The exchange of their gazes was fleeting.
No recognition.
No interest.
The man looked away and lit another cigarette.
Darcy did the same.
He turned his attention back to the table.
“Another round,” Joe suggested.
Darcy arranged the coins in front of him.
“Sure.”
The cards were dealt again.
Joe looked at the coins on the table.
“Is that all you have?”
Darcy nodded.
“For now.”
Joe ran a hand through his beard and let out a laugh.
“For now? Come on, lad. If you're going to sit at this table, play like a man.”
He took several coins from his pocket and dropped them onto the wood.
The metallic clatter caught Harold and Buck's attention.
“I raise.”
One of them whistled through his teeth.
Darcy looked at the amount.
It was too much for him.
“What is it? Afraid to lose?” Joe asked.
The man pushed the coins toward the centre.
“If you haven't got money, at least have the balls to put something worth a damn on the table.”
Darcy remained silent.
He reached into his coat pocket.
His fingers found the watch.
For several seconds, he did not take it out.
Joe watched him with a crooked smile.
“Don't keep me waiting. Bet whatever you've got hidden in there.”
Darcy finally took out the watch.
He placed it on the table with a solid thud.
Harold raised an eyebrow.
“A watch?” he asked.
“It's silver.”
Joe picked it up and examined the case.
“There's some gold on it... I like it.”
Darcy said nothing.
“How much is it worth?”
“Enough.”
Joe let out a small laugh.
“Good. That's enough for me.”
Darcy looked at the watch again.
The initials E.H. were hidden beneath his palm.
Joe returned the watch to the table.
“Perfect. Let's carry on.”
Buck, sitting to Darcy's left, began shuffling.
The cards struck the wood one after another.
Darcy kept his eyes fixed on them.
The second round had begun.
This time, he could not afford to lose.
The first few hands were even.
Darcy bet little and watched his opponents.
Joe seemed confident.
Too confident.
When the stakes rose again, Darcy matched the bet.
The coins piled up in the centre of the table.
Finally, it was time to show their cards.
Darcy placed his on the wood.
Joe smiled slowly.
“Bad luck, lad.”
He laid his hand beside Darcy's.
It was better.
Darcy remained motionless.
He had lost the round.
Joe took the watch and set it aside with the rest of the money.
Darcy lowered his gaze toward the centre of the table, now empty in front of him.
His breathing slowed.
His heartbeat thundered against his ribs.
He knew it could happen.
He had lost the money.
And now his father's watch as well.
Joe took a drink of his beer before speaking again.
“Well? Giving up?”
Darcy fixed his eyes on Joe.
A heavy silence settled over the table.
“I want another round,” Darcy replied without blinking.
Joe let out another laugh.
“Another? Seriously?”
“Yes.”
At Darcy's curt reply, Joe stopped laughing and slowly nodded.
“Alright... Let's play all or nothing, Irishman.”
Harold and Buck exchanged glances.
Darcy pushed the coins he had won in the first round forward.
Joe did the same, placing all his money and the watch on the table with a decisive thud.
Everything was now in the centre.
Harold gathered the cards again and began shuffling them.
Darcy kept his eyes on his hands.
The cards began falling onto the table.
One.
Two.
Three.
Darcy picked up his hand and looked at it without changing expression.
This time, he was not going to rely on luck.
He looked at his cards again.
They were bad.
He could try to play them, but the odds were against him.
Joe tapped his fingers against the table.
“Come on, lad. Play one.”
Darcy did not answer.
He studied his cards for a few more seconds.
Finally, he took one and placed it on the table.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Joe did the same.
His card was better.
A confident smile appeared on his face.
Darcy remained expressionless.
Then, from one of the nearby tables, there was a sharp thud.
“I told you not to touch my beer!”
A burly man rose from his seat and shoved another man who could barely remain standing.
“Calm down, man!”
“Fuck you!”
The other man shoved him with both hands.
“And what the hell are you going to do about it, you fat bastard?!”
The argument grew louder.
A chair crashed to the floor.
Several men turned their heads.
Even Joe, Harold, and Buck looked toward the commotion.
At the back of the basement, the man in the brown suit showed no interest in the fight.
He merely raised his wine glass to his lips as cigarette smoke gathered around his table.
Beside him, his two companions remained standing.
They did not move an inch.
One had black hair shaved at the sides, light green eyes, a black suit, and a charismatic smile that did not quite inspire confidence.
The other was blond, slightly taller and more heavily built, with hazel eyes, an olive-green suit, and a frivolous expression.
It seemed that this sort of altercation was not even worthy of their attention.
Darcy seized the opportunity.
His right hand discreetly disappeared beneath the table.
He took out the deck he had hidden.
With a quick movement, he switched his two cards.
He slipped the deck into his sleeve just as one of the players turned his gaze back toward the table.
Darcy placed the two new cards face down on the wood.
No one seemed to have noticed anything.
Joe smiled again.
“Well, lad. Let's see what you've got.”
Darcy did not hurry.
He placed his second card beside the one he had already played.
Harold made a dismissive gesture.
His hand was not very good.
“Shit, I'm out.”
“Me too. I'm folding,” Buck replied.
Both laid their cards on the table in resignation.
Joe was the only one still in the game.
He smiled and confidently placed his cards on the wood.
His hand was good.
Too good for him not to consider himself the winner.
He kept his eyes on Darcy and the final card in his hand.
“Come on, Irishman... Play it and let's get this bloody thing over with.”
Darcy did not answer.
With confidence, he placed his third and final card on the table.
Silence fell over the table.
Harold and Buck exchanged incredulous looks.
Joe frowned, unable to believe it.
He looked at Darcy's cards.
Then at his own.
He shot to his feet.
“What the hell...? No way.”
Darcy slowly exhaled.
The tension in his shoulders had eased.
For a moment, he felt relieved.
The trick had worked.
He could hardly believe he had been about to lose everything.
Now he only had to collect the money, retrieve his father's watch, and get out of there as quickly as possible.
He stood.
He reached toward the coins.
At that precise moment, Joe narrowed his eyes.
He noticed something strange protruding from beneath Darcy's sleeve.
“Not so fast, bastard...”
Joe reacted immediately.
He seized Darcy's wrist in a firm grip.
“Get your hand off me.”
Darcy tried to pull free.
The man yanked his arm toward him.
In the struggle, the sleeve of Darcy's coat lifted slightly.
The deck fell with a sharp thud.
The cards scattered across the entire table.
Silence spread throughout the basement.
Every man turned his gaze toward Darcy's table.
Even the stranger in the brown suit, who rarely paid attention to the fights in the place, stopped with his wine glass halfway to his lips and turned his attention toward the same spot.
Harold and Buck stood when they saw the cards.
“What the fuck is this?” one of them muttered.
Joe stood frozen.
His expression hardened.
He ground his teeth in pure rage.
"You absolute piece of shit..."
The man said nothing else.
His fist struck Darcy in the face.
The impact sent him crashing into a nearby table.
The wooden table overturned with a deafening crash.
Dice, coins, and beer bottles fell to the floor.
Darcy struck the boards and dropped to his knees.
He barely had time to get up.
Harold lunged at him.
Darcy raised his arm to protect himself.
The blow grazed his face.
Darcy reacted quickly and punched him directly in the jaw.
The man staggered backward.
Buck appeared at his side.
Darcy caught sight of him.
He moved aside just in time and countered with a punch to Buck's face.
Darcy backed away.
He was about to run once and for all, but Joe was already in front of him.
His fist struck Darcy directly in the stomach.
The air left his lungs and he fell to the floor.
The three men began kicking him as he lay there.
“Take that, you filthy Irish bastard!”
Darcy desperately tried to shield his face and abdomen with his arms.
Boots struck his body and face again and again.
The noise in the basement had become a chaos of shouting, cheering, scraping tables, and breaking bottles.
Darcy desperately searched for something he could use.
His hand found a piece of glass among the remains of a broken bottle.
He gripped it tightly.
When Joe approached again, Darcy reacted, still on all fours.
He drove the glass several times into the lower part of Joe's left leg.
“Argh, damn it!”
Joe staggered back, groaning as he grabbed his leg.
Darcy forced himself upright.
He saw a chair a few steps away.
He grabbed it with both hands.
Without thinking twice, he lifted it and brought it down against Joe's head.
The man collapsed like a dead weight.
Darcy did not wait to see whether he would get back up.
He ran.
“Get him!” Harold shouted.
“Don't let him escape!”
Darcy shoved a table out of his way.
Glasses, coins, and bottles crashed to the floor.
One of the men tried to block his path.
Darcy dodged him and kept running.
He took the stairs two at a time.
He opened the door to the shoe shop and ran out into the street.
The cold air struck his face.
Shouts began behind him.
But Darcy did not stop.
He ran down Chorley Street without looking back.
He did not know how long he had been running.
He only knew he had to get away.
When he finally slowed down, he was several streets away from the shoe shop.
Looking around, he realized he was already back in Scholes.
He walked with difficulty.
He leaned against a wall.
His breathing was ragged.
His lower lip was split, there was a cut across his right eyebrow, and one side of his face was beginning to swell.
One hand trembled as he tried to wipe the blood from his face.
He lowered his gaze.
He had nothing.
Neither the money.
Nor the watch.
He had risked the only thing he had left of his father.
He had wagered what little money he had.
He had cheated.
And he still could not pay the rent.
As if he had returned to where he started.
Darcy closed his eyes.
All that effort had been for nothing.
He shook his head and slammed his fist against the brick wall in a fit of rage.
“Fuck!” Darcy shouted, his voice breaking.
His anguished cry echoed through the alley.
The pain in his knuckles barely mattered.
His fist remained pressed against the wall.
The blood from his eyebrow slowly ran down the side of his face.
For several seconds, he tried to calm himself, until tears began to fall.
Darcy covered his face with one hand.
There was no one there.
No one who could see him.
No one in front of whom he had to pretend he was fine.
He let out a sob.
Then another.
He wiped his face with the sleeve of his coat and began walking.
Every step hurt too much.
Not only because he had failed to get the money.
But because he also felt that he had failed himself as a man.
The streets of Scholes were almost completely empty.
Only a few lights remained on behind the windows of the houses.
Darcy walked in silence with his head bowed.
He thought of nothing.
He only wanted to get home.
After a few minutes, he saw his house in the distance.
He stopped in front of the door.
He looked at the house for several seconds.
Finally, he went inside, closing the door carefully behind him.
He climbed the stairs.
He did not even have the strength to take off his boots.
He collapsed onto the mattress on the floor.
He covered himself with his own coat and closed his eyes.
Exhaustion finally overcame what little remained of him.
At last, he fell into a deep sleep.