The Game
By: Darrel Sparkman
Tags: Intrigue, Partners, Gambling, Short Story, Fiction

Choose your partner wisely…

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Sometimes, all you can do is hold on —

I slowly poured a full glass of bourbon and took my time lighting a good cigar. My gaze never left her eyes as smoke rose toward the ceiling. This high-stakes game was by invitation only — the sole witness to the encounter, a black cat perched on a windowsill. In the dim light its eyes shone malevolent amber.

Candles burned on a shelf behind the woman. With hair dark as a raven’s wing framing a pixie face with green dancing-eyes, it was hard to ignore the near halo surrounding her. A curious malaise settled over me as we stared at each other. She looked… hungry.

“Sarah, I’m curious.”

Her left eyebrow rose a fraction. “Is that your name or a condition?”

My nervous laugh surprised me — the game had a new twist. “Folks often call me a smart man. I’m the mayor of Dent City and sheriff of Dent County. Oh, and I’m also the judge.”

“I’m well aware of all your accomplishments, Mister Dent.”

She inclined her head with a slow nod. “You’re very impressive. I’ve always thought that. So, what are all your entities curious about tonight?”

Her fingers idly played with a lock of hair; unblinking gaze locked on mine.

My voice was starting to tighten. “You’re not wearing enough clothes to wad a shotgun.”

“Then your curiosity should be at an end. As you can see, I’ve nothing to hide.”

She held her arms wide and painted lips made a perfect smile — her gaze mocking.

I couldn’t drop my gaze from any path except to her eyes, or I’d forget what I was doing. “I was just wondering…?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Oh, come now. You know I’ve won the game. Concede.”

“There is still the one point I need to clear up.”

A rivulet of sweat ran down the side of my face and I resisted the urge to wipe it away.

“That you won this hand of poker has little relevance now. What I’m wondering? Where did you get that queen of hearts you’re showing? I’m only asking, you understand, because I seem to hold its twin.”

Her head shook to a slow cadence. A cool, slim finger gently tapped her lips. “You’re accusing me of cheating? That could be a problem.”

The pain in my chest was a grim reminder I’d forgotten to breathe. “I’m thinking more of magic, like one of those circus shows. The only place you could hide a card….” My gaze dropped below her face. Dammit. “Uh… I….”

“Did you lose your thoughts, Mr. Dent? You look confused.” Her hands were folded on top of her cards, fingers nested and calm. “Now, you are accusing me of cheating in this game of chance. Is that correct?”

“Well, not exactly….”

“Of course you are, and I’m appalled. After all, I am a lady.” She picked up her cards, glanced at them, and then tossed them to the table. “If you can’t play fair, I must withdraw.”

“Me? I’m not playing fair?”

Rising from the table she swayed toward a door at the end of the room. Turning, she glanced over her shoulder at me.

“Coming, Jonas? And put out that dreadful cigar. It smells like you’re burning skunk hair.”

She’d promised marriage to a witch would never be boring, and she was right.

I looked around for my handcuffs, cheating at cards is a crime — finally heard them jangling behind the door.

A new game? I’m going to find out.

That’s a fact.

www.darrelsparkman.com