Poker Remix

By Carson Ross

Warning! Poker Remix contains Sex, Drugs and Rock n Roll!

A Las Vegas card hustler in debt to the mob strikes a deal with a young gangster in town to rob a casino. A wild chain reaction follows as they battle a Los Angeles loan shark, the casino mob, a gang of Hong Kong Triads, the Las Vegas Police and each other. Can a nutjob who thinks he's starring in an Elvis movie save the day?

Poker Remix is based on an award winning screenplay called Jackpot. The story was influenced by films like Pulp Fiction, Usual Suspects, Inception, Casino, Boyz in the Hood, Hard Boiled and Viva Las Vegas. various criminal genres are thrown together in a fast paced story set in the Las Vegas underworld. Poker Remix was written by the same author that wrote the script and expands on the characters and storyline from the screenplay. Take a chance and roll the dice on Poker Remix today!

Screenplay Awards

Finalist – 2009 Extreme Screenplay Competition. Los Angeles, CA
Semi-Finalist – 2007 Big Bear Lake Film Festival. Big Bear Lake, CA
Semi-Finalist – 2006 Page International Screenwriting Awards. Los Angeles, CA
Honorable Mention – 2005 “A Feeding Frenzy” Screenplay Competition. Hermosa Beach, CA
Finalist – 2000 Pillage Hollywood Screenplay Competition. New York, NY
First Place – 1998 Bad Kitty Films Screenplay Contest. San Francisco, CA
Finalist – 1998 Blue Sky Film Festival Screenplay Competition. Las Vegas, NV

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carson Ross
• Release date: Aug 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310837708

Carson Ross

Freelance writer with an unquenchable thirst for great pulp fiction and vodka sours.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ross and Brendan were rushing to a late night poker game in Koreatown near downtown Los Angeles. Brendan was behind the wheel of his Volkswagen Jetta, weaving through traffic at eighty miles an hour on Highway ten. He reached over and turned down the thumping bass from Atmosphere blasting out of the car stereo.

What was the address?

Toki said it’s by Maitreya.

Where’s that?

In K-town.

Duh, so what’s the exit?

Umm, try Vermont.

You sure?

Not Exactly. Ross wasn’t sure of the address. Even though he’d lived in LA for seven years he always seemed to get turned around in K-Town. He pulled out his Droid and scrolled to the text. It read, right by Maitreya on west sixth near the end of the block.

Ross had never heard of Maitreya.

Is it a street?

He Googled Maitreya Los Angeles. The Maitreya was a nightclub. Ross clicked on a link and the map appeared on the illuminated screen.

No wait, take Western and then head towards Normandie,

Shit.

Brendan was flying down the left lane and needed to move over to make the exit. He punched the gas and the Jetta sped past a Range Rover. They drifted two lanes over next to a flatbed semi-truck hauling a mangled Chevy low-rider. Brendan let up the gas and they slipped in directly behind the big rig, cutting off a Hyundai that was trying to make the same exit.

Jesus Christ! Ross blurted out.

Brendan maneuvered and barely made the exit.

Dude, relax. I got it.

They cruised to the bottom of the ramp and turned left, heading north. Ross leaned back in his seat, relieved. They needed to raise twenty thousand dollars tonight and time was precious. That meant zero hiccups, not even a missed exit. The money would cover their entrance fee at the Great Poker Challenge in Las Vegas the next morning. Neither of them had the cash so they called around to find a late-night game. A game where they wouldn’t be recognized and could team-up to work over a crowd of newbies. Ross’s online poker pal named Toki had tipped him off about the game in Koreatown and thought first place would be around seventeen thousand. Ross loaned Brendan five hundred dollars for the buy-in and they agreed to split the purse if one of them took first place. Ross was hesitant about the loan but hopeful of the outcome.

If we can take down the seventeen, we should be able to scrape up the other three grand by morning.

Then they would drive like a bat out of hell to the Exotica Hotel in Las Vegas and be competing for ten million dollars in prize money. A nice way to start the day.

Brendan seemed confused and was pointing at the signage on the buildings.

Everything’s in fucking Korean.

We’re good. Keep going.

They passed Pico Boulevard and the intersection jogged Ross’s memory. He recalled a nightclub named R Bar that was nearby. The R Bar was a funky spot he had stumbled into and gotten shitfaced back when he was at USC. Getting in required a password but most people just sent a text to their friends or found it on Yelp.com. Warm memories cascaded over him as he remembered a gorgeous Vietnamese chick he had met that night.

What was her name? Tring, or some shit like that.

Tring told him that she didn’t date white boys but agreed to meet him for a drink. A week later Ross was waiting for her to arrive at Chaya sushi bar in Venice on their first date. Tring had been running late and hadn’t responded to any of his texts. Ross assumed that he had been stood up until she strolled through the front door, totally rocking a leather mini-skirt and knee high red boots. Her freaky motif screamed Trashy.com and he couldn’t help but imagine her red boots wrapped around his sweaty waist. Everyone from the ogling sushi chefs to the smarmy, Hollywood poseurs had stopped dead in their tracks as she sauntered over next to him at the bar.

A feast for sore eyes was an understatement. It was as if Masuimi Max had stepped out of a computer screen and was just inches from his throbbing unit. Tring didn’t apologize for being late. She just winked at the sushi chef who almost fell on his cutting knife rushing over to take their order. The Asian hottie ordered two California Rolls and a round of sake to kick things off. Then she started gabbing about how sake made her really fucking horny. The boisterous happy hour crowd suddenly went silent and Ross swore that he heard the sound of thirty simultaneous erections as the sexual tension in the room skyrocketed.

This was special. The previously mellow Match.com crowd had dissolved into a cesspool of scheming, lecherous assholes and their one-and-done dates. If Chaya had been the Serengeti, Ross would have been ripped limb from limb by the other bloodthirsty hyenas battling to mate with his flirtatious date. And it just got better. This poster girl for a raunchy Hustler magazine spread was brushing Ross’s crotch after her second drink! Tring said that she was a part time model but Ross knew that was a crock. He had her pegged as a cam girl because of a few industry name drops and the suggestive Hello Kitty tattoos decorating her voluptuous body. But her tats didn’t ring a bell as he recalled the countless online porno snippets he had critiqued over the past few months.

They chatted about the usual mindless crap. Stupid TV shows, bad movies, books neither of them had actually read. He told her dirty jokes and remembered having a great time slamming down more sake followed by some tasty calamari. He managed to sweet-talk her into a walk on the beach after dinner. It was the perfect California sunset. They wandered along the edge of the surf and she told him about her plans to start a topless food truck business and some other dumb shit. Tring showed off her nubile body by doing cartwheels in front of the crashing waves. Ross’s heart skipped a beat, he knew he had found the perfect spinner.

Fortunately, the cool ocean breeze combined with the Seishu sake made for a potent aphrodisiac. Tring got way flirty as the sun set and led Ross to a secluded spot under the pier. A long wet kiss was followed up by a world class hummer and one of the happiest endings he could remember. And then…..poof! No texts, no calls, nada. Tring vanished and he never set eyes on her flexible Gumby thighs again.

Man, that freak was hot!

Ross felt the swelling. He was starting to get wood. Meanwhile, Brendan was lost and interrupted his lusty day dream.

Are you sure this is right? I think we might have—

We’re fine. Just a little farther.

Brendan drove several blocks and slowed down for a stoplight. Ross saw the sign for Wilshire Boulevard up ahead and glanced down at his Droid.

Sixth is past Wilshire.

Got it.

Brendan turned right on west Sixth Street and they could see a sign for the Maitreya on the corner of the next block. The Maitreya was part of a modern, upscale building. Much newer than what Ross had imagined moments earlier.

Nope, that ain’t it.

He didn’t think an after-hours game would be held there and surveyed the area while Brendan drove past the complex. Ross pointed at an older building on the next block.

There. That might be it.

Brendan drove to the end of the block and hung a right on to a narrow street.

Do you know anybody around here? asked Brendan.

Ross knew what he was thinking. If they got into trouble they wouldn’t have any friends for back-up. Not a comforting feeling. Brendan parked in front of some run down retail shops and an old Korean barbeque restaurant. He shut off the car, unbuckled and reached for the door handle. Ross grabbed his arm.

Hey, you ain’t bringing your snub nose are you?

What?! Hell no!

Just checking. That’s the last thing we need.

Even though there was always a chance of getting robbed, Ross wanted no part of any guns. If the game got held up, they would give up their cheddar just like everybody else. It wasn’t worth pulling a gun over a thousand bucks. A few months earlier they were in a tight spot at a game in a shuttered nightclub a mile from the Staples Center. A couple of bouncers had patted them down and discovered Brendan was packing his 38. Obviously an awkward situation and Ross felt they were fortunate to not get turned over to the cops. After they got kicked out, Brendan said he forgot the gun was in his jacket. But that was bullshit. Nobody ever forgets they’re carrying a loaded piece.

Remember what happened at the Drop Anchor bar? said Ross.

Will you let it go? I forgot, man.

Ross smirked at Brendan’s horseshit lie. He was good at reading people and had a robust mental profile of his accomplice. Brendan was a throwaway suburban punk from Torrance. Broken home, broken dreams and no direction besides Hold-Em, hotties and fast money. A white-trash hustler with a penchant for putting his foot in his mouth at the most inopportune moments. But ‘B’ also had upside, like a knack for bird-dogging chicks at the clubs and an eye for picking out marks at the poker table. Best of all, he was an excellent card mechanic and fearless in a brawl, which helped Ross breathe a little easier when they got out of their comfort zone, like tonight.

Where do you think it is? said Brendan.

Ross re-checked the map on his phone. He pointed across the street.

I think we can get to it through that alley.

The street was dark with dim light from the backlit signage that adorned the storefronts. Ross noticed a few people standing near the entrance to the alley across the street. He also noticed a shopkeeper who was having a smoke and watching them while leaning against the restaurant doorway. It was odd to see people smoking outside in K-Town. Most people flat-out ignored the non-smoking laws of California, especially at night. They got out of the car and began walking across the street. Ross could hear the shopkeeper chatting on his cellphone as they moved towards the alleyway. The spicy aroma seeping out of the restaurant wafted straight into their nostrils.

Damn, that shit smells good, said Brendan.

Ross’s stomach growled as he caught a whiff of the Korean barbeque.

Some bulgogi with extra garlic and sesame oil would be the bomb right now.

Ross was contemplating a quick snack when he caught the eye of a leggy brunette in the alleyway. Tall, lean, pale. The typical starry eyed Hollywood hopeful. Probably selling her soul to keep her acting aspirations alive, working the day shift at Big Taters or one of the other ‘breastaurant’ chains mushrooming across LA. She glanced over her shoulder at him before moving into the alley and out of view. Ross could hear the sound of techno music coming from the alley. It sounded like Lady Gaga. As Ross turned the corner, he could see the girl and her friends descending into a basement level nightclub. Mist from a fog machine floated up into the darkness. It reminded him of an eighties movie called Black Rain he had just watched on Netflix. Brendan stepped ahead of him and approached the bouncer.

Hey man, is there a card game going on around here?

The bearded Asian shook his head.

No game here.

As he said it, the bouncer glanced to his left. Ross peered down the alley and could see an old loading dock. He assumed it was what the bouncer was referring to and they continued walking. The grungy alley was surrounded by buildings built in the seventies and became much darker as they moved away from the nightclub. Ross was startled when he heard a voice coming from the darkness. It turned out to be a guy talking on his cellphone beneath an unlit overhang. They reached the loading dock where a short flight of stairs led to a metal service door at the end of a platform. They hurried up the stairs and approached the door. Brendan tried opening it but the door was locked. He pounded on it with his fist. No answer. He glanced at Ross and they considered their options.

You got a flashlight app? asked Ross.

Brendan tapped an icon on his phone and pulled up the app. With the light from the phone screen, they could see faded Korean symbols on the grey metal. They inspected around the edge for a doorbell or some type of intercom. The door looked pretty old. There was nothing. Brendan pounded on it again and they waited. Still nothing. He shrugged his shoulders and looked back at Ross.

What do you think?

Before Ross could answer the door swung open. An Asian guy talking on his cellphone stepped out. He was initially startled but then grabbed the door and held it open for them. They both nodded to the guy as they entered and the metal door slammed shut behind them. Ross could hear muffled voices in the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could see that they were at the bottom of a stairwell. A short hallway in front of them lead to another metal service door. A dim light was visible from above and he glanced up. A long haired Asian guy was lounging on a stool on the second floor.

Bingo.

Upstairs.

When they reached the top of the stairs, the guy dropped the magazine he was reading on the concrete. He took a long drag off his cigarette and carefully set it top of on an empty beer can. The shaggy doorman took a long look at them under the overhead light and held up his hand.

Sorry guy, we’re closed.

We’re here to play, said Ross.

The guy shook his head. Ross could hear the chatter of multiple voices behind the closed door.

Sounds like a decent sized game.

This was definitely the place.

Heard there’s a cash game tonight, what’s up?

Ross pulled a twenty dollar bill from his pocket and waved it in front of the doorman.

This the spot?

The Korean hipster smiled sarcastically. Without saying another word he plucked the twenty out of Ross’s hand, slipped inside and quickly closed the door behind him. Ross had just enough time to catch a glimpse into the room, counting three full poker tables through a dense haze of cigarette smoke. Miraculously, they had located the underground card game. Brendan stared at the closed door and was clearly annoyed.

What the fuck?

He approached the door and was about to turn the handle. Ross brushed his arm away.

Don’t.

He pointed at the guy’s cellphone and half pack of cigarettes on top of the milk crates. Shaggy wasn’t ditching them. He would be back in a minute. They stood motionless and listened to people talking on the other side of the doorway. Ross could hear the doorman arguing with a woman.

That’s weird.

Ross wasn’t certain but it sounded more like Chinese than Korean.

Meanwhile, Brendan was fidgeting. He bent down to pick up the magazine from the cement, using his flashlight app to see the glossy pages. Ross leaned over and began laughing. The guy had been reading a cheesy Asian porn magazine.

Jesus Christ! Is she even twelve? gasped Brendan.

Man, put that shit down! Ross scolded him.

Brendan tossed the magazine on the dirty concrete. They both chuckled. Two minutes passed, which seemed like an eternity in the darkness. Ross was getting nervous. They were ripe for getting robbed in the dark stairway and he was beginning to regret leaving Brendan’s gun in the car. Brendan was also jittery and kept checking to see if someone was sneaking up behind them. He tilted his head back and peered into the darkness.

Call Toki and see if he knows somebody. Shit don’t seem right.

Ross nodded and pulled out his phone. He scrolled to Toki’s number and dialed, but the cursor just kept spinning. He looked at the grimy concrete walls. The building was built like a fortress and old as dirt, definitely fucking with his Droid’s signal.

No signal in here.

I don’t know man, dude looked pretty shady. Maybe it’s a setup.

It ain’t a setup, Ross said, berating him. Don’t get your undies in a bundle, Alice.

Ross was contemplating the same thing but didn’t want Brendan getting jumpy. He began texting a message when the door swung open. The bright fluorescent light was blinding.

You’re good to go, said the doorman.

The hippie Korean held the door open and ushered them inside. Game time.

Chapter 2

Once inside, Ross took a moment to scope out the scene. More of an older crowd than he expected. A mix of Asian and white guys dressed in cheap business suits. Local shopkeepers desperate for a quick score to keep their humdrum businesses afloat. There were three felt-top poker tables and a few fold ups being used for the card games. Ross thought that was a good sign and estimated there were at least fifty players. The doorman pointed towards an old Asian woman sitting behind a wood table to their right. Sitting next to her was a younger guy, wearing a shiny black polo shirt and fake Gucci sunglasses.

Fashion District specials, he thought, what a loser.

He glanced back at the woman, noticing that her hair was rolled up in some ancient, oversized curlers. The old bat was all business and eyeballed the two of them suspiciously. Ross knew what was up. She was worried that they might be undercover cops. After an uncomfortable twenty seconds, she pushed two trays of colored poker chips towards them.

Five hundred dollars, each".

Ross was hesitant and took one last gaze across the room before he pulled out his cash. There was something odd, something not right. He stood motionless for a moment and felt Brendan staring at him, freaking out that he was getting cold feet at the last minute.

Fuck it, we’re here.

Ross brushed aside his suspicions and dropped to one knee. He pulled out five one-hundred dollar bills from underneath his sock. Brendan knelt down and did the same. They counted out the bills and handed the old woman the money. She slowly re-counted the cash while her sidekick leaned forward, blowing a thick plume of cigarette smoke in their faces as he spoke.

Plus another fifty bucks a head as juice to the house.

I knew it. Bastards are gouging us for an extra hundo.

Ross was pissed and knew the hustle wouldn’t sit well with B.

Hey, we heard it was five hundred straight. growled Brendan.

Ross glanced at Brendan and then back at the Asian guy. The gangly thug lost his grin and was definitely not budging.

Dude’s probably packing.

Ross was also upset but figured that arguing would just create trouble.

No problem.

He pulled out his wallet and counted out a hundred dollars in twenties, tens and fives. He was getting low. He handed over the cash to the guy who immediately dropped it into a coffee can underneath the table. Ross watched him with contempt. The last minute swindle had raised his ire and kick-started his competitive juices.

Yeah, keep smiling dipshit. We’re running a hustle on your ass tonight.

They picked up their trays and began moving towards the poker tables. Ross heard the guy say something in Chinese to the doorman who was escorting them. His heart sank.

Damn it, he knows.

Ross turned and whispered to Brendan.

I don’t think they’re gonna let us sit together.

Right on cue, the doorman redirected him to a different table from Brendan. Ross knew that the goon at the front wanted to separate them in case they were both mechanics, planning to work over the first table as a team.

Good call on his part.

Their crafty plan to tag-team their way to the money was toast. Now one of them would have to earn it.

Ross was led to a crowded table with seven other players. They were dressed in shabby, off the rack suits, smoking like chimneys and didn’t seem real happy to see him being led over to their table. But there was one player that stood out. Not as disheveled as the others. Ross noticed that the guy was immaculately groomed and wearing an expensive Armani suit. Subtly understated but high end Malte Collection. Ross had never seen him before.

Out of the shadows, a gorgeous Asian chick in a red dress suddenly appeared and approached the mystery man. She bent over next to him and whispered in his ear. Ross couldn’t take his eyes off of her. Petite, maybe in her mid-twenties and fit like a fanatical yoga instructor. As he ogled her, he noticed a wild tattoo of something wrapping around her neck, all the way up to just beneath her right ear. He wasn’t certain, but it looked like a tongue. The well-dressed player glanced up for a moment and Ross quickly turned away. Then he noticed an old acquaintance named Kyubok, who was also seated at the card table. He was scooting over to allow Ross enough room to get a seat. Kyubok was closer to Ross’s age and just went by ‘Kobe’ to non-Koreans. It was easier to pronounce and most guys knew he was a hardcore Lakers fan. Ross had crossed paths with Kobe at games downtown and on the west side. He nodded at Kobe to say thanks and they discreetly bumped fists underneath the table once he was settled in.

What’s up? whispered Kobe.

Nothing man. Just grinding. What’s up with dude? asked Ross without looking up from counting out his chips.

Not sure. But him and his squad definitely ain’t from K-Town.

Kobe slowly turned towards Ross and whispered softly.

He’s with those other guys hanging by the window.

Ross slowly turned around, acting like he was stretching his arms. He saw two Asian guys in dark suits, standing next to a large metal fan blowing air into the room from an open window. They were sipping waters and monitoring the activity in the room. One guy was huge and the other was tiny. Weird.

Right out of a batman comic book, said Ross.

Yeah, no doubt.

Think they got something planned?

No idea. But everybody’s wondering the same thing. Couple guys bailed because they thought there might be trouble.

Anybody know where they’re from?

Somebody said they’re out of Macau, whispered Kobe discreetly, This is mostly a Korean game. So you can imagine, guys aren’t happy they’re here. But they brought cash so, what do you do?

Nothing. Just play the game and hope they’re not here to rob the place.

Exactly.

They dropped their conversation so the others wouldn’t get suspicious that they were working together. Ross could feel the tension. Only one of the players seated at the card table would advance to the final round and have a shot at the first place prize money.

Since it was an underground game, there were no dedicated dealers. The game started and a bald headed Korean guy dealt the first hand. When Ross didn’t know his opponents he liked to assign them nicknames. It helped him keep track of their playing style and mannerisms. It was also how he monitored their personal idiosyncrasies known as tells.

Tells reveal a players’ true mental disposition as they make decisions during the course of a game. A tell might be a player being unaware that he tends to scratch his eyebrow when he gets a good hand, or when a player gulps during a raise, indicating subconscious apprehension. Tells generally spell doom for players who reveal them because they give hands away and negate the power of an attempted bluff.

Ross decided to nickname the guy dealing the cards Cue ball. Cue Ball appeared to be nervous dealing the first hand and was extremely methodical in the way he delivered the cards to the other players. The Asian guy to Cue Ball’s immediate left looked pretty drowsy, as if he had just worked his third double shift in a week. He was the Small Blind and Ross named him Sleepy.

The guy next to Sleepy was the exact opposite, nervous and jittery. This guy was sucking down coffee and chattering on his cellphone like a busy auctioneer. He was the Big Blind and Ross named him Chatterbox. To his left was the well-dressed stranger. Ross couldn’t think of a better nickname than Rico Suave. Kobe was left of Rico Suave and Ross was left of Kobe. The player seated to Ross’s immediate left was an older white guy wearing a faded grey business suit. The dude smelled like he’d just shit himself. Ross didn’t need to see this guy’s face and simply called him Skidmarks. To Skidmarks’ left was a younger cat. Early twenties. He looked Asian American and was muscular and stocky. He was wearing a California Angels baseball hat and reflective shades. The guy also had some gnarly tattoos of Korean symbols on his forearms. Ross named him Dark Angel.

The names weren’t supposed to be funny or clever, just a way of identifying each guy at the table, so he could keep track of their quirks as the game progressed. Cue Ball finished the deal and Ross checked the flop. A King of hearts, Queen of diamonds and a seven of diamonds. He glanced at his two pocket cards. Nine and a four non-suited.

Junk.

Sleepy and Chatterbox checked. Rico Suave raised. Kobe folded and Ross tossed his cards down in disgust.

Just my luck.

Ross knew the other players were also watching for tells and he hammed it up early so that he might be able to pull off a bluff later on. He pondered for a moment to revisit a few of his own rules of gameplay.

Control your emotions and don’t try and force a win too early.

It’s all about survival early on and Ross focused on the other player’s mannerisms. The first thing he noticed was that Rico Suave was a minimalist and very smooth. He didn’t say much and beat Skidmarks to win the first pot with a low straight. Ross’s first impression was that the guy was a serious player because of his cool disposition and the way he took down the win. The game moved quickly and Ross laid low for several hands, mucking his junk cards as soon as they arrived. Then Kobe scored a nice win over Cue Ball with a high straight on the river card.

Damn it! Pulled it out of his ass! cried Cue Ball, who began ranting in Korean.

The sweaty Korean was visibly upset and ripe for a downward spiral. Ross leaned back and thought about another rule he played by.

Always hammer dudes that just lost on a bad beat.

Players that lose on a tough break tend to dwell on the previous hand which often leads to bad decisions later on. This can lead to a player going full tilt. It takes time to identify players on tilt but they inevitably reveal themselves as the game progresses.

A few minutes later, Cue Ball lost another hand to Dark Angel on a bad misread. The schmuck was showing all the signs of a player going on tilt. The first sign is when a guy starts complaining about how others are playing the game. Cue Ball was squawking about guys not paying attention or playing fast enough.

Check.

Second, they’ll start to show body language that gives away their mindset such as fidgeting, losing focus and carelessly splashing the pot. When Cue Ball wasn’t involved in a hand he was slouched in his chair mumbling to himself and tinkering with his dwindling stack.

Check.

Sometimes the player on tilt will also refuse to fold during the pre-flop. This was when Ross moved in for the kill with a small bluff raise to induce the action and force the tilter to play for a good draw on the next community card. Usually, when players on tilt miss their draw card they will go for the Hail-Mary rather than cutting their losses. Ross thought this scenario was on Cue Ball’s horizon and he just needed to wait for the right opportunity.

Lastly, the most damaging tell was Cue Ball’s habit of clenching his teeth when he received a throwaway card. This was the fatal giveaway Ross would use to snuff the bald headed sap.

A couple of hands later, the opportunity arrived. Ross studied Cue Ball and checked the flop. A three of clubs, a six of hearts and an eight of spades. Ross had a pocket five and an eight of hearts. He was sitting on a pair of eights with a possible straight. His hand wasn’t the greatest but he sensed an opportunity because of the way Cue Ball was talking loud and pushing half of his stack to the center of the table. Ross smelled bluff and made a small raise.

See you and raise you twenty.

Everyone else had dropped and Cue Ball was prematurely reaching for the pot. He was visibly annoyed that Ross had stayed in the game.

You’re gonna regret staying in, man.

Ross knew the threat was a good sign. Rico Suave dealt the turn card, a Jack of spades. Ross didn’t even see the card dealt and had watched for a reaction instead. Cue Ball saw the card and began mashing his teeth together like he was chewing on a four dollar steak.

Beautiful!

Cue Ball checked and wiped his forehead. Ross pushed him a little closer to the edge with another raise. Cue Ball started bitching in Korean and reluctantly chucked a few more of his precious chips into the pot. Nobody at the table said shit and just observed him with morbid fascination. Rico Suave snapped out the river card, an eight of diamonds. Ross had three of a kind. The trip eights were awesome but what made him even happier was Cue Ball clenching his molars harder than an epileptic having a seizure.

Full-fucking tilt.

Cue Ball’s eyes darted between Ross, the community cards and his own hand.

All in!

Hail-Mary time.

Ross didn’t think Cue Ball considered the possibility of him having a pocket eight. Apparently, the desperate novice thought that he could scare him off with the threat of three Jacks. Not a chance. Ross matched Cue Ball’s bet, flipped his cards and leaned back to watch the bum dangle from the noose. Cue Ball began cursing and tossed his cards on the table. A Jack and a six. Ross had successfully called his bluff.

The cigarette smoke was getting thick from all the players puffing away, trying to calm their nerves. The only upside was that it killed the nasty stench from Skidmarks’ booty-juice soaked pants.

I gotta take this smelly bastard out, ASAP.

Skids was definitely his next target and from the looks on the faces of the other guys, the feeling was mutual. When he looked up from stacking his chips Cue Ball was gone. The game continued and Ross knew he was in a better place after changing his rhythm. Yet, he was still cautious. He decided against chasing his ante on the next hand and dodged a bullet when Kobe knocked out Chatterbox with a flush on the River. Ross knew a showdown with Kobe was brewing. The two of them had engaged in fierce battles before and tonight looked to be no exception.

Suddenly there was a loud ruckus at one of the other tables. Ross looked over to see Brendan arguing with some pissed off players. Apparently B had lost a close hand and was out of the tournament.

You lost man! Take a walk! yelled one of the guys at his table.

Fuck you! And fuck all you cheating slant bastards! said Brendan as he pushed over an empty folding chair and stormed out of the room.

A couple of guys got up to go after Brendan. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed and they were held back by the others.

Dumbass.

Brendan didn’t handle losing well and could be a real asshole when the cards didn’t fall his way. His choice of words were offensive and Ross hoped the others didn’t associate him with B’s behavior. He sheepishly looked around the room and was relieved, most of the guys seemed to take it in stride and just shook their heads.

Why do you hang out with that dick? asked Kobe.

Good question.

Ross basically rolled with Brendan out of circumstance. They both loved poker, playing video games and chasing hotties. Initially, they were tight, but Ross had recently grown tired of Brendan’s erratic behavior. He knew Brendan was a hard drinker and liked to smoke bud. He didn’t care about that. He was more concerned with B’s new found fascination with blow. Even before he started doing coke, Brendan could be a real douchebag. But now it seemed like the guy was constantly on edge. It often put them at odds over simple differences of opinion that escalated into heated arguments over nothing. Ross considered himself to be a laid back guy, so to be rolling with a crackhead thug packing a 38 made little sense.

You in? asked Kobe.

Ross glanced at the flop at the center of the table. A King of diamonds, a Jack of clubs and a Nine of clubs. He checked his pocket cards. A four and a six offsuit.

Fold.

Ross thought about Brendan as he watched Rico Suave eliminate Dark Angel with a high straight. They met at USC when he was a sophomore. Ross was stumbling through his second year and focused on playing online poker ninety percent of his waking hours. One night he was on Facebook and heard about a game in the dorm. He figured he would pop in, hustle some drunk freshman and be back online within an hour to continue grinding.

Ross slipped into the cramped dorm room hoping that nobody would recognize him. But as soon as entered, his cover was blown. A couple of guys said they saw him advance to the final table at the Great Poker Championship on TV the year before. The accolades were a double edged sword. In some cases, guys wanted to play him to prove that they could beat the best. Other times, games would break up early because guys figured he was out of their league. And generally speaking, they were right. Ross quickly assessed that none of the rookies at this amateur hour would be playing at his level. His assumption was correct with one exception, Brendan was knocking down as many wins as he was that night.

B as everyone called him, was the consummate, loud-mouthed freshman host of the drunken card party. A raucous madman, pouring shots of Wild Turkey, talking shit and passing around a humongous two-man bong named Harry Pothead. Harry Pothead and the Stoned Sorcerer, Harry Pothead and the Chamber of Chronic. The wisecracks never stopped. Ross laughed at the charade because he had mastered the tactic himself the year before. He knew the conniving schemer was just getting the buttheads liquored up so that he could