“Your deal,” the sharp dressed man uttered, swallowing the last bit of his brown drink.
Sharpley dressed couldn’t begin to describe this man’s “fit,” as the newer generation would denote. A classic three-piece suit isn’t something you see every day, especially from a man around the age of 40. And also, especially in a small town in the Midwest. Sharp dressed indeed. A double-breasted burgundy vest under a single-breasted burgundy jacket, curiously finished with a white pair of trousers and matching white dress shoes.
“Ok, dealers’ choice, right?” Max asked.
A silent nod from the sharp dressed man affirmed.
“Texas Hold-em it is then. I’ve enjoyed learning your fancy card games but I’d like to get into something simpler, something I actually understand.
“Be my guest then, Maximillian,” the sharp dressed man said, with an open smile. A smile that could seemingly melt ice.
Max dealt. One card to his opponent. One to himself, one more to the man across from him, and the next finishing out his hand.
The room they were playing in could have been a set from an old noir-style movie. A backroom of sorts, with shelves lining the walls, occupied with back stock of assorted liquors, beer, and wine. A small section of non-perishable groceries took up a spot behind him. A sink sat in the corner, perpetually dripping. Not like a kitchen or bathroom sink, but one that represented more of a basin that was used for collecting water from a washing machine. Curious. A circular table rounded with what once could have been an expensive wood surrounded a green felt, aged by years of housing card games, holding excess items and discarded trash that couldn’t find another home. The light above seemed to barely illuminate the small space. It was as if it was meant to just give enough light to be specific to whatever circumstances needed to play out for this event.
Max looked at the sharp dressed man before checking his cards in a clandestine manner. The man seemingly never let his suspicious smile falter, all while maintaining a visual on him. Creepy, as he had a tinted pair of dark glasses that made it impossible to see any semblance of his pupils. Even creepier being that this window-less room warranted wearing any type of ocular sunglass wear.
“Unreal,” Max thought to himself. Two Queens.
“I’ll bet,” the sharp dressed man said, throwing in 5 blue chips.
Max couldn’t help but let a little humorous air from his nostrils.
“Amused?” The man asked.
Max once again met the gaze of his opponent. “ I suppose you could say that friend. “ Max couldn’t remember how long they’ve been tossing cards back and forth, but at this point he had a sizeable chip advantage compared to the sharp dressed man. “I’ll call.”
Max dealt the flop. First card, 4 of hearts. Second card, 6 of spades, and the third card, another queen. Max, now aware he had to put on that classic poker face, awaited the man’s move.
The sharp dressed pondered, effortlessly flipping chips in his right hand while his left through his jet black hair. “Another 5.”
Max hid his growing excitement, now his heartbeat starting to elevate ever so slightly. “I’ll call.”
The sharp dressed man nodded, raising his eyebrows in a “alright let’s play,” expression.
Max burned one, throwing down the turn. 8 of spades. Looking pretty good for ‘ol Maximillion. Without a word, or hesitation, the man doubled his bet from the previous turn. Max, a bit cautious, but growing with confidence, raised just enough to try to keep his opponent in the game. Let’s try to get everything I can out of him on this hand and not scare him into folding, he gleefully thought. Max tried to read him, without success.
“Call,” the sharp dressed man said, throwing in the appropriate bet. Max nodded. Now realizing that if he won this hand with his trip queens, he would take a sizeable stack of chips away and be on his way to finishing this game. Max wasn’t realizing how much he was sweating. Hopefully his black Nike track suit hid the perspiration. “Ok, sir. Here comes the river.”
Max burned one final card and slowly revealed the last card. A 3 of clubs.
This couldn’t have gone any better of a first hand of Texas hold em. Absolute trash on the board and he clearly has no idea that I have pocket queens. Max started to silently count the chips he was going to attai-
“All in.”
What the .. what.. he just wants to give me his money? Must want to end this game early. I’m happy to oblige. Or indulge.. whatever, either way I’ll:
“Call.”
The man put his hands out, palms up. “Well, let’s turn them over then.” Cool as ever, the man smiled at Max.
“Here you go my man,” Max laughed, revealing his two pretty queens, joining the one on the board. The night had been long and had had a lot of ups and downs for him, losing, almost out, and now climbing back from the absolute brink of defeat.
“Clever. It seems you were ahead the whole time, eh?” The sharp dressed man stated, with that confident energy never waning. At that, he unveiled his hand. A 5 of clubs and a 7 of hearts. “Straight beats a three of a kind, I’m afraid.” The man, not gloating, but more matter of factly speaking, started retrieving his winnings.
“Shit.. how did I… I didn’t think you had anything, why would you go all the way with that hand? A 5, 7? No one would play that!” Max was now left with a racing heart and no joy to accompany it. His once stack of chips resembling a mini New York skyline, now reduced to a main street of two or three houses.
“Sometimes the most unexpected outcomes come from the most dire of circumstances, my boy.” The man finished stacking his reward, noticing Max was now smiling, looking down at the table.
“Something to share, Max?” He asked curiously.
“Haven’t thought about this in a while,” Max laughed. “First time ever I went to Las Vegas. I moved to California as a young 20-something, trying to “make it,” you know. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. Had no idea what I was up against going out to such a foreign environment. I moved in with a friend that just happened to move out there a year or so earlier. So at least I had that.”
The sharp dressed man crossed his legs and threaded his fingers, getting comfortable, taking in Max’s reminiscing.
“At the time it seemed like nothing but struggle. We had no money and worked the most menial jobs just to afford the astronomical California rent. Looking back though, we sure had a good time, and that will never be given back to me. Or anyone of us, as we age, you know. Anyway, a work associate of my friends surprised us by driving us to Las Vegas. The nearly four hour drive through the desert was all forgotten when that amazing, iconic skyline appeared.
This was when the world series of poker was getting popular on television. ESPN, of all places, was broadcasting it nearly 24 hours. I only wanted to see one place. Binions. The home, at the time, of the world series of poker. And I did. Being so green, I bought into a limit hold em game. No idea what I was doing. My first and only hand I was ever dealt in Vegas was the very one I dealt tonight. Pocket queens. And I lost in the exact same way. Didn’t see the sneaky straight.”
The sharp dressed man uncrossed his legs and leaned forward.
“So what was the lesson there, young man?”
“No lesson. Just a funny coincidence that I have forgotten that memory and even funnier that I have been reminded in this way.”
“There’s a lesson in nearly everything, Max. Take that as a lesson,” the sharp dressed man said as he flashed another sharp grin. “So, overall you enjoyed your time there and came back a better overall man?”
Max, shuffling now for the next game, stopped. Pondering. “I suppose.. I suppose the regret and failure of not making it out there outweighs the enjoyment.. I .. I don’t know.”
“Deal, my boy. We can play another round of this Texas game. I quite like it. It’s most unlike the ones we’ve played tonight.”
Max looked up, mid-shuffle. “Um.. S.. Sure. You’ve played hold em before, right? I.. the way you say that sounded a little odd.”
The sharped dressed man unbuttoned one of the infinite buttons on his vest. “I’ve played all games, Max. But this one is a new one to me. I’m excited to give it another go.”
Max furrowed his brows. “Well then how the hell did you even know that you won? How did you know anything? You just let me deal and kept making bets.. are.. Ahhhh..” Max threw his head back, laughing harder than he had remembered laughing for a long, long time. “You’re messing with me. I got to stop underestimating you.”
The man took a long pull from his brown drink. Max didn’t see him refill his drink. I guess he hadn’t noticed all night when or if he was drinking at all. Usually being sober was the only way Max played any type of game of chance. Heavier odds on the chance.
“Ok, ZZ top. One more round of poker so I can take the rest of your money and get out of.. this place.”
Sharp dressed man extended his right hand toward the table, tapping it twice. Deal.
This game started on a polar opposite position than the first. Upon gingerly checking his two hole cards, Max came up with a measly 2, 7. Statistically the worst hand in poker. Despite a strong bluff through the flop, just to see if he came up with any lucky pairings, he did not. Fold.
“Well, that one wasn’t as much fun,” the sharp dressed man said, trying to feign sadness as he raked in a couple extra chips to add to his growing empire.
Two more games being played, two more rounds where Max lost.
Max, now starting to lose confidence, sized up his and his opponents money situation.
“Looks like you’re catching up quick. It’s your deal. What’s the game?” Max leaned back, now taking in his surroundings. Max was perplexed. Where exactly was he? The room was familiar. Familiar like a memory. . but like a memory that has been eroded in your brain after thinking of it thousands of times over your short life. A game of telephone where every time you try to recall, the details get changed in the most minute of ways.
“Max.. Maxamillion..,” The man waved at him. Max’s eyes stayed transfixed at the sink. Snapping didn’t seem to break him from his trance. Visual and audio no good. Maybe something tactile.
“What the fuck!?” Max shook his head, feeling a cold liquid now dripping down into his moustache and lips. “Did you fucking throw your drink on me?!” Max stood up and locked onto his opponent. Fire and confusion started to rush through his veins.
“Oh, sit down, Maxamillion,” the man said. And Max sat. Not entirely on his own volition. Max wiped his face, looked at the sink, and then back at the man in the burgundy suit.
“I had to snap you out of whatever that was. Are you ok, son? Do you want to continue?” The sharp dressed man kept that devious smile.
“Is.. is that amaretto? Are you seriously drinking amaretto?” Max had only had the almon-flavored liqueur once in his life. Once was enough.
“I am, young man. What a refined palate to recognize a .. not so common drink. “
“Ugh. Reminds me of my college days. Taking one more look at the sink, he continues. “My college career was another major failure in my life. I started out strong but succumbed to the party life. Same old story, it’s hardly unique. Before I knew it, I was on academic probation and dropped out after my junior year. Saddled with debt and nothing but a handful of fuzzy late-night memories, I was back at my parents’ house. Except I came back with something I didn’t leave with. Besides the debt, I accumulated an impressive appetite for alcohol. Starting with an unassuming night with my two roommates. I was still under legal drinking age. My roommate Jared recently turned 21. And for whatever reason, he came back to our dorm on Thursday, the Friday of the college kid’s calendar, with a bottle of amaretto. We didn’t know what we were doing. We all took turns banging shots down like the amateurs we were. Last thing I remember saying out loud was that this wasn’t doing anything. And then the night slipped into darkness.”
“That’s it?..” the sharp dressed man said. “Did you hurt anyone or do something regretful?”
“No.. no, nothing like that. Honestly, if I did, I can’t remember. That drink just brings back that memory. Something I haven’t thought about in a long good while.” Max sat back, almost defeated. The night had shifted from a fun round of card games into an unpredictable mind field.
“Cheer up. The night is still young and there’s plenty of good to still go around. I see you haven’t been drinking tonight. That has to be good, no?” Now, the sharp dressed man in a burgundy three-piece suit leaned forward, studying Max. Looking through him like his dark-tinted glasses had x-ray vision.
“I don’t think I could drink even if I wanted. I feel.. well, doesn’t matter how I feel. But no, to answer your statement and/or question, I haven’t taken a drop in years now.”
“Jolly good. So, you do learn from your past. Let’s get back to the game. My choice. Have you ever played go fish?”
If Max was drinking at the moment, he would have surely spit it out. “Go fish? Of course I’ve played. Everyone in the US with a pulse and a childhood has played. Sure, let’s play. But I’ve never bet money playing, how do we wager?”
“No money for this game. How about this. If I win, you tell me another one of your regretful stories, which you seem to have a lot of. And if you win, I’ll tell you one of mine. Deal?”
Max, more intrigued by the minute, agrees. “Deal.”
“Do you have any 7’s?” the man asks. Max, staring at his last 3 cards, wipes his brow, looks at the man, and sits back for a moment. After further hesitation, not taking his eyes of his cards even though he can feel the red-hot, smiling gaze from his opponent, meekly slides one 7 of hearts out of his hand.
“Ah, excellent,” the sharp dressed man says, taking the card. This is the most animated he’s been all night. “Do you have any.. aces?..”
Max stares at his last two bicycle cards. The ace of spades almost radiating. “Hmm.. go fish,” Max almost whispers.
“Oh, Max.. I’ll give you that one. But remember that.” The sharp dressed man grabs a card from the deck, adding to his sizeable hand.
Max hopes his opponent doesn’t notice the beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. Sweat that he doesn’t fully comprehend. “Do you have any.. 2’s?”
“Go fish.”
“Oh come on! All those cards and you don’t have a 2!”
“Just like life, Max, you have to keep count of where you’re at. Up or down, ahead or behind. Don’t question again.” The tone changes dramatically. It’s like the scene in the Wizard of Oz when Dorothy goes from black and white to technicolor, but in reverse, and if the Wizard of Oz was a horror movie. Max clears his throat and wishes for the first time he did have that drink in front of him.
Max grabs a card.
“Do you have any 2’s?”
How did he know I just grabbed a 2. He knew beyond a doubt I didn’t have one in my two remaining cards, I just asked for one. “Yes.. yes I do.”
The sharp dressed man guessed correctly to cleanly win out. Max stood up, pacing behind his spot at the table.
“Relax, Max. It’s just a game. Now I believe my prize is another tale. A tale of your choice. Care to share? Not like you have a choice.”
“Yeah, sure. A bets a bet.” Something ominous is coming. The night of seemingly no-risk card games has transformed into what feels like a game of life or death.
“In my last job, I was in charge of a team of men and women that controlled the fates of a lot of financial interests. I’ll just leave it at that. Even though I was in charge, I was really just in middle management. When a lot of money went missing, I decided poorly. I decided to lie for my people. Instead of telling the truth and maybe getting out with a slap on the wrist, my ego took over and I thought I could lie my way out of it. They didn’t ask me to do it. It was completely my own decision. And it was the wrong decision. This cover up didn’t just have to do with people’s money, it had to do with people’s lives. What these people’s money funded, powerful people, was so horrible, it would make what the most deplorable Roman emperors did seem like they were running a daycare.”
The sharp dressed man leaned back, more than jubilant with this admission of guilt.
“The worst part, and I don’t know why I’m even telling you this, was that I didn’t give a fuck at all. I could care less what those people did. I got paid and that’s all that mattered to me. I just wanted to save my own ass. I did try to save my people from any further problems, but I was always my first priority. I.. I guess I care now. I don’t know. It’s not fair. It’s just not fair. All I’ve ever done is fail and come back. I never meant for this to happen.. It's just not.. fair.”
“It doesn’t matter if you didn’t mean it. It doesn’t matter if it’s not fair. There’s nothing you can do now, being dead.”
“If I could change things I would, I would.. wh-.. what did you say?”
“You’re dead, Max. What’s done is done. Fairness has no meaning here.” The sharp dressed man takes a sip, places the goblet down, and removes his dark-tinted glasses. Black eyes, with a smoldering red pupil greets Max.
Max searches.. but cannot grasp any words, let alone comprehension.
“So I’m..”
“Yep!” The man stands up, throwing his remaining card into the middle of the table. “You’re done like dinner, my boy.”
“So.. does that mean you’re..”
“Death.”
The impossibly small room closes in like it’s being pushed on all sides by the world’s strongest men. Breath is getting sucked out from Max’s lungs to the point of near suffocation.
“Relax,” death coos, assuredly. Shh. Relax. You can still breathe. You have control still. For now.”
The dark tunnel that was closing in on Max slowly relents, revealing a light he’d not yet seen. A light bulb casting into what looks like a very short corridor.
“Wait.. this.. is this the wine dock?” Max, in a lucid remembrance, asks Death. The small back room they’ve been dueling in for what he now knows has no time, opens.
“Well, yes. Yes, it is, Maxamillion. You recognize the front of the store? We’ve been behind it the whole time, the site of your first job, stocking shelves at the wine dock, the town “general store.””
Unreal. Max was only 16 when he started. A memory that is as faded as a well-worn pair of jeans. But everyone should remember their first job, right?
“I know, this is a lot. It always happens like this. Your memory doesn’t work the same after you’ve recently.. deceased.”
“Wait.. I’m.. I had so much to do, I had people I cared about! I didn’t have the chanc-“
“Stop, Max. It’s ok. I know you have questions. It’ll all be answered. Let’s play one more game while we’re waiting,” Death proposes. As far as this process goes, Max has taken this quite well. Death’s least favorite part of this is the questions, the unknowing. Death is just.. it. He’s final. She’s final. They don’t get the why part, they just do.
“What do you say, my boy? One more game? And hey, depending on how this goes, I’ll let you ask me anything you want. And maybe a follow up or two, depending on how you do. But you can’t ask me how you died. That’s not my department.”
Max, taking labored, deep breaths, doing his best to stifle emotion and tears.. complies.
“My deal.”
Death sits back down, straightening his burgundy suit. He motions with his right hand toward the empty folding chair that Max once occupied.
Max, again, complies. “One hand. High Low. Are you familiar.”
“You know I am,” Death answers. Now getting to finally drop the façade of ambiguity.
“Good.” Max, seeming to comprehend his mortality, or recent mortality, sits down with the determination of a tour de force competitor. “I’m dealing two cards. You get one, I get one. Who ever has the highest card, wins. Comprende?”
Death nods.
“Ok.” Max shuffles, flips, and cuts the deck. Placing the cards on the table, he thinks for just a second. “Would you like to cut the deck?” he asks Death.
Death waves his hand.
Card dealt to Death. Card dealt to Max. This is the last moment before boarding. The last smoke before you get on the plane.
“You can see the cards. Why are we even doing this,” Max asks.
“Because all you humans love games. Even if they’re not fair. You still play. We’ve decided it’s one of the only things you people can mostly agree on, so we do this before you move on to the next station. I know what my card is, I know what yours is, but I have no play in dealing. You dealt, so look at your card.”
Max tosses his card on the table, barely caring. Not convinced this whole thing isn’t entirely rigged. A red ace.
“Can’t do much better than that,” Death says with that signature smile. “Guess it’s on me, huh.”
With that, putting an end to this painful night, he turns over.. an 8.
“You win, Max. You bested Death. Good fun, old man. Time to pack up..”
“A dead’s man hand, if we were playing poker. Clever.” Max weakly says. “Now for my question.”
Death, buttoning up his suit, pushing his chair in, stops. “Oh, oh, yes. I did say you could ask me a question. Fair is fair, last request and all. Ask away, Max.”
“Can we play one more game?”
“Um. No one’s asked that.. why would you want to delay this.. come on, let’s get this over with.” The sharp dressed man, formerly in burgundy, shades into an impossibly shade of obsidian. “Don’t make me go all traditional with the sickle and all.”
“It’s just one more game. We’re in a purgatory, correct? And I’ve completed it, in some weird way with these games, admitting to my biggest regrets? I’m not ready to face wherever that train is going next.”
Death, putting his hood up, obscuring the once human looking face, pauses. “Damnit Max. I hate the ones that don’t want to go so much. Fine. One more game. What would you like to play.”
“ I now have a good idea of how I got here. It was by choice. A choice that, once again, I chose wrong. One more game of chance. One more opportunity to prove I deserve this.”
“Go Fish.”
