All or Nothing

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Westerns  |  House: Booksie Classic
Poker game gone standoff

Submitted: September 08, 2013

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Submitted: September 08, 2013

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Three men playing poker; one man dressed as if her were on his way to church with $273 in chips and a cup filled with scotch. Another man, straight as an edge, dressed like a rancher with $67 in chips. The final man a bandit by the looks of him, nothing but trouble, glass filled to the brim with cognac, two ice cubes and $7 in chips.

 “Looks like this is your last hand” Said the first man to the bandit “How about you save yourself the trouble and walk off…boy.”

The bandit didn’t reply. Instead he pulled back his sleeve to look at his watch then took a stiff drink from his glass. He never even glanced at the man who spoke to him. He gave one last look at his two cards and said “I’m all in.”

“Sir? Are you sure? I haven’t set down the first three cards.” Said the dealer

“Let the boy lose his money.” Said the first man “I check.”

“Fine. How about you sir?” Asked the dealer to the rancher

“Naw, this hand ain’t worth cow shit.”

The dealer started setting down the three cards. Fist the king of hearts, queen of hearts, and then two of clubs.

“Well you look at that. I’ve already won!” Yelled the man as he reviled the king of spades and two of diamonds. “Two pair! You might as well fold now.”

Again the bandit didn’t look at him, instead he finished off his drink and raised his glassed. The bartender saw his glass and sent the bottle of cognac to the poker table, to refill his glass.

“Sir are you still in?”

“Lay down the last two cards.” He replied. The dealer did as he was told. He lied down the first card. It was the Jack of hearts.

“You might as well give up sunny. You’re not going to win.” Said the man

“If your so confidant you’re going to win then bet all your money.” Said the rancher

“Now why would I do that?” He replied

“To prove that you know you’ll win” He continued “Lady Luck has been your bitch all day, why not?”

“Alright fine, dealer I’m all in.”

“Are you sure?” Asked the Dealer

“Yes goddammit!” Final card was set down, three of hearts. “Whoo-hoo!” The bandit didn’t move, nor flinch, instead he drank.

“Sir? We need to see your cards.” Said the dealer. He finished the rest of his glas, got out of his chair and walked to the bar. “Sir?”

“Forget him! I won!” The rancher flipped over his cards showing an Ace of heats and a ten of hearts.

“…Royal Flush?” Questioned the dealer “Sir?” The remaining two men left in shock and awe.

“You goddamn son of a bitch! You two are working together!”

“No sir! I’m just as shocked as you.” Replied the Rancher

The bandit spoke to the bartender. He received his revolver and his earnings from the table. He purchased one more drink and two fine cigars, lighting one as he received it. He didn’t sit, he just stood there back to the bar cigar in hand and glass in the other. The church looking fellow stormed out of the saloon, later returning with a rifle.

“William, what in god’s green earth are you doing with that rifle in here?!” Yelled the bartender.

“I’m here to kill this spic bastard.”

“Mr. Bent as far as I’m concerned he’s a respectable person and should be treated as such. Now go home before you get yaself killed.”

“What makes ya think I’m goina die?”

“Because you’re a fool.” Spoke the Bandit

“What did you say spic?!” Yelled William

“Ha! That’s cute. We’re all equal yet you use racism to make yourself feel superior. When in reality you’re not worth what a pig could shit.”

“That’s it!” William cocked his rifle and aimed at him. “Give me back my money!”

“I believe you lost all your money.” The bandit swiftly grabbed the rifle by the barrel and stock, pulled back, forcing William to let go. He hit him in the forehead, knocking him out. “This man married?”

“No just a drunk.” Replied the bartender

*Boom

“Then he won’t be missed.”

“Y-your no longer welcome here.”

“Ha, I’m not welcome to many places, doesn’t mean I won’t be back.”

“Why is that?”

“Money.” The bandit left the saloon, leaving money on the bar and put on his trench coat.

The bandit took more puff from his cigar before he put it out. The town was barren. It was packed full when he originally entered the saloon. The sun was setting and turning the once lit area slowly into pitch darkness. Down the street stood a man, tall, well dressed, armed and with a moustache on his upper lip. A badge reflected off of his chest, he was the town sheriff. Many rumors of him had been circulating around the town for years. Claiming he killed over 20 men in his 5 years working as sheriff. No man alive dare cross him. “You Hispanic!” The bandit looked up without fear, as the sheriff yelled to get his attention.

“What?” said the bandit loud enough for him to hear him

“That rifle you got there, it wouldn’t happen to be the cause of that gunshot I heard a minute ago…..Well?”

“Survival of the fittest” as they say” Replied the bandit

“What’s ya name?”

“I go by many names.”

“Listen here, tell me your name.”

“Why?” He said as he set down the rifle against a support beem

“I like ta know a man’s name, so that my bullet knows who he’s afta.”

“You cannot kill someone who is already dead.” The bandit threw his hat to the center of the street. “Although” He continued as he relit his cigar and took off his trench coat. “You can refer to me as death, or the man who was sent here to kill you.”

The bandit was dressed in all black, except his red bandana he wore around his neck. He wore a thick mustache, sideburns that ran down as thick as a thumb nail and a thin beard, gun shinning in an angled holster with bullets going around his belt.

“Now why would I say something that isn’t so?”

“I’ll make it so.” He withdrew his gun and shot it into the air once. “Although I do like my possibilities in luck, so I’ll leave my faith in chance.” He shot four more times into the air. He disposed the empty casings before he spun it and popped it back in.

“Fine with me.”

“Are you sure? I have won over half a million in one draw in a game of poker.” He set his gun back into its holster.

“Well, I guess I’m feeling pretty lucky. Where you from?”

“Irrelevant.” He quickly replied

“I don’t see it that way.”

“Canada.”

“How’s that when you’re brown like dirt and look like half the Mexicans I’ve killed?”

“My family history is of no concern to you.”

“Your right it isn’t. What is my concern is how did a mutt like you get so educated?”

“You whites forced many people like myself to get “Civilized” now are you going to stop staling your death?”

“Draw.”

*Bang

*Bang

Both men still standing, it was as if both shots missed, but both shots did hit their target. One of the two men collapsed then the other fell to his knees. Blood started to appear around the fallen man’s body. The bullet not only pierced his flesh once but twice, it went right threw him. The man who fell to his knees had his right hand over his wound on his shoulder. As most duels go the winner is the last man standing, in this case the last man alive wins. 


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