“Muscle memory,” I acknowledged, nodding to myself. “I know what you’re talking about. Friends of mine are the same way.”
“So, you want a round, or nah?”
I scoffed. “…Fine. One round.”
“Sweeten the pot?”
“Don’t need to,” I shook my head.
“Oh, come on, bro,” he chided me. “Guy in a nice suit like you? You can afford to piss away a hundred bucks, losing to me.”
Something clicked in my head. Looking back on it, it was less like an idea popping, and more like disarming the safety on a revolver.
“That’s a lot of smack, coming from a kid with your losing streak,” I grinned. A few other patrons nearby were taking interest, nodding their approval.
“Put yer money where yer mouth is.”
I dug into my front pocket and whipped out my wallet, glancing through and pushing the wad of hundreds aside, looking for some twenties. I counted out a hundred in the sheath and slipped it back into place.
“Alright, kid. Hundred bucks,” I agreed. “What about you? You’ve been bleeding dollars all night. What have you got left?”
He slipped his hand into his pocket and showed me a handful of crumpled twenties. “I’m good for it,” the kid nodded.
“What’s your name?” I asked, setting us up for a fresh game. “I like to know my opponents when I face them on the green.”
“On the green?” He asked, shaking his head. “That’s a weird way with words you’ve got yerself there… name’s Dylan. You?”
I thought for a moment. “Alex.”
“Alex,” he nodded. “Well, Alex, ready to get your butt whooped?”
An amused smile crossed my lips. “By all means, friend.” I lifted the triangle, leaving a perfectly shaped pyramid of balls in position, and set the cue ball right into place. I stepped back, waving towards the table with my wrist.
“Ladies first,” I goaded.
Dylan’s face fell. “Ain’t no lady.”
“Prove it.”
A sly smile spread across his face, and he buffed the end of his cue stick. Spectating players stepped aside as he strolled over into position, lined up his shot, and broke the triangle… knocking two solids straight into their pockets, and leaving complete disarray that put stripes at a disadvantage.
My teeth gritted as I surveyed the aftermath with a second’s glance. That’s not luck that made that shot work…
I tried to line something useful up, but it wasn’t happening. Instead, I decided to knock some of the balls further around, and spent my turn splintering the battleground.
Dylan took advantage of this, knocking another solid into the pocket. His shot sent a second one towards the corner, but it hovered near the edge of the hole – clearly lined up for another perfect shot.
“You’ve hustled me,” I acknowledged. I couldn’t really be angry. I’d fallen hard for his little ploy. Some of the patrons chuckled in agreement; after all, they’d already made some money off of the kid, and it was all at the expense of the suited, foreign newcomer.
Dylan looked wounded. “Just a few lucky ones, man. I knew my fortunes would change, sooner or later…”
I didn’t buy it for a second, even as I sank in a striped ball per turn. With each successive move, Dylan blocked me, sent one or two balls in, or completely fucked my approach. When he got to the eight ball, he banked it off three bumpers before burying it in the corner pocket, just to be an ass.
And he was smiling wide as can be.
“You got me Dylan,” I said, tossing the twenties on the table. “Well played.”
Dylan didn’t move. He looked down at the money like I’d just insulted him.
“What the fuck is that?”
I looked back at the table, the five twenties spread across the green felt.
“That’s one hundred dollars. Don’t spend it all in one place, kid.”
He took a step toward me, then another. I stared down at the scrawny kid as he grabbed my shirt, twisting it in his fist. “We were playing for the thousand dollars you’ve got in that fucking wallet of yours.”
I almost wanted to laugh in his face. I could crush this kid. I could kick him hard enough to send him sailing across this godforsaken bar. I reached up and peeled his hand free, holding his wrist in the air.
“So you’re a hustler and a thief?” I asked, anger starting to well up inside me. The little prick thought he could jack up the bet now that the game was over?
The other players – most of who weren’t even playing anymore – shifted uncomfortably or hesitantly moved closer. In response, I released his hand, holding my hands up in restraint.
“Take your money, and get away from me.”
“Pay me what we agreed on,” the kid shouted.
“Your money is on the table. Sod off.” I replied, turning away. I was finished with this discussion. I wanted to get back to my drink and forget any of this happened.
I had no such luck.
A hand gripped my shoulder and spun me round. Before I could react, the kid’s pitiful little fist made contact with my chin. I stared at him in disbelief. I’d grown up on the streets. I’d been in my fair share of fights in and out of the bars and I’d never seen someone throw such a weak arse punch.
“You little piece of shit!” I shouted, thrusting a quick jab into his face. I didn’t want to hurt the kid, I just wanted to bloody his nose a bit and teach him a damn lesson. What happened next was something right off the green. Dylan fell backwards and exaggeratedly flung himself across a pool table as if I’d just hit him with a goddamned truck. He was screaming and flopping on the floor. The kid was faking it!
What the hell?
Another set of arms wrapped themselves around me. I wrenched an arm free and left a glancing blow against the redneck. Two more people tackled me to the ground. I went into self defense mode, arms and legs flailing until a flash of a badge came across my vision and I realized that an officer of the law was attempting to restraining me against the ground.
“You’re coming with me,” he snarled into my ear. Every drop of adrenaline pulsing through my veins left when I felt the cold, constraining sensation of handcuffs around my wrists.
“Wait – no!” I started to growl.
“You have the right to remain silent,” the officer began, pulling me up to a stand. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”
I looked up, catching the kid’s eyes. He was grinning wide as he strode toward the door at the back of the bar. It was only then that I noticed my wallet in his hand. The little arse had pickpocketed me, and used the “fight” to cover his tracks!
“Wait! That little shit!”
The officer pulled my arms up tighter behind me, forcing a shout of pain and cutting me off. He continued rattling off my rights as I was pulled towards the front exit. The patrons were giving me a wide berth, regarding me impartially, but a face in the crowd caused my heart to stop on the spot.
No… it can’t be.
The unmistakable grin of Alistair Pritch filled my vision, draining the life from my limbs. I staggered, almost dropping to my knees, as the officer helped keep me upright.
You see, I had realized in that very instant what had happened to me tonight.
“You…” I gasped in defeat.
My enemy simply nodded, standing directly in front of me, his wicked smile spreading wider across his lips.
“That’s right, Lex. I’ve been waiting a long time to see you in handcuffs… and now, I finally had my opportunity. You’re an easy man to follow, did you know that?”
“Stand back, sir,” the officer told him as he tugged me along.
“Enjoy seeing me on a cereal box soon, Lex!” Alistair chuckled menacingly, blending back into the crowd. “And enjoy your night in jail!”
He did this, I thought to myself. He set me up. He must have paid the kid to play me like a goddamn fool… but why is he here? And how did he find me?
I knew, as the officer dragged me outside and towards his squad car, that I’d have plenty of time to consider these questions.
I also knew that the answers wouldn’t come.
Riley
When I climbed into the passenger seat of Jess’s rental sedan, I was still seething with anger from the earlier argument with Lex.
Him getting arrested hadn’t helped matters.
…Even if I felt personally a little responsible.
Jess didn’t say anything at first, as we navigated through the streets and headed towards the parish prison. Instead, we sat in silence, quietly watching the rain sprinkle absentmindedly against the windshield.