Braided Chance and Intellect

If you are ever trapped in the presence of a tiger, there are two things you need to know. One, never turn your back to them; and two, never look them directly in the eyes. How do I know? I am sitting across from one now.

Tony Spiel claimed his moniker ‘the Tiger’ from four claw-shaped scars dragging across his face. No one knows how he received them, but rumours swarm him like flies on dead meat. Some people keep with the theme, saying that he was indeed attacked by a tiger in the Sumatran Jungle. Others claim that his wife carved them in self-defence. No matter the story, the mystery of his mutilation aids Tony’s game. Challengers fear the scar and, as all players know, terrified people are usually the losers. Not to mention Tony strikes as ferociously as his animal counterpart.

Seated next to Tony is James Ipick, more commonly known as ‘the Whale’. James plays a lot like his personality – in excess. No matter whether the move will turn him a profit, you can always count on James to play with large values. Sometimes he will get lucky and swallow a challenging man’s purse whole – poor Jonah can attest to that – but mostly his income is from a large tech company he owns. James flaunts his money at every opportunity, and it is a miracle that the man fits behind the table with the amount of food stored in his podgy belly. Although not as dangerous as Tony, it is better not to get drawn into Whale’s money matches.

Then there is me, Astrid Bays aka ‘the Pigeon’. Not a very flattering name I know, it is typically used in reference to players with little intelligence. The guys across from me, however, do not know that I use it ironically. Being from south of the river, I have never played in the upper ranks before. I am used to small-town matches and sitting across from such giants has me shitting ducks! Still, I cling to my lifeline that in this game I have the element of surprise.

My attention is drawn by the dealer passing me a sign-in book. The simple black book is used by the institution to record the games occurring in their establishment. It lacks significance most times but is handy if a player wishes to dispute anything. Each player must place his call at the top of the game sheet for the dealer to confirm, then they may arrange their tokens. Whale’s flowing cursive sits on the first line and I note that even his handwriting screams wealth. Peeking over the edge of the book, I observe him meticulously place his top hat on the table. This is no doubt an attempt at asserting his financial dominance and I suppress my laughter at his ridiculousness. I mean, seriously? No one wears top hats anymore! Returning my focus to the fountain pen in hand, I scrawl my call on the line below. Before I can even add the tittle, however, the book is ripped from my hands by tiger claws.

“Pigeon? Who in the hell let this twit in on our game?! Doesn’t he know this is high stakes, we don’t fool around here!”

“Oi Tigger calm your stripes, it’s the kid’s money to lose if he wants.”

“Ha and lose it he will! You forget kid, no pigeon takes on a tiger without losing a few feathers.” I keep my head down employing my rules. Tiger just grins thinking he has me cornered. “See he isn’t ready for this kind of match, maybe we should rename him chicken!”

“Oh, aren’t you hilarious. Don’t let him scare ya kid. He is a big softy, aren’t you mister Spielums?” Whale’s joke makes me choke on my spit and the violent succession of coughs forces me to tears. I realise my mistake too late though, and even my tear-blurred vision does not stop me from seeing Tony’s glare. After I regain control Tony redirects his anger to James,

“I warn you Ipick, call me that again and I tell your wife where you spend your Sunday afternoons.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Whale’s voice climbs an octave, and he shoots from his chair to denounce Tiger’s threat. Tony, however, has other ideas and matches Whale’s scrutiny,

“Try me…”

As the players stare each other down, a grating screech pulls our heads to the door. A beautiful woman clothed in poison-green sequins strides into the room. She pauses briefly to allow her serpent gaze to roam the table and analyse the challengers seated behind. As her slitted eyes drift over my flesh, I feel fear grip my muscles and force my gaze to drop to my feet. I see the others doing the same; none of us born with the courage to meet the Goddess’s eye. This must be Miura.

Miura is the yet to be defeated world champion. Legend has it that she once defeated six players at once with a single card draw. She is mythic in the underground world and I suddenly agree with Tony’s notion that I am not ready for this. Her silver voice breaks the tense atmosphere making Tiger and Whale quickly retake their seats,

“Well boys shall we begin?” The words jar everyone into action. The dealer oversees the addition of Miura’s and Tony’s names into the sign-in book; verifying that the players can quickly sort their livelihoods into neat colour-ordered money stacks. Drink orders are placed for the table and quickly delivered by one of the public bar’s waitresses. Then the dealer begins the first round.

The first games run smoothly; each player content to reacquaint themselves with their frenemies. Gentle banter along with the occasional chink of a token begins to settle into the soundtrack over which the plays occur. No one addresses me giving me ample time to analyse the playing styles of my competitors. Tony and James are simple-minded, and it does not take me long to devise the strategy to their defeat, but Miura was another case entirely. I could not identify her playing pattern. Her choices seemed so random that my brain was left spinning trying to remember the sequences. So immersed was I that I did not even notice her calling to me.

“Hello, Pigeon you in there?”

“Uh? Oh yeah, sorry.”

“Well?”

“Pardon?”

“It’s your turn.”

“Oh! oh right, sorry.” I glance at the plays on the table. The round itself is an easy win, but after the last few turns, I have nothing in reserve to back a chance failure. If I take what is on the table, I could win big, but I could also be broken from the game. After quickly checking my math I decide to advance, “I’ll raise it.” The dealer moves the tokens on the table and reveals my win and Whale’s loss. Now that he is out it is time to retreat again, “Sorry Miura.”

“Miura? God, I told you we shouldn’t have let him play he doesn’t have half a clue what is going on!” Tony taunts me with his roaring voice to get me to back down from the table, “I mean did you seriously think you could take down the world champion? You only defeated Ipick here through chance.” I lower my gaze as he continues to scream at me. Shrinking back into my chair to make him believe he has me quaking in my boots.

“Oi Tony, would ya leave the kid alone. He beat me fair as. Even if he didn’t realise it was me. Good game kid.”

“Pfft, whatever, he will still lose in the end.”

“Sure. Hey, you lads mind if I stay to watch the rest?”

“No by all means.” Miura breaks her silence at the table and James smiles graciously at her. She gives a curt nod back and then directs her gaze to Tony, cancelling the argument dripping between his teeth. Whale, however, continues to push.

“How about a side bet Tony? The last one to ten grand forfeits.” Tony roars with laughter evidently confident with his chances. His sureness makes me spring my trap by looking directly into his eyes. I know I said not to, but here is the thing, Tigers pounce on their prey and sometimes you need them to pounce straight into the trap.

“That’s not very fair to the kid but if he is dumb enough to take it, I’m in.”

“What about you Pigeon? You in?”

“S…Sure.” I stutter out hesitantly. Poor Tony, he does not realise I have already won. The dealer notes the side bet into the sign-on book and continues running the game.

I keep my head down, playing defensively and letting the others spend some of their own reserves. Tony makes several wins and I watch as he slowly builds a fortress of blue and green. Meanwhile, James puffs on a cigar and fills the room with smoke. It circles around the lamp overhanging the table but disappears into the inkiness of the surroundings. I can feel it invading my nasal cavities, making me queasy and forcing me to cough a few times. Tony scoffs at me, “Go home, kid. You can’t win.” I ignore Tony and look back at the table. As I hoped, Miura has slowly been undermining the Tiger’s coin purse and now his blue and green is looking slightly thinner. My red and yellow, however, looks as strong as ever. I smirk as Tony lets me ramp up my winnings to nine grand. Tony does not seem so confident with his chances now, scrambling to find his way out of the danger zone. James uses his enormous belly to fill the room with laughter as he too notices what is happening.

“Are we starting to sweat Spielums?”

“Shut it Ipick!” Tony knocks his hand on the table asking for his fate. It is a six. The dealer gives me Tony’s 800-dollar owing. Tony groans but holds his hand out expecting to continue the game, not realising that he is beaten. After a minute of inaction, the Tiger looks up to see the dealer handing me the extra 200 dollars from the straddle corner.

“Yeah, the kid totally lost to you Tigger! You literally fell for the oldest trick in the book.”

“You little wretch!” The dealer signals for security to step forward sensing this could turn ugly, “You cheated! There is no way a wimp like you could defeat me.” The security guard grabs Tony’s arms and pulls him from the room, the tiger fighting the whole way out.

“Finally, I thought that mangy cat would never let us play in peace.” Miura smiles gratefully. She is the last one left, the last player I need to vanquish. The issue is she has already vanquished me. It seems that while I have been focused on trapping the tiger the snake has bitten me from behind. I watch as Miura’s card draw sees her collect mine and Tony’s money from the table. The dealer records the game’s end in the sign-in book and my chair catches my slumping form. James picks up his top hat from the table and puts it into his pocket saying goodbye to Miura and the dealer. The dealer to exits the room leaving only Miura and me.

“Well, I must say I have not had such a delightful game in quite some time little one.”

“Huh? Oh thanks, but I lost.”

“Did you now? I think Tony might disagree. Will you tell me your actual name?”

“Astrid Bays.”

“Well Astrid, I hope you continue to play after today. You certainly have promise.” With that Miura slithers from the room and I am left alone to ponder her words. As I rise to leave, however, I am disturbed by something hitting the floor. Looking under my chair I see twenty-thousand Monopoly dollars along with a small note that reads,

‘For next time. – M’