And that was a turning point. Jim’s cards went ice cold. The devil raked in pot after pot.
Two more hours passed, and Jim’s stack of chips totaled a little more than $500,000.
After losing $40,000 a hand with aces up against the devil’s ten high straight, Jim said, “I’d like to take a break and get a little fresh air.”
“Certainly,” Ignis said. “Just step outside.”
Jim deeply breathed in the crisp night air. He bent forward and back and from side to side. The neighborhood was also identical to the one where the game is played, except there were no people and not even a car passed.
This was surreal, a nightmare. You fool! You had to do it? You had to play him. Now, you’re up to your neck in shit. You’re losing your soul. And for what? Your ego. To get a gambling fix, a thrill? And there was no way out.
He gritted his teeth. Or was there? Maybe he could just walk away. But where was he?
This couldn’t really be the place he played on Fridays. But it was worth a chance.
He took ten paces.
“Stretching your legs, Mr. Steadman?” Ignis said behind him.
Jim released a sigh of despair, then turned around.
“Yeah. My legs were a little cramped, but they should be okay now.”
“Good. Are you ready to get back to the game?”
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