A Few Bad Hands

The incessant clinking of glasses and the sharp smell of whiskey permeated the dimly lit bar, as the late-night patrons laughed and shared stories. A melancholic blues tune wafted through the air, punctuating the atmosphere with its sorrowful notes. Amidst this cacophony, Layla carefully navigated the crowded room, balancing a tray of drinks above her throbbing jaw.

“Here you go, fellas,” she murmured, forcing a smile as she set down their orders.

“Thanks, doll,” one of the men slurred, reaching for his glass with a crooked grin that made Layla’s skin crawl.

She retreated to the relative safety of the bar, where her friend and co-worker, Lucy, was busy wiping down glasses. Layla leaned against the counter, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

“You look like hell,” Lucy remarked, concern etched on her face.

Layla winced, her fingers gingerly touching the swollen flesh around her jaw. “I know. The pain’s getting worse, and I can’t afford the surgery.”

A few months ago, Layla had narrowly escaped an abusive relationship, but not before her ex-boyfriend had viciously attacked her, leaving her jaw severely damaged. The emergency room doctor had informed her that she needed reconstructive dental surgery, but without insurance, the cost was far beyond her means.

“What about that poker thing you were talking about?” Lucy asked, casting a sidelong glance at Layla. “You’ve always had a knack for it.”

Since her childhood, when she’d learned to play poker with her father, Layla had developed a natural talent for the game. But she had long since given up playing, convinced that gambling was a dangerous path.

Layla hesitated, the idea tempting but terrifying. “There’s an underground tournament next week. High stakes. If I win, I could pay for the surgery and then some.”

“But if you lose…” Lucy trailed off, her eyes narrowing. “Those games can be dangerous, Layla. You’ve been through enough already.”

Layla sighed, her gaze drifting towards a group of men huddled in a corner, their voices hushed as they discussed their own high-stakes poker game. “I know, but what choice do I have? I’m desperate, Lucy.”

Lucy placed a reassuring hand on her friend’s shoulder. “I understand, but promise me you’ll be careful.”

The tension in the underground gambling den was palpable, a stark contrast to the jovial atmosphere of the bar. Hushed whispers echoed off the concrete walls, and the air was heavy with cigarette smoke and anticipation. Layla’s heart raced as she surveyed her surroundings, taking in the motley collection of poker players.

Through the haze of smoke, she spotted a familiar face — Mick, a regular at the bar where she worked. He was older, grizzled, and played his cards with the precision of a surgeon. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and she sensed a mutual understanding between them. Mick was once a professional poker player, but after a crushing loss, he retreated to the shadows of underground tournaments, seeking redemption.

As the tournament began, Layla found herself drawn into the world of high-stakes gambling, a realm of quick wits and cold, calculating stares. With each hand she played, she felt the weight of her past slowly lifting, replaced by a singular focus: winning.

As the games progressed, Layla’s talent for poker became increasingly apparent. She played her hands with an innate instinct, calculating odds and observing her opponents’ every move. But her success was tempered by the ever-present pain in her jaw, which grew more intense with each passing hour.

“You’re doing well,” Mick said during a break between games, his eyes taking in her swollen jaw. “But are you sure you’re up for this?”

“It’s not like I have a choice,” Layla replied, her voice a barely audible whisper.

Mick studied her for a moment before nodding solemnly. “Just be careful. The stakes are getting higher, and these people play for keeps.”

As the tournament entered its final stages, the pressure mounted. Layla faced off against Mick, who seemed to possess an uncanny ability to read her every move. The stakes had escalated, and the money on the line was enough to change her life forever.

Their game was a fierce battle of wits, as they traded bluffs and calculated risks, each trying to outmaneuver the other. The other players watched with bated breath, their expressions a mix of awe and envy.

The pain in Layla’s jaw reached a crescendo, but she refused to let it deter her. Gritting her teeth, she focused on the task at hand, determined to emerge victorious.

The final hand was dealt, and Layla found herself holding a strong hand. She could feel the energy in the room shift, as if everyone knew that this was the deciding moment.

Mick raised his eyebrows, his eyes locked on hers. “Are you ready to go all-in, kid?”

Layla hesitated, her fingers trembling as they hovered over her chips. Going all-in meant risking everything, but she knew that winning was the only way to secure her future. She glanced at the pot, then back at her cards, and took a deep breath.

“All-in,” she whispered, pushing her chips to the center of the table.

The tension in the room skyrocketed as the dealer revealed the remaining cards. Layla held her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The final card fell, and her world seemed to crumble around her. She had lost.

The room erupted in cheers and groans, but all Layla could hear was the blood rushing in her ears. Mick leaned back in his chair, a resigned smile on his face.

As she collected her few remaining chips, Layla couldn’t help but feel a mixture of despair and panic. The money she had risked was gone, and her situation was now even more dire than before. The pain in her jaw was a constant reminder of the stakes she had gambled and lost.

Feeling the weight of defeat, Layla left the underground gambling den, climbing the stairs and exiting the door onto the cobblestone of the alley. She dialed Lucy’s number on her phone.

“Layla! — How’d it go, did you–” Lucy answered.

“No–I lost everything,” Layla’s voice cracked. “Could you come pick me up? I ain’t even got enough dough to take the bus home.”

“I’m sorry, hun. I’ll be there soon.”

Layla waited, staring at her shoes as she rubbed her tender and swollen face softly, wincing from the pain that never stopped–and wasn’t going to get better any time soon.

“Kid–wait,” Mick said, rising up from the den behind her. “”Sorry, kid. You played well. It’s just the way the cards fall sometimes.”

He pulled a pack of menthol cigarettes from the breast pocket of his coat and gestured to her. Layla reluctantly accepted, taking a cigarette and putting it to her lips. The cool smoke stung the nerves in her cracked teeth, but the nicotine soothed her despair.

“It’s all right, Mick,” Layla said, exhaling smoke into the air above their heads. “I learned early in life we all gotta play the hand we’re dealt. Thanks for the cigarette, though.”

“Take ’em all,” Mick half-smiled and tossed the pack her way. “Doc said I ought to quit, anyway.” Before she could refuse, he had dipped back down into the gambler’s den.

After twenty minutes, Lucy’s rusted 2001 Chevrolet Silverado pulled up and Layla climbed in. As the car pulled away from the curb, Lucy asked, “So you really lost everything?”

“Well, I walked away with a pack of cigarettes–do you want one?” Layla offered, opening the pack to pull out another. “Holy shit! Lucy, look at this!”

There were no more cigarettes.

Instead, she found ten neatly folded $100 bills nestled in the silver foil. She counted and recounted the money in disbelief, the money smelling like mint leaves from the menthol. It wasn’t enough to cover the whole surgery, but thanks to good old sentimental Mick, she was one step closer to getting better.

She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but she was ready to face the hardships ahead with renewed determination. No longer would she rely on the fickle hand of fate. Somehow, she would make it work — one day at a time.