In that moment I made a decision to do something incredibly stupid, not to mention something I had decided I absolutely wouldn’t do. I decided to chance everything. There was simply no way I was going to let Patrick walk out of this building having won the tournament. “I’ll call.” I pushed my pile of chips towards the center of the table and asked. “What do you have?”
With a wicked grin splitting his face Patrick turned over both of his cards and revealed the queen and ten of clubs. As I sat there studying his flush, I could see Patrick’s mocking smile. With my index and middle fingers of my right hand resting on my cards, I began tapping them for a moment before I drew the bottom card. I showed the crowd my eight of clubs and with that Patrick’s smile began to crack.
I quickly formed an image of the ace of spades in my mind and while retaining that image, I let my fingers rest on the back of my nine of hearts. I took in a deep breath and began to quickly collect the image and poured body heat into my solitary card and, through sheer force of will, I powered the card’s transformation into the ace of spades. I poured just enough heat into the transformation to ensure that the card would retain its new identity for just about half an hour.
“Sir if you please, show us your last card.” The now sour-faced dealer ordered.
Well if nothing else I was giving these people a wonderful show. But since I really didn’t want to annoy the dealer any more than I already had, I firmly took hold of the corner of my last card. Ensuring a tight grip I closed my eyes and flipped the card over, laying it on top of my other card. I was hoping for a perfectly complete transformation. And judging by the reaction of both Patrick and the crowd I knew I had won the tournament.
Opening my eyes I first looked down at the table and saw a perfectly formed ace of spades staring up at me. Then I shifted my gaze so as to see that Patrick had slumped down into his chair, acknowledging his defeat. The dealer shifted the pair of aces and the eight away from him ever so slightly as he announced to everyone. “Aces over eights, Marcus wins the hand and the tournament.”
Forcing down my uneasiness over changing my original card, I looked across the table and, with a straight face and calm voice, broke the silence. “You’re a good player Patrick and you had quite the good run.” Thinking back to his defeat of Bella, my mouth couldn’t help but to throw one last dig at the man. “By the way I’m sorry I let you twist in the wind for so long.”
Instead of snapping back at me, which would have been understandable, Patrick simply got up, walked over, and offered me his hand. In a voice that belied the venom in his eyes, he spoke as I accepted his hand. “I could have sworn you didn’t have that kind of hand. I was certain that I had an excellent read on you.” He paused to take in a deeper breath, “But I guess I was wrong. Congratulations.” With that Patrick pulled his hand out of mine and walked towards the bar, no doubt hoping to drown his sorrows in something strong.
Victory in hand, no matter how hallow, I took my eyes off of Patrick and searched the stands for Bella. When I found her she still had a glazed look of confusion imprinted upon her face. Now that I had won I didn’t care if people watched me follow her gaze, so I did and once more, followed it to her uncle. This time he was talking to another of his men. They seemed to be very calm and I couldn’t figure out what her uncle was doing to make her so unnerved. Truth be told, I was just a little too preoccupied with enjoying my victory—despite transforming my one card—to try and work out any kind of puzzle. I plucked a five thousand dollar chip from my stack and in one fluid motion, tossed it to the sour faced dealer. “I hope you can cash that in.”
As the chip landed in the thug’s left hand, I thought I saw the briefest of smiles before he replied. “Thank you sir.” With a slight nod of thanks he stuffed the chip into his vest and started to collect the few cards that were on the table before shuffling them, as if he had nothing else in the world to do.
Before I could make it a step away from the table Dempsey walked up to me and enveloping my hand with his own as he spoke with a reserved firmness. “Congratulations, Marcus. That was quite the display you put on for us. I can’t say it was sportsmanly to let Patrick think he had won, but it was a good show.”
I had little choice but to tighten my grip on his hand and widen my smile as I replied to his comment. “Thank you, sir.” Looking past Dempsey and towards the dealer I figured I should ask if my kindness was acceptable. “By the way will he be able to keep that?”
Without turning to look at the dealer Dempsey answered my question, “People tip my workers every year. But only those from the final table can share any real wealth. You just gave that man five thousand dollars from your winnings.”
I thought about that for a second but just shrugged as I spoke without thinking, “I can live with that. After all if he hadn’t dealt the hand just right I wouldn’t have won.” I almost broke down right there but, for once, I managed to keep my mouth shut.
With eyes that seemed to scream that he could see past my fa?ade, Dempsey looked down his nose at me as he replied, “Don’t sell yourself short there Marcus. You were able to convince Patrick to march into that hand with what turned out to be inferior cards.” He broke eye contact with me in order to glance over at Patrick, who was now deep into his drink. While continuing to watch Patrick take robotic gulps from his drink, Marcus continued, “That’s not a small achievement, he was expecting to win this year.”
“What do you mean?”
With a slight grin Dempsey looked back at me as he answered, “He was quite upset about losing last year.” I swear the man’s smile spread with each word until I was surprised he could speak at all. “I will say he looks to be taking his defeat better this year.”