Grinders

Two poker pro friends talk about their experiences and the direction of their lives. Another character introduction side in an expansive universe.

This guy really stinks. Fresh off a garbage scow, probably. At least throw on some deodorant if you're gonna show up in public. Ah, looks like he's gonna lose his stack this hand. I wanted to get it first, but the fresh air may be worth more than his chips.

“Drinks anyone?” It's Natalie the waitress, scanning the table. She's looking good tonight, long brunette curls flowing and wrapped in her skimpy goth-corset outfit. The other guys at the table sneak looks at her. Why bother hiding it boys? She knows you're staring.

“Action is on you, sir.” Jerry the dealer reminds Stinky. Jerry's doing his best to keep professional, though I don't think anyone here would snitch if he yelled at the guy.

I haven't been paying enough attention to this hand. Seems Rex is about to stack this fish. He's shoved on the guy. Hmm, J 4 5 J with three spades. I bet this idiot slow-played a jack and let Rex hit his flush. The guy finally calls for the rest of his chips, 347 Sol. That's more than I thought he had. He was hiding a couple high denomination chips.

The dealer burns and turns the river, an off-suit 7. Rex tables his cards and keeps a finger on them. It's a 7 8 of spades, good for a medium flush. Way good, Rex. Winner winner.

Stinky checks his cards and the board several times before making a stupid looking grin. Over the years, I've seen so many facial expressions made by people playing this game. This one almost always meant “looky what I just hit.” Sure enough, he turns his cards up and reveals 7 7 for a rivered boat. Ouch, a true one-outer. Rex tosses his cards in the muck and insta-racks his remaining chips to leave.

“Sorry man! I thought you didn't have nothing!” Stinky calls after him, chuckling.

Rex walks off without a word. I put a box over my chips and go after him. If I leave the guy alone, he won't come back for weeks at a time. He and I have kind of an insurance agreement, a mutual stake promise. And aside from that, he's a fun guy to hang with. I catch up to him at the cage.

“That was just a bit sicker than usual, huh?” I ask.

“I don't know what I gotta do to beat these morons. I guess one out is too many to leave 'em.” he grumbles. “I need a break, if I hang around I'm just gonna spew chips.”

“I hear ya. Nothing worse than running bad. You get punished when you make the right plays, and don't get saved when you get it in behind.” I try to empathize. From his expression, it didn't help a whole lot. “C'mon. Let's hit the breakfast joint.”

---

We lounge around at Frank's, our usual late-night early-morning haunt, chain smoking cheap cigarettes and talking hold-em theory. I like the place. It's quiet. At least by the time we get there. We're usually the only guys sitting at a booth. Most nights the only other people who come in are drunks sobering up after last call or transport pilots grabbing a quick snack before heading out again. It's a great place to unwind after spending the whole day focused on the game.

We've both been pros for several years now, moving place to place, searching out greener pastures when games dry up. After so much time playing, our discussions about the game became almost philosophical in nature. Talking about metagame and other stuff to improve how we adapt to different kinds of tables

There's so much that's been written about and analyzed in this game that all the math and basics are common knowledge. But the beauty of Poker is the luck involved. I still sometimes scream and yell about donks who get lucky on me. Once I cool off, I remember that's why guys like us can keep beating these games for a good living.

It's because Poker is one of the few games where you're not always rewarded for doing the right thing. And sometimes, you'll have great results from playing badly. These stretches can last a long time, and most people can't fight that kind of conditioning without extraordinary discipline. That's what dragging big pots can do to you. Or losing them. It really cooks your noodle whether you want it to or not.

Despite our years of play, we still get affected. A horrible beat in a big pot still leaves me fuming. Tilted isn't a mood you wanna grind in. Rex has been running pretty bad for a few months now, and it's definitely hurt his play. It's tough to keep pushing small edges when you lose every coin-flip.

Rex is no stranger to swings though. I've seen him in good times and bad. People who don't play for a living can't really understand the helpless feeling of being on a downswing. Or the swelling pride you get when everything falls into place. It makes you feel like you can do no wrong. Everything feels great. Food tastes better, music sounds sweeter, and even the fresh air seems electric. It's like you're in love with the world and it loves you back.

Then there's the downswings. Rex is in a particularly brutal one. Luckily he's like me and doesn't have a family to provide for. Maybe lucky isn't the word. More fortunate for not having to make anyone else suffer as well. He never told me his age, but I'm sure he's pushing thirty. And that's when the hassles about getting hitched begin to pour in from family. I'm getting close to that age too. I don't have that family to pressure me though. And like him, I wouldn't exactly call my situation “lucky.”

“Pete... you ever play at the Hope Rock Hotel Casino?” Rex asks me all the sudden. He'd been brooding over his PET for awhile.

Sure, I played there for a short while. Not the kind of place you wanted to make a big score at. Every Yo-yo miner and lowlife out there was packing, and half crazy to boot! Walking around with a lotta cash there was just asking for trouble so I moved on to safer places to play. Rex on the other hand, loved those shady joints. He couldn't shut up about the sick action at some of those places. After getting robbed at gunpoint one too many times he decided to do the smart thing and move on to some of the nicer casinos.

Still, what a dump to have to remember. “Yeah, I played there a couple times. Good action, not a great neighborhood.”

“You could say that again.” he laughs. Then he makes this look like he's thinking of something real disturbing. “You ever play with this guy named Ray?”

Damn Rex, it's been six years. I can't remember some random guy. “Can't say I recall.”

“You'd remember him. He's got these messed up looking eyes. There's almost no color to 'em. He sees just fine though. The locals called him Glass Eyes.” Rex shudders while he describes him. Like it's some ghost story. I think he's pullin' my leg at this point.

“Nah Man, I don't remember anyone like that. You about to say he's got a hook for a hand too?” I ask him, ready to laugh my a*s off.

“I'm being serious, Pete. It was the strangest few sessions I had. I stayed there for a week, planning to play every day, but I quit after the third day.”

I guess I'll let him pull me in if this is a joke. Sounds like a good one. “What happened that was weird?”

“There was one table of 5-10NL going each day, and he was always there.”

“Man, that's just creepy.” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Smartass. You gonna listen or not?”

“Yeah yeah. Keep going.”

“So by the middle of the first session, I can already tell this guy knows what he's doing. But it's weird. He played almost every pot unless the pre-flop raise was gigantic.”

“What kind of stack did he usually have?”

“It was an uncapped game, and he always covered everyone. Anyway, he played all these pots, but instead of being a fit-or-fold like most of those kind of guys are, he played every hand just about perfect post flop.”

“So he ran good for three sessions. Big deal.”

“No, he actually got pretty unlucky in quite a few all in spots before the river. The crazy thing is, I never saw him get it in at a bad price. He was either ahead, or had the right odds. I counted the number of spots where he was within 5% of the right price. It was 63 times in three sessions.”

That comment almost makes me spit my coffee. Usually in a day-long session on a deep-stacked game, you may get it all-in six times if it's a crazy table. But to get it in over a dozen times a day getting the right price? That is pretty crazy. “Do you think he marked the cards?”

“I thought so at first, so I asked for new setups a few times. Usually if someone's marking cards, it takes 'em a couple hours to mark enough of the new decks to seriously cheat. His play didn't change at all. And he never tilted as far as I could tell.”

“I dunno... I guess it's possible to make all correct decisions for a few nights.”

“There's just a couple wrinkles though...” he takes a big drag of his smoke while he thinks. “I got in at least three cooler spots with him where I should have doubled up. He dodged them all.”

“Maybe he didn't have anything to get it in with.”

“No. There were two times I saw his cards flash when he mucked. One of them, he folded the nut boat on a double paired board. And the second, I swear he mucked kings full of fours on a K J 9 4 4 rainbow board. I had quads both hands.”

“Damn, you got quads twice in three days? Run good much?”

“Dunno about that, since I didn't get paid. The thing is, I'm pretty sure he wanted me to see those hands he mucked. Like he was rubbing my face in it. Especially when he showed me the third hand he folded.”

“How did the hand go?”

“Preflop, he was in early position and made a little donk min-raise to 20, and a couple bad players flatted that. I was in the hijack with 9 7 of hearts and made it 160 to go. It got folded back to him and he made this goofy smirk and called. I've got about 5K in front of me at this point and he has me covered. The others folded. The flop comes 2s 6h 8h.”

“God damn, you were running good! What a f*****g flop!” I laugh.

“Yeah, it was a hell of a spot. So he checks to me and I bet 280. He min-checkraises me instantly to 560. I thought about just flatting, but so many turn cards could kill my action with the stacks so deep. Plus I could take the dead money if he folds to a raise. So I make it 900 flat. He tanks for about a minute before just calling.”

“You ever just shove right there? You're ahead of just about every hand, and if he had 4h5h he'd have to call, getting it in horrible.”

“I thought about it. The reason I didn't was because he showed a lot of bluffs. I thought there was a chance he'd flat that raise with air and shove on a flush turn.”

“OK, so what was the turn?”

“K of hearts. So I hit my 9 high flush. He checks to me and I bet 1,300. He min-raises again.”

“Wow, what an ugly spot. Does he ever do that with a set or worse flush?”

“I didn't think so. I thought about mucking, but he was splashing around way too much. Too much of his range was bullshit. Still I didn't think he'd call a shove with anything I beat, so I just flatted the raise. And this is where it gets weird. The river is the 5 of hearts.”

“F*****g wow...”

“Yeah I know. Run good sometimes. He checks to me, and I mill around for a little bit before shoving. It was just under 1400 into about a 7K pot.”

“So what did he have?”

“Hand isn't over. As soon as I make my bet, he makes this heavy sigh and folds his hand face-up. It was Ah Qh.”

My jaw about hits the floor. He has to be joking. How did that guy not call the last bet when only a two-card straight flush beat him? “You're shittin' me right? He insta-folded?”

“I swear.” Rex mimes like he's getting sworn into court. He pulls out another cigarette and taps the filter on the table while I try wrap my brain around that hand.

“You sure he wasn't really blind?”

“I wondered that myself. After the hand, he gave me this little salute like he was saying nice hand. A few hands later, I got up out of there. I figured the game had to be rigged, or that he was cheating. So I didn't play any more that trip.”

“Yeah he had to be a cheater, a hand like that is just nuts otherwise.”

“That's what I thought until I had time to reflect on those sessions. Before I left Hope Rock, I was at the bar having a few. This Ray guy comes over and sits beside me. He makes some small talk and asks me where I was from and if I was a pro. Just chit-chat stuff. Then before he's about to leave, he leans in and asks me if I wanna hear a secret.”

At this point I laugh. This is where he tells me he's been taking me for a ride. “Alright Rex, ya got me. What's the punchline?”

“I can read what people are feeling, he tells me while tapping his noggin.”

I scoff at that. He's telling me some story about another wacko who thinks he can soul-read by looking at people's faces and catching tells. What a waste of time. “C'mon Rex, this kinda thing is some of the oldest Poker nonsense around. Sure there's some general tells that are valuable, but mind-reading?” Man, I can't roll my eyes enough.

“I believed him.” Rex says, like it's gospel. He's not a naive guy. This Ray character really got him good.

“OK, why him? Why not these other yo-yos who bragged about being able to do the same thing since the beginning of this game?”

Rex leans back in his seat and stares off into space. I guess he's done trying to convince me. Weird hands can really mess up the way you think. Maybe this is just craziness from running bad.

“Pete... how to you beat a guy who could read your feelings?” he asks me all zoned-out.

“Don't play, I suppose. It's hard enough winning when the game's fair.”

“Suppose you did play. You had to play.”

Guess I'll humor him. Hm... someone who can read my feelings. So thoughts are safe. “Just play standard. But train yourself to feel confident about your hand when you're bluffing, and the opposite when you have a good hand.”

“So basically the internalized version of the old-time classic tells? Strong means weak and weak means strong. Simple when you think about it.” he says, leaning back, blowing smoke rings. Rex looks like he's really thinking hard about the subject. How to beat someone like that. Maybe he's got some vendetta with Ray and he's convinced the guy can really do what he says. After about a minute, he calls our waitress over for the check.

“I'll get this one.” I offer him. A free meal is nice after being a loser for the day.

“Thank you kindly.”

“No Problem.”

“Pete, what's your goal with all this...” Rex asks me, leaning in all serious.

“What do you mean.”

“I guess I mean life. Playing poker and making money. What's your plan?”

It's something I hadn't thought about in a long time. I've been too busy with all the daily crap. “Not really sure, Rex. For now, I like the freedom. Maybe I'll write. You know, about the world. The events big and small, and the people who shape history.” I forgot about that until I said it just now. Writing. That is something I always wanted to do.

Rex laughs at my answer. The prick. “Sorry man, I just didn't think you were the type.”

“So what do you want to do? What's your plan?”

“My plan...” he stares at the ceiling like it has the words he's looking for. “I want to find the truth. About people. I want to figure out what it's all about. All this.” he makes a big encompassing wave.

“Like the meaning of life? I think it's my turn to laugh! Sorry to say, Rex, but I don't think you're the type either.”

“Alright, how about this. Since we're so badly suited for those things, let's double our chances. We'll stake each other for half our dreams!”

What a funny idea! “Sure, what the hell. Agreed.”

---

Ever since we had that talk, all I can think about is that promise. It's a silly kind of promise that kids make. Still, I felt like it invigorated me. Like I had some new purpose. I have to admit, it's a lot of fun. Today though, I need to hunker down. I'm trying to break 15K of winnings for this month, and I'm 400 away. It's pretty doable. I just have to make sure I don't do silly stuff to try to force it.

I keep reminding myself about that while I'm sitting here mucking hand after hand. It's tough to keep focusing on watching the table when I've seen it all before. There's the clueless fish leak away their chips trying to see a bunch of flops. Guys who think they can play, trying to make dumb players fold. The nits sitting there until they make the nuts, hoping to double up and cash out. The drunks making dumb raises preflop every other hand, thinking they're on some poker show. And the occasional pro, ranging from unimaginative to truly dangerous. Luckily for me there's not a whole lot of them around at these limits.

It's been about four hours since I started my session today, and I don't see Rex anywhere. He's probably taking the day off. Suppose I can't blame the guy. He knows himself best. If he doesn't want to play, he likely right. You shouldn't be here unless you're on your A game.

While I'm mulling this over, I finally get a hand; AcJc. Where am I, middle position? It's a good spot. This isn't a tough game. It's a 1-2NL game with 250 in the average stack, so I make it 12 to go after a limper. He's bad. I hope he calls. It gets folded around to the big blind who just sat down. He's a young guy, probably a college student. Haven't seen him around before. He's wearing a red jacket and these big goofy shades. Looks like someone from one of those navy recruiting posters with his close-cropped blond curly hair and clean shaved face. He stares at me like we're facing off or something. About a minute goes by before the dealer pipes up.

“Sir, it's your action.” Jerry the dealer reminds him, tapping the table.

“Oh, sorry. You'll have to excuse me, this is my fist time in a casino.” he says all apologetic. Great, this hand is gonna take forever. New guys always hold up the game and kill the action. We have to keep it rolling, c'mon. “Alright, I call.”

He fumbles with his chips and finally puts in the right amount, leaving himself with about 280. The limper calls behind of course, and he's got 200 or so. I can't keep myself from sighing a bit. The flop comes Ad 6c 9h.

Not bad. I flopped top pair good kicker in position. They both check to me. I throw in five red chips for 25, a standard ¾ pot bet. The young guy calls fairly quickly and the limper in between folds. The turn comes 7 of hearts, putting a flush draw and possible straight out there. He pauses before checking to me again. This time I put in a bet for 55; a little over half pot. He lollygags again for a little bit before calling. He's got to have a weak ace or connectors that turned a pair and a straight draw. I guess it's possible he has a big hand like AK or AQ and he's playing it scared. The dealer snaps out the river. It's a 5 of hearts. Ugly. Everything got there. If I wasn't beat before, I probably am now.

Just then, the guy quickly shoots out a his hand to bet. He drops seven or eight chips he had in his hand on the felt before deciding he needed to go back for more. The dealer stops him like he should and started explaining the rules. That's right kid, you can't do that. It's called a string bet. I keep my mouth shut and let Jerry handle it. The bet ends up being for 40. After he explains it to the kid, he accepts the ruling without so much as a grumble. Pretty unusual. I generally end up having to hear those guys whine about the dumb rules for an orbit or two.

“Action's on you, Pete.” Jerry tells me.

Yeah this hand isn't over. Man, I think I'm beat. Kids like that don't generally bluff on scary boards like that. I'll probably have to fold, but I still need to review the action. Calm down and think... As I mulled the hand over, a weird thing happened. The kid was sitting calm before, but when I started focusing on remembering the action, he stiffed up like a board. I don't normally move or change expression while I'm thinking. Did I do something subconsciously? Well never mind. The action... I still beat a weak ace, but that's it. Most connector hands make two pair or a straight. I doubt he has a flush, even though I can't rule it out. The question is, does he bet with two-pair? I don't think so. That's enough for me. “I call.”

The young guy seems genuinely shocked that I made the call. He does this little double-take before reaching for his cards. I guess I'm good then. He turns over his hand like it's a loser. It's AQ offsuit. I tap the table and muck my cards. The kid's face turns from a look of confusion to relief. He squints at the board, to make sure he's reading it right. I guess he thought I made something like two pair and I'd fold to a big bet. This kinda thing happens a lot. A newbie has a good hand, but a scary river comes out. He thinks his hand just got beat and makes a panic bet. Pretty common. Still, I had this strange feeling about that hand. The way he bet when I saw the river. Maybe I'm getting spooked by Rex's story from last night. Damn guy, putting monsters in my head.

I shake off the hand pretty quick. I wasn't ahead at any point, so it wasn't any kind of beat really. Just a funky hand. I keep telling myself that, but I notice how closely I'm watching this kid play. More strange things pop up. He makes a lot of little mistakes with table etiquette and playing in turn, but doesn't get pulled into simple traps. Hand after hand, he plays without much concept of preflop value. He hasn't raised once before the flop. And his bets are all over the place, too big, too small, some are just about right, but I doubt they're intentional. Yet he's beating the bad players at a good clip. His sense for when he's beat or when he can take a pot is crazy for a newbie. The longer I sit, the more I think about that damned story about “Glass Eyes.”

By the time I'm ready to leave, the kid's a big winner. He's got a mountain of chips. Man, I don't know what to think about this. Bad or inexperienced players can luck into big wins too, but this is different. Even though he's fumbling around with the mechanics of the game, he always knows where he's at in a hand. Sometimes he confuses hand strengths like in the one against me. That's just another weird piece. I go ahead and rack up 300 short of my goal. The whole day and I make a lousy 100. Oh well, better than a big loss.

On my way to the cage, I pass Natalie the waitress. Damn, she does look fine. Too bad she's in pure gold digger mode these days... “Hey Nat. How's it goin'?”

“Oh Pete, same-o. Made out decent tonight. How 'bout you, honey.” she says with that bedroom voice.

“About even. Say, I saw that kid at my table was chatting you up a few times.”

“Yeah he's a cutie. A little young for me though.” she giggles waving her hand.

“Did he tell you anything about himself?”

“What, are you interested? Didn't know you swung that way. I can put a word in if ya like.” she leans in. Her sweet fragrance wafts at my face when she does. It's intoxicating. Like roses and some exotic spice.

“If I did, I'm sure you'd swing me right back, darling.” I shoot her a wink.

“Ooh you're saucy today!”

“Yeah... anyway, I just thought I recognized him from somewhere. Did he say anything?”

She tugs on the front of her corset as a response.

So much for a 100 profit for today... I take a 25 Sol chip out and drop it in her private “tip jar.”

“Yeah, he told me he's in the military. MSA pilot in training or something. On leave. I guess he thinks that's hot enough s**t for my panties to melt.” she laughs, firing up a cigarette. She offers me one. Tarts? Not my brand, but I'll take one. I roll the thought over in my head while she lights me up. “Said his name is Saefuh, or Seifah, or something or other. You know him?”

“Nah, I guess it was someone else. Thanks anyway, Nat.” I give her a friendly pat on the shoulder before heading off to cash my chips in. A soldier, huh. Pilot to boot. Nice, no line at the cage. It's a Wednesday, so the casino isn't real busy. Plus this place is losing customers to Three Masts, the new joint out by New South Hampton. Seems like a new casino is opening up every week. Before long, Mars is gonna look like Macao.

At the cage, the cashier takes my chips without a word. I've seen the guy a million times and I'm sure he knows me. I guess he's not the chatty type. He finishes counting and lays the cash out for me. I leave a 1 sol coin for tip, and he tap checks it with a nod before popping it in the dealer jar. Alright buddy, you must be a thrill at parties. Exhausted, I head out to grab a bite. It's about that hour, so I make my way to Frank's. The PSLVs only run once every 15 minutes after 11PM. I hope I run good here at least.

The stop is deserted. It isn't past last call yet, so the drunks aren't out here stumbling around. I don't see one coming. Man, I must have just missed one. Great, I'll have to loiter here about ten minutes. Guess I'll grab a seat. It's cold enough out to see my breath. Should have brought a jacket. The sky is nice though. That's one thing about Mars I enjoy, how clear the night sky is. It's like you can see to the end of the universe. Wonder where the Earth is right now. Hm, I can't see it. It may be there and I don't know it. I've always been bad identifying stars and planets. Hope Rock is out there somewhere too. I wonder if ol' Ray is creeping out someone else right now.

Yeah, that reminds me. I pull out my PET and check my messages. Bleh, just a bunch of spam and bills. Nothing from Rex. Maybe he's already started on his end of the promise and is writing something. The thought makes me chuckle. Oh well.

In my amusement, I hear the familiar whirring in the distance. There it is! I didn't have to wait that long after all. Good thing too, I'm starving.

---

Such delicious pancakes. There's just enough blueberries mixed in with the batter. And it's all covered with real Maple Syrup. It doubles the price, but it's well worth the five extra Sol. Plus it's my first meal in 12 hours. That also adds spice to the dish. Nothing like a warm plate of food when you're really hungry. The coffee needs work though. I haven't had a good cup anywhere on this planet. Even from the big specialty chains. Wonder if it's some weird minerals in the water here.

Per usual, there aren't many other people at the diner. I like it this way. I can sprawl out and zone out. And of course, as soon as I think about how nice it is, a bunch of young guys come barging in the joint laughing and carrying on. This sucks. PET on private it is. I turn the music to classic mellow and drown out the intruders the best I can. Go to a chain, damn kids.

Aw, f*****g s**t. A few minutes of irritation later, I need a smoke... and my pack is empty. I mumble some nastiness as I walk over to the vending machine for a pack. Good, they've got Yokels. I cough up for the over-priced cigs and head back for my seat. On my way, I get a good look at the newcomers. That kid in the red jacket is with them. And he's still wearing those huge goofy shades. I stare too long and he notices me. S**t. Guess I oughta wave or something. “How ya doing?” I say with a dumb smile. Way smooth, dumbass.

“Good evening.” he replies all formal. I realized I hadn't heard his voice until now. When he spoke during the game, the casino was so loud I could barely hear him. I just wave before slinking back to my booth. After seeing him, all that doubt came back. I just sit there in a funk, brooding about it. This sucks... I can't relax. I lean back closing my eyes and try to let the music drown out my thoughts.

“Excuse me, Sir.”

I open an eyelid to see the guy in red standing next to my booth. Nice posture. Looks like a statue. “What's up?”

“Do you mind if I sit with you for a few minutes?”

“Suit yourself.” I play it off, but I am curious. He seats himself opposite from me in Rex's usual spot. I offer him one of my Yokels.

“No thank you Sir, I don't smoke.”

“Cool it with the honorifics, pal. Call me Pete.” Man, that formal s**t is irritating.

“I'm sorry. Pete. Sefu is my name, Sefu Darnell.”

“A pleasure.” I wave to the kid. “So, what brings you over my way?”

“Just to talk. You didn't say much at the table today.”

“I don't chat much during the game. Besides, most of your conversation there was with Natalie, wasn't it?”

“Ah I suppose it was! She's a gorgeous and witty woman, so I couldn't help myself.” he says, rubbing his hair all embarrassed. Ridiculous. You're no modest kid. I bet you're a real lady-killer.

“Yeah you could say that again. Did pretty well tonight, didn't you?”

“Yes, I won a great deal. I was very fortunate.”

“I guess that's one way you could look at it.” I say, trying to lay some pressure on him.

He catches it quick. His expression turns serious and he puts his hands palms-up on the table. Like he's showing me he doesn't have a weapon. “You disagree? How would you look at it then?”

Rex's story pops in my head again. Is this my version of a talk at the bar with Ray? Nah, that's stupid. He's just a two-bit scammer. “I'd say you were sandbagging. You've played the game before. The hands you showed were very average in terms of luck. The reason you won so much was because you were able to figure out the hand strength of your opponents. That only comes with knowledge and experience.”

He thinks about by explanation for awhile, leaning back with his arms crossed. “I was right about you. You're a professional, correct? At Poker, I mean.”

I don't like admitting that to anyone. Being a Poker pro still carries negative connotations. It's only one step removed from compulsive gamblers in the minds of many. But this kid isn't looking to get judgmental, I bet. “Yeah, you're right. And you wouldn't have known unless you've played a lot before.”

His face pales a little, like he realized he said something he shouldn't. I wish he'd take those damn shades off. I can't tell if he's surprised or amused. “So... if I were a beginner, how would you explain the way I played?”

Wow. Alright, lets see where this goes. “The only other way to explain it, barring a huge array of coincidences, is you can directly read people's feelings. Hypothetically.” After I say it, I feel ridiculous. Like I'm claiming Santa Claus is real. But he just sits there, staring at me. Was he expecting that?

The two of us are silent for about a minute before one of his friends calls for him to come back. “Sorry, Pete. If you'll excuse me.” he says, sliding out of the booth. Before leaving, he pauses and gives me this goofy smile. “Wouldn't that be nice? I mean, if everyone could share their feelings that way?”

With those words, he leaves me to think about the conversation. What the hell? Did he basically say to me what Ray said to Rex? No, this was just chit-chat. S**t... I'm too tired to think about all this clearly. After I agonize for a few minutes, the group gets up to leave. Sefu gives me a friendly wave as he passes.

“It was a pleasure speaking with you, Pete. I hope we meet again someday.” He sounds sincere enough. The kid is taller than I thought.

“Same here.” I wave back. Yeah, maybe we'll meet again... Sefu Darnell was it?

---

The next day, I finally get outta bed around noon. Didn't sleep real well. All this weirdness is messing with my head. I think I need to take a break. Great, I sound like Rex. Speaking of, what's he up to? I check my messages and there's one from my wayward pal.

<Rex_Pro> How goes, Pete? You playing today?

Ugh, I'm really not feeling it. Maybe after some coffee I can stomach the idea. It is a new month though, so starting it off by slacking isn't the greatest idea.

<Pete_the_Repeater> Couldn't sleep for s**t. Probably taking day off. You?

It dings a response right away. Guess he's on.

<Rex_Pro> Yeah I'm not playing either. Wanna grab lunch in a couple?

More like breakfast for me...

<Pete_the_Repeater> Sure. Give me a minute and I'll meet ya at Liberty.

<Rex_Pro> OK. See you there.

I shut off the PET and sit up to stretch. That feels good at least. I think my whole spine popped that time. Sounded like ten sets of knuckles cracking at once. After I stand, I see I'm standing on a mound of clothes. Man, I need to clean up. I can hardly see the floor in this place. It's not as bad as it sounds though. The apartment isn't that big. It's just a studio with a bathroom and a kitchen nook.

I get up and start tossing dirty clothes in the hamper. Some stuff there I haven't worn for weeks. Back in rotation I suppose. I about hack up a lung laughing. Shouldn't have smoked that entire pack at the diner. Blech. At that point, I notice the dirty dishes by the sink. There's red, green, and somehow blue stuff caked on them. I have no clue what the hell I ate to leave those colors. By now, I don't think a forensics team could figure it out. A few of them look fuzzy. I'll probably just toss 'em. There's no way I'm scrubbing that.

About halfway through, I give up. The hamper's overflowing. I'll have to bag this stuff up for the laundromat. No time for that right now, so I grab a shirt and pants to wear. I feel the growth on my face and it's getting a little unruly. OK, a quick brush and shave.

---

Outside, the cool wind feels refreshing on my freshly shaved cheeks. The sensation makes me miss the morning air. It's too bad you gotta get up early to enjoy that. While I'm standing there in front of my complex, I contemplate taking the PSLV to Liberty Square. Nah, that's way too lazy. It's only a 15 minute walk. Decided, I start walking toward the square.

On my way, I see a lot of people seated and staring at their PET displays while others are crowded around the PSA screens. Weird. Something going on? I go over to one of the kiosks to check it out. It's a news bulletin from MNN. I thought these things only had government channels.

“-completely leveled. The devastation is horrifying. Rescue groups are clamoring to enter the area to help the citizens, but the military has closed it off, citing radiation concerns.”

A nuclear plant meltdown maybe? “Hey man, what's going on?” I ask one of the guys in the crowd.

“Something big hit the city of Dubai on Earth. They say the place is totally destroyed.”

Wow that's crazy. Must have been a big meteor or something. I hope they had enough warning to get people out. Never been to that city myself. I heard it was gorgeous though. What a shame. I think Rex said he visited the place before. Oh yeah, he's waiting for me.

By the time I reach Liberty Square, it becomes apparent just how bad the destruction must be. The usually loud and busy square is packed with people watching the screens in silence. You can hear the occasional whisper or cough, but the only other sounds were the report on the screen, and the pop of the air condensers. I find Rex seated and staring at the closest display. “Hey Rex!”

He waves me over without looking away, and offers me a chair. His face looks pale. “This is unbelievable.” he mutters to me.

“Yeah, it's awful. How many people do they think died?” I ask him, talking the seat.

“They were only able to evacuate about 300,000 out of 3 million. The rest are probably gone.” he says, voice distant. I wonder if he knew people there. “Did you hear what they just reported?”

“Eh? All I know is something hit the city. Was it a meteor?”

His face scrunches up before he speaks. “Pete... it was a colony.”

“A colony?” It took me a moment to realize what he meant. “You mean a cylinder colony?”

“Yeah.”

How in the world could that happen? They're way too far away from Earth to accidentally hit! “Do you suppose it was on purpose?”

“There's no doubt. That's what they're already saying. No one has claimed responsibility though.”

Unbelievable. Who would do something that monstrous?! And more importantly, what's Earth going to do about it? That's probably the thought going through the minds of these crowds. “This might get ugly.”

“Yeah. If this turns out to be an attack by the colonists, the Earthers'll go nuts.”

He didn't have to tell me. Seems like every day there's another story about anti-Earth violence. They'll only take so much before... “You think they'll go to war?”

“With who? They already own the La-Grange colonies.”

“You know what I mean. They're itching to fight Mars again. Every time they talk about this “rogue state,” the people there ask the government why they don't just take it back.”

Rex leans back and contemplates. He looks like he's thinking about a hand. “I guess you don't want to stick around and find out.”

Heh, he knows me too well. “Yeah. The thought of sticking around waiting for the hammer to drop doesn't appeal to me.”

“Where are you thinking about going?”

Therein lies the rub. Where do I go? I guess it depends on his answer. “Would you come along?”

“I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't planning on that.” he assures me, wearing that annoying grin of his.

“I hear there's games all along the Belt. The kind you like. Real shady.”

“Yeah, I've heard the same. That was going to be my suggestion. I'm surprised you're all for it.”

I'm not sure why I am either. Even if we leave this potential war zone behind, the Belt is known for having dangers of its own. I wonder if I caught some kind of adventuring bug after talking with Rex and that kid. Oh yeah. Sefu. He's a soldier. If they go to war with Earth, he'll be fighting. The thought bothers me. I can't imagine a guy like him killing people. “I don't know, Rex. I guess I feel like it's time to do... something. To see some things myself.”

Those last words seem to light up Rex's eyes. “You believe my story, don't you? About Ray?”

Ugh. Please, Rex. “I don't know about that, man. I'm still not sure you didn't make it all up. You might be playing a big joke on me. All I know is, I've been thinking about that promise we made. There's stuff I want to do, and that you want to do as well. And they're things we can't accomplish sitting around here.”

He pulls out his pack of smokes to fire one up, and offers me one. Hart's. They're alright. I take one, and wait for him to light it. After he takes a deep drag, he bangs his fist on the table. “Let's do it!!” he yells.

The b*****d almost made me jump! A couple people look over and shush us like we're in a library. He waves at them like a he's a little kid. “How's your roll looking?” I ask him, while figuring mine.

“About 80K. Downswings hurt.”

You ain't kidding. “I'm sitting on about 120K. We should be able to book passage on a cheap trader for about 2K a piece. That'll get us somewhere on the Belt. We can figure out our next move from there.”

Rex sucks down the rest of his cig pretty quick. He mashes the spent filter on the ashtray and hums to himself. I can't blame him for being nervous. I'm scared as hell for sure. After a deep breath, he finally asks the big question: “When do we leave?”

Author's Note

There is a lot of Poker jargon in this piece. The reactions of the characters while they speak ought to make the action clear. Please comment on the readability.