Free Gone South by Robert R. McCammon Page A

man!”
    “Somebody loan me five dollars,” Junior said to the others. This demand was met with a silence that might have made stones weep. “Five dollars! What’s wrong with you guys?”
    “We don’t loan money in this room,” Ambrose reminded him. “Never have and never will. You know the house rules.”
    “I’d loan it to you if you were in a tight!”
    “No you wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t ask. The rule is: you play with your own money.”
    “Well, it’s sure nice to know who your friends are!” Junior wrenched the cheap wristwatch off his arm and slid it in front of Flint. “Here, damn it! That’s gotta be worth fifteen or twenty bucks!”
    Flint picked up the watch and examined it. Then he returned it to the table and leaned back, his cards fanned out again and resting against his chest. “Merchandise isn’t money, but since you’re so eager to walk out of here a loser I’ll grant you the favor.”
    “Favor.” Junior almost spat the word. “Yeah, right! Come on, let’s see what you’ve got!”
    “Lay yours down first,” Flint said.
    “Glad to!” Slap went the cards on the table. “Three queens! I always was lucky with the women!” Junior grinned, one hand already reaching out to rake in the chips and his watch.
    But before his hand got there, it was blocked by three aces.
    “I was always smart at poker,” Flint said. “And smart beats lucky any day.”
    Junior’s grin evaporated. He stared at the trio of aces, his mouth crimping around the cigarette.
    Flint scooped up the chips and put the wristwatch into his inside coat pocket. While Nick didn’t loan money, he did sell poker chips. It was time, Flint knew, to cash in and be on his way. “That does it for me.” He pocketed the rest of his winnings and stood up. “Thank you for the game, gentlemen.”
    “Cheater.”
    “Junior!” Ambrose snapped. “Hush up!”
    “Cheater!” Junior scraped his chair back and rose to his feet. His sweating face was gorged with blood. “You cheated me, by God!”
    “Did I?” Flint’s eyes were heavy-lidded. “How?”
    “I don’t know how! I just know you won a few too many hands today! Oh, yeah, maybe you lost some, but you never lost enough to put you too far behind, did you? Nosir! You lost just to keep us playin’, so you could set me up for this shit!”
    “Sit down, Junior,” Vincent told him. “Some people gotta win, some gotta lose. That’s why they call it gamblin’.”
    “Hell, can’t you see it? He’s a pro is what he is! He came in here off the street, got in our game, and made fools outta every damn one of us!”
    “I see,” Ambrose said wearily, “that it’s almost six o’clock. Honey’ll skin my butt if I don’t get home.”
    “Gone skin your butt anyhow for losin’ that paycheck,” Royce said with a high giggle.
    “Humility keeps me an honest man, my friends.” Ambrose stood up and stretched. “Junior, that look on your face could scare eight lives out of a cat. Forget it now, hear? You can’t win every day, or it wouldn’t be no fun when you did.”
    Junior watched Flint, who was buttoning his jacket. Beneath Flint’s arms were dark half-moons of sweat. “I say that bastard cheated! There’s somethin’ not right about him!”
    Flint suddenly turned, took two strides forward, and his face and Junior’s were only inches apart. “I’ll ask you once more. Tell me how I cheated, sonny boy.”
    “You know you did! Maybe you’re just slicker’n owl shit, but I know you cheated somehow!”
    “Prove it,” Flint said, and only Junior saw the faint smile that rippled across his thin-lipped mouth.
    “You dirty sonofa—” Junior hauled back his arm to deliver a punch, but Ambrose and Royce both grabbed him and pulled him away. “Lemme go!” Junior hollered as he thrashed with impotent rage. “I’ll tear him apart, I swear to God!”
    “Mister,” Ambrose said, “it might be best if you don’t come ’round here again.”
    “I wasn’t