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[H] A Ton of Bundle Games (IndieGala, Humble, and Fanatical) [W] Nov. Humble Monthly Games (Not Darksiders III or Yakuza Kiwami)
I already own Darksiders III and Yakuza Kiwami 2, so I figured I'd just skip this month and trade for the other games on here. I haven't updated my list in a long time, so there may be one or two games that I don't have anymore, but I still own most of them. So far, the games I'm looking for are: Imperator: Rome Deluxe Edition Crying Suns Darksburg Little Misfortune Smile for Me Darkwood Tsioque Rover Mechanic Simulator Youropa Townsmen - A Kingdom Rebuilt The ones that I have for trade are: Humble Gift Link - The Uncertain: Last Quiet Day Knights of Pen and Paper 1+2 Collection Road Redemption This War of Mine Throne of Lies The Online Game of Deceit Torchlight Torchlight II The First Tree One Deck Dungeon Skybolt Zack Golf With Your Friends - OST Codex of Victory Conglomerate 451 Deep Sky Derelicts Gift of Parthax Haimrik Quantum Replica Re-Legion Shiny Through the Woods The Inner World Pixel Heroes Byte & Magic Safety First! 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Royal Vegas Casino Review
When a casino operator decides to launch multiple brands, it is unusual for them to launch them all at once; they are typically staggered over a series of years, and sometimes the original site can get a bit stale as the focus shifts to new brands. The subject of this review, Royal Vegas Casino, is one of the old guards of online casinos. Since its launch, its parent company has gone on to manage 19 other brands; have they put this site out to pasture, or is it still worth your time and money? That is what I plan to find out with this honest, legit review of this casino.
About Royal Vegas Casino
Royal Vegas was one of the flagship sites of the Fortune Lounge Group when it was launched in 2000. It is now one of the 20 brands under the Digimedia Casino umbrella, alongside sister sites such as Casino Epoca, Spin Palace, and Platinum Play. In fact, while I was performing my initial stages of this review, I did notice a significant number of similarities between this casino and Platinum Play. As a result, much of this review may sound the same to many of you; I apologize, but I am going to look behind every corner to find all the differences between the two. All of the Digimedia casinos have a license from the Malta Gaming Authority. This regulatory board keeps a watchful eye over all of its approved casinos, ensuring that player funds are safe and that the casino is completely above board when it comes to fairness and security.
Software Suppliers
Royal Vegas uses two software partners for the two sides of their online casino. The Live Dealer games are provided by industry-leader Evolution Gaming. We’ll talk more about these games further down this review; they are only available via the Instant Play format. For the remainder of the casino, Royal Vegas is powered by Microgaming, one of the industry’s longest-standing and top providers of games. In fact, Royal Vegas is one of Microgaming’s oldest clients, so this casino has seen all the improvements they have made over the years. Microgaming’s casino is available in Instant Play format, but if you want all the games and the full casino experience, you are better served downloading the casino client to your desktop. >>Get Free Spins Now<<
The Good Stuff
Progressive Jackpots
When you hit the casino lobby, your eyes track immediately to the ticker which shows how much money is available in progressive jackpots on the site. The total is currently around 2.5 Million USD; almost half of that can be found in the Mega Moolah game. One spin of those reels could win you just over a million dollars! You should spend a couple minutes playing every time you log in; you never know which spin might be the one that changes your life!
A Clear Opt-Out Option
Wow. You don’t see this very often at a casino. Right there with an overview of the promotions and the rewards is a tab named Unsolicited Communications, where they outline how to opt-out of emails, and their policy to not just spam their players. Well done, Royal Vegas – this is most impressive.
The Bad Stuff
So Much Is the Same
One thing about operating many casinos is that sometimes it is easy to just copy and paste one site into another. From a games standpoint, that is exactly what has happened with Royal Vegas. If you are already a player with Platinum Play, you probably don’t need to play here; the casino lobby is exactly the same.
Quick Points Expiry
You will read a little later on how important a Comp Program is in my eyes; not only do I like to be able to redeem the points for cash, but I also like to try to move up VIP levels as quickly as possible. I noticed that the points at Royal Vegas have an expiry of 60 days; that is significantly faster than the industry standard of 90 days. This is a little disheartening considering you need to accumulate 5,000 to convert them. In my opinion, one of those rules needs to be adjusted. >>Get Free Spins Now<<
Royal Vegas Casino Game Selection
Slots
Even though you can see these games at many of the Digimedia Casinos, it is entirely possible that this is your first time seeing Microgaming in action. If so, you are in for a real treat. The slots catalog is bursting at the seams with titles for you to choose from; at last count, there were well over 300 slot machines in the casino lobby. What I particularly enjoy are all the games that feature brands I know from other walks of life; you will see many of those along with other in-house content that I have enjoyed playing from the list below:
Around The World
Avalon
Battlestar Galactica
BrideZilla
Bubble Bonanza
Cashanova
CashOccino
Cash Splash – 3 Reel
Cash Splash – 5 Reel
Classic 243
Cool Buck 5 reel
Cool Wolf
Cosmic Cat
Dance of the Masai
Doctor Love 20-Line
Dogfather
Double Magic MegaSpin
Double O Cash
Double Wammy
Watts Up
Eagle’s Wings
Electric Diva
Elementals
Fantastic 7’s
Fantastic 7’s MegaSpin
Fruit Fiesta – 5 Reel
Fruit Salad
Fruit Slots
Fruit Candy
Game of Thrones
Game of Thrones 15-Line
Girls With Guns – Frozen Dawn
Girls With Guns – Jungle Heat
Gladiator 50-line
Golden Goose Winning Wizards
Jurassic Jackpot Big Reel
Jurassic Park
Lion’s Pride
Lions Share
Liquid Gold
Little Chief Big Cash
Living in Luxury
Loaded
Loose Cannon
Lost Vegas
Lotsaloot – 3 Reel
Lotsaloot – 5 Reel
Lucky Leprechaun
Lucky Leprechaun’s Loot
Lucky News Network
Major Millions
Major Millions 3 Reel
Major Millions MegaSpin
Mardi Gras
Mardi Gras Fever
Mark of Medusa
Max Damage
Max Damage and the Alien Attack
Mayan Princess
Mega Money Multiplier
Mega Moolah
Mega Moolah 5 Reel Drive
Mega Moolah Isis
Mega Moolah Summertime
Mermaids Millions
Mermaids Millions Multi-Player
Mocha Orange
Rhyming Reels – Georgie Porgie
Rhyming Reels – Hearts & Tarts
Rhyming Reels – Jack & Jill
Sahara’s Secret
Samurai 7’s
Sonic Boom
Sugar Mama
Sugar Parade
Sultans Sevens
Summer Holiday
Summertime
SunQuest
Tarzan
Terminator 2
The Adventures of Galactic Gopher
The Argyle Open
The Dark Knight
The Dark Knight Rises
The Finer Reels of Life
Tomb Raider
Tomb Raider – Secret of the Sword
Totem Treasure
Treasure Nile
Treasure Palace
Triangulation
Tribal Treasure
Wheel of Wealth Special Edition
Wheel of Wealth Special Edition Multiplayer
White Buffalo
Live Dealer Games
I mentioned earlier how much I love the Live Dealer games from Evolution. Truth be told, I enjoy live casino games form virtually any supplier. The pace of these games is much different than the traditional online casino; I also love watching the dealers on the live stream having to deal those oversized cards! At Royal Vegas, you can find the Live Casino games in the “Tables” tab of the lobby, and from there you can choose from the following games:
Caribbean Stud Poker
Dream Catcher
Blackjack
Roulette
Casino Hold’em
Video Poker
I am sure I am one of the craziest video poker nuts I know. Sometimes, I will find myself at the Hard Rock in Las Vegas, playing at one of the machines at the bar while also playing a game on my phone at one of the online casinos I have reviewed. Yes, that may be considered extreme behavior, but I can’t help it – I love these games! When it comes to the selection at Royal Vegas, you will find a significant number of machines and pay tables. It is important to look at the pay tables before playing a game; you want to make sure the variant you are playing gives you the best return for your betting style. Also, you may find the multi-hand versions of the games exciting; there is nothing better than a Royal Flush except maybe 4 of them on the same hand! Check out the types of video poker games you can play at this casino:
All Aces
Jacks or Better
All American
Aces & Faces
Double Bonus
Bonus Deuces Wild
Tens or Better
Aces & Eights
Deuces & Joker
Double Double Bonus
Joker Poker (kings or better)
Bonus Poker Deluxe
Double Joker
Deuces Wild
Louisiana Double
Table Games
For this casino review, I decided to do something different when testing the Table Games. I chose to play a game I don’t play very often and give it a full 45 minutes session. This time I decided on 3 Card Poker; this is a game I tend to play only with my friends after way too many drinks in Vegas, so I thought I would try it in the comfort of my own home. The end result? Well, I am still not sure if I like the game as much as I do other Table Games; thankfully there is a full complement of those at Royal Vegas:
3 Card Poker
Atlantic City Blackjack
Atlantic City Gold Blackjack
Bonus Blackjack
Classic Blackjack
Craps
Crown and Anchor
Cyberstud Poker
Double Exposure
European Blackjack Redeal
European Gold Blackjack
Hi-Lo 13 European Blackjack
Keno
Pai Gow Poker
Premier High Streak Blackjack
Poker Pursuit
Red Dog
Roulette
Sic Bo
Spanish Blackjack
Vegas Downtown Blackjack
Vegas single deck Blackjack
Vegas Strip Blackjack
Specialty Games
Now, the honest truth here: I did not test any of these “Casual Games” in reviewing Royal Vegas. While many of you may love to play these games, I consider them nothing more than a time-filler, and a costly one at that. However, should you get the itch to try one of them out, here are all the options you have to choose from:
While the casino lobby can look the same, where I am hoping to find some differences between this casino and its sister properties is in the promotional area. I am going to have a look at two promotions in detail here in this review:
Welcome Bonus
This offer for first-time depositing players is eerily similar to the one being offered by Platinum Play, but this one is just a little bit sweeter. They are offering you up to $1,200 in bonuses and 120 Free Spins in their Welcome Bonus, along the following lines:
On your first deposit: a 100% deposit match up to $/€250 plus unlock 30 Free Spins on Dragon Dance-a minimum deposit of $/€10 is required to receive your Spins
On your second deposit: a 25% deposit match up to $/€200 plus unlock 40 Free Spins on Wild Orient
On your third deposit: 50% deposit match up to $/€750 plus unlock 50 Free Spins on the SunTide
So, this is definitely different than the other casino; first off, it is more money. Also, it is only spread over three deposits (all of which must be made within 7 days). I was able to access the Terms and Conditions page and found there that the wagering requirement for this bonus (and all other bonuses) is 40x the bonus amount; that is a competitive rate, so it’s definitely worth giving this bonus a shot.
Wild Wins Wheel
This is a great ongoing promotion that by the sounds of things has been run before at this casino. It is a time-sensitive offer (this one looks to be about three weeks long), and has straightforward rules:
Play your favorite games to earn Rewards points
Your Rewards points will fill up the progress bar
Each time you reach 100%, you’ll get a spin on the jungle wheel
Prizes on the wheel include Free Spins, Rewards points and a Bonus Round for even bigger prizes!
You can try and spin the jungle wheel as many times as possible to win your share of €300,000 in instant prizes
I like that the casino has offers like this available for players; the sense of urgency to play games before the promo ends provides motivation to play more often, which is obviously good for the casino. >>Get Free Spins Now<<
Banking
Getting your money to this site is not going to be a problem. As you will see below, the number of payment methods offered is staggering. Also, if you have a problem with the first method you choose, as I did, the casino works fast to ensure you are still on the hook. I received a Live Chat message as soon as my deposit was rejected, followed by being walked through another method which ended up being successful. That is an excellent way to keep players interested.
Deposit Methods
Abaqoos
Bank Wire
Boleto
CartaSi
ClickandBuy
Delta
Diners Club International
eChecks
EcoPayz
eKonto
Entropay
EPS
Euteller
ewire
EZIPay
GiroPay
iDEAL
instaDebit
JCB
Lobanet
Maestro
MasterCard
Moneta
Multibanco
Neosurf
Neteller
Nordea
Paysafecard
POLi
Postepay
Przelewy24
Skrill
Sofortuberwaisung
Solo
Switch
Teleingreso
Ticket Premium
Trustly
Ukash
UseMyFunds
Visa
Visa Electron
Withdrawal Methods
CartaSi
Check
ClickandBuy
Diners Club International
ECO Card
Entropay
EPS
EZIPay
instaDebit
Maestro
Neteller
Nordea
Postepay
Skrill
Royal Vegas Casino VIP Program
Along with the Comp Program, all real money players are entered into Royal Vegas’s VIP Program. This program has two parts to it; an in-house tiered program that rewards players from the second they make a deposit, and access for higher-level players to the Fortune Lounge VIP program, where you can find yourself being invited to some of the most exclusive parties and events in the online casino world.
Would I Play at Royal Vegas Casino?
Well, here’s the thing: I have a real money account at Platinum Play and have used the Welcome Bonus, so I am not even sure I will be able to take advantage of the superior offer from Royal Vegas. If you haven’t opened an account at either, I would suggest you do so at Royal Vegas first, then see what happens after you clear the bonus. The site itself is great: an excellent selection of games, a great comp and VIP program, and a whole host of ways to contact the casino in real-time if you have any issues. I have no problem recommending this casino to anyone- time has not passed Royal Vegas by, and they remain one of the flagship brands of the Digimedia Casino group! >>Get Free Spins Now<<
2020 was already getting off to a bad start. Here it was New Year’s Day in Biloxi, Mississippi and I was already down four-hundred for the year. And it was only noon... Of course, the black-eyed peas didn’t help. No good luck charm could cure my current drought at the Imperial Palace’s poker room. This was the last day my buddies and I would be out here. Our final day touring Biloxi’s many casinos. Just like years past, The Vegas Of The South hadn’t been kind to me. But I still had fun. Your wacky horror author Rhonnie enjoyed poker after all. Even when I was constantly being battered by bad beats. There were four of us out here. Me and my Stanwyck, Georgia poker pals. I was the youngest of the bunch. Scrawnier than ever, my combed-over brown hair was still a mess from this wild binge of booze and cards. My green eyes wild with drunken life. The gambling fix just what I needed after a hectic 2019. Obviously, I missed Ashley… But I suspected she was doing just fine partying with Carty and Erika in Columbus, Georgia. The power trio indulging in their own New Year’s blitz of margaritas and dancing. My friends J.T., David, and Trent were all with me. From playing nickel/dime house games to $1/3 at the IP, we brought the rowdiness of South Georgia with us to this fine establishment... much to the chagrin of all the dealers and poker players. A few years older than me, David was a stocky, red-headed Southern boy. The combination of his loud voice and drunk shit talking ensured we’d never keep a low-profile. David always unrestrained unless he was behind bars or in a strait-jacket. J.T. was similar but more stable. At forty, he’d skirted by authority and drama with the type of good luck he inexplicably had at the casinos. Tall and lanky, J.T. was Hispanic in ethnicity but a crazed country boy at heart. And with him and David together, their fighting and flirting hit a manic overdrive. Trent only dealt with them due to experience... J.T. was his ex-brother-in-law after all. Trent was the most reserved out of us. Even drunk, he didn’t cut up much. His bushy beard and piercing eyes certainly gave him clout on the felt. Not to mention he was the only one with a real job. With real money to spare. When David, J.T., and I inevitably went broke, the three of us followed Trent around like roadies desperate for a rock star’s sloppy seconds. New Year’s Day was just a chaotic continuation of our three-day bender. At noon, everyone but Trent was already hammered. The constant “free” beer and vodka our only way of staving off the New Year’s Eve hangovers hunting us down… This early, the IP’s card room was empty save for one $1/3 table. The usual players probably still out recovering from the previous night’s festivities. Party favors and empty bottles littered the other tables. The room’s 60s soft rock soundtrack well overshadowed by the constant chimes of neighboring slots. The four of us had table eight together. Under bright lighting, we enjoyed the game with four other Hold Em stragglers. I only recognized Lily a hot regular I’d seen over in Gretna, Florida’s poker room. Someone from our neck of the woods. Wearing Louis Vuitton sunglasses and flaunting her stylish short brown hair, she was the only female player here... And already, both David and J.T. had tried her. And already she’d insulted them right back. Not to mention took the last of David’s pathetic chip stack. Table eight’s other players included the usual low stakes caricatures. The shitregs. A depressed dad with an equally depressing dad bod. The smartass college kid masquerading as a poker pro. And an older farmer still wearing overalls, the type of surreal sight you somehow take for granted in Biloxi. Our dealer was a bitchy man in his mid-40s. The type of rude personality reserved for the casino’s deader shifts. None of the players were any good. Then again, I couldn’t talk much. My thirty-big-blind buy-in strategy had been continually getting crushed by suckouts. Usually by Trent. Needless to say, he and Lily were the big winners so far… Their colorful chip stacks even contained stray hundred dollar bills. But somehow, J.T.’s drunkass had even more. Obnoxious as ever, the son-of-a-bitch had been running off Fireball cinnamon whiskies since the ball dropped. And here he was with over three grand on the table. A stack of Benjamins clustered amongst his towers. Now the farmer had just thrown in another hundred dollar bill. J.T. snap called. Farmer showed three of a kind. J.T. hesitated for a moment... either he was too drunk to read the board or slow-rolling his opponent. My guess was both. Finally, J.T. slung down the winning hand: ten four of diamonds. A flush on the river. I rolled my eyes in disbelief. Laughing, J.T. collected his latest pot. Another two hundred for his growing stack. “Nice hand, sir!” he taunted the frowning farmer. “You see that shit, Trent! I played that shit like you!” Broke and on his tenth Corona, David now sat behind me. A rail I never asked for… but an entertaining one at least. He leaned in toward me. “Hey, here she comes!” A red-headed waitress complete with an hourglass figure and flawless face walked toward us. Right into David’s carnal sights. Then again, I couldn’t blame him. He waved his beer at her. “Hey, I need another one!” Annoyed, she stopped and jotted down his order. David grabbed my shoulder. “What are you having!” “Miller Lite,” I said to her, my calm voice the opposite of David’s rowdy roar. “Alright, I’ll be right back,” the waitress said. With drunken confidence, David reached toward her. “Hey, sweetie, what’s your name?” He just missed her… The waitress was in a hurry. “None of your business!” she yelled back. With that, she high-tailed it straight for the table games. Then again, neither of us were complaining to watch her leave… Only the beer was definitely gonna take awhile. Especially once she stopped to take an order from a young bodybuilder. A hunk by the slots. Excited, the redhead leaned in closer. A rare smile on her face. Her thirst obvious… David turned to me. “Hey, why’s she talking to him like that!” “Damn, boy, she got you good!” Trent teased. David shrugged him off. “Man, fuck you, Trent!” “Language!” our dealer warned us in a pissed-off growl. Trent collected another pot. “I don’t think she like you anyhow,” he told David. “She just playing hard to get!” David yelled. The alcohol hitting him hard, David leaned in toward the table. “I bet I can get her before the day’s over with! I’ll get her in my room-” Like a brick wall, a fat arm blocked David. A pot-bellied security guard glared over him. “Move back, son!” David threw up his hands. “Alright!” J.T.’s crude laughter echoed through the room. The rest of the table cracked up in a sadistic chorus. Even the dealer. Keeping my cool, I pointed David behind me. “Just sit here, man. Drink the beer.” “Get your brokeass back, David!” J.T. jeered. “Man, whatever.” David moved his chair behind me. Flashed a glare at the guard. “There? You happy?” Behind a cold expression, the guard just stared at us. Completely unamused. I looked over at a corner where the front desk was. Where all the chips and cash were. The clerk just watched us, her dark eyes like lasers. David again the center of attention. A wave of cold air hit us. My FSU hoodie couldn’t keep me from shivering. And regardless of all the booze, I suspected David’s long-sleeved AC/DC shirt wasn’t helping him much either. I looked down at my cards. Ten three offsuit. Yet another fold on my fucking big blind. Then a rotten smell hit me. Well from beyond the grave. The scent more putrid than roadkill. “Is this one three hold em?” I heard a guttural drawl say. The entire table looked toward our latest player. Hopefully, our latest fish. The black man certainly looked the part. Dressed in rumpled jeans and a red jacket with rolled-up sleeves, he was in his fifties. His scruffy beard matched by greasy Jheri curls. Years of wildness captured in his arsenal of tattoos and odd jewelry. The skull-and-bones earrings and gold teeth certainly hinted at what was sure to be an eccentric gambler. The man’s stern gaze locked in on the security guard. “Is it one-three?” he asked in that muddled Cajun accent. With a flourish, he pulled out a bundle of Benjamins. Well over five-hundred dollars. Immediately, the guard went to work getting those chips. Him and the clerk eager to count the dough. The Cajun took a seat right beside J.T. Seat number seven. “Holy shit…” J.T. exclaimed. He flashed David and I a drunken smirk. But soon, that smile was wiped clean. The wild man didn’t know what the fuck he was doing and he may have been stinking up the place with a corpse’s hygiene, but he was damn sure winning. Even Trent and Lily’s stacks were going downhill. Left with only fifty bucks on the table, I just enjoyed the show as David kept the beer flowing. Him and I an audience for this black Cajun man’s rampage. Ashley sent me an obvious drunk text: I love you :) Grinning, I texted her back: The two of us drunk at noon on New Year’s Day. How cute. J.T.’s triumphant yell then caught my attention. “Whoo!” He slid out a huge tower into the pot. The arrogance such an obvious tell… “Come get some!” he shouted at the Cajun. The man deliberated on the river bet. Like a young gunslinger, J.T. leaned toward him. Trying to get eye-to-eye. “Come on, call me!” he yelled, desperate to antagonize the man. The dealer forced J.T. back. “Sir, please don’t lean over the table.” Holding his latest mixed drink, J.T. waved toward his opponent. “I don’t care! I’ll call clock on his ass!” “Aw-in!” the man stated. He pushed his huge stack out. Everyone watched, dumbfounded... but fucking entertained. Even if we didn’t quite understand the man’s dialect... The dealer leaned in toward him. “Uh, sir. Was that an all-in?” “Aw-in!” the Cajun declared. “I said aw-in!” Now put on the spot, J.T. trembled in the cold. His weakness well on display. “Goddammit!” he yelled. His good mood long gone, he threw the cards toward the dealer. The confident drunk now hurtling through depression. “Language, sir,” the dealer reminded him. “I don’t give a fuck!” J.T. replied. Now David was the one laughing his ass off… J.T. motioned toward the Cajun. “How the Hell you keep winning these hands!” With a smile of gold rather than teeth, the man faced J.T. “Dat’s juss how I play, boy.” I couldn’t help but crack up. Trent covered his own chuckle. “Yeah, and you stink like Hell too,” J.T. said. Cackling, the Cajun stacked up his winnings. Lily looked over at J.T. “Maybe that’s part of his strategy.” “Well, I’m about to bust that shit! Fuck his strategy!” J.T. shouted. “And you wanna know why!” He looked down at his latest cards. “Because I’m J.T. Torres! That’s why!” On the warpath, he took out his phone. “I’m about to get in my zone, Rhonnie!” I cringed. Simultaneously amused and embarrassed. Tom Petty’s “Last Dance With Mary Jane” blasted off J.T.’s phone. Over the IP’s soundtrack. Over Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising.” J.T. glared at the whole table. “I ain’t playing now! Who wants some of this!” “It’s one three, boy,” Trent quipped. Growing more and more aggravated, the dealer confronted J.T. “Sir, you can’t play music,” he said in an exasperated tone. The security guard approached us. “No phones on the table!” he barked at J.T. J.T. cut off the music. “Alright, that’s fine!” Without hesitation, he waved at his stack. “Fuck it, I’m all-in!” “Sir-” the dealer began. “I caw!” the Cajun cried. With everyone else out, he flipped over his cards. Pocket aces. The fucking bullets. A dramatic intensity dominated the table. Only the ominous beat of “Bad Moon Rising” could be heard. The man’s rotten stench like cigarette smoke in the arena’s atmosphere. This heavyweight match we all anticipated now looking to be a quick knockout. “Oh shit!” Trent joked to J.T. “You done fucked up!” The twisting knife sent J.T. further into his downward spiral. Anger built inside him. He threw up his pocket kings. “Goddammit!” he said. “How much does he have?” “He’s got you,” remarked the dealer in a not-so-subtle jab. The Cajun chuckled. “I got you covered, boy!” And he damn sure did. J.T.’s fifteen-hundred dollar stack was in a world of pain. “Fuck!” J.T. yelled. I then noticed the man jam both his hands inside those hoodie pockets. Burrowing them in deep. “What the fuck!” I heard J.T. say to me. “What the fuck else could I do, Rhonnie! I had fucking kings!” I watched the Cajun’s lips move... but his voice didn’t carry. He was mumbling… All while his eyes stayed glued to the center of the table. To where the cards would fall. An unsettling realization hit me. The guy was praying… Mumbling some sort of chant. “Luckyass bitch!” J.T. yelled. With indifferent efficiency, the dealer laid the board out quick. The Cajun wound up with four aces. J.T. gone from a bad beat to outright slaughtered. “Stick a fork in him!” Trent’s Southern accent joked. “Oh shit…” David chimed in. He nudged me but I was too disturbed to respond. Too drawn into whatever was going on in seat seven’s world. Full of rage, J.T. stood up, spilling some of his drink. “Man, fuck y’all!” The guard took an annoyed step toward us. “Sir!” he yelled. J.T. turned his irate eyes toward the Cajun. The man still had his hands in his pockets. His eyes still on the board. Still in prayer. “He comes in here stinking up the place!” J.T. continued. He stumbled toward his nemesis. “And what the Hell’s he doing now!” Trent glared at J.T. “Man, just leave him alone! Your ass can’t afford to play, you shouldn’t be here nohow!” In his trance, the Cajun stayed in his seat. Still chanting. His hands still hidden deep in those pockets. Moving quick, the guard took off for the slots. His walkie-talkie at the ready. Eager for back-up. David faced J.T. “Goddamn, man, chill!” “Fucking idiot,” I heard Lily grumble. The alcohol giving him fake toughness, J.T. pushed the man back. “How in the Hell did you win that!” Startled, the Cajun stumbled up. His eyes in a panic. A disturbing amulet stuck in his sweaty hand. The table gasped and screamed. Us drunks louder and more terrified than the rest. The horrifying smell somehow got more sickening. I sifted in my seat. My ass still in pain from when Nicki Minaj fucked me. “What the fuck!” J.T. yelled at his rival. Trembling, the man looked at each of us. Too scared to talk. Still clinging to a baby wolf. A real, dead baby wolf. Like a furry fetus, its decomposing corpse resembled a crude outline of life. A tiny, crumbling cadaver. The pup’s hollow skin in a post-mortem preservation. Its blue eyes forever open. And the Cajun had been holding this wolf for a very long time. A good luck charm in which the superstition outweighed the pup’s gruesome touch and nauseating stench. A necklace of a noose was wrapped around its small neck. Rather than a medallion, the wolf wore a shiny dime. One with a hole drilled in the middle of it... “It’s my Gris-Gris!” the man yelled in a guttural growl. Possessive, he pulled the wolf in closer. A literal baby in his arms. “You ain’t taking my Gris-Gris!” Through the tension, no one said a word. No one except J.T.. “Hey, gimme that shit!” J.T. yelled. Pissed, he snatched the corpse out of the Cajun’s desperate grip. “No!” the man cried. Tears formed in his eyes. “Gimme my Gris-Gris! My Loup Garou!” “So that’s how your ass has been winning!” J.T. continued. He held the baby wolf out toward the man. “That’s how you been getting all them Goddamn cards!” With savage glee, he flicked the dime. “This is your nastyass good luck charm!” The Cajun held his pitiful hands out toward J.T. Literally begging him… much to J.T.’s twisted delight. “I need him back!” he cried. “Gimme my Gris-Gris!” “Give him the damn thing!” Trent shouted at J.T. “Naw, Hell no!” J.T. replied. He squeezed on to the pup, making the wolf’s eyes even bigger. Further taunting the Cajun. “I need me some luck after this bitch took my chips!” Weeping, the man motioned toward the corpse. “It’s no good, boy! Dat wolf’s only good luck for me! He’s bad luck for you!” J.T. cackled. “Bullshit, bitch!” “Whoever touch it get bad luck!” Dismissive, J.T. looked toward the clerk. “Hey, get me three-hundred in chips! I’m reloading!” A flash of silver caught everyone’s eye. The machete whirled right through J.T.’s neck. A red river spread across his slit throat. For once, J.T. went silent. He dropped the wolf and grasped at the fatal wound. A fountain of blood poured out his mouth. The dead pup hit the felt. Its soft thud caused chips to collapse. Bits of its old flesh fragmented upon impact. The decomposing smell somehow hit new highs... “My Gris-Gris!” the Cajun screamed J.T. landed in his chair. His body convulsing in a painful rhythm. His death slow and steady. Blood now spewed all across table eight. David and I exchanged frightened looks. Disgusted, Trent moved his seat further away. Trying to avoid J.T.’s gore. “Seat open on eight!” the dealer hollered out of instinct. “Give us the fucking money!” a Southern drawl demanded. The dealer went quiet quick. So did the rest of us. The rush of fear spread throughout the game. All of us stared at the three men standing over us. Each of them wore black suits. Their faces disguised by straw hats and green bandanas. The leader waved a long machete around. J.T.’s blood adding decorative crimson to the sharp blade. The other two robbers carried pistols. Without hesitation, they scooped up all the hundred dollar bills. The literal blood money. The Cajun man reached for the wolf. “Lemme get my Loup Garou!” With a harsh shove, the leader pushed him back in his seat. “Sorry, buddy!” In tears, the Cajun looked toward the floor. His voice got lower but his words remained constant. Back to chanting. A hush lingered on table eight. All thanks to J.T. going completely still. Using his machete, the leader motioned his partners toward the clerk. “Go get the fucking money!” They did as they were told. In a panic, the clerk opened the registers. “Please! Don’t shoot me!” she cried The leader snatched the baby wolf. I sensed a wicked smile behind that bandana. “This must be your good luck charm.” He faced the Cajun. Holding up the corpse as if it were a pathetic trophy. “Is this shit how you won all the time?” “Drop your weapons!” we heard someone shout. Footsteps stormed behind us. We turned just in time to see the security guard leading several armed officers inside the poker room. Without hesitation, a cop fired. And not a warning shot either. The bullet blew the leader’s brains out. Blood and gray matter sprayed over us. Courtesy of The IP. “Goddammit!” the dealer shouted. Screams formed our soundtrack. Several players jumped up. “Stay where you are!” the guard commanded. The leader collapsed on to the table. More grue covered the felt. The leader’s dead hands dropped both the machete and amulet. The cops came rushing forward. “Don’t move!” an officer screamed. “Sit the fuck down!” The other players got back in their seats. Together, we formed a gruesome congregation. Each of us covered in blood. J.T.’s corpse seated as if he were ready to play. Table eight a poker game from Hell. Eager to keep up with the real cops, the security guard descended upon us. He cringed at the smell. “Jesus Christ!” Then the wolf caught his eye. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you!” Trent warned him. “What the Hell’s this...” the guard said. He snatched the dead pup. Dusty flesh and dry blood stuck to his fingertips. Instantly, several shots rang in the new year and the guard’s brutal death. Bullets obliterated his face into oblivion. In the chilly room, the gunfire left us all coated in another layer of crimson. The security guard fell to the floor, motionless. Gaping holes leaked blood from his head. The baby wolf still clasped in his tight grip. David downed his beer. The now-red Corona didn’t bother him at this point... Behind us, I saw the cops apprehend the other two robbers. The lingering fear made me shiver. The gang could’ve shot any one of us… but deep down, I knew why they only killed the guard. And why they immediately surrendered afterward. I looked on at the dead wolf. Its baby blues remained fixated on me. Tempting me to touch. Its mummified body the prettiest corpse in this poker room’s collection. “Shit, I ain’t touching it!” I heard David say. Weary, Trent stood up and pushed his seat back. “Fuck it!” Blood dripping off his beard and jacket, he looked toward the nervous clerk. Pointed down at his ridiculous chip stack. Even at the pieces of flesh stuck to them. “I’m cashing out!” 14
2020 was already getting off to a bad start. Here it was New Year’s Day in Biloxi, Mississippi and I was already down four-hundred for the year. And it was only noon... Of course, the black-eyed peas didn’t help. No good luck charm could cure my current drought at the Imperial Palace’s poker room. This was the last day my buddies and I would be out here. Our final day touring Biloxi’s many casinos. Just like years past, The Vegas Of The South hadn’t been kind to me. But I still had fun. Your wacky horror author Rhonnie enjoyed poker after all. Even when I was constantly being battered by bad beats. There were four of us out here. Me and my Stanwyck, Georgia poker pals. I was the youngest of the bunch. Scrawnier than ever, my combed-over brown hair was still a mess from this wild binge of booze and cards. My green eyes wild with drunken life. The gambling fix just what I needed after a hectic 2019. Obviously, I missed Ashley… But I suspected she was doing just fine partying with Carty and Erika in Columbus, Georgia. The power trio indulging in their own New Year’s blitz of margaritas and dancing. My friends J.T., David, and Trent were all with me. From playing nickel/dime house games to $1/3 at the IP, we brought the rowdiness of South Georgia with us to this fine establishment... much to the chagrin of all the dealers and poker players. A few years older than me, David was a stocky, red-headed Southern boy. The combination of his loud voice and drunk shit talking ensured we’d never keep a low-profile. David always unrestrained unless he was behind bars or in a strait-jacket. J.T. was similar but more stable. At forty, he’d skirted by authority and drama with the type of good luck he inexplicably had at the casinos. Tall and lanky, J.T. was Hispanic in ethnicity but a crazed country boy at heart. And with him and David together, their fighting and flirting hit a manic overdrive. Trent only dealt with them due to experience... J.T. was his ex-brother-in-law after all. Trent was the most reserved out of us. Even drunk, he didn’t cut up much. His bushy beard and piercing eyes certainly gave him clout on the felt. Not to mention he was the only one with a real job. With real money to spare. When David, J.T., and I inevitably went broke, the three of us followed Trent around like roadies desperate for a rock star’s sloppy seconds. New Year’s Day was just a chaotic continuation of our three-day bender. At noon, everyone but Trent was already hammered. The constant “free” beer and vodka our only way of staving off the New Year’s Eve hangovers hunting us down… This early, the IP’s card room was empty save for one $1/3 table. The usual players probably still out recovering from the previous night’s festivities. Party favors and empty bottles littered the other tables. The room’s 60s soft rock soundtrack well overshadowed by the constant chimes of neighboring slots. The four of us had table eight together. Under bright lighting, we enjoyed the game with four other Hold Em stragglers. I only recognized Lily a hot regular I’d seen over in Gretna, Florida’s poker room. Someone from our neck of the woods. Wearing Louis Vuitton sunglasses and flaunting her stylish short brown hair, she was the only female player here... And already, both David and J.T. had tried her. And already she’d insulted them right back. Not to mention took the last of David’s pathetic chip stack. Table eight’s other players included the usual low stakes caricatures. The shitregs. A depressed dad with an equally depressing dad bod. The smartass college kid masquerading as a poker pro. And an older farmer still wearing overalls, the type of surreal sight you somehow take for granted in Biloxi. Our dealer was a bitchy man in his mid-40s. The type of rude personality reserved for the casino’s deader shifts. None of the players were any good. Then again, I couldn’t talk much. My thirty-big-blind buy-in strategy had been continually getting crushed by suckouts. Usually by Trent. Needless to say, he and Lily were the big winners so far… Their colorful chip stacks even contained stray hundred dollar bills. But somehow, J.T.’s drunkass had even more. Obnoxious as ever, the son-of-a-bitch had been running off Fireball cinnamon whiskies since the ball dropped. And here he was with over three grand on the table. A stack of Benjamins clustered amongst his towers. Now the farmer had just thrown in another hundred dollar bill. J.T. snap called. Farmer showed three of a kind. J.T. hesitated for a moment... either he was too drunk to read the board or slow-rolling his opponent. My guess was both. Finally, J.T. slung down the winning hand: ten four of diamonds. A flush on the river. I rolled my eyes in disbelief. Laughing, J.T. collected his latest pot. Another two hundred for his growing stack. “Nice hand, sir!” he taunted the frowning farmer. “You see that shit, Trent! I played that shit like you!” Broke and on his tenth Corona, David now sat behind me. A rail I never asked for… but an entertaining one at least. He leaned in toward me. “Hey, here she comes!” A red-headed waitress complete with an hourglass figure and flawless face walked toward us. Right into David’s carnal sights. Then again, I couldn’t blame him. He waved his beer at her. “Hey, I need another one!” Annoyed, she stopped and jotted down his order. David grabbed my shoulder. “What are you having!” “Miller Lite,” I said to her, my calm voice the opposite of David’s rowdy roar. “Alright, I’ll be right back,” the waitress said. With drunken confidence, David reached toward her. “Hey, sweetie, what’s your name?” He just missed her… The waitress was in a hurry. “None of your business!” she yelled back. With that, she high-tailed it straight for the table games. Then again, neither of us were complaining to watch her leave… Only the beer was definitely gonna take awhile. Especially once she stopped to take an order from a young bodybuilder. A hunk by the slots. Excited, the redhead leaned in closer. A rare smile on her face. Her thirst obvious… David turned to me. “Hey, why’s she talking to him like that!” “Damn, boy, she got you good!” Trent teased. David shrugged him off. “Man, fuck you, Trent!” “Language!” our dealer warned us in a pissed-off growl. Trent collected another pot. “I don’t think she like you anyhow,” he told David. “She just playing hard to get!” David yelled. The alcohol hitting him hard, David leaned in toward the table. “I bet I can get her before the day’s over with! I’ll get her in my room-” Like a brick wall, a fat arm blocked David. A pot-bellied security guard glared over him. “Move back, son!” David threw up his hands. “Alright!” J.T.’s crude laughter echoed through the room. The rest of the table cracked up in a sadistic chorus. Even the dealer. Keeping my cool, I pointed David behind me. “Just sit here, man. Drink the beer.” “Get your brokeass back, David!” J.T. jeered. “Man, whatever.” David moved his chair behind me. Flashed a glare at the guard. “There? You happy?” Behind a cold expression, the guard just stared at us. Completely unamused. I looked over at a corner where the front desk was. Where all the chips and cash were. The clerk just watched us, her dark eyes like lasers. David again the center of attention. A wave of cold air hit us. My FSU hoodie couldn’t keep me from shivering. And regardless of all the booze, I suspected David’s long-sleeved AC/DC shirt wasn’t helping him much either. I looked down at my cards. Ten three offsuit. Yet another fold on my fucking big blind. Then a rotten smell hit me. Well from beyond the grave. The scent more putrid than roadkill. “Is this one three hold em?” I heard a guttural drawl say. The entire table looked toward our latest player. Hopefully, our latest fish. The black man certainly looked the part. Dressed in rumpled jeans and a red jacket with rolled-up sleeves, he was in his fifties. His scruffy beard matched by greasy Jheri curls. Years of wildness captured in his arsenal of tattoos and odd jewelry. The skull-and-bones earrings and gold teeth certainly hinted at what was sure to be an eccentric gambler. The man’s stern gaze locked in on the security guard. “Is it one-three?” he asked in that muddled Cajun accent. With a flourish, he pulled out a bundle of Benjamins. Well over five-hundred dollars. Immediately, the guard went to work getting those chips. Him and the clerk eager to count the dough. The Cajun took a seat right beside J.T. Seat number seven. “Holy shit…” J.T. exclaimed. He flashed David and I a drunken smirk. But soon, that smile was wiped clean. The wild man didn’t know what the fuck he was doing and he may have been stinking up the place with a corpse’s hygiene, but he was damn sure winning. Even Trent and Lily’s stacks were going downhill. Left with only fifty bucks on the table, I just enjoyed the show as David kept the beer flowing. Him and I an audience for this black Cajun man’s rampage. Ashley sent me an obvious drunk text: I love you :) Grinning, I texted her back: The two of us drunk at noon on New Year’s Day. How cute. J.T.’s triumphant yell then caught my attention. “Whoo!” He slid out a huge tower into the pot. The arrogance such an obvious tell… “Come get some!” he shouted at the Cajun. The man deliberated on the river bet. Like a young gunslinger, J.T. leaned toward him. Trying to get eye-to-eye. “Come on, call me!” he yelled, desperate to antagonize the man. The dealer forced J.T. back. “Sir, please don’t lean over the table.” Holding his latest mixed drink, J.T. waved toward his opponent. “I don’t care! I’ll call clock on his ass!” “Aw-in!” the man stated. He pushed his huge stack out. Everyone watched, dumbfounded... but fucking entertained. Even if we didn’t quite understand the man’s dialect... The dealer leaned in toward him. “Uh, sir. Was that an all-in?” “Aw-in!” the Cajun declared. “I said aw-in!” Now put on the spot, J.T. trembled in the cold. His weakness well on display. “Goddammit!” he yelled. His good mood long gone, he threw the cards toward the dealer. The confident drunk now hurtling through depression. “Language, sir,” the dealer reminded him. “I don’t give a fuck!” J.T. replied. Now David was the one laughing his ass off… J.T. motioned toward the Cajun. “How the Hell you keep winning these hands!” With a smile of gold rather than teeth, the man faced J.T. “Dat’s juss how I play, boy.” I couldn’t help but crack up. Trent covered his own chuckle. “Yeah, and you stink like Hell too,” J.T. said. Cackling, the Cajun stacked up his winnings. Lily looked over at J.T. “Maybe that’s part of his strategy.” “Well, I’m about to bust that shit! Fuck his strategy!” J.T. shouted. “And you wanna know why!” He looked down at his latest cards. “Because I’m J.T. Torres! That’s why!” On the warpath, he took out his phone. “I’m about to get in my zone, Rhonnie!” I cringed. Simultaneously amused and embarrassed. Tom Petty’s “Last Dance With Mary Jane” blasted off J.T.’s phone. Over the IP’s soundtrack. Over Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising.” J.T. glared at the whole table. “I ain’t playing now! Who wants some of this!” “It’s one three, boy,” Trent quipped. Growing more and more aggravated, the dealer confronted J.T. “Sir, you can’t play music,” he said in an exasperated tone. The security guard approached us. “No phones on the table!” he barked at J.T. J.T. cut off the music. “Alright, that’s fine!” Without hesitation, he waved at his stack. “Fuck it, I’m all-in!” “Sir-” the dealer began. “I caw!” the Cajun cried. With everyone else out, he flipped over his cards. Pocket aces. The fucking bullets. A dramatic intensity dominated the table. Only the ominous beat of “Bad Moon Rising” could be heard. The man’s rotten stench like cigarette smoke in the arena’s atmosphere. This heavyweight match we all anticipated now looking to be a quick knockout. “Oh shit!” Trent joked to J.T. “You done fucked up!” The twisting knife sent J.T. further into his downward spiral. Anger built inside him. He threw up his pocket kings. “Goddammit!” he said. “How much does he have?” “He’s got you,” remarked the dealer in a not-so-subtle jab. The Cajun chuckled. “I got you covered, boy!” And he damn sure did. J.T.’s fifteen-hundred dollar stack was in a world of pain. “Fuck!” J.T. yelled. I then noticed the man jam both his hands inside those hoodie pockets. Burrowing them in deep. “What the fuck!” I heard J.T. say to me. “What the fuck else could I do, Rhonnie! I had fucking kings!” I watched the Cajun’s lips move... but his voice didn’t carry. He was mumbling… All while his eyes stayed glued to the center of the table. To where the cards would fall. An unsettling realization hit me. The guy was praying… Mumbling some sort of chant. “Luckyass bitch!” J.T. yelled. With indifferent efficiency, the dealer laid the board out quick. The Cajun wound up with four aces. J.T. gone from a bad beat to outright slaughtered. “Stick a fork in him!” Trent’s Southern accent joked. “Oh shit…” David chimed in. He nudged me but I was too disturbed to respond. Too drawn into whatever was going on in seat seven’s world. Full of rage, J.T. stood up, spilling some of his drink. “Man, fuck y’all!” The guard took an annoyed step toward us. “Sir!” he yelled. J.T. turned his irate eyes toward the Cajun. The man still had his hands in his pockets. His eyes still on the board. Still in prayer. “He comes in here stinking up the place!” J.T. continued. He stumbled toward his nemesis. “And what the Hell’s he doing now!” Trent glared at J.T. “Man, just leave him alone! Your ass can’t afford to play, you shouldn’t be here nohow!” In his trance, the Cajun stayed in his seat. Still chanting. His hands still hidden deep in those pockets. Moving quick, the guard took off for the slots. His walkie-talkie at the ready. Eager for back-up. David faced J.T. “Goddamn, man, chill!” “Fucking idiot,” I heard Lily grumble. The alcohol giving him fake toughness, J.T. pushed the man back. “How in the Hell did you win that!” Startled, the Cajun stumbled up. His eyes in a panic. A disturbing amulet stuck in his sweaty hand. The table gasped and screamed. Us drunks louder and more terrified than the rest. The horrifying smell somehow got more sickening. “What the fuck!” J.T. yelled at his rival. Trembling, the man looked at each of us. Too scared to talk. Still clinging to a baby wolf. A real, dead baby wolf. Like a furry fetus, its decomposing corpse resembled a crude outline of life. A tiny, crumbling cadaver. The pup’s hollow skin in a post-mortem preservation. Its blue eyes forever open. And the Cajun had been holding this wolf for a very long time. A good luck charm in which the superstition outweighed the pup’s gruesome touch and nauseating stench. A necklace of a noose was wrapped around its small neck. Rather than a medallion, the wolf wore a shiny dime. One with a hole drilled in the middle of it... “It’s my Gris-Gris!” the man yelled in a guttural growl. Possessive, he pulled the wolf in closer. A literal baby in his arms. “You ain’t taking my Gris-Gris!” Through the tension, no one said a word. No one except J.T.. “Hey, gimme that shit!” J.T. yelled. Pissed, he snatched the corpse out of the Cajun’s desperate grip. “No!” the man cried. Tears formed in his eyes. “Gimme my Gris-Gris! My Loup Garou!” “So that’s how your ass has been winning!” J.T. continued. He held the baby wolf out toward the man. “That’s how you been getting all them Goddamn cards!” With savage glee, he flicked the dime. “This is your nastyass good luck charm!” The Cajun held his pitiful hands out toward J.T. Literally begging him… much to J.T.’s twisted delight. “I need him back!” he cried. “Gimme my Gris-Gris!” “Give him the damn thing!” Trent shouted at J.T. “Naw, Hell no!” J.T. replied. He squeezed on to the pup, making the wolf’s eyes even bigger. Further taunting the Cajun. “I need me some luck after this bitch took my chips!” Weeping, the man motioned toward the corpse. “It’s no good, boy! Dat wolf’s only good luck for me! He’s bad luck for you!” J.T. cackled. “Bullshit, bitch!” “Whoever touch it get bad luck!” Dismissive, J.T. looked toward the clerk. “Hey, get me three-hundred in chips! I’m reloading!” A flash of silver caught everyone’s eye. The machete whirled right through J.T.’s neck. A red river spread across his slit throat. For once, J.T. went silent. He dropped the wolf and grasped at the fatal wound. A fountain of blood poured out his mouth. The dead pup hit the felt. Its soft thud caused chips to collapse. Bits of its old flesh fragmented upon impact. The decomposing smell somehow hit new highs... “My Gris-Gris!” the Cajun screamed J.T. landed in his chair. His body convulsing in a painful rhythm. His death slow and steady. Blood now spewed all across table eight. David and I exchanged frightened looks. Disgusted, Trent moved his seat further away. Trying to avoid J.T.’s gore. “Seat open on eight!” the dealer hollered out of instinct. “Give us the fucking money!” a Southern drawl demanded. The dealer went quiet quick. So did the rest of us. The rush of fear spread throughout the game. All of us stared at the three men standing over us. Each of them wore black suits. Their faces disguised by straw hats and green bandanas. The leader waved a long machete around. J.T.’s blood adding decorative crimson to the sharp blade. The other two robbers carried pistols. Without hesitation, they scooped up all the hundred dollar bills. The literal blood money. The Cajun man reached for the wolf. “Lemme get my Loup Garou!” With a harsh shove, the leader pushed him back in his seat. “Sorry, buddy!” In tears, the Cajun looked toward the floor. His voice got lower but his words remained constant. Back to chanting. A hush lingered on table eight. All thanks to J.T. going completely still. Using his machete, the leader motioned his partners toward the clerk. “Go get the fucking money!” They did as they were told. In a panic, the clerk opened the registers. “Please! Don’t shoot me!” she cried The leader snatched the baby wolf. I sensed a wicked smile behind that bandana. “This must be your good luck charm.” He faced the Cajun. Holding up the corpse as if it were a pathetic trophy. “Is this shit how you won all the time?” “Drop your weapons!” we heard someone shout. Footsteps stormed behind us. We turned just in time to see the security guard leading several armed officers inside the poker room. Without hesitation, a cop fired. And not a warning shot either. The bullet blew the leader’s brains out. Blood and gray matter sprayed over us. Courtesy of The IP. “Goddammit!” the dealer shouted. Screams formed our soundtrack. Several players jumped up. “Stay where you are!” the guard commanded. The leader collapsed on to the table. More grue covered the felt. The leader’s dead hands dropped both the machete and amulet. The cops came rushing forward. “Don’t move!” an officer screamed. “Sit the fuck down!” The other players got back in their seats. Together, we formed a gruesome congregation. Each of us covered in blood. J.T.’s corpse seated as if he were ready to play. Table eight a poker game from Hell. Eager to keep up with the real cops, the security guard descended upon us. He cringed at the smell. “Jesus Christ!” Then the wolf caught his eye. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you!” Trent warned him. “What the Hell’s this...” the guard said. He snatched the dead pup. Dusty flesh and dry blood stuck to his fingertips. Instantly, several shots rang in the new year and the guard’s brutal death. Bullets obliterated his face into oblivion. In the chilly room, the gunfire left us all coated in another layer of crimson. The security guard fell to the floor, motionless. Gaping holes leaked blood from his head. The baby wolf still clasped in his tight grip. David downed his beer. The now-red Corona didn’t bother him at this point... Behind us, I saw the cops apprehend the other two robbers. The lingering fear made me shiver. The gang could’ve shot any one of us… but deep down, I knew why they only killed the guard. And why they immediately surrendered afterward. I looked on at the dead wolf. Its baby blues remained fixated on me. Tempting me to touch. Its mummified body the prettiest corpse in this poker room’s collection. “Shit, I ain’t touching it!” I heard David say. Weary, Trent stood up and pushed his seat back. “Fuck it!” Blood dripping off his beard and jacket, he looked toward the nervous clerk. Pointed down at his ridiculous chip stack. Even at the pieces of flesh stuck to them. “I’m cashing out!” 14
2020 was already getting off to a bad start. Here it was New Year’s Day in Biloxi, Mississippi and I was already down four-hundred for the year. And it was only noon... Of course, the black-eyed peas didn’t help. No good luck charm could cure my current drought at the Imperial Palace’s poker room. This was the last day my buddies and I would be out here. Our final day touring Biloxi’s many casinos. Just like years past, The Vegas Of The South hadn’t been kind to me. But I still had fun. Your wacky horror author Rhonnie enjoyed poker after all. Even when I was constantly being battered by bad beats. There were four of us out here. Me and my Stanwyck, Georgia poker pals. I was the youngest of the bunch. Scrawnier than ever, my combed-over brown hair was still a mess from this wild binge of booze and cards. My green eyes wild with drunken life. The gambling fix just what I needed after a hectic 2019. Obviously, I missed Ashley… But I suspected she was doing just fine partying with Carty and Erika in Columbus, Georgia. The power trio indulging in their own New Year’s blitz of margaritas and dancing. My friends J.T., David, and Trent were all with me. From playing nickel/dime house games to $1/3 at the IP, we brought the rowdiness of South Georgia with us to this fine establishment... much to the chagrin of all the dealers and poker players. A few years older than me, David was a stocky, red-headed Southern boy. The combination of his loud voice and drunk shit talking ensured we’d never keep a low-profile. David always unrestrained unless he was behind bars or in a strait-jacket. J.T. was similar but more stable. At forty, he’d skirted by authority and drama with the type of good luck he inexplicably had at the casinos. Tall and lanky, J.T. was Hispanic in ethnicity but a crazed country boy at heart. And with him and David together, their fighting and flirting hit a manic overdrive. Trent only dealt with them due to experience... J.T. was his ex-brother-in-law after all. Trent was the most reserved out of us. Even drunk, he didn’t cut up much. His bushy beard and piercing eyes certainly gave him clout on the felt. Not to mention he was the only one with a real job. With real money to spare. When David, J.T., and I inevitably went broke, the three of us followed Trent around like roadies desperate for a rock star’s sloppy seconds. New Year’s Day was just a chaotic continuation of our three-day bender. At noon, everyone but Trent was already hammered. The constant “free” beer and vodka our only way of staving off the New Year’s Eve hangovers hunting us down… This early, the IP’s card room was empty save for one $1/3 table. The usual players probably still out recovering from the previous night’s festivities. Party favors and empty bottles littered the other tables. The room’s 60s soft rock soundtrack well overshadowed by the constant chimes of neighboring slots. The four of us had table eight together. Under bright lighting, we enjoyed the game with four other Hold Em stragglers. I only recognized Lily a hot regular I’d seen over in Gretna, Florida’s poker room. Someone from our neck of the woods. Wearing Louis Vuitton sunglasses and flaunting her stylish short brown hair, she was the only female player here... And already, both David and J.T. had tried her. And already she’d insulted them right back. Not to mention took the last of David’s pathetic chip stack. Table eight’s other players included the usual low stakes caricatures. The shitregs. A depressed dad with an equally depressing dad bod. The smartass college kid masquerading as a poker pro. And an older farmer still wearing overalls, the type of surreal sight you somehow take for granted in Biloxi. Our dealer was a bitchy man in his mid-40s. The type of rude personality reserved for the casino’s deader shifts. None of the players were any good. Then again, I couldn’t talk much. My thirty-big-blind buy-in strategy had been continually getting crushed by suckouts. Usually by Trent. Needless to say, he and Lily were the big winners so far… Their colorful chip stacks even contained stray hundred dollar bills. But somehow, J.T.’s drunkass had even more. Obnoxious as ever, the son-of-a-bitch had been running off Fireball cinnamon whiskies since the ball dropped. And here he was with over three grand on the table. A stack of Benjamins clustered amongst his towers. Now the farmer had just thrown in another hundred dollar bill. J.T. snap called. Farmer showed three of a kind. J.T. hesitated for a moment... either he was too drunk to read the board or slow-rolling his opponent. My guess was both. Finally, J.T. slung down the winning hand: ten four of diamonds. A flush on the river. I rolled my eyes in disbelief. Laughing, J.T. collected his latest pot. Another two hundred for his growing stack. “Nice hand, sir!” he taunted the frowning farmer. “You see that shit, Trent! I played that shit like you!” Broke and on his tenth Corona, David now sat behind me. A rail I never asked for… but an entertaining one at least. He leaned in toward me. “Hey, here she comes!” A red-headed waitress complete with an hourglass figure and flawless face walked toward us. Right into David’s carnal sights. Then again, I couldn’t blame him. He waved his beer at her. “Hey, I need another one!” Annoyed, she stopped and jotted down his order. David grabbed my shoulder. “What are you having!” “Miller Lite,” I said to her, my calm voice the opposite of David’s rowdy roar. “Alright, I’ll be right back,” the waitress said. With drunken confidence, David reached toward her. “Hey, sweetie, what’s your name?” He just missed her… The waitress was in a hurry. “None of your business!” she yelled back. With that, she high-tailed it straight for the table games. Then again, neither of us were complaining to watch her leave… Only the beer was definitely gonna take awhile. Especially once she stopped to take an order from a young bodybuilder. A hunk by the slots. Excited, the redhead leaned in closer. A rare smile on her face. Her thirst obvious… David turned to me. “Hey, why’s she talking to him like that!” “Damn, boy, she got you good!” Trent teased. David shrugged him off. “Man, fuck you, Trent!” “Language!” our dealer warned us in a pissed-off growl. Trent collected another pot. “I don’t think she like you anyhow,” he told David. “She just playing hard to get!” David yelled. The alcohol hitting him hard, David leaned in toward the table. “I bet I can get her before the day’s over with! I’ll get her in my room-” Like a brick wall, a fat arm blocked David. A pot-bellied security guard glared over him. “Move back, son!” David threw up his hands. “Alright!” J.T.’s crude laughter echoed through the room. The rest of the table cracked up in a sadistic chorus. Even the dealer. Keeping my cool, I pointed David behind me. “Just sit here, man. Drink the beer.” “Get your brokeass back, David!” J.T. jeered. “Man, whatever.” David moved his chair behind me. Flashed a glare at the guard. “There? You happy?” Behind a cold expression, the guard just stared at us. Completely unamused. I looked over at a corner where the front desk was. Where all the chips and cash were. The clerk just watched us, her dark eyes like lasers. David again the center of attention. A wave of cold air hit us. My FSU hoodie couldn’t keep me from shivering. And regardless of all the booze, I suspected David’s long-sleeved AC/DC shirt wasn’t helping him much either. I looked down at my cards. Ten three offsuit. Yet another fold on my fucking big blind. Then a rotten smell hit me. Well from beyond the grave. The scent more putrid than roadkill. “Is this one three hold em?” I heard a guttural drawl say. The entire table looked toward our latest player. Hopefully, our latest fish. The black man certainly looked the part. Dressed in rumpled jeans and a red jacket with rolled-up sleeves, he was in his fifties. His scruffy beard matched by greasy Jheri curls. Years of wildness captured in his arsenal of tattoos and odd jewelry. The skull-and-bones earrings and gold teeth certainly hinted at what was sure to be an eccentric gambler. The man’s stern gaze locked in on the security guard. “Is it one-three?” he asked in that muddled Cajun accent. With a flourish, he pulled out a bundle of Benjamins. Well over five-hundred dollars. Immediately, the guard went to work getting those chips. Him and the clerk eager to count the dough. The Cajun took a seat right beside J.T. Seat number seven. “Holy shit…” J.T. exclaimed. He flashed David and I a drunken smirk. But soon, that smile was wiped clean. The wild man didn’t know what the fuck he was doing and he may have been stinking up the place with a corpse’s hygiene, but he was damn sure winning. Even Trent and Lily’s stacks were going downhill. Left with only fifty bucks on the table, I just enjoyed the show as David kept the beer flowing. Him and I an audience for this black Cajun man’s rampage. Ashley sent me an obvious drunk text: I love you :) Grinning, I texted her back: The two of us drunk at noon on New Year’s Day. How cute. J.T.’s triumphant yell then caught my attention. “Whoo!” He slid out a huge tower into the pot. The arrogance such an obvious tell… “Come get some!” he shouted at the Cajun. The man deliberated on the river bet. Like a young gunslinger, J.T. leaned toward him. Trying to get eye-to-eye. “Come on, call me!” he yelled, desperate to antagonize the man. The dealer forced J.T. back. “Sir, please don’t lean over the table.” Holding his latest mixed drink, J.T. waved toward his opponent. “I don’t care! I’ll call clock on his ass!” “Aw-in!” the man stated. He pushed his huge stack out. Everyone watched, dumbfounded... but fucking entertained. Even if we didn’t quite understand the man’s dialect... The dealer leaned in toward him. “Uh, sir. Was that an all-in?” “Aw-in!” the Cajun declared. “I said aw-in!” Now put on the spot, J.T. trembled in the cold. His weakness well on display. “Goddammit!” he yelled. His good mood long gone, he threw the cards toward the dealer. The confident drunk now hurtling through depression. “Language, sir,” the dealer reminded him. “I don’t give a fuck!” J.T. replied. Now David was the one laughing his ass off… J.T. motioned toward the Cajun. “How the Hell you keep winning these hands!” With a smile of gold rather than teeth, the man faced J.T. “Dat’s juss how I play, boy.” I couldn’t help but crack up. Trent covered his own chuckle. “Yeah, and you stink like Hell too,” J.T. said. Cackling, the Cajun stacked up his winnings. Lily looked over at J.T. “Maybe that’s part of his strategy.” “Well, I’m about to bust that shit! Fuck his strategy!” J.T. shouted. “And you wanna know why!” He looked down at his latest cards. “Because I’m J.T. Torres! That’s why!” On the warpath, he took out his phone. “I’m about to get in my zone, Rhonnie!” I cringed. Simultaneously amused and embarrassed. Tom Petty’s “Last Dance With Mary Jane” blasted off J.T.’s phone. Over the IP’s soundtrack. Over Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising.” J.T. glared at the whole table. “I ain’t playing now! Who wants some of this!” “It’s one three, boy,” Trent quipped. Growing more and more aggravated, the dealer confronted J.T. “Sir, you can’t play music,” he said in an exasperated tone. The security guard approached us. “No phones on the table!” he barked at J.T. J.T. cut off the music. “Alright, that’s fine!” Without hesitation, he waved at his stack. “Fuck it, I’m all-in!” “Sir-” the dealer began. “I caw!” the Cajun cried. With everyone else out, he flipped over his cards. Pocket aces. The fucking bullets. A dramatic intensity dominated the table. Only the ominous beat of “Bad Moon Rising” could be heard. The man’s rotten stench like cigarette smoke in the arena’s atmosphere. This heavyweight match we all anticipated now looking to be a quick knockout. “Oh shit!” Trent joked to J.T. “You done fucked up!” The twisting knife sent J.T. further into his downward spiral. Anger built inside him. He threw up his pocket kings. “Goddammit!” he said. “How much does he have?” “He’s got you,” remarked the dealer in a not-so-subtle jab. The Cajun chuckled. “I got you covered, boy!” And he damn sure did. J.T.’s fifteen-hundred dollar stack was in a world of pain. “Fuck!” J.T. yelled. I then noticed the man jam both his hands inside those hoodie pockets. Burrowing them in deep. “What the fuck!” I heard J.T. say to me. “What the fuck else could I do, Rhonnie! I had fucking kings!” I watched the Cajun’s lips move... but his voice didn’t carry. He was mumbling… All while his eyes stayed glued to the center of the table. To where the cards would fall. An unsettling realization hit me. The guy was praying… Mumbling some sort of chant. “Luckyass bitch!” J.T. yelled. With indifferent efficiency, the dealer laid the board out quick. The Cajun wound up with four aces. J.T. gone from a bad beat to outright slaughtered. “Stick a fork in him!” Trent’s Southern accent joked. “Oh shit…” David chimed in. He nudged me but I was too disturbed to respond. Too drawn into whatever was going on in seat seven’s world. Full of rage, J.T. stood up, spilling some of his drink. “Man, fuck y’all!” The guard took an annoyed step toward us. “Sir!” he yelled. J.T. turned his irate eyes toward the Cajun. The man still had his hands in his pockets. His eyes still on the board. Still in prayer. “He comes in here stinking up the place!” J.T. continued. He stumbled toward his nemesis. “And what the Hell’s he doing now!” Trent glared at J.T. “Man, just leave him alone! Your ass can’t afford to play, you shouldn’t be here nohow!” In his trance, the Cajun stayed in his seat. Still chanting. His hands still hidden deep in those pockets. Moving quick, the guard took off for the slots. His walkie-talkie at the ready. Eager for back-up. David faced J.T. “Goddamn, man, chill!” “Fucking idiot,” I heard Lily grumble. The alcohol giving him fake toughness, J.T. pushed the man back. “How in the Hell did you win that!” Startled, the Cajun stumbled up. His eyes in a panic. A disturbing amulet stuck in his sweaty hand. The table gasped and screamed. Us drunks louder and more terrified than the rest. The horrifying smell somehow got more sickening. “What the fuck!” J.T. yelled at his rival. Trembling, the man looked at each of us. Too scared to talk. Still clinging to a baby wolf. A real, dead baby wolf. Like a furry fetus, its decomposing corpse resembled a crude outline of life. A tiny, crumbling cadaver. The pup’s hollow skin in a post-mortem preservation. Its blue eyes forever open. And the Cajun had been holding this wolf for a very long time. A good luck charm in which the superstition outweighed the pup’s gruesome touch and nauseating stench. A necklace of a noose was wrapped around its small neck. Rather than a medallion, the wolf wore a shiny dime. One with a hole drilled in the middle of it... “It’s my Gris-Gris!” the man yelled in a guttural growl. Possessive, he pulled the wolf in closer. A literal baby in his arms. “You ain’t taking my Gris-Gris!” Through the tension, no one said a word. No one except J.T.. “Hey, gimme that shit!” J.T. yelled. Pissed, he snatched the corpse out of the Cajun’s desperate grip. “No!” the man cried. Tears formed in his eyes. “Gimme my Gris-Gris! My Loup Garou!” “So that’s how your ass has been winning!” J.T. continued. He held the baby wolf out toward the man. “That’s how you been getting all them Goddamn cards!” With savage glee, he flicked the dime. “This is your nastyass good luck charm!” The Cajun held his pitiful hands out toward J.T. Literally begging him… much to J.T.’s twisted delight. “I need him back!” he cried. “Gimme my Gris-Gris!” “Give him the damn thing!” Trent shouted at J.T. “Naw, Hell no!” J.T. replied. He squeezed on to the pup, making the wolf’s eyes even bigger. Further taunting the Cajun. “I need me some luck after this bitch took my chips!” Weeping, the man motioned toward the corpse. “It’s no good, boy! Dat wolf’s only good luck for me! He’s bad luck for you!” J.T. cackled. “Bullshit, bitch!” “Whoever touch it get bad luck!” Dismissive, J.T. looked toward the clerk. “Hey, get me three-hundred in chips! I’m reloading!” A flash of silver caught everyone’s eye. The machete whirled right through J.T.’s neck. A red river spread across his slit throat. For once, J.T. went silent. He dropped the wolf and grasped at the fatal wound. A fountain of blood poured out his mouth. The dead pup hit the felt. Its soft thud caused chips to collapse. Bits of its old flesh fragmented upon impact. The decomposing smell somehow hit new highs... “My Gris-Gris!” the Cajun screamed J.T. landed in his chair. His body convulsing in a painful rhythm. His death slow and steady. Blood now spewed all across table eight. David and I exchanged frightened looks. Disgusted, Trent moved his seat further away. Trying to avoid J.T.’s gore. “Seat open on eight!” the dealer hollered out of instinct. “Give us the fucking money!” a Southern drawl demanded. The dealer went quiet quick. So did the rest of us. The rush of fear spread throughout the game. All of us stared at the three men standing over us. Each of them wore black suits. Their faces disguised by straw hats and green bandanas. The leader waved a long machete around. J.T.’s blood adding decorative crimson to the sharp blade. The other two robbers carried pistols. Without hesitation, they scooped up all the hundred dollar bills. The literal blood money. The Cajun man reached for the wolf. “Lemme get my Loup Garou!” With a harsh shove, the leader pushed him back in his seat. “Sorry, buddy!” In tears, the Cajun looked toward the floor. His voice got lower but his words remained constant. Back to chanting. A hush lingered on table eight. All thanks to J.T. going completely still. Using his machete, the leader motioned his partners toward the clerk. “Go get the fucking money!” They did as they were told. In a panic, the clerk opened the registers. “Please! Don’t shoot me!” she cried The leader snatched the baby wolf. I sensed a wicked smile behind that bandana. “This must be your good luck charm.” He faced the Cajun. Holding up the corpse as if it were a pathetic trophy. “Is this shit how you won all the time?” “Drop your weapons!” we heard someone shout. Footsteps stormed behind us. We turned just in time to see the security guard leading several armed officers inside the poker room. Without hesitation, a cop fired. And not a warning shot either. The bullet blew the leader’s brains out. Blood and gray matter sprayed over us. Courtesy of The IP. “Goddammit!” the dealer shouted. Screams formed our soundtrack. Several players jumped up. “Stay where you are!” the guard commanded. The leader collapsed on to the table. More grue covered the felt. The leader’s dead hands dropped both the machete and amulet. The cops came rushing forward. “Don’t move!” an officer screamed. “Sit the fuck down!” The other players got back in their seats. Together, we formed a gruesome congregation. Each of us covered in blood. J.T.’s corpse seated as if he were ready to play. Table eight a poker game from Hell. Eager to keep up with the real cops, the security guard descended upon us. He cringed at the smell. “Jesus Christ!” Then the wolf caught his eye. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you!” Trent warned him. “What the Hell’s this...” the guard said. He snatched the dead pup. Dusty flesh and dry blood stuck to his fingertips. Instantly, several shots rang in the new year and the guard’s brutal death. Bullets obliterated his face into oblivion. In the chilly room, the gunfire left us all coated in another layer of crimson. The security guard fell to the floor, motionless. Gaping holes leaked blood from his head. The baby wolf still clasped in his tight grip. David downed his beer. The now-red Corona didn’t bother him at this point... Behind us, I saw the cops apprehend the other two robbers. The lingering fear made me shiver. The gang could’ve shot any one of us… but deep down, I knew why they only killed the guard. And why they immediately surrendered afterward. I looked on at the dead wolf. Its baby blues remained fixated on me. Tempting me to touch. Its mummified body the prettiest corpse in this poker room’s collection. “Shit, I ain’t touching it!” I heard David say. Weary, Trent stood up and pushed his seat back. “Fuck it!” Blood dripping off his beard and jacket, he looked toward the nervous clerk. Pointed down at his ridiculous chip stack. Even at the pieces of flesh stuck to them. “I’m cashing out!” 14
2020 was already getting off to a bad start. Here it was New Year’s Day in Biloxi, Mississippi and I was already down four-hundred for the year. And it was only noon... Of course, the black-eyed peas didn’t help. No good luck charm could cure my current drought at the Imperial Palace’s poker room. This was the last day my buddies and I would be out here. Our final day touring Biloxi’s many casinos. Just like years past, The Vegas Of The South hadn’t been kind to me. But I still had fun. Your wacky horror author Rhonnie enjoyed poker after all. Even when I was constantly being battered by bad beats. There were four of us out here. Me and my Stanwyck, Georgia poker pals. I was the youngest of the bunch. Scrawnier than ever, my combed-over brown hair was still a mess from this wild binge of booze and cards. My green eyes wild with drunken life. The gambling fix just what I needed after a hectic 2019. Obviously, I missed Ashley… But I suspected she was doing just fine partying with Carty and Erika in Columbus, Georgia. The power trio indulging in their own New Year’s blitz of margaritas and dancing. My friends J.T., David, and Trent were all with me. From playing nickel/dime house games to $1/3 at the IP, we brought the rowdiness of South Georgia with us to this fine establishment... much to the chagrin of all the dealers and poker players. A few years older than me, David was a stocky, red-headed Southern boy. The combination of his loud voice and drunk shit talking ensured we’d never keep a low-profile. David always unrestrained unless he was behind bars or in a strait-jacket. J.T. was similar but more stable. At forty, he’d skirted by authority and drama with the type of good luck he inexplicably had at the casinos. Tall and lanky, J.T. was Hispanic in ethnicity but a crazed country boy at heart. And with him and David together, their fighting and flirting hit a manic overdrive. Trent only dealt with them due to experience... J.T. was his ex-brother-in-law after all. Trent was the most reserved out of us. Even drunk, he didn’t cut up much. His bushy beard and piercing eyes certainly gave him clout on the felt. Not to mention he was the only one with a real job. With real money to spare. When David, J.T., and I inevitably went broke, the three of us followed Trent around like roadies desperate for a rock star’s sloppy seconds. New Year’s Day was just a chaotic continuation of our three-day bender. At noon, everyone but Trent was already hammered. The constant “free” beer and vodka our only way of staving off the New Year’s Eve hangovers hunting us down… This early, the IP’s card room was empty save for one $1/3 table. The usual players probably still out recovering from the previous night’s festivities. Party favors and empty bottles littered the other tables. The room’s 60s soft rock soundtrack well overshadowed by the constant chimes of neighboring slots. The four of us had table eight together. Under bright lighting, we enjoyed the game with four other Hold Em stragglers. I only recognized Lily a hot regular I’d seen over in Gretna, Florida’s poker room. Someone from our neck of the woods. Wearing Louis Vuitton sunglasses and flaunting her stylish short brown hair, she was the only female player here... And already, both David and J.T. had tried her. And already she’d insulted them right back. Not to mention took the last of David’s pathetic chip stack. Table eight’s other players included the usual low stakes caricatures. The shitregs. A depressed dad with an equally depressing dad bod. The smartass college kid masquerading as a poker pro. And an older farmer still wearing overalls, the type of surreal sight you somehow take for granted in Biloxi. Our dealer was a bitchy man in his mid-40s. The type of rude personality reserved for the casino’s deader shifts. None of the players were any good. Then again, I couldn’t talk much. My thirty-big-blind buy-in strategy had been continually getting crushed by suckouts. Usually by Trent. Needless to say, he and Lily were the big winners so far… Their colorful chip stacks even contained stray hundred dollar bills. But somehow, J.T.’s drunkass had even more. Obnoxious as ever, the son-of-a-bitch had been running off Fireball cinnamon whiskies since the ball dropped. And here he was with over three grand on the table. A stack of Benjamins clustered amongst his towers. Now the farmer had just thrown in another hundred dollar bill. J.T. snap called. Farmer showed three of a kind. J.T. hesitated for a moment... either he was too drunk to read the board or slow-rolling his opponent. My guess was both. Finally, J.T. slung down the winning hand: ten four of diamonds. A flush on the river. I rolled my eyes in disbelief. Laughing, J.T. collected his latest pot. Another two hundred for his growing stack. “Nice hand, sir!” he taunted the frowning farmer. “You see that shit, Trent! I played that shit like you!” Broke and on his tenth Corona, David now sat behind me. A rail I never asked for… but an entertaining one at least. He leaned in toward me. “Hey, here she comes!” A red-headed waitress complete with an hourglass figure and flawless face walked toward us. Right into David’s carnal sights. Then again, I couldn’t blame him. He waved his beer at her. “Hey, I need another one!” Annoyed, she stopped and jotted down his order. David grabbed my shoulder. “What are you having!” “Miller Lite,” I said to her, my calm voice the opposite of David’s rowdy roar. “Alright, I’ll be right back,” the waitress said. With drunken confidence, David reached toward her. “Hey, sweetie, what’s your name?” He just missed her… The waitress was in a hurry. “None of your business!” she yelled back. With that, she high-tailed it straight for the table games. Then again, neither of us were complaining to watch her leave… Only the beer was definitely gonna take awhile. Especially once she stopped to take an order from a young bodybuilder. A hunk by the slots. Excited, the redhead leaned in closer. A rare smile on her face. Her thirst obvious… David turned to me. “Hey, why’s she talking to him like that!” “Damn, boy, she got you good!” Trent teased. David shrugged him off. “Man, fuck you, Trent!” “Language!” our dealer warned us in a pissed-off growl. Trent collected another pot. “I don’t think she like you anyhow,” he told David. “She just playing hard to get!” David yelled. The alcohol hitting him hard, David leaned in toward the table. “I bet I can get her before the day’s over with! I’ll get her in my room-” Like a brick wall, a fat arm blocked David. A pot-bellied security guard glared over him. “Move back, son!” David threw up his hands. “Alright!” J.T.’s crude laughter echoed through the room. The rest of the table cracked up in a sadistic chorus. Even the dealer. Keeping my cool, I pointed David behind me. “Just sit here, man. Drink the beer.” “Get your brokeass back, David!” J.T. jeered. “Man, whatever.” David moved his chair behind me. Flashed a glare at the guard. “There? You happy?” Behind a cold expression, the guard just stared at us. Completely unamused. I looked over at a corner where the front desk was. Where all the chips and cash were. The clerk just watched us, her dark eyes like lasers. David again the center of attention. A wave of cold air hit us. My FSU hoodie couldn’t keep me from shivering. And regardless of all the booze, I suspected David’s long-sleeved AC/DC shirt wasn’t helping him much either. I looked down at my cards. Ten three offsuit. Yet another fold on my fucking big blind. Then a rotten smell hit me. Well from beyond the grave. The scent more putrid than roadkill. “Is this one three hold em?” I heard a guttural drawl say. The entire table looked toward our latest player. Hopefully, our latest fish. The black man certainly looked the part. Dressed in rumpled jeans and a red jacket with rolled-up sleeves, he was in his fifties. His scruffy beard matched by greasy Jheri curls. Years of wildness captured in his arsenal of tattoos and odd jewelry. The skull-and-bones earrings and gold teeth certainly hinted at what was sure to be an eccentric gambler. The man’s stern gaze locked in on the security guard. “Is it one-three?” he asked in that muddled Cajun accent. With a flourish, he pulled out a bundle of Benjamins. Well over five-hundred dollars. Immediately, the guard went to work getting those chips. Him and the clerk eager to count the dough. The Cajun took a seat right beside J.T. Seat number seven. “Holy shit…” J.T. exclaimed. He flashed David and I a drunken smirk. But soon, that smile was wiped clean. The wild man didn’t know what the fuck he was doing and he may have been stinking up the place with a corpse’s hygiene, but he was damn sure winning. Even Trent and Lily’s stacks were going downhill. Left with only fifty bucks on the table, I just enjoyed the show as David kept the beer flowing. Him and I an audience for this black Cajun man’s rampage. Ashley sent me an obvious drunk text: I love you :) Grinning, I texted her back: The two of us drunk at noon on New Year’s Day. How cute. J.T.’s triumphant yell then caught my attention. “Whoo!” He slid out a huge tower into the pot. The arrogance such an obvious tell… “Come get some!” he shouted at the Cajun. The man deliberated on the river bet. Like a young gunslinger, J.T. leaned toward him. Trying to get eye-to-eye. “Come on, call me!” he yelled, desperate to antagonize the man. The dealer forced J.T. back. “Sir, please don’t lean over the table.” Holding his latest mixed drink, J.T. waved toward his opponent. “I don’t care! I’ll call clock on his ass!” “Aw-in!” the man stated. He pushed his huge stack out. Everyone watched, dumbfounded... but fucking entertained. Even if we didn’t quite understand the man’s dialect... The dealer leaned in toward him. “Uh, sir. Was that an all-in?” “Aw-in!” the Cajun declared. “I said aw-in!” Now put on the spot, J.T. trembled in the cold. His weakness well on display. “Goddammit!” he yelled. His good mood long gone, he threw the cards toward the dealer. The confident drunk now hurtling through depression. “Language, sir,” the dealer reminded him. “I don’t give a fuck!” J.T. replied. Now David was the one laughing his ass off… J.T. motioned toward the Cajun. “How the Hell you keep winning these hands!” With a smile of gold rather than teeth, the man faced J.T. “Dat’s juss how I play, boy.” I couldn’t help but crack up. Trent covered his own chuckle. “Yeah, and you stink like Hell too,” J.T. said. Cackling, the Cajun stacked up his winnings. Lily looked over at J.T. “Maybe that’s part of his strategy.” “Well, I’m about to bust that shit! Fuck his strategy!” J.T. shouted. “And you wanna know why!” He looked down at his latest cards. “Because I’m J.T. Torres! That’s why!” On the warpath, he took out his phone. “I’m about to get in my zone, Rhonnie!” I cringed. Simultaneously amused and embarrassed. Tom Petty’s “Last Dance With Mary Jane” blasted off J.T.’s phone. Over the IP’s soundtrack. Over Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising.” J.T. glared at the whole table. “I ain’t playing now! Who wants some of this!” “It’s one three, boy,” Trent quipped. Growing more and more aggravated, the dealer confronted J.T. “Sir, you can’t play music,” he said in an exasperated tone. The security guard approached us. “No phones on the table!” he barked at J.T. J.T. cut off the music. “Alright, that’s fine!” Without hesitation, he waved at his stack. “Fuck it, I’m all-in!” “Sir-” the dealer began. “I caw!” the Cajun cried. With everyone else out, he flipped over his cards. Pocket aces. The fucking bullets. A dramatic intensity dominated the table. Only the ominous beat of “Bad Moon Rising” could be heard. The man’s rotten stench like cigarette smoke in the arena’s atmosphere. This heavyweight match we all anticipated now looking to be a quick knockout. “Oh shit!” Trent joked to J.T. “You done fucked up!” The twisting knife sent J.T. further into his downward spiral. Anger built inside him. He threw up his pocket kings. “Goddammit!” he said. “How much does he have?” “He’s got you,” remarked the dealer in a not-so-subtle jab. The Cajun chuckled. “I got you covered, boy!” And he damn sure did. J.T.’s fifteen-hundred dollar stack was in a world of pain. “Fuck!” J.T. yelled. I then noticed the man jam both his hands inside those hoodie pockets. Burrowing them in deep. “What the fuck!” I heard J.T. say to me. “What the fuck else could I do, Rhonnie! I had fucking kings!” I watched the Cajun’s lips move... but his voice didn’t carry. He was mumbling… All while his eyes stayed glued to the center of the table. To where the cards would fall. An unsettling realization hit me. The guy was praying… Mumbling some sort of chant. “Luckyass bitch!” J.T. yelled. With indifferent efficiency, the dealer laid the board out quick. The Cajun wound up with four aces. J.T. gone from a bad beat to outright slaughtered. “Stick a fork in him!” Trent’s Southern accent joked. “Oh shit…” David chimed in. He nudged me but I was too disturbed to respond. Too drawn into whatever was going on in seat seven’s world. Full of rage, J.T. stood up, spilling some of his drink. “Man, fuck y’all!” The guard took an annoyed step toward us. “Sir!” he yelled. J.T. turned his irate eyes toward the Cajun. The man still had his hands in his pockets. His eyes still on the board. Still in prayer. “He comes in here stinking up the place!” J.T. continued. He stumbled toward his nemesis. “And what the Hell’s he doing now!” Trent glared at J.T. “Man, just leave him alone! Your ass can’t afford to play, you shouldn’t be here nohow!” In his trance, the Cajun stayed in his seat. Still chanting. His hands still hidden deep in those pockets. Moving quick, the guard took off for the slots. His walkie-talkie at the ready. Eager for back-up. David faced J.T. “Goddamn, man, chill!” “Fucking idiot,” I heard Lily grumble. The alcohol giving him fake toughness, J.T. pushed the man back. “How in the Hell did you win that!” Startled, the Cajun stumbled up. His eyes in a panic. A disturbing amulet stuck in his sweaty hand. The table gasped and screamed. Us drunks louder and more terrified than the rest. The horrifying smell somehow got more sickening. “What the fuck!” J.T. yelled at his rival. Trembling, the man looked at each of us. Too scared to talk. Still clinging to a baby wolf. A real, dead baby wolf. Like a furry fetus, its decomposing corpse resembled a crude outline of life. A tiny, crumbling cadaver. The pup’s hollow skin in a post-mortem preservation. Its blue eyes forever open. And the Cajun had been holding this wolf for a very long time. A good luck charm in which the superstition outweighed the pup’s gruesome touch and nauseating stench. A necklace of a noose was wrapped around its small neck. Rather than a medallion, the wolf wore a shiny dime. One with a hole drilled in the middle of it... “It’s my Gris-Gris!” the man yelled in a guttural growl. Possessive, he pulled the wolf in closer. A literal baby in his arms. “You ain’t taking my Gris-Gris!” Through the tension, no one said a word. No one except J.T.. “Hey, gimme that shit!” J.T. yelled. Pissed, he snatched the corpse out of the Cajun’s desperate grip. “No!” the man cried. Tears formed in his eyes. “Gimme my Gris-Gris! My Loup Garou!” “So that’s how your ass has been winning!” J.T. continued. He held the baby wolf out toward the man. “That’s how you been getting all them Goddamn cards!” With savage glee, he flicked the dime. “This is your nastyass good luck charm!” The Cajun held his pitiful hands out toward J.T. Literally begging him… much to J.T.’s twisted delight. “I need him back!” he cried. “Gimme my Gris-Gris!” “Give him the damn thing!” Trent shouted at J.T. “Naw, Hell no!” J.T. replied. He squeezed on to the pup, making the wolf’s eyes even bigger. Further taunting the Cajun. “I need me some luck after this bitch took my chips!” Weeping, the man motioned toward the corpse. “It’s no good, boy! Dat wolf’s only good luck for me! He’s bad luck for you!” J.T. cackled. “Bullshit, bitch!” “Whoever touch it get bad luck!” Dismissive, J.T. looked toward the clerk. “Hey, get me three-hundred in chips! I’m reloading!” A flash of silver caught everyone’s eye. The machete whirled right through J.T.’s neck. A red river spread across his slit throat. For once, J.T. went silent. He dropped the wolf and grasped at the fatal wound. A fountain of blood poured out his mouth. The dead pup hit the felt. Its soft thud caused chips to collapse. Bits of its old flesh fragmented upon impact. The decomposing smell somehow hit new highs... “My Gris-Gris!” the Cajun screamed J.T. landed in his chair. His body convulsing in a painful rhythm. His death slow and steady. Blood now spewed all across table eight. David and I exchanged frightened looks. Disgusted, Trent moved his seat further away. Trying to avoid J.T.’s gore. “Seat open on eight!” the dealer hollered out of instinct. “Give us the fucking money!” a Southern drawl demanded. The dealer went quiet quick. So did the rest of us. The rush of fear spread throughout the game. All of us stared at the three men standing over us. Each of them wore black suits. Their faces disguised by straw hats and green bandanas. The leader waved a long machete around. J.T.’s blood adding decorative crimson to the sharp blade. The other two robbers carried pistols. Without hesitation, they scooped up all the hundred dollar bills. The literal blood money. The Cajun man reached for the wolf. “Lemme get my Loup Garou!” With a harsh shove, the leader pushed him back in his seat. “Sorry, buddy!” In tears, the Cajun looked toward the floor. His voice got lower but his words remained constant. Back to chanting. A hush lingered on table eight. All thanks to J.T. going completely still. Using his machete, the leader motioned his partners toward the clerk. “Go get the fucking money!” They did as they were told. In a panic, the clerk opened the registers. “Please! Don’t shoot me!” she cried The leader snatched the baby wolf. I sensed a wicked smile behind that bandana. “This must be your good luck charm.” He faced the Cajun. Holding up the corpse as if it were a pathetic trophy. “Is this shit how you won all the time?” “Drop your weapons!” we heard someone shout. Footsteps stormed behind us. We turned just in time to see the security guard leading several armed officers inside the poker room. Without hesitation, a cop fired. And not a warning shot either. The bullet blew the leader’s brains out. Blood and gray matter sprayed over us. Courtesy of The IP. “Goddammit!” the dealer shouted. Screams formed our soundtrack. Several players jumped up. “Stay where you are!” the guard commanded. The leader collapsed on to the table. More grue covered the felt. The leader’s dead hands dropped both the machete and amulet. The cops came rushing forward. “Don’t move!” an officer screamed. “Sit the fuck down!” The other players got back in their seats. Together, we formed a gruesome congregation. Each of us covered in blood. J.T.’s corpse seated as if he were ready to play. Table eight a poker game from Hell. Eager to keep up with the real cops, the security guard descended upon us. He cringed at the smell. “Jesus Christ!” Then the wolf caught his eye. “I wouldn’t touch that if I were you!” Trent warned him. “What the Hell’s this...” the guard said. He snatched the dead pup. Dusty flesh and dry blood stuck to his fingertips. Instantly, several shots rang in the new year and the guard’s brutal death. Bullets obliterated his face into oblivion. In the chilly room, the gunfire left us all coated in another layer of crimson. The security guard fell to the floor, motionless. Gaping holes leaked blood from his head. The baby wolf still clasped in his tight grip. David downed his beer. The now-red Corona didn’t bother him at this point... Behind us, I saw the cops apprehend the other two robbers. The lingering fear made me shiver. The gang could’ve shot any one of us… but deep down, I knew why they only killed the guard. And why they immediately surrendered afterward. I looked on at the dead wolf. Its baby blues remained fixated on me. Tempting me to touch. Its mummified body the prettiest corpse in this poker room’s collection. “Shit, I ain’t touching it!” I heard David say. Weary, Trent stood up and pushed his seat back. “Fuck it!” Blood dripping off his beard and jacket, he looked toward the nervous clerk. Pointed down at his ridiculous chip stack. Even at the pieces of flesh stuck to them. “I’m cashing out!” 14
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