Cards and Humanity
by Toni Livakovic
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4 |
part 1
“The goods are secured, losers.” Hayden rattles open the nearly unhinged door that separates the cramped pantry from the break room in the auto body shop.
“You’re to the left of JP. Sucks to be you.” Derrick nods to the one open seat at the table, a crusty chair unconfidently tasked with sustaining Hayden from collapse. The cards are already dealt, and the six other men are all sunk back into their chairs, still in their dark blue coverall work attire.
Hayden taps the knuckle of his index finger against the lightbulb, which delicately hangs from the ceiling, unsettled by each striking tick of the nearby wall clock.
“This still isn’t fixed?” he groans, shifting into his seat. The bulb barely shines enough light for the men to see each other and the cards in front of them. It would make it harder to play, for sure, but it would be stupid — or unnatural, at least — not to play because of it. They were already at the table, after all.
“You want to go get us a new one?” Derrick scoffs, motioning to the shop’s exit door, which remains barricaded with furniture. Pounding the door with debris, the gusts of humid wind from outside threaten to make an unwelcomed entrance.
Niall, a tall man with dark, styled hair and a grandiose mustache, shrugs from across the table. “Maybe you should, Hayden. We don’t got a clue what’s really going on outside of here.”
“Too scary. Can’t we call the big man?”
JP smirks, knowing how often the men lazily want the shop owner to fix everything. “We’ve told you, we can never reach him.” The men have tried texting, calling, and mailing letters to the owner whenever there was a concern, but had learned to never expect an answer.
“We can try telepathy, as if that’ll work,” Niall chuckles. A sense of dry sarcasm was one of the few things his father left him before ditching their family of three.
JP, Sidney, Derrick, and Marcus exchange a few laughs at the foolishness of the idea, accompanied by an uncomfortable smile from Pete.
“Alright, I guess we’re stuck in here with what we got. Don’t worry, these’ll make it all better.” With his eager toothy grin, Hayden passes around the beer bottles he has just fetched.
“Thank Jesus,” Niall exhales as he gets his. “As pathetic as it is, these poker nights with you idiots are the only much-needed distraction I get from everything. New week, same pointless BS.”
Upon catching his beer, Sidney promptly slides it back across the table. “I appreciate it, Hayden, but you know I do not have that. No beer for me.”
JP beams warmly at Sidney. “I respect your strong will, pal. You’re really sticking to that diet.”
Pete takes a sip of his cold beer to somewhat offset the room’s palpable taste of sweat. “With all the calories you’re saving for the rest of the world, you could feed all of Africa.”
The men at the table chuckle, but not even a wry smile comes from Pete. He could be making a joke or an earnest political statement and deliver it the same.
“Pete, you’d just love to brag about your little service trip to Kenya again. We know Sidney would rather feed his people back home in India,” Hayden jokes.
Often dismissed by Americans for his slight accent, Sidney was indeed raised in India, but it is commonly forgotten that he spent most of his adolescence in China.
“The diet can be tough,” Sidney continues, unbothered by the playful crudeness. “Here and there, I cannot stop thinking about the delightful food the chef of my family used to make back at home. But it is not the diet why I do not like to drink. Drinking makes me feel...distracted. That is not the way I want to be, especially in a game as important as the poker.”
“Buddy, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” Hayden howls derisively, infamously pronouncing the word “talking” as “tawkkin” like the proud New Yorker he is. “As one of my good pals used to say when he was around, beer is like women: more is better.”
On that note, he downs the remaining half of his bottle. He fumbles for another one from the case by his leg, his American-flag hat almost falling off his head in the process.
Sidney shakes his head vigorously, his long earlobes wiggling as he does so. “And then how do you get enough? Do you hopelessly keep drinking again and again, passing out before you can get as drunk as you would like to be?”
“Yeah. I just drink more each time,” Hayden retorts wryly.
“Hey, you gotta keep yourself busy somehow,” Niall laughs.
Sidney takes a deep breath and doesn’t say anything. It is best to avoid resistance, he thinks.
The men finally begin the betting, sitting with their legs tightly crossed and their cards closely guarded against their chests. Derrick shoots an untrusting glare at the light, which flickers seemingly every time a new hand is dealt.
In the first few pots, JP makes a couple of calculated moves, while Hayden bets heavily and tirelessly. Niall affords only sporadic concentration, and Sidney folds immediately for the fourth consecutive time.
JP peers up at Sidney. “My friend, you’re capable of winning this game.”
“If I bet into this pot, I am playing against six other people. I am getting invested into something I am going to lose. And let us say I do win. Great, then I go home and end up disappointed that I could have won more.”
“Are you crazy?” Hayden’s mouth hangs in disbelief. “How’s it disappointing if you win?”
“Yes, for a bit, the feeling is great,” Sidney concedes. “But then the money or the thrill you had get lost, and you go chasing for more. Instead of doing that, I am purely here to experience each hand for what it is.”
“That’s right. You have to take it one hand at a time,” Marcus adds. “Too many poker players try to plan out their strategy for the whole game when they don’t even know how many hands are left.”
Hayden shakes his head. “Forget about it, Sidney. I’m here to win as much as I can. If I win some big pots and got more bills in my pocket, I’m a happy man.”
“You’re a happy man because it feels good when you win big pots, or because you’re richer when you got more bills in your pocket?” Derrick prompts.
“I don’t know. It’s one and the same, isn’t it?”
The table is hushed contemplatively.
“You guys are overthinking a game where there’s nothing to be thought about,” Niall chimes in.
“I don’t think so. I agree with Sidney,” Marcus counters. “You can win a pot or even win on the night, but it’s fleeting. Plus, the money you make or the unjustified sense of success you get aren’t important. The thing is, Sidney, if you always fold, why do you play poker? Do you even like it?”
“I think it is not possible for anyone to like it if they play it the traditional way. It will always be filled with dissatisfaction.”
“I mean, if you really think that, you could...” Marcus’ words begin to draw off. “You could always quit playing and leave,” he finally finishes with a wince.
Sidney’s reflective eyes shine of understanding rather than insult. “I could. But I am here, and for that I am grateful. If I continue to fold, I still get to experience the game while not feeling a bother. Then I leave when the right time comes.”
Motivated to hone his poker ability, Marcus continues play by throwing chips into the pot. Despite doing so, he locks eyes with Sidney and sincerely nods in agreement.
Each of the seven players gets dealt a new hand, where Sidney, Marcus, and Niall fold promptly. As Derrick gets a promising flush draw, he battles to contain his amateur excitement and tosses in a heavy cluster of chips. Pete folds, and Hayden and JP both meet Derrick’s bet.
After the next card disappoints, Derrick declines to raise the stakes himself but reluctantly matches Hayden. The final reveal drops to no avail. Derrick groans audibly, defeatedly thrusting his cards at the table as JP’s pair of jacks beats Hayden’s bluff and Derrick’s fold.
“Had a flush draw on that one from the start. I swear, man, I get unlucky every time we play this dumb game,” Derrick complains.
JP, whose head barely stretches above the table, pushes his thick glasses higher upon his wrinkled nose. “Poker is not a game of luck, my friend,” he says, having played the longest out of the group.
“What do you mean? I had a good chance at winning with my hand. I did the right thing by betting a lot, and the community cards I needed didn’t come up. I got totally screwed.”
“It doesn’t matter which cards you get or whether the cards you want show up. That’s the biggest misconception about poker. It only matters that you play your cards well.”
“I did play them well. But I got unlucky.” Derrick drops into a slouch in his seat before continuing. “And you know what sucks the most? From the start, I was going to lose. No matter what I did, those two cards were always going to pop up and I wasn’t going to have a flush.”
“Look, you can’t choose how the cards get dealt. The thing is, you can always win with any hand, because the cards are as valuable as you make them. You missed your flush draw, but if you wanted to risk it to win at all costs, you could’ve bluffed me into folding.”
“Quit reading fairy tales, JP. You can win with any hand? You’re saying, oh, it doesn’t matter if you get a 2 and a 7 versus pocket aces, they’re all the same?”
JP puffs his cigar for a few seconds. “Maybe not. But they’re your cards. You have to play them, and you can play them well enough to win, or you can play them badly and lose.”
Derrick’s face lights up. “That’s the thing, man. The cards aren’t all worth the same. Soon as you sit down, specific cards are bound to show up and affect all the plays that come after. It’s dumb as hell to say that throughout the whole game, everybody’s got an equal chance of winning.”
“Just because it might be harder with your cards doesn’t mean that’s the reason you lose. The onus is on you to win with them.”
“No, no, no. The cards affect your decision-making. The cards are your decision-making. If I get screwed that play, it’s not my responsibility.” Derrick points to JP’s abundance of chips. “And you’re giving yourself way too much credit, saying it’s all about playing smart.”
“You know I’m not saying that to brag,” JP contends, offended at what he feels is a cheap jab by his comrade.
“I know you’re not. But why do you think you’re skilled, JP? You started playing poker as a teenager because you actually had the bucks for it. You’re the only one here who got to go to college and learn math and stuff that we don’t know. You—”
“Woah, I earned my gambling money and my college degree. That’s what you’re forgetting.”
“You think I didn’t want to earn those things? You think I wanted to drop out at 16? When my parents split, Jalen and Darius were still kids. My momma couldn’t support them alone.”
JP motions for Derrick to calm down. “Listen, you know I sympathize with you. But just because I started playing at a younger age or went to college or whatever, doesn’t mean you can discredit my hard work into getting good at this game.”
“For sure I can. Where did your hard work come from?”
“I don’t know. My own choice to work hard, my own drive to be good at something.”
“You’re overrating your impact on the game and on yourself, man. Even if you and I got the same cards, you were always better set up to play them.” Derrick sighs. “You won at poker before you even started playing.” He collects the pot marginally to boost his small sum of chips.
Hayden rolls his eyes. “Alright already, youse guys are getting way too...philosophical over here. All that matters is that you win, yeah?” Before anyone has the chance to utter a sound, he scoops the cards and deals a new hand.
Copyright © 2022 by Toni Livakovic
