“Lay your cards down, friend.” Said the handsome British man who stood about five foot nine and had a rather lean and skinny build and slicked back black hair. He wore a Black gambler hat, and he and his lover had made their lives all about gambling and winning big; they weren’t cheaters either, they were just that dang good.
“You first.” The scruffy, lumberjack looking man said with a black-toothed grin. “Or are you yellow, Oliver Rex?”
Oliver laughed. “Oh, I’m not yellow, Travis, but I went first last time.”
“Fine!” the large man said gleefully as he threw his cards down on the table. “Four of a kind: all sevens.”
The people in the bar cheered and shouted, some dancing as they were sure they’d just seen the legendary Oliver Rex fall.
But beautiful, white, skinny, twenty-five-year-old girlfriend Destiney Dalmore simply smiled as she adjusted her hat and nodded once.
“Drop’em on him, babe.”
Oliver sighed. “Oh, if you insist love, but I do hate to destroy a big man’s ego…”
A sudden hush fell over the crowd as the cards hit the table, all face up: ten, jack, queen, king, and ace; all of them were the same suit; all of them were hearts.
Oliver tipped his hat with a small smile on his face.
“Royal Flush my good fellow.” He said as he and Destiny began taking the money on the table and putting it in their pockets.
“There’s no way.” Said the burly man.
Oliver nodded. “Yes, well, I will admit that it’s only the second time that I’ve been fortunate enough to draw that hand.”
“The odds of drawing that hand is 649,739 to 1; that’s a .000154% chance.” Said a skinny man that stood behind the burly man.
“And he never drew it.” Said Travis. “He cheated!”
Oliver frowned. “Oh, come now, don’t be…”
Before he could finish, the big man kicked the table into him and stood up, reaching for his pistol; but before he could draw, three shots rung out and struck the man in the chest.
Travis let out a low, bellowed scream, fell to his knees as he shook his head, his face contorted in pain as he fell forward onto the floor.
Beside Oliver stood Destiny, an Enfield MK11 revolver in each hand, both barrels smoking from use.
“Anyone else want to try to kill my husband?”
The others in the bar simply sat, staring at the woman, fear etched on each of their faces as she swept the room with both guns.
Oliver pushed the table (gently) away from him and then stood, pulling a sawed-off 10 double-barreled 10 gauge from under his jacket and waving with it.
“Come on my love, it seems that we’ve worn out our welcome here.”
The couple walked to the door, never turning their backs to the crowd, then backed out onto the street: disappearing into the night.
Appalachian Post 
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