Page 28 of Bozo

As the dealer prepares to reveal the river card, I can feel the tension in the room ratchet up another notch. The Fury Viperguy’s fingers drum on the table, whereas the older gentleman remains perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the center of the table.

The river card slides into place: king of clubs.

I’d smile if I could. I've hit my set, and now I'm sitting with the best hand there is. The Fury Viper hesitates for a moment before pushing forward a substantial bet, nearly half his stack. The gentleman considers for a long moment before folding with a resigned sigh.

Now it's my turn. I can feel Lorcan's gaze burning into me, silently urging me to make the most of this opportunity. I take a deep breath, not wanting to seem too eager, before pushing my entire stack into the middle.

"All in," I announce.

Jerry's eyebrows shoot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools his features to remain impassive. He studies me intently, trying to read any tells, but I give him nothing. After what feels like an eternity, he shakes his head and folds.

All eyes turn to the Fury Viper guy. His eyes narrow on me as he watches me closely. He glances at his remaining chips, then back at the pot, clearly torn. His jaw clenches as he stares me down, his fingers tapping against the table. The tension in the room is palpable. Everyone is focused on his next move.

"Fuck it," he growls, shoving his remaining chips into the middle. "I call."

I keep my face impassive as I flip over my pocket kings. The Fury Viper's eyes widen as he reveals his hand: ace-jack suited. He had the top two pair; a strong hand, but not strong enough.

"Fuck!" he snarls, running a hand over his head. He turns to me and smiles. “Heard a lot about you, kid,” he says as he reaches across the table to shake my hand. “I’m Pyro.”

I shake Pyro's hand, nodding respectfully. "Unlucky," I say, keeping my voice neutral. It's always a delicate balance in these high-stake games—you don’t want to come across as arrogant.

Pyro leans back in his chair, a wry smile on his face. "Well, looks like I'm re-buyin’. Need to try and win some of my money back. It’s goin’ to be hard with this one," he says, jerking his thumb in my direction.

I can see Lorcan approaching from the corner of my eye. He claps Pyro on the shoulder, murmuring something I can't quite catch. Whatever it is, it makes Pyro laugh and nod. Lorcan clicks his fingers, and within seconds, Pyro’s being re-stacked with chips.

The dealer begins shuffling for the next hand, and I take a moment to survey the players. Jerry's watching me with a mixture of pride and wariness—he knows better than anyone at this table what I'm capable of. The two Americans, Lorenzo and Tempest are grinning. This isn’t the first time I’ve played either man. They’re close friends; something I found odd at first, not realizing that the motorcycle club and Italian mafia ran in the same circles, but I have since found out that their worlds are very closely entwined.

The older gentleman catches my eye and gives me a slight nod of respect. "Impressive play, young man," he says, his voice heavy with an Irish accent. "I'm afraid we haven't been properly introduced. I’m Henry Gallagher," he says, extending his hand.

Holy shit, it’s the head of the Irish mafia. Henry Gallagher started the Gallagher crime family, otherwise known as the Gallagher Clann. He’s the reason the family has spanned over two continents and is still getting stronger. He’s a man many rarely see, but he’s the most powerful man at the table.

I shake Henry's hand. "Connor O'Malley," I reply, my voice steady.

Henry's grip is firm, his eyes sharp as they assess me. "I've heard tales of your skills at the table. It seems they weren't exaggerating."

As Henry releases my hand, I can feel the weight of everyone's attention on us. This interaction hasn't gone unnoticed by anyone in the room.

The dealer announces the next hand, and we all turn our focus back to the game. As the cards are dealt, I can't help but feel a mixture of wariness and excitement. I've just won a significant pot, and with it being the first hand, it means that the curse could be in effect.

The curse is that if you win the first hand, you’ll lose every hand afterward. I’ve seen it happen to too many people. I’ve played against a hell of a lot of different poker players of different abilities, and it can still be the same for each of them. They win the first hand, and then they’re not winning again. Of course, I put it down to superstition. They begin to think about the so called curse and set themselves off, getting in their own heads and trying to chase a pot rather than play it. It’ll never work out that way.

I peek at my cards: Ace-Queen offsuit. A strong starting hand, but I know better than to get overconfident. In a game like this, with players of this caliber, anything can happen.

Lorenzo is first to act, and he comes out with a raise, three times the big blind. Tempest calls without hesitation, and I can see a silent communication pass between them. They might be friends, but they're not here to do each other any favors.

The action comes to me, and I take a moment to consider. After my big win in the last hand, I decide to sit this one out and just watch it play out.

As the hand plays out, I observe my opponents carefully. Lorenzo and Tempest seem to be locked in their own private battle, raising and re-raising each other. The flop comes Ace-high, and I can't help but feel a twinge of regret for folding my Ace-Queen. Still, I remind myself that patience is key in a game like this.

Pyro, having just re-bought, is playing more cautiously now. He folds to a hefty bet from Lorenzo on the turn. Henry Gallagher, however, has been quietly calling along, his face an unreadable mask.

The river brings a queen, completing a possible straight draw. Lorenzo fires out a massive bet, nearly his entire stack. Tempest folds almost immediately, a look of frustration flashing across his face.

All eyes turn to Henry. The old man takes his time, his gaze on the center of the table and unmoving. Finally, with a slight smile, he pushes his chips forward. "Call," he says quietly.

Lorenzo's face falls as Henry reveals his hand. He has the straight. He is holding king and queen. Lorenzo mucks his cards without revealing them, but the slump of his shoulders tells the story. He was full of shit.

Henry has just won a pot nearly as large as the one I took down in the first hand. The smile the old man had is now gone and his poker face is back in full effect.

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