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FIRST PLACE
Bet the Goods
By Fred Venturini
Patoka, Illinois
Marty Valentine was not unlike the millions
of people who lost money gambling. He was, however,
one of the
few who tried to make an occupation out of it. His
wife was tolerant of his habit, as long as it didn’t
get him into too much trouble.
Playing cards made him tick—to Marty, there
was nothing that churned his guts like a fresh paycheck
from the mill morphing into a stack of chips. It
was a beautiful thing to behold, the old crusty bills
that the bank had given him piling up in his hands
in gorgeous perfect circles of red, black, and white.
Other players looked forward to payday as much as
Marty did, because they just knew that one of them
would be leaving with a healthy portion of it. His
chip stack was like a lottery jackpot, someone would
take it from Marty, it was just a matter of who could
win it first.
Marty’s motto was to bet the goods—if
he got a good hand, the pot was going to get fat.
A couple of wins would make him go off tilt, as the
veteran players called it. Usually a losing card
player becomes so frustrated that he or she would
make aggressive bets on bad hands, much the way a
basketball player who has missed a few will begin
taking bad shots. Winning made Marty go off tilt,
his head became big and his bankroll became a mirage,
seemingly closer and bigger than it seemed. Little
pairs were bet like big pairs, little hands were
bet like monster hands. Within minutes, he would
lose any money he won, and then he would keep going
until most of his was gone.
Marty’s new gaming area was Dave Larson’s
place. Larson had a reputation of being a bit time
gambler, and Marty thought that his skills could
match Dave’s. What he didn’t realize
was how persistent, methodical, and convincing Dave
Larson really was. In the back of his restaurant,
it was a casino poker room for the most part, and
by the end of September, Marty was on vouchers. By
the end of October, he was down almost forty thousand
dollars. By the end of November, the payments weren’t
on time to Mr. Larson, and he was on a deadline.
“Marty, Marty, Marty. High roller. Family man. How’s
Janice anyway?”
Dave Larson was as confident as ever. He was easy
to hate because he was so . . . good. In front of
him was a pile of loose chips, almost too many to
count. Marty had watched his Christmas bonus turn
into chips, and they now belonged to Larson.
“She’s fine, Dave, why don’t you deal
the cards,” Marty said. His hair was a mess,
his eyes red with prolonged concentration. He had
to get something going, his bankroll could only support
one more aggressive hand.
“Don’t get so testy, really, it’s killing
your superb poker face.”
Marty offered a fake smile, complete with sarcastic
squinting eyes. Dave didn’t do the dealing,
one of his “guys” did it. Marty always
cut the cards just to make sure. He palmed his five
cards. He immediately perked up, seeing three tens
staring back.
“I’ll bet one . . . hundred,” Marty said,
counting out his chips and placing them in the pot. “And
I’ll take two.” He slid his needless
cards forward. Dave looked on, twisting two hundred
dollar chips in his hand.
“I’ll raise you,” he said. “Another
hundred, and I’ll take one.”
Marty called, and it was a miracle, beside his three
tens were two lovely queens. A full house.
“I’ll bet my last hundred, Dave.”
Dave then scanned his cards and hesitated.
“You my friend, do not have a hand. I’ll raise
you one thousand.”
“Dave, you know I don’t have that kind of cash
on me,” Marty said, slamming his cards down.
“I know you’re good for it. If you lose, you’ll
owe me an even forty five.”
“In that case, I’ll call and take your thousand.
I’ve got tens full of ladies.”
Marty laid his hand down, not able to hold back a
bit of a smile. It was the break he was waiting for
all night.
“Now ain’t that something,” Dave said,
laying his hand down. “I’ve got Jacks
full of eights!”
Marty was astonished that Dave caught a full house.
His mind was spinning now—forty five thousand.
That was more than he made in a year. In all his
life he had never dug a hole so deep. It was about
to get deeper.
“Count this up, will ya?” Dave said, nodding
to the dealer. The table was being cleared, but Marty
just sat dumbfounded.
“Listen, Marty. I appreciate your constant company,
but I’m afraid I can’t loan you anymore,
no more vouchers.”
Marty nodded.
“I mean, your money is good here, gamble it away anytime
you want, but . . . well, it’s best if I just
say it. I need my money by the end of the year. You
know, taxes are coming up, it’s the holiday
season . . . the day after Christmas will be fine.
So you can spend the season with your wife and kid.
I always say you can’t have a heart and be
a gambling man, but I have a heart, so be nice to
them. Be especially nice if you don’t have
my money because it’ll be your last Christmas
with them, get my drift? Eh?”
Marty was still stunned. He was warm with embarrassment,
and now he was hot with fear. With this announcement,
he knew he was as good as a dead man.
“I’ll have your money. I’ll have your
money Dave, don’t worry.” As he spoke,
all Marty could think about was leaving.
“If you run, Janice and your daughter are in trouble
if you don’t take them with you. Would you
leave her? Would you Marty? She is quite lovely,
and I doubt she’d pack up and leave over your
gambling habit. Maybe to go to her mother’s
house with your kid, so it’s lose-lose. Oh,
and if somehow, you leave and take your family with
you, if you convince them to run away with you, I
will find you. God knows I have time. So think about
it. Especially since I’ll be very upset, and
will likely make you watch your family die first.
You might want to get a second job, play the stock
market or start buying some lotto tickets. Maybe
you’ll have some luck on Wall Street.”
“Dave.”
“Yes Marty!” Dave said with enthusiasm, rising
from his seat with his glass of bourbon.
“Does this float your boat? Messing with me like this?
Trying to kill people? You know I can’t pay
with that kind of time—“
“Martin Valentine, it’s real simple. When you
don’t have the dough, you gamble with your
life, and just like your money, it’ll be my
responsibility to take it. It’s your responsibility
to take it like a man. And yes, I enjoy the power
trip. It’s all about the high baby, it’s
what gambling is all about. G’night sweetie!”
Dave went to the front of his restraunt. Marty remained
in his seat. He sat there for a long time. But before
he knew it, it was Christmas.
With Janice’s check from the diner, Marty and
his wife were able to provide their daughter Gina
was a Christmas to remember. She got a cabbage patch,
a cooking set, and a beautiful new dress. When the
evening came, Janice got the shock she knew would
come one day if she allowed her husband to continue
doing what he loved so much.
“Where are you going? I haven’t given you your
present yet!”
“Janice, I have to go. I’m sorry but I have
to, just keep your present for now.”
“What, Martin, what’s going on?”
He walked towards her and took her in his arms.
“It happened,” he whispered. “I’ve
been lying to you. My Christmas bonus, most of my
money—it’s all gone. But that’s
not all—”
She withdrew from him, and her eyes were glazed with
disappointment and fresh tears.
“I didn’t get you anything, Janice. I can’t
even give you a husband. I need this last couple
hundred to get even, or they’re going to take
me from you and Gina.”
Janice sat down and began to cry.
“How much? My dad maybe could loan us—“
“Forty-five thousand dollars.”
“Oh God no,” she yelped. She rocked in her own
arms, choking on a kalaidoscope of emotions. “How
could you. How could you—you could’ve
told me at least, at the very least you could’ve
told me.”
“Listen, I wanted us to have a good Christmas. I didn’t
want to ruin it. Just . . . I love you. I do. And
I’m sorry about this. I don’t want to
leave but tonight, I have to be a winner. If I’m
not, I’m dead.”
She hated him but hugged him. She cried and she wanted
to scream. As he left, she thought deep down maybe
it was the best, but then she cried even harder,
mourning the inevitable loss of the only man she
ever knew to be a good person, and his only vice
would prove to be a fatal Achilles heel.
“Hon,” Janice said as he opened the door. “Are
you coming back?”
“Yeah,” he said. “When I lose this, I’ll
come home and say goodbye.”
“What about running away?”
“We could, but he’ll find us. I don’t
want to live in fear, and I don’t want you
too. It’ll be ok.”
“Marty, how do you expect to win forty five thousand
in two bit poker games when you’ve never .
. . when you’ve never won before? At all?”
“I’m gonna do what I always do. I’m gonna
bet the goods.”
With that, he left, knowing that he would come back
broke and broken. Losing this last four hundred would
be going through the motions. He went over to Vinny’s
where the small timers were, and with a five dollar
bet, his road to breaking even began. It would end
on a bet of two hundred.
“I’ve got a straight, old timer,” Marty
said.
“Oooh, I think I can flush that down the toilet with
five hearts,” the old man answered. With that
bad beat, it was over for Marty Valentine.
He walked out of Vinny’s near midnight, intent
on going home one last time. Tomorrow he would walk
right into Dave Larson’s and take it like a
man. But Marty couldn’t take one more step.
He leaned against the brick wall outside and slid
onto his rump.
“Why!” He screamed, yanking at his hair.
“Why the can’t I win? Why can’t I win
just one day of my life! Not even for me, but for
my family? Just one night, and it’ll be over.
I’ll never gamble again! Why can’t I
just have one night where I can win! Huh?”
Marty wasn’t sure who he was talking too, but
it was someone who wasn’t listening. However,
a bum was.
“Maybe it’s because you’re out here makin’ a
darn fool of yourself!” the man said. He was
ancient, with few teeth and not enough clothes. The
contents of the green bottle seemed to be the only
thing that could keep him warm, and with his wise
comment he couldn’t help but cackle in the
night. Marty could only cry, wanting to slug himself
in the head until the ringing of the midnight clock
bells made him jump. The old bum was still laughing.
“Hey, it’s midnight. Maybe today is your day,
eh son? Maybe today is the one!”
“It sure is,” Marty whispered. “It sure
is my day.”
The bum was still laughing. He staggered to his feet,
and as he walked by, he flipped Marty a penny.
“Here, quitchyer whinin’ young man. At least
you’ve got your health, and from the looks
of it, a closet of warm clothes.” He drew from
his anonymous bottle of fun and walked on. It was
dark and cold. Marty’s breath was floating
in front of him, and he took the penny onto his thumb,
and flipped it.
“Heads, I go home. Tails, I go to Dave’s right
now and see if he’s there. See if he wants
to give me shot to break even.”
A head was shining on the back of his hand. Not wanting
to accept defeat, he flipped it again, citing two
out of three in his mind, hoping to attain an excuse
to at least try and save himself. It came up heads
again, and again, three out of five became the precedent.
Once again, it came up heads.
“Now, what are the chances of that,” he muttered.
He flipped it again, calling heads out loud. It came
up heads. He did it again. It came up heads. He called
heads one more time, and was right. For the next
ten minutes, Marty Valentine was frightened and exhilarated
as the coin came up heads every single time he flipped
it, for over one hundred flips.
He grabbed the coin once more.
“Tails,” he called, and tossed the old penny
into the air again. The back of his hand framed the
tail of the coin.
Marty stared at the door to Vinny’s, scraping
through his pocket. Three dollars. He went inside,
just to be sure he wasn’t imagining things.
“Hey, look who’s back!” The old timer
yelled. His name was either Shaun or Ron, Marty wasn’t
sure. He went up to the counter where he could get
three dollars in chips.
“Take five, just because you’ve kept these morons
in here most of the night,” Vinny said, handing
over five red chips.
“Hey old man,” Marty yelled, walking over to
the table. “I’ll bet you five dollars
on anything you want. High card, coin flip, anything.
I need to get some dough together so I can play.”
“Ok. Ok son. You come over here and we’ll cut
high card from the deck for your five bucks.” As
he said it, the crafty old man was bending the corner
of an ace. He handed the deck to the bearded man
next to him.
“Rickey’ll shuffle them up.”
“Fine,” Marty said, sitting down. Rickey sat
the deck in front of Shaun-Ron, and the ten dollars
was in front of them. Shaun-Ron scanned the deck,
looking for his ace. He acted as if he were feeling
the deck for his card through some telepathic vibe,
whispering “where you at baby,” and he
found it, yanking up an ace of spades. Marty sighed
and nodded. “I knew it,” he said.
“Yep, yep, yep, you better know it son. Easiest ten
I’ve ever made.”
He pulled in the chips while Marty glanced at the
deck.
“What the heck,” he said, cutting a card. It
was the Ace of diamonds. Marty was astounded and
excited.
“Redraw,” Rickey said. Shaun-Ron pulled a jack.
Marty pulled a king and took the ten bucks.
“Double or nothing,” Shaun-Ron said, knowing
that if he kept going double or nothing he would
break even. For the next six draws, he didn’t,
and he couldn’t afford to go another one. Marty
won six hundred on seven straight high card draws.
He beat a king two times with an ace draw. Shaun-Ron
left angry and complaining, and Marty ordered a hot
coffee and asked Vinny for a deck, saying he wanted
to play solitaire.
By now it was near one o’clock. At his table,
Marty shuffled well and dealt out the cards to the
empty chair and himself. He finished off every hand
of solitaire, and even when he didn’t have
much to work with—he would think of the card
he needed and he would get it. He looked over the
deck one more time, thinking up the ultimate test.
He stacked the deck to give the empty chair a straight,
and to give him nothing, not even a pair. Ten cards
that he knew would guarantee him a loss, but he was
going to try it anyway. After all, the empty seat
wouldn’t kill him or bet him. With shaking
hands, he dealt the cards. The empty chair had the
straight he gave them. When he picked up his hand,
he immediately dropped it.
“Oh my,” he said in a shocked whisper. It was
a full house. He sorted the deck one more time to
give the chair the best possible hand in cards, the
royal flush—a ten through ace of the same suit,
and he gave himself nothing once again. He turned
them over and dealt. The chair had the royal flush
of clubs, and he had one of diamonds—even though
he’d stacked the deck to give him nothing,
some mystical hand was turning his hand golden.
“My day,” he said again. “This is my day.”
He paid Vinny and hurried home, where Janice was
still awake. He bolted through the door, and she
immediately embraced him.
“It’ll be ok,” Marty said to her.
“No it won’t.”
“Yes it will, and I mean it this time,” he reassured
her. She pulled back a bit and gave him a puzzled
look.
“Marty, what’s going on?”
“Listen, I need to get some rest. Tomorrow, pack.
I’ll be back in the early evening.”
“Where are we going?”
He paused for a second. He was now taking off his
shoes, and beginning to come down from his mental
high.
“I don’t know. Just do it.”
Marty finally convinced her to trust him, and he
finally fell asleep a bit after two in the morning.
He jarred awake around six thirty, and he jumped
right out of bed and threw on his clothes from the
night before, slipping out without disturbing Janice.
She was exhausted in more ways than one, so it would
take something very loud to wake her up, so he remained
careful, slowing closing the door behind him.
He grabbed a couple of donuts and a cup of coffee
at the Huck’s down the street. Safe in his
pocket was his six hundred from the night before,
and with his coat wrapped around him, he trotted
to Dave Larson’s. Passers-by found it quite
peculiar that he was walking very slowly so that
he could keep track of the coin he was flipping.
Around eight, Dave’s was open for breakfast.
Marty took a seat and told the waitress to bring
him some coffee and kindly inform him when Dave arrived.
Three cups of coffee, two danishes and an hour later,
the same waitress told him that Dave was expecting
him.
With a deep breath and for the first time, a feeling
of confidence, he made his way to the back.
“Hey Marty, how are ya. I didn’t expect to see
you so early. You have until noon you know.”
“I know. It’s just that I have to win forty
five grand from you in . . . four hours,” Marty
said, checking out his watch.
“No more loans Mart. Forty five is about the maximum
I can spot you for a mortgage on your sorry carcass,” Dave
said, lighting a cigar.
“I have six hundred bucks.”
“You think you can turn that into forty five thousand
by the end of the morning? Now that’s rich,
considering I’ve never seen you play a good
hand of cards before.”
“I tell you what Dave, I’ll cut you a high card
for six hundred. You win, you can kill me right now.
If not, you let my play my twelve-hundred against
you in some five card draw poker.”
Dave took a deep drag from his cigar. Something inside
of him couldn’t resist the challenge of a desperate
man, he felt almost divine. If he said no, Marty
Valentine would die at noon. If he could outdraw
him, he could send him to die right now.
“Sure Marty. Sure. Rickey!”
Rickey came over from the counter, where he was chatting
with a few other people Marty didn’t know.
They were Dave’s guys. One of them would carry
out his death sentence if he couldn’t pull
this off.
“Rickey, get a deck of cards. We’re drawing
high card, winner takes twelve hundred. Oh, and be
ready. If I win, I want you to shoot him right in
the head. But be sure you have that suppressor gadget
on there, we’re pretty busy around breakfast
time.”
It was Dave’s way of intimidating the hell
out of Marty, and it worked. He was having second
thoughts, wondering if his amazing luck would hang
him out to dry before he could use it to his full
advantage. He thought of Janice packing up. She would
be awake and doing so by now, and there was no other
way to begin climbing out of debt. He had to draw.
Rickey was a larger man. He could almost be described
as anonymous, nothing about him really jumped out.
He had some hair, and some scalp showing. He had
colorless eyes and a neat beard. His large hands
that were well groomed shuffled up a deck of red
Hoyle playing cards. Rickey offered a cut, which
Marty accepted. The deck was ready for play.
“You first,” Dave said. “I’m the
host.”
Marty pulled his hand over the front of his face,
paying special attention to his eyes, which were
aching with a lack of sleep and an overload of stress.
He reached for the deck, and pulled up roughly one
quarter of it. At the bottom was a three of clubs.
Dave immediately began laughing, and Marty closed
his eyes tightly. He heard a screwing sound, so he
opened up to see Rickey attaching his silencer to
his nine millimeter. It had yet to be loaded.
Before the feeling of ultimate defeat and disappointment
could drive Marty to drastic measures, such as physically
attacking Rickey and Dave, Dave reached for the deck,
pulling up about half of it. He showed the card to
Marty before he even looked at it, with a cigar protruding
from his grin.
Marty said nothing, but released a huge breath of
relief. Dave’s brow crinkled, and he took a
look at the card, a two of hearts. He put the deck
down and looked at Rickey, who shrugged.
“Get him twelve hundred in chips.”
On the first hand, Dave drew to a pair, and he scored
a three of a kind, which was a pretty good hand.
He bet strong, hoping to end Marty’s comback
before it could begin, and he got burned by a small
straight.
On the very next hand, Dave was dealt two pair. He
bet strong again, hoping to get the full house when
he drew. He didn’t, but it didn’t seem
as if Marty had anything. Marty also had two pair,
but he made his out with Aces, and took another three
hundred dollar pot.
An hour passed. Every time Marty made it to the end
of the hand, he won. He folded a few times, giving
away a bit of money to keep Dave in the game. The
concentration was etched in Dave’s face, Rickey
could tell that he was distraught. Marty had turned
his six-hundred bucks into almost ten thousand dollars
by ten o’clock, and Dave kept sending for more
chips.
During the ten o’ clock hour, Rickey turned
the deck up slightly, showing Dave the bottom card.
A hard tap on the table with a black chip meant he
could use it, and when Dave got two kings and two
sevens, he tapped his black chip. On the draw, Rickey
tossed him the seven that was lurking on the bottom
with such ease and skill that Marty didn’t
notice. Marty never noticed, not in all the time
he played against Dave.
Armed with a solid full house, Dave bet huge, hoping
to make his play and get a good portion of his money
back. One good hand, and it would be impossible for
Marty to complete the comback and win the whole forty
thousand. With the incredible run of cards Marty
was getting, Dave was quite sure that at noon, he
would nod or point like a movie mob boss would, and
Marty would die in front of his eyes. But he had
to hold out until noon. Dave Larson was first and
foremost a gambler, and there was no way he was going
to back out before noon. He would give Marty the
chance that he deserved. After all, Dave was feeling
like quite the benefactor since he was holding a
full house.
With eyes that burned of concentration, Dave made
his play.
“Five thousand,” Dave said, somehow knowing
that Marty would stay. Marty did indeed stay but
he never expected him to raise.
“I’ll double that,” Marty answered, counting
out neat stacks of chips. Dave almost folded—doubt
was rampant in his mind since he hadn’t won
a hand in so long, but he was reassured by thinking
about the chances of losing with a full house in
five card draw.
“Call.”
“I’ve got a full house,” Marty said, showing
off his hand: three Jacks and two fours.
Dave couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He
dropped his cards and tried to contain his frustration.
He badly wanted to kick the table, grab the gun and
kill the Mr. lucky. In one morning, he was beginning
to get a genuine dislike for Marty Valentine.
It was a bit after eleven, and Marty had to squeeze
out dollars from Dave. He folded easily, and it was
pretty apparent he was stalling until noon. Instead
of trying to push too far and question Dave’s
gambling skill, integrity, or strategy, he simply
suppressed the urge to call him a chicken and waited.
He waited until he was sweating. His thirty grand
didn’t grow in close to a half an hour, but
he still waited. After all, it was his day.
At eleven thirty five, the poker gods decided that
Marty had waited long enough. In front of Dave Larson
was three aces, and when he drew, he tapped his black
chip very hard, as if he were angry. Rickey dealt
him the fourth ace from the bottom of the deck.
“I will bet ten thousand dollars, Mr. Valentine. I
trust you have the fortitude to call this bet.”
“Not only do I have the fortitude,” Marty said
as he pushed his chips into the pot, “but I’m
also pretty sure that I have the cards. I’ll
call.”
“You may have cards in your hand, but I seriously
doubt that any of them are Aces, since I have all
four of them,” Dave said, laying out his hand.
“Wow Dave, that’s amazing,” Marty said,
and from the tone of his voice, Dave was pretty sure
that he was beaten. “What are the chances of
you having four aces, and me having the only hand
that can beat it?” Marty spread out a four
through eight, all of diamonds. It was a straight
flush, and with fifteen minutes to go, he had forty-one
thousand, two hundred and sixty dollars.
“No!” Dave screamed, leaping up from his chair.
He looked right at Rickey.
“What are you helping him win? What in the . . .” Dave
kicked at his chair, and paced a bit.
“Come on Dave, I want to break even before noon.” Marty
couldn’t help it. He was smiling, knowing he
was breaking the confidence of the great Dave Larson,
but Dave Larson was a knowledgeable gambler. A good
gambler. A true pro. He decided that he would give
him his fifteen minutes. With a new resolve, he settled
back into his chair.
“Alright Marty, here’s the deal. You’ve
only got about ten minutes left, so we’re only
playing one more hand. It’s gonna be stud,
none of this draw stuff. One hand, you call the bet,
I call the game.”
Dave paused, letting it soak in. Marty never stopped
smiling
“Do you wanna make it five grand so you can pull ahead?” Dave
said. “So you can pay me off and leave this
place with your pulse intact and maybe enough for
a steak dinner?” Dave said.
“All of it,” Marty quickly answered with no
hesitation. “My forty grand or so, every penny
of it. You up for that?”
Dave thought about it. Then he began to smile, like
he knew something that Marty didn’t know.
“Fine. The bet is forty grand. If you win, you leave
with thirty five thousand, which is what you clear
after you pay me off. If I win . . . poof, that’s
it. Game over, pay up, yadda yadda yadda.”
“That sounds fair,” Marty said. Rickey was shuffling
the cards, a nine millimeter against his fleshy stomach,
stuck in the waistband of his slacks. It was warm
and comfortable as it nested, but it was ready to
strike.
He offered the cut. Marty took it. Then, as Rickey
dealt the cards, Dave called the game.
“Like I said, five card stud. No draw. And before
you pick up your cards, we’re playing lowball.
Low hand wins.”
Marty paused. He was scared and stunned, not knowing
just how far the limitations of his luck would stretch.
He looked at the Hoyle playing cards, which held
his fate. Backing out of the game would be as bad
as losing it, Rickey would pull and fire immediately.
Even Marty could see how easily the slick concrete
floor could be mopped up. It was probably mopped
up several times before.
He nervously pushed out the rest of his money, and
if his life could be translated into the form of
a chip, he would be pushing that out too. With a
trembling hand he slid his cards toward him. Dave
was already laughing.
“I don’t believe this,” Dave said, giggling.
He threw down a straight, powerful in regular poker,
but an almost guaranteed loss in lowball, when the
goal is to get the most horrible hand possible.
Marty peeked at his cards and he also started laughing.
He couldn’t stop.
“My day,” he said, with tears forming in his
eyes. He leaned back and laughed even harder. “It’s
my day.”
Dave gave Rickey a glance, and then he reached across
the table, where Marty had left his cards. He tossed
them over, and Dave had a feeling come over him he
would remember for the rest of his life. It was a
combination of pity, amazement and disbelief. In
front of him was a natural Royal Flush, the Cadillac
of poker hands. The odds of getting one in a lifetime
are slim, the odds of getting one in five card stud
are tens of millions to one, but there it was, the
only unbeatable hand in a game of lowball where it
meant a guaranteed loss.
Marty was still laughing, and he couldn’t stop.
He knew that on a day where he couldn’t lose,
only Marty Valentine could find a way to lose big.
He always believed in betting the goods, and it was
coming true. He thought he was betting on the goods,
but only now did he believe that he was betting all
the goods in his life every time he gambled: his
daughter, his job, his relationship with Janice,
a happy existence. Only after losing them all could
he manage to lose life itself. But by now it was
worthless anyway. Janice would be packing and leaving.
It was time for her to move on. It was for the best.
It was supposed to be a collection, a sign of power,
something for others who couldn’t pay up to
notice, but on the day after Christmas, Dave Larson
felt he made up for many of his vices during this
holiday season with what was now a supreme act of
mercy. He nodded.
Marty Valentine was still laughing, but the tears
were caused by something entirely different. He felt
hot all over, until something cold pressed against
the back of his neck. Then he felt nothing at all.
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