Gamblers Who Cheat

By James Field

Gamblers who cheat seldom lose. Until their fortune runs out...

An evil widow plans to shuffle the cards and convert Ye Olde Inn from a cosy haunt for decent law-abiding citizens into a den for gamblers and whores. Restless and lonely, Alf is willing to use his gumption, charm, and street-fighting skills to infiltrate the widow's realm and prevent her from corrupting his friends' haven.
Caught off guard, Alf falls for the widow and her riches. Now he has to gamble between a life of corruption with the widow, or moral obligation for his friends.

Go on, take the gamble and buy now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Field
• Release date: Apr 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9788293174769

James Field

I was born in Essex, England, in 1951.My early days of work as an engineer led me to Norway where I met my future wife Kari. She moved to England where we married and raised our two daughters. We moved back to Norway in 1985.My wife and I now live far in the north, well within the Arctic Circle, in the land of the midnight sun. Life here is slow and comfortable, blessed by unspoilt nature and its magnificent moods.Being creative in the written form gives me vast pleasure. I hope, dear reader, you will take a break from your world and lose yourself in one of mine.

Book preview

Gamblers who Cheat

Life in the Clouds series

James Field

Front cover illustration by Gerd Altmann

Published by Smashwords

Copyright 2021 James Field

License Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles of review.

Gamblers who Cheat

Alf loitered outside his ivy-covered gatehouse one morning and wished he'd stayed in bed. He scratched the stubble on his chin and stared off into the distance with half-closed eyes.

It was spring again, and cheerful birds sang in the treetops, but somehow there was no sparkle in their songs, especially when the constant drone of traffic from the nearby road dominated all other sounds. Even the fresh morning air stunk of car fumes.

He craved adventure. His way of life as a security guard at the Cloud Mansion was in a rut deep enough to smother him.

There was no thrill in his heart these days. He'd won his last three bare-knuckle fights with dreary ease. There had been no trespassers on the Cloud Estate to deal with, and apart from his sparing fights with Bert and the company of his dumb robot, Crusher, he was almost always alone.

The birds flitted from tree to tree, colourful males chasing titillating females. It was mating season and Alf pined for his share.

He missed his wild youth, when he'd been free and frank, a different woman in his arms each week, and men to ambush in dark alleys to steal their wallets whenever the fancy took him. In those days there were no responsibilities, no bills, no house to keep, and easy-to-pick fights with stroppy guys in the pubs.

Now he lived in a comfortable tenancy, ate as much delicious food as he wanted, and had a steady income. Dull, dull, dull.

With a profound sigh, he closed the door behind him and sauntered off across the estate. He soon joined an overgrown lane that wormed its way through a dense and ancient forest. Reaching a lofty stone perimeter wall, he let a high-security gate identify his retina and passed through.

As sure as his name was Alf, he wouldn't be back until he was as cheerful and carefree as the birds.

*

With the gate locked behind him, Alf gazed at a distant village, thrust his fist into the sky, and set off at a jog. The small community looked drowsy, but if nothing was going on, he'd soon find some mischief to liven it up.

He now found himself in The Stables. In the old days, the village had been a part of the Cloud Estate, a hamlet where servants and farmers lived. These days, it was a thriving privately owned riding stables for the rich.

It clustered around a large green, formed in the shape of a triangle. In the centre flourished a great oak tree, its canopy almost as broad as the green. A stone-built church, the vicarage, and a graveyard dominated one side of the green. A blacksmith, a general store, and Mr Sykes' stately townhouse ranged along a second side of the triangle. And Ye Olde inn with its stables filled the third section.

Three dirt track roads spun off from the green at each corner. One led out to the entrance and mini zoo at the busy main road. A second led to a residential neighbourhood. The third dropped to a ford and narrow footbridge that crossed a gentle river and then opened to rich meadows. This is where the horses grazed and the farm buildings stood.

Alf made straight for Ye Olde Inn, the community's thriving centre. He usually steered away from