Shark of Spades

The Stakes are High

After we'd finished eating, Jack cleared away the dishes and produced a deck of cards from within one of many numerous pockets. I trusted him enough that I didn't check the deck, assured simply by the caliber of  his character that were I to look through the deck, I'd find twelve face cards, four aces, thirty-two number cards, and two jokers.

"So what are we playing?" I asked, overcome by a reversed sense of deja vu, as it  was typically I who dictated the game and he who just grinned and dealt.

He leaned in a little closer, showing off his pointy teeth in a wide grin. "Go fish."

Inside, I might have laughed to myself. I'm not quite sure what my real reaction was, though, because when I started playing a game with any kind of stakes involved at all, the door to my soul clicked shut and remained shut until I won. So instead of laughing at him, I kept the  image of fish hovering in my mind as I answered, "Let's go."

As the game had been his call, I assumed the role of dealer. He passed me the deck and waited patiently as I shuffled and bridged, shuffled and bridged, shuffled and bridged. Then I dealt out the cards.

The war was a long one, a tough one, and a bloody one. We both lost many a comrade to the enemy, our forces depleting but regrouping with aid from reinforcements. In the end, my army stuck our flag into the ground and claimed victory over the battlefield littered with the bodies of dead  kings and queens and their respective subjects.

Defeated, Jack laid down his cards. "Card, do you ever lose?"

I didn't even debate such a pointless question. "Have you ever known me to?"

"No, but surely you've lost at least one game to someone," he argued, although his tone was agreeably amicable. He sat back in his chair, and although a grin was plastered on his face, he looked very curious in a  very serious way.

Have I ever lost to anyone? My brother's face flashed in front of my eyes, overpowering the image of fish, but then I blinked and it was gone. Slightly shaken but determined to hide it, I stood up, handing the deck back to him and just putting it in the middle of the table when he didn't reach out to accept it. "Don't pry into my business, and I won't pry into yours." I paused, turning back.  "Oh, and you owe me fish tomorrow night. Don't forget it."

***

I was lying on the bed, just about to drift into sleep when Jack kicked back on the bed, stretching out next to me.

"What are you doing, Jack?"

"What? Can't I sleep here too?"

"No. I'm sleeping here. My money, my apartment, my rules. You can take the couch."

"But couches are never comfortable. It's probably loaded with killer springs and riddled with dead insect shells."

"Better than live ones."

"Why can't we share the bed, then?" he asked, his eyebrows raised and his expression amused.

"Jack, I don't sleep-kick or sleep-talk or sleep-walk. I sleep-shoot, sleep-stab, and sleep-decapitate."

"Fair enough."

"I thought so, too."

So he slept on the couch.