I peeked at my cards one last time as I fidgeted with my poker chips. Three of a kind.
"Call." I tossed a pile of chips in the middle of the table. Then fished around at a stack of chips for dramatic effect. "And raise 50."
Napoleon groaned, then flung his cards into the middle of the table.
"Too rich for my blood," he grumbled. "Who invited this guy anyway?"
Poker was a favorite in the afterlife for famous types. There were tournaments for us common folk, we could win our way to a table with the famous people.
I found it amusing that I was at the table with Napoleon and the Russian composer Piotr Tchaikovsky. I couldn't help myself at humming a few bars of the 1812 Overture, ingratiating myself with the composer while earning the enmity of the French emperor, who promptly informed me that he hated that song.
Gen. George Custer stared at his cards, as if to hope they would turn into a better hand. I could tell he had something good, but perhaps good enough. His stack of chips had dwindled, and my bet would knock him out of the game if he lost.
He pinched and twirled his mustache, trying to decide whether to make this hand his last stand.
"I feel like the odds are against me," he said. "I won't make that mistake again." He smacked his cards down on the table in disgust, then brushed them to the center of the table.
The composer was already out, it was just down to me and the silent guy.
I thought perhaps he was a priest. He wore a golden cross around his neck. His clothes looked like they were from the 16th century, like a painting of Henry VIII. Of course this guy wasn't rotund enough to be the English king.
He had spoken only to announce his bets or to fold, and said nothing else the entire game. I couldn't read him, he seemed utterly devoid of any kind of expression.
"Cinquenta," he said, glancing at me. I wasn't going to bet him out of the hand.
"Glad I got out," Tchaikovsky said.
I nodded, and Custer dealt the final cards to both of us. No help. My three kings would have to be good enough.
The friar (or whatever he was) tapped on his pile of chips before tossing in a modest bet. I should have realized I was being lured in.
"All of it," I said, plowing the chips in with both hands. My opponent only smiled as he counted out the chips to call my bet.
"Read 'em and weep!" I said proudly as I flipped down my cards.
The man shook his head, then dropped his cards one at a time. He paused when he got to the last card, a devilish grin on his face. It couldn't be the other king he needed to go along with the 10, Jack, Queen and Ace he had.
Damn. King of diamonds.
I got up from the table in disgust as the man chuckled to me.
"Beware the straights of Magellan."