He lifted the cigarette gently to his lips and lit it, with the evident dexterity of one either very skilled with his fingers or very unused to smoking. A slight inhalation at one end, and a moment later he was off again, exhausting faint plumes from his delicate lips as he lifted his cards from the table. "Come on, man, you think I'm done with you? Hit me again. Make it a good one this time."
The dealer scowled. He couldn't figure this kid out on a sober brain, let alone after an exhausting shift like this one. Reluctantly, he plucked a card and tossed it onto the fair stack the cardsharp had already accumulated: a two, a five, an eight, and a four, their black and red markings staring stonily up at him. The dealer glanced at the card as the kid picked it up, then smirked, warm inner triumph filling him like so many beers. An ace. Surely he was out by now. He studied the kid, waiting for a reaction.
A smile faint as static twitched his lips, but, between the strands of platinum hair, the player's dark eyes gave away nothing but a certain cynicality in regard to the surroundings their black depths reflected. He had worn that same expression six hundred rupees in winnings ago, and it hadn't changed a second in the time between.
"Standing," the player chuckled softly, casting his ace down, too, face-up, and leaning back to take another drag on his cigarette. The dealer flushed with annoyance, then looked downward. A hand of twenty, and now it was down to the hidden 'hole' card… surely, surely he had won this round? Tremblingly, he reached out to flip the card, suddenly acutely aware of the thin, wobbling coin stacks piled in the kitty as he brushed passed them. Why on earth had he matched this bet? He turned the card, then slammed his fist onto the table. The entire seedy place turned around to look as he stood up and pointed to the uncovered hole card.
An ace.
"This…" The dealer's finger was trembling, too, with rage this time; his voice shrilled in desperation, his bloodshot eyes popping. "The single, the only card in the entire Din-damned deck that could possibly let you get away with a hand like that. This… is ridiculous! This is… blatant - I don't know where the… you… I don't understand it, but this is just fucking impossible! Now tell me how you're cheating so I can bust your ass!" Sweat poured from him as from a lathered horse; the entire table was shaking with the jerk and pull of his incensed lungs.
The cardsharp stood up, a bit weakly. "I don't cheat," he said simply. His eyes darted, rabbit-like, to the cards on the table.
"Nobody can count cards and get those odds," sneered the dealer, and he shook his head, as though further angering himself with his own clumsy statements. "You - bastards like you are a disgrace to gambling! You don't deserve to - to…!" The dealer shook his head again, his mounting rage relieving him of the burden of communication, and flipped the table over, cards and money scattering to the floor. The table crashed into the bar; one of the two splintered on contact, sending wood chips and cockroaches flying. Other patrons jeered and catcalled from a safe distance; a few tried to take wagers, but none held out for the young gambler. He was only about twenty, after all, and far too scrawny to hold out hope for.
"This joint is a disgrace to gambling," retorted the young man, straightening a little. Somehow the cards and the cash had both wound up in his hands. "I didn't do anything illegal, and I wasn't cheating. If you can't handle losing like a man, I swear I'm calling the cops and telling them all about this place."
The man laughed, hard. "What in Hell makes you think that you'll ever be in the condition to speak again once I get done with you?" His eyes were glinting; the cardsharp had a few precious seconds to squander on thinking that he had never realized how piggish and mean the man looked, and to wonder how many drinks he had persuaded him to have, anyhow, before the dealer lunged forward, fists swinging.
"Damn!" the gambler cursed aloud as he turned and bolted. Should have listened when they told me the dealers were bouncers here! Nearly to the door, his shoes sliding on the slick tiles with his haste, he was jerked back suddenly, and let out a yelp of pain. The bouncer had grabbed him by his hair; his firm fingers were crushing as they closed around his shoulder. His ponytail was released, and just as quickly the spindly gambler was turned around so quickly he was almost lifted off his feel before he was slammed against the wall, pinned by the crushing weight of the larger man's arms.
The cardsharp winced, then looked the man in the eye. His sardonic stare was now full-powered. In a face made for mellowness, it only warranted another burst of laughter from the dealer. Still chuckling unstoppably, the man let loose one shoulder to slam the gambler in the eye, snapping his skull against the wall, his laughter redoubling so that he could barely stand.
And, suddenly, the bouncer couldn't stand. He staggered, then fell to the floor. The cardsharp nearly fell atop him; through his good eye, he could just scarcely discern that everyone in the bar was staring at him. Feeling the warm, ruddy moisture coursing down his cheek in sticky rivulets, he chuckled weakly at the rapt onlookers, bending quickly to pick up the ace of spades, which had fallen. Then he straightened against the wall, leaned sideways, and pushed the door open, exiting as quickly as he was able.
He left nothing save chaos, and the dealer's still body, and, unnoticed to those who rushed to see to his opponent, the glowing red coal of the cigarette's ash, quickly ground to a powder on the floor.