Shark of Spades

The Not Surprise Not Party

This would be my last game in Chicago. I guess, with that line of  thinking, that I should have felt...I don't know, something...but playing cards for so long prohibited that. If I had many feelings, they 
were hidden away, where even I couldn't find them. I am, after all, a card player to my soul.

If I still have one.

As I sat down in my chair, I thought about that guy from yesterday. He was about my  brother's age, I suppose, or what he would be if he was still alive. Did he really deserve to be shot? Twice?

But then I just got annoyed with myself. I told him to go away. He didn't. It's his fault, and it doesn't bother me.

Testament to my lack of soul, I completely agreed with my conscience. Violence justified and guilt sent packing, I started wondering which game I  should choose for today.

By the time the rest of the players had  assembled, I had made up my mind, not to be at all deterred by the fact that one of the players was the guy from yesterday. As soon as he  entered, he never broke eye contact with me. He didn't look angry as much as obstinate, like he wouldn't let me escape. Well, screw him. I was going to leave him far, far behind.

"We're playing Blackjack," I announced. Nobody disagreed, so Jack winked at me and dealt the cards.

The game was over before the freshly-transferred money had adapted to living in my pocket instead of theirs. I got up, nodding without smiling. "Gentlemen." Then I turned, heading towards the door.

"Wait!" the kid cried out, standing up so abruptly that his chair, never having mastered control over its inner core, lost its balance and fell back 
with a harsh clang. "Where are you going?"

I drew my gun, pulled back the trigger, and aimed level with his forehead. He didn't flinch, just seemed to stand taller. "It doesn't matter where I'm going, but you're not coming with."

Jack slowly got up, his chair remaining upright out of sheer tenacity, and he slowly started moving. The guy who 
claimed to be friends with my brother was so focused on the gun in my hand and on keeping eye contact with me that he didn't see Jack until he'd come up directly behind him. Had he been a true card player, he  would have thought to look for that slight of hand, but he didn't.

That's how Jack ended up gripping him in some type of hold, nearly strangling him, and nodding towards me to leave. I nodded back, letting my eyes relay whatever I had to say, put the gun back in my pocket, and took confident strides out the door, not rushed or quick to escape. I never ran away.