Pokergeist Read Free

They both looked to the Ant, who bristled with hostility.
    Clutch narrowed his eyes, and a trickle of sweat began to make its way down from his temple. He stared hard at the Ant, whose dark glasses made him an enigma. The Ant was looking everywhere except at him. Why wasn’t the kid studying him, looking for tells, the signs that hint at what he is holding? He watched his opponent intently. The Ant glanced upward before he made a move, as if asking permission from the atmosphere. While he couldn’t see the kid’s eyes because of the dark glasses, Clutch knew he was looking toward the ceiling from the tilt of his head. A few times, Clutch caught his own eyes gazing in the same direction, wondering what the punk was up to. The room became hot. He was willing to take this to the mats. Based on the kid’s whitened fingertips, Clutch’s gut told him the younger man had nothing. Clutch had a decent hand. He peered at the Ant’s cards on the table, as if he could see through the design to the faces hidden underneath. The kid liked to bluff; he had watched him do it all through the tourney. Clutch was willing to bet his last chip that the Ant had a junk hand. “Check,” Clutch said quietly.
    “No check, old man. I bet three million.” The Ant pushed five stacks into the middle of the table. The crowd hummed with excitement. The Ant pulled off his glasses to glare hard at Clutch, his mouth pulled tight with intensity. Clutch looked into the younger man’s eyes and saw nothing. Nothing.
    Clutch shrugged. “You wannabes sure think you know how this game is played. Lemme tell you something, partner…” He placed his Stetson on his head as if to make a point.
    “Spare me the sage advice, Cowpoke. You’re done. I’m waiting to stick a fork in you.”
    “Eight million,” Clutch said, his voice serious. The crowd applauded loudly as he pushed in a huge pile of chips.
    “I just started, Pops, and you want to go down in flames already. Raise! All in,” the Ant sneered.
    Clutch waited. He had patience. A murmur echoed through the room. He could swear he heard the ticking of a clock. He wanted to draw out the moment. His heart started to pound in his chest, pulsing so hard he felt it all the way to his toes. “Call,” he said so quietly that the dealer leaned forward to confirm.
    The Ant dramatically turned over his cards, revealing an ace and a seven, both of them hearts. The red cards reflected back at Clutch until they filled his vision.
    A slow smile spread across Clutch’s impassive face. He watched the younger man, savoring the glory as he slowly flipped his cards, revealing pocket kings. He had two kings—a good hand. Not unbeatable, but the kid had nothing but an overcard.
    “Here comes the flop,” Clutch said aloud as he watched the dealer place the ace of spades and Clutch’s own heart sank in his chest. Now the Ant had a higher hand: two aces. The crowd’s gasp turned into a roar as the dealer spread the next two cards on the baize, revealing a king of hearts and deuce of hearts. He’d dodged a bullet; his three kings would beat the Ant’s two aces. Clutch took off his cowboy hat; the sweatband was soaked. His silver hair lay plastered against his head, the imprint of his hat looking like he had worn a vise. “Trip cowboys, pissant.” Clutch drew out the last word into a hiss.
    On the table were two hearts. Two cards were yet to be revealed: the Turn, and then the River. Sixty-forty in Clutch’s favor, he estimated. Clutch felt his heart quiver with uncertainty.
    The kid had a draw, two cards to go, and all Clutch needed to do was avoid a heart that did not match the table to claim his prize. The crowd exploded. The Ant stared at the card on the table, his expression hostile.
    “We don’t need a commentary, old man. I got eyes. I can see,” the Ant snapped. The Ant’s dark eyes glazed over for a minute; he looked away and then turned back, his attention restored.
    Clutch sat back in his chair,