Author Games: Ace of Spades

Task Four: Females

Emerson turned towards her. "Thirteen," they whispered, though they were not actually quiet; rather it was the same time of whisper that actors used on a stage when they were meant to be telling a secret, but wanted the entire audience to hear. "You win."

Just as Florence began to feel relief course through her, a gun was slapped into her hand and a dark smile appeared upon Emerson's face. "You didn't think it'd be this easy, did you?" they said, in the same whisper they had used before. "Oh, honey – have you learned nothing tonight?" They paused. "Go on, then. Shoot."

According to common sense, one should always seize any moment available to throw away their biggest threat.

Her hands shook as she raised the gun, so much so that she was not sure if she would even make the shot. Slowly, as though she were fighting the air to bring the gun up towards her, she pointed the weapon at Aoife. Florence had hoped for a reaction, but the other woman's face had stayed as calm as ever. She expected it, thought Florence. Maybe she knew winning would mean killing, maybe she didn't – but she definitely knew that my first reaction would be to go for her.

Aoife's face made it all the clearer that Florence should kill her and get it done with; it also made it obvious that she would never be able to. Behind the marble face hid a woman with children – grandchildren, even, whom she'd heard stories about over the course of the night – and a life of her own. Florence had heard about bingo nights at the Dublin Plaza, where Aoife met with other Irish immigrants, and the Sunday mornings she spent at church. Plenty of that could be a lie, of course, and doubtless plenty of it was, but Florence French was not the kind of woman who could take a life she knew.

She switched her aim to the right and shot, her arms steadying the moment she aimed towards a target she barely recognized and probably – hopefully – couldn't name. Florence French was not the kind of woman who could take a life she knew, but, as it turned out, she had no such qualms when it came to strangers.

"How dramatic," sighed Emerson. "Aoife Callahan, it's your turn."

Florence rejoined the crowd as she watched the woman step up towards the wheel, putting her bet in place. She tried to focus on the numbers, but all she could see was the eerie stillness of Aoife's face when she had been confronted with death. There is a dead body to my left, thought Florence, but she remained nonplussed by the knowledge. She wondered whether her face was as calm as Aoife's had been. It certainly felt like it.

"Another winner!" exclaimed Emerson, mock surprise painted over their face. "It's almost as though the wheel is rigged! Can you imagine? Why would anybody do a thing like that?" They paused. "Oh, well. Your turn, then."

Aoife did not hesitate when she took the gun in hand, but pointed it right towards her. I suppose I deserve that, she thought. Again, the woman's face was so calm that Florence felt as though she might be a machine, created to con others into trusting what could be nothing but an old woman. At any moment now, I am going to die. She closed her eyes. Three... two... one...

She heard the gunshot, but did not feel it. Rather, she saw Aoife's eyes pointed right on her, but her gun slightly to the left, facing towards the girl who had been named Sushi, who had dropped her sushi in shock. She was unharmed, and no bullet could be found in the room, but Florence had heard the message loud and clear.

The true gamble came with the gun, and whether or not it would shoot a blank or a murder – would the person shooting alienate a competitor, or rid themselves of one? Aoife smiled, and Florence realized that the real game had started, and the stakes had been claimed. Florence French was not the kind of woman who could take a life she knew.