2025-03-04 04:47:52Bill was never the type to linger at casinos for long. He’d play a game or two, then leave. The low-level gamblers were nothing more than training gadgets to him, stepping stones to sharpen his skills for the real stakes. As he walked the streets of Bethel, the townsfolk eyed him with unease. He wasn’t polite, nor kind. He took what he wanted without asking, especially when it was his by right.
“Give me a cup of coffee,” he said abruptly, stopping at a small café. His voice was sharp, commanding, and devoid of warmth. He sat down in a chair, his presence immediately drawing the attention of the other customers. Bill was a prestigious figure in Bethel, known for his gambling prowess. He was among the top 10 gamblers in the town, a title that carried both respect and fear. The waitress, a young woman named Rachel, approached him cautiously. “Here’s the coffee you ordered, sir,” she said, placing the cup on the table with a slight tremble in her hands. Her voice was soft, almost timid, as if she were afraid of saying the wrong. “I’ll need sugar and milk too. Hope the coffee is good,” Bill said, his tone flat and uninterested. “One of the best, sir,” Rachel replied, forcing a smile before hurrying off to fetch the milk and Bill wasn’t always like this. Once, he had been different, kinder, softer. People remembered him as a gentle soul, the kind of person who would go out of his way to help others. But that was before his father vanished without a trace after losing a high-stakes gamble. The event had shattered something in Bill. He finished high school but abandoned any plans for further education, leaving behind his old life to become a gambler. He honed his skills, learned from the lessons his father had casually imparted during holidays and quiet moments. Now, he was a shadow of his former self, a man driven by a cold, unyielding determination. Rachel returned with a small box of sugar and a pitcher of milk, placing them gently on the table. “Here you go, sir,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She lingered for a moment, her eyes darting to his face before she quickly looked away. Bill nodded dismissively, and she retreated to the counter, where her friends were gathered. The moment she was out of earshot, the whispers began. “Oh my God, he’s so handsome!” Rachel gushed, her cheeks flushing as she clutched her tray to her chest. Her friends giggled, their eyes darting toward Bill. “I heard he’s one of the top gamblers in Bethel,” one of them said, her voice tinged with admiration “He’s so mysterious,” another added. “I wonder why he’s always so... cold.” Rachel’s gaze lingered on Bill, her heart racing. There was something about him, the way he carried himself, the intensity in his eyes, the star tattoo on his cheek that seemed to hint at a story she desperately wanted to know. But there was also a sadness in him, a distance that made her feel like she was looking at a man who existed in a world far removed from her own. Bill finished his coffee and stood, dropping a few bills on the table. “I’m done. You can clear this,” he said, his voice cutting through the chatter of the café. As he turned to leave, Rachel hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. “Sir,” she called out, her voice trembling slightly. “This might not be professional, but... can I ask for your name?” Bill paused, his expression unchanging. He looked at her with cold, detached eyes. “I don’t see how that would improve your business,” he said flatly. Rachel’s cheeks burned, but she held her ground. “It’s... for future purposes, sir,” she stammered, her voice barely audible. Bill studied her for a moment, his gaze piercing. “My name is Bill,” he said finally, his tone dismissive. “Just Bill?” she asked, her heart pounding. “You can call me that. My formal name isn’t important,” he replied, his voice cold and without a form of interest “Well, I’m Rachel,” she said, her blush deepening. “Okay. Nice to meet you, Rachel,” Bill said, though his tone suggested he couldn’t care less. Without another word, he walked out the door, leaving Rachel standing there, her heart racing and her mind swirling with questions. As Bill walked away, his mind was already elsewhere. He didn’t care about Rachel or her friends. He didn’t care about the whispers or the stares. His thoughts were consumed by one thing: the casino. He only gambled at night, when the shadows were long and the stakes were high. Rachel watched him go, her heart heavy with a mix of admiration and sadness. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bill than met the eye, but she knew better than to chase after a man who seemed so far out of reach. As for Bill, he didn’t look back. He never did. The world was a cold, indifferent place, and he had long since stopped trying to find warmth in it. Night fell, and Bill’s spirit was alight with anticipation. He felt invincible, untouchable, as he made his way to the underground casino hidden beneath an ice cream store. It was a place where the police wouldn’t dare to raid, a sanctuary for those who lived on the edge. As he entered the room was a tomb of tension, the air thick with the acrid scent of cigar smoke and the faint metallic tang of spilled whiskey. The low hum of conversation from the onlookers was a distant murmur, drowned out by the rhythmic shuffle of cards and the occasional clink of ice in a glass. The baccarat table was the center of the universe, and Bill sat at its edge, his sharp green eyes locked on the dealer’s hands. Across from him sat Chad, a man whose reputation for cunning was as polished as the gold Rolex on his wrist. His slicked-back hair and the faint, smug curl of his lips betrayed his confidence. But Bill wasn’t here to play games. He was here to win. The dealer, a woman with a face as unreadable as stone, slid two cards face down to each player. Bill’s fingers hovered over his cards, his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum. He didn’t need to look at them yet. He was watching Chad, studying the man’s every twitch, every flicker of his eyes. Chad, ever the showman, flipped his cards with a flourish. A nine and a seven. A total of six. Not bad. Not great. Bill’s lips curled into a faint smirk as he finally glanced at his own hand. A king and a four. A total of four. He tapped the table, signalling for another card. The room seemed to hold its breath as the dealer slid a third card toward Bill. He flipped it slowly, the sound of the card against the table echoing like a gunshot. A five. His total was now nine. The perfect hand. Chad’s smirk faltered for the briefest of moments, but he quickly masked it with a chuckle. “Luck’s on your side tonight, Bill,” he said, his voice smooth but laced with a hint of tension. “Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” Bill replied, his voice low and steady. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the edge of the table. The dealer collected the cards and prepared for the next round. The tension in the air was readable, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. The second round began, and this time, Chad’s confidence seemed to waver. His hands trembled slightly as he flipped his cards, a three and a six. A total of nine. He exhaled sharply, his smirk returning. “Your move,” he said, his voice dripping with challenge. Bill didn’t flinch. He flipped his cards with deliberate slowness, savouring the moment. A two and a seven. A total of nine. A tie. The room erupted in murmurs, but Bill’s expression remained unreadable. He didn’t care about ties. He cared about winning. The dealer prepared for the third round, and the tension in the room reached a fever pitch. Chad’s forehead glistened with sweat as he flipped his cards. A queen and a five. A total of five. He cursed under his breath, his composure cracking. Bill, on the other hand, remained calm. He flipped his cards, a six and a three. Another nine. The crowd gasped, and Chad’s face turned ashen. He slammed his fist on the table, his polished facade crumbling. “You’re cheating,” he hissed, his voice trembling with rage. Bill leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “If I were cheating, you’d already be broke,” he said, his voice cold and cutting. He signalled for the dealer to continue. The fourth round was a blur of tension and anticipation. Chad’s hands shook as he flipped his cards, a two and a four. A total of six. Bill’s cards revealed a seven and a two. Another nine. The room erupted in cheers, but Bill remained stoic. He wasn’t here for applause. He was here to break Chad. By the fifth round, Chad was a shell of his former self. His once-pristine suit was rumpled, and his hair was dishevelled. He flipped his cards with a trembling hand, a jack and an eight. A total of eight. Bill’s cards revealed a ten and a nine. A total of nine. Again. Chad let out a strangled laugh, his eyes wild. “You can’t keep winning,” he spat, his voice cracking. Bill leaned back, his lips curling into a predatory smile. “Watch me,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. The final round was a formality. Chad’s spirit was broken, and his cards reflected it, a three and a five. A total of eight. Bill flipped his cards with a flourish, a queen and a nine. Another nine. The room erupted in applause, but Bill’s eyes never left Chad’s. He had won more than just the game. He had won the war. As Chad slumped in his chair, defeated and broken, Bill stood, his movements slow and deliberate. He collected his winnings, his expression unreadable. “Better luck next time,” he said, his voice cold and devoid of sympathy. And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Chad to drown in the wreckage of his own hubris. The room buzzed with whispers of Bill’s victory, but he didn’t care. He had what he came for. And he wasn’t done yet. But as Bill reached the door, he paused, his hand resting on the frame. He turned back to face Chad, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light. “Oh, and Chad,” he said, his voice cutting through the noise like a knife. “Next time, try not to rely on your little… tricks.” He tapped his temple, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “Perception distortion only works on those who don’t know how to see through it.” Chad’s face went pale, his eyes widening in shock. The room fell silent, the weight of Bill’s words hanging in the air like a guillotine. Bill didn’t wait for a response. He turned and walked out, the door closing behind him with a final, resounding click. The game was over. And Bill had exposed the truth.
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Bill felt truly humbled as he left Elias’s house, his mind swirling with disbelief and self-doubt. He couldn’t fathom how he had lost so badly to an old man. Was he not good enough, or had the old man cheated? No, that couldn’t be it—he had been right there, watching every move. The thoughts raced through his mind like wildfire, each one more unsettling than the last.He trudged home, his mood heavy and his spirit crushed. For the first time in a long time, he felt utterly defeated. Yet, amidst the turmoil, one thought lingered more persistently than the rest: *Who was this old man who had so effortlessly beaten him at gambling?* Elias had been calm, calculative, and unshakable. He hadn’t risen to Bill’s provocations, hadn’t shown a hint of desperation. And his house—it was a masterpiece of Japanese design, serene and perfectly suited to his enigmatic nature. What did Elias mean by all the cryptic things he had said during their game?Bill spent the evening dwelling on his defeat, rep
Chapter 4: Gamble with the old man
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