterior fade and he retreated into his mind. 

The hot smells around him juxtaposed the cold interior of his apartment in Manhattan. He fidgeted in a chair as goons tied rope around it. The men turned to him and then began to beat him angrily. This night at the casino now became the words of an elegy. Everything closed down from his vision and he soaked in his surroundings while being beaten. “Make sure he’s just above dead.” Josiah said, over Jacob’s loud grunts and moans.

He was stuck in a loop of worry and dismay. He took another hit to the face and became woosy as blood poured from his temple. Jacob felt pain–but the lasting memory of his wife teemed from his mind as he tried to find a place of respite in the midst of constant blows to the brain. He felt fire erupt in his mind. Each strike took more from him–plummeting his concentration. Images of Susan, which floated slowly from his purview, sunk in the spots where his eyes linked to the floor. Look into his eyes, what can you do. As his sunken eyes moved up, Josiah’s aligned with them. Red, hungry eyes approached him. Josiah drug a crowbar and let his men beat on him. 

“You’re offering us the money, now.” Josiah said. He pulled the chips from Jacob’s pocket and inspected the currency. 

“I want the rest of the $100,000,” he said. Jacob lost himself in the world of punches being thrown at him. The men punched until Josiah said stop. They took off in the SUV and let Jacob bleed on the floor. 

Jacob spit blood from his mouth. He reached for his phone. The name on the caller ID still read, Susan in big letters. He reached for the last digits of her number and tapped them quickly. He felt the pressure of each finger tap impress on the phone–fueling his ambition each minute. He stood, mangled, from the floor and hobbled to the nearest Bobcat construction vehicle in the center of the warehouse. Blood leaked on the bottom of his torso and on his shirt. Jacob looked as the phone rang three times. “Hello,” A voice replied. 

“I’m coming home,” Jacob said. Another hand. “Actually, I’ll see you later.” The voice echoed in Jacob’s mind. Another hand. He put away his phone and walked to the casino once more, which loomed vaguely in the distance.