"All in," Abel Seidel announced with a sigh and tut, he did this on purpose, it was a cunning ploy. This was a huge push for him. Was Abel tapping into his alter ego self the "Reeling Kid" as he had been commonly known among the poker world here in Letterdam? All his chips; black, yellow, red and blue went into the centre of the table. Abel sure showed no sign of a nervous, anxious kid. Abel just sat there and no smile or a frown, had he. He had no tells either. None, that is, until you look at his feet, they were a dead gave away. Abel had what poker players called happy feet.
He had old Cathal "Grinder" McCloskey stumped. Cathal was looking at the board keenly. It showed an ace/three/five. Still, Cathal played with his dwindling chip stack ruffling what was left as he mused. The Grinder trailed a hand through what little silver hair he had left. He was talking to himself. "You are all in? Hmm?" He rubbed his bloodshot eye with an index finger.
Cathal was stumped.
"I think you have a good high ace," the Grinder admitted.
...Wrong.
"Or maybe a strong pocket pair? Queens maybe. Em, Jacks," the Grinder figured.
...Wrong.
Around the green felt table, there were whisperings of a wheel. Inside, Abel was telling these suckers to SHUT THE FUCK UP! But Abel knew the truth. Cathal had grown attached to his trip aces, no denying that. The Grinder had fallen in love. He was head over heels. It was all in his hazel eyes. Cathal wiped a few beads of sweat from his wizened brow. With a call, he would be known as a genius or a fool. The old timer had played the game long before Abel was even in his mother's womb. Abel just had a knack for the game, he loved it.
Almost as reluctant as Abel had said, "All in," Cathal mirrored that and then slumped.
Cathal predicted, "Four/two?" He probably knew all along, but there must have been an inclination of a bluff. Abel was notorious for it this night, you see.
Abel gave no reply. The Reeling Kid preferred to let Cathal read 'em and weep.
Four/two it was, when he flipped his cards.
There was a soft guffaw around the table as the guy to Abel's left patted his back. Some were right when they whispered the wheel. The long-haired fella with multiple piercings sitting to Abel's immediate right was chuffed his guess was spot on. Those closer to Cathal were in disbelief. "Bad beat" was the word that reverberated on the other side of the green felt table. In truth, for Cathal, this was chumps change, but for Abel, it was change as well. Change for a better life.
He stood to win nearly four thousand Kroaling this night, it should help to pay back a few debts. Still the debate went on. Calling the pre-flop bet was madness but genius at the same time. Abel was congratulated, but perhaps it was a bit premature, for the Grinder had a few outs he could hit. Abel knew that all too well. In other words, Cathal might strike it lucky.
Still, Abel was the picture of calmness. Why a storm could be raging all around him and Abel would not bat an eyelash.
Phew! Abel could breathe a sigh of relief. An unthreatening eight of clubs. The prettiest card in the deck. At this very moment at least. Now to survive the river.
"Old man river has broken many a gambler."
Or so Ilya's song of old went.
Again, the dealer broke his balls, they shattered like glass. He crossed his fingers. No ace - no pairing was his mantra. Cathal looked on with anticipation as well. Jennifer be damned, the whole table wanted to see the river card. Usually, in a cash game, a sighting on the river is an extremely rare occurrence. Especially for this exorbitant sum of Kroaling. Usually, a lot of checking is involved that and minimal betting.
Still, the dealer had not turned the river card.
He was about too.
He tapped the table once, then twice, ready to show the card of fate.
Just turn the river already!
Everything went in slow motion for Abel.
But finally.
Finally!
The river was shown.
Welcome my lady, the Queen of hearts. She looked extraordinary beautiful under this artificial light. Heck, she would look good in any light under the right conditions. Abel was congratulated, but still, he stayed calm. His heart though was palapating out of his chest. Below his waistline, he was jumping for joy, but still, the one they called the Reeling Kid looked cool, calm and collected.
The chips were pushed his way by the dealer who wore his red waist coat had a mow hawk and a thin moustache .
"Five hundred," Cathal promptly said, ordering more chips for himself. He took out a fat wallet, the stitches were ready to bust. Cathal handed a five hundred Kroaling bill to the dealer. Money was like water for the old oil tycoon.
Everyone was fast to note Abel picking up his chips and putting them away in a small plastic container. He was going to call it a night. He came into this game with five hundred Kroaling. He had surpassed the grand he initially hoped to win and then some.
"Ah, yer not leaving kid?" Cathal asked him as the dealer counted out his chips. "What are you. . . a pussy? Not willing to give me the opportunity to get some of me Kroaling back?" He was goading Abel to sit at the table a little longer.
"I'd be happy to take some more of your money," he replied casually as he stood to his feet and fingered his ear hole. He needed to take a moment to stop his knees from quivering, it was an adrenaline rush, you see. "But, eh. . . I am afraid I am late for an engagement," Abel informed the Grinder and in turn, the table. "We must dance again though, I'd like that." He left Cathal to grumble and curse under his fishy breath four/two.
Abel walked through the casino with his head aloof. He walked toward the cashier cage at the other end of the room. This place was grand. He breathed it all in. This was an iconic building, once the home of the Letterdam council. It was built on three levels. The first level was home to over a thousand machines. The second level was home to the fish. The top tier, where Abel had been playing was where the sharks hung out, where the big bucks were spent.
At the cashier cage, Abel exchanged his chips for the four thousand Kroaling he fairly won. The clerk, a flat chested female in a cherry coloured uniform counted out his cash and she drawled when she said, "Four thousand Kroaling." She probably dreamed she could earn that in a night instead of being stuck on minimum wage. He shoved the cash into the pocket of his combat jacket and left with a grin. He passed the table he had just been playing at and gave them heads up. He noted Cathal' s empty chair. Curious.
He walked downstairs and through the bustling casino. A busty blonde playing blackjack stopped him and said," try your luck here, sweetie."
Abel repaid her with a coy smile of his own. "Poker is my game love." He banged the finger at her.
"Hit me," she went on.
Abel passed the lines of machines. The bright lights lured in the dope-fueled gamblers and their fat wallets full of cash quickly emptied into a stupid menial machine. Abel exited via the main doors and artificial light destroyed the night sky.
Abel was not alone as he sparked up a cigarette. Cathal was out smoking a fat cigar. "Four/two huh?" a bitter Cathal said through gritted teeth. Abel noted all the gold he wore. He must have been wearing four grand of gold at least.
Abel took a gratifying drag. "Yeah," Abel said casually, "I like the wheel."
"Look at you, you're a spotty kid with a fake ID no doubt. Next time I'll get ye," Cathal said bobbing his head. "Next time."
Abel paid him a coy smile and scratched the side of his head. "Yeah," he agreed, "that is what everybody says." And on that note, he proceeded to walk up main street.
Now he was going to go to his friend's flat for it was his eighteenth name day.
Abel walked to the ghetto area of Letterdam at the far end of the city, not far from the docks.
The ghetto was no more than two blocks of flats that stretched high into the sky and made Abel feel small. These flats looked as though they had scabies as giant patches of pink paint were peeling off the walls. Dumping was popular here, black bags of stinking rubbish piled up in corners, inviting all the local rodents for a feast. The ghetto was alive with activity, what with all the undesirables living in one place. Even the peace officers did not venture this way for the ghetto had such a bad reputation.
Abel opened a busted wooden door and walked on in. He immediately picked up the scent of weed. On the first floor, Abel saw a homeless man sleeping. This homeless man had claimed this floor for his own. There were many empty bottles and cans around him.
Walking on up to the next floor, he opened the white door to his friend's flat and walked on through. It was a party and so there was an open-door policy. The music was loud and had to be trance. People were scattered all over the place and almost everyone was on some form of narcotic.
Abel started saying hello to those he knew and a few he didn't. The crowded hallway was a sign of the madness to come. What struck him first was the humidity and the putrid stench of sweat. Had people not heard of deodorant?
In the living room, the place was packed. Abel could clearly see the correlation between man and ape. To his immediate right was the kitchen, it looked grubby and uncared for, tiles broken on the wall and floor. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes, pots, and pans. Two guys were rather bravely (or foolishly) taking vodka shots to their eyes. There was also a pale topless woman urging them on; one perv was sucking and slobbering on her pink nipple like a newborn babe, she seemed to love it. Then Abel glanced to his left, the living room, and there were more women topless and dancing; all the seats appeared to be taken. There were cans and bottles all over the place, junk food wrappers, old newspapers and drug paraphernalia too.
Kai Tzur was the host tonight, he lived on his own and was a madman altogether, always partying.
"Yo!" Kai called out from the other side of the room. "Hows Abe?" His brown begulling eyes connected with Abel's sapphire eyes. Abel noted he dyed his hair red.
"Alright, man," Abel answered. "Eh. . . happy name day, and all."
"Ah, you're sound, Abe, you're sound. Want a pill?" Kai gesticulated.
"No thanks." Abel waved his hand in a motion to decline. He didn't want to wake up with depression and a sense of worthlessness. Not this time at least.
"You lose," Kai confirmed, popping the little blue pill he had reserved for himself. Kai and Abel's conservation was cut short, as Kai was quickly called upon to continue partaking in a game of kings. A popular drinking game amongst young adults.
Abel hoped to get sorted. In this place, there had to be a dealer, there just had to be. Abel quickly spotted a member of the shams nicknamed the Monk.
"It's Monk, right?" Abel guessed.
"Who wants to know?" Monk replied looking rather paranoid.
"It's cool man, I'm Abel, we met before."
"Ah right, aye sham, now I remember you."
He probably doesn't. "Yeah man."
"Aye sham, I mind you, so are you looking?" an astute Monk asks. His dilated eyes darted around the room.
"Yeah, a quarter if you got it."
"Green sham," Monk asked to verify the drug of choice as he picked up his duffel bag just by his feet.
"Yeah, swell."
Monk pulled out a big bag of weed, scales and a baggie. Abel knew it was good weed, he could smell it. It was distinct Kush. "OK, then sham, seven grams?"
"Aye," Abel replied as he watched a guy with purple hair get to his feet; he had an old scar on his cheek. He looked like he was about to barf. Slyly Abel took his seat. There was a golden rule at house parties: if you were on your feet you lost your seat. Simples. Gladly Abel sat down but was not going to get too comfortable.
"Right then," Monk said as he handed a bag of green to Abel. It was at that point Abel reached into his pocket counted out the Kroaling and handed Monk seventy sheets; the transaction was complete. Abel safely stashed his cash and the bag of weed deep into his pocket.
"Have you got any MD?" Abel speculatively asked, after all, he had money to burn.
"Gram a thirty sham," Monk informed him.
"Yeah, go on," Abel replied. Somehow, he knew he wouldn't be sleeping here tonight. Not until six or seven at the earliest.
Monk gave a little bag of white powder to Abel who gave the money to Monk. "Just a bump will do," Monk said, "just a bump."
"Cheers," he replied putting the bag into his trouser pocket.
"Sure, sham, sure."
A popular tune came on and Monk's girls had to get up and shake their anorexic bootys. They dragged Monk up to join them, he reluctantly did so. Monk danced like a twat. It was at that point Abel decided to leave, conveniently for the purple haired dude who re-took his seat.
"Where are you going, Abe?" Kai called out.
"Ah, you know, just eh. . . going out for some fresh air man," Abel offered an excuse.
"You be back right?"
"Yeah man I-I'll be back," Abel reassured his closest friend, but in truth, he was in two minds about returning. In truth, he was thinking about playing more poker. He loved poker, but he also loved being intoxicated, when he was in the mood of course. Any other night he would be at the table with Kai playing Kings being marked down as an inebriate, but not tonight.
"Right, well, I will see ya in a bit then," Kai added, as he got ready to do another round of Jägermeister. Abel watched the drunkards get drunker and the lude debauchery around the room get nastier. This he was glad to leave behind. "Who wants another line," the gracious host Kai called out as he pulled out a packed bag of white powder. A cheer was the last thing Abel heard as he exited the living room, then the flat.
He breathed a sigh of relief. He stood for a moment and thought I was in the heart of darkness and survived. Abel swished back his sandy blonde hair and went down a flight of stairs.
Pat, the homeless man was now awake. "Have you got a smoke?" He asked in a husky voice. Pat looked and smelled dreadful with black circles under his blank eyes. Pat needed a shower and a shave.
Abel shook his head, "I don't smoke," he lied. The last thing he wanted was a name for being a softy. If you're soft in this city unfriendly people will take advantage of you.
The homeless man got up rather quickly. Abel noticed this and he stood in a combative stance, fists raised, awaiting an attack. Pat did not attack, instead, he covered his mouth with his hands and swallowed back vomit, but it was not enough. Pat then got sick all over his dirty cum-stained sheets.
That was just nasty. "Are you alright, man?" Abel asked him.
"Fine," Pat replied flailing his arms as he spat out some more puke. "Just fine."
"Sound," Abel announced. He decided to not hang around and he exited the block of flats via the same door he came in.
Outside, it had started to rain. Abel walked over toward a small hanger to his right, which led to a car park and the entrance to more flats. It provided a bit of shelter.
Then he saw it.
A loathly assailant with bright yellow eyes. This assailant was garbed from head to toe in black and he drew a black sword that had a faint reddish hue. He strode toward Abel. "What do you want?" he stuttered - a habit he had when exceedingly nervous predominantly due to his social anxiety, or in this case, genuine general anxiety.
"You," was all the assailant said, softer than a whisper but all raspy. Its head moved like a primitive lizard.
Abel's nose detected the smell of death.
Abel was at the mercy of this assailant.
Death surely awaited.
Fate intervened.
Abruptly, from behind Abel, a saviour of sorts emerged. "Away with you, foul being!"
The assailant at first was startled by this man's presence, and hissed like an angry cat, wisely taking a few steps back to reassess the situation.
All Abel could see were two beings staring one another down. Neither flinched. Abel also knew these two might lock horns at any second, but they didn't. The assailant with yellow eyes jumped into the sky and incredibly transformed into a murder of crows. They flew off in different directions, blending into the blackness that was the night sky.
"Go on! Get out of here!" Abel found his voice as he watched the crows disappear.
Abel wanted to see the face of the man who came to his assistance. This man was taller than Abel and much more slender. He did not smell too appealing either. He was dressed like a tramp. The stranger then turned around, he had jet black hair in an angular fringe but his eyes were most salient, they were white and appeared to swirl. Abel wondered if he could see. Was he blind? The man wore a beige scarf around his long neck and shoulders and it also partially covered his mouth and beak nose, he pulled this scarf down to speak. "Come with me," were the mysterious man's first words. He had a smoky voice.
"Thanks, mister," Abel said, acknowledging the stranger's timely intervention. "I could have fended for myself, ya know."
"Fend for yourself? You!" the mysterious man questioned almost finding his statement comical. "Against one of the Assassins, huh. . . I think not." The mysterious man spoke sternly, putting Abel's brave notion six foot under.
"Assassins?" Abel asked rather perplexed. His knees were still wobbling like jelly no matter how hard he masked his bravery (or lack off). Abel was kind of freaked out, but he was willing to give the man who saved his life a chance. Why not? A chance to at least explain himself that is. "Have we met before?" Abel asked. He attempted to remember every detail of his face, not that he could. "Do I know you?"
"I know an awful lot about you, but you know little about me," the man pointed out.
"Well, duh!" Abel quipped. "Can I at least ask your name?"
"Hmm..." The man looked about. "I am Raziel," the stranger now known as Raziel said proudly, puffing out his chest, enlightening Abel. "I am your protector. Now then, you must come with me at once, you are not safe here. Don't be afraid. Please. . . trust me." His voice was strained with just a hint of worry.
"What sort of danger?" he asked apprehensively.
"There will be a time for more questions later, right now you have to follow me, we need to get out of this city."
"But I don't even know you!"
"Now listen to me," said Raziel stubbornly. "That was just one of the Assassins. Next time they come back, there won't be just one, I can guarantee you that. More will be present. I can only defend you from these foul foes. I can't fight them all at once. They have come to capture you. Now come, I implore you to trust me, we must go. Time is of the essence."
Raziel moved toward the side ally seemingly thinking he had earned Abel's trust, but Abel had reservations. He was wary at first, but for some strange reason, he decided to trust Raziel, maybe to his own misjudgement.
"Come, we must go!"
"Fine," Abel said, getting fed up with his nagging tone.
Together, they left the ghetto and were onto the busy main street. Where exactly Abel was following Raziel remained unclear. All Abel knew was that this man had saved his life so he couldn't be that bad, could he?
Abel was left with one irritating question.
What did that Assassin want with me?