Jack Of Clubs Novels & Stories

He was still sitting on the floor, scrunched up against the wall. "Fine," Kate said, "I had a 4, OK?" "No you didn't. Don't do that. Don't pull that pity shit. I called your bet. Let me see your card." Kate reached down and picked up her card. She showed us the four of hearts. "See," Kate said, "you won." Jack held up his Jack and then threw it to the ground. The corner bent a little when it hit. Oh well, time for new cards. Maybe I'd pick up some nice plastic ones on the way home, like they used in casinos or on TV.

He’s chewing thought. I swallow my nerves with a mouthful of lukewarm beer and keep my voice steady in my head. Okay. Two hearts on the table. My seven of hearts is live. My jack of clubs is just… there. The ten and queen could connect to something if more cards come. A jack would give me a pair. A nine would make a straight possibility with ten, jack, queen. I don’t know if that matters yet, but I can see the shape of it, faint outlines in the chaos.

Sam dealt the cards, two apiece. “Ante two,” he said. “And no dinosaur arms.” I tossed in two candied nuts and looked at my cards. The three and jack of clubs. Crap. I could go for a flush, but— I checked the time. 9:04. Shit. Sam flipped over the first three community cards. The queen of clubs and the seven and eight of diamonds. The bet wound around the table slowly. One from Rico. One from Eddie. My bet. “All in,” I found myself saying.

Jack looked up from his laptop as Jake came barging into his study. "Jake" he said in a calm tone. Jake slapped his hands down on the table in front of him. "Well, that was epic, man!" "What are you talking about, Jake?" "You know exactly what I'm talking about, man. Coming to the club without anyone knowing before hand, then having a public session? That was DOPE!" Jack rolled his eyes. Jake was really hard to stop when he was on a roll.

I saw him before we were fully inside. Grant Harlan sat at a two-top by the glass like he had reserved the whole wall. Dark jacket. No tie. Watch that cost more than my first year of rent. His hair was still doing that expensive, effortless thing it had done in college, and for one stupid second my body remembered being twenty-three and convinced that kind of polish meant safety. Then the rest of the memories rushed in.