End Of His Obsession

Mitchell dumps the last of the potato chip crumbs straight out of the bag and into his mouth, just as the game’s computer voice says, “It’s your turn.”

Mitchell sighs, “Fold … again” as he moves the mouse to click the appropriate button. Glancing at the bottom right corner of the screen he sees “3:32 AM”. He hesitates then clicks the “Sit Out” button as well.

He thinks: Bathroom break then one more hand. Work day tomorrow, well, today actually.

He tosses the potato chip bag onto the floor and kicks an empty Fiji water bottle out of the way as he walks out of the den. He turns left to the bathroom and pushes open the door. He stands using the toilet and looks in the bowl. He wrinkles his nose.

I’ll clean up tomorrow. Take the trash out too. Tomorrow for sure.

Flipping light switches along the way he walks stocking-footed into the kitchen. He steps around a dead cockroach lying legs up on the tile floor and pulls the last bottle of fruit juice from the refrigerator.

I’ll shop tomorrow too. Credit card should stand up to a few groceries.

Throwing the plastic bottle cap into the sink, he heads back to the den. The computer screen’s glow lights his way the last few feet.

Bad night. I can’t play my last hand with that little bit of cash.

Sitting in front of the computer again, he clicks the “More Chips” button on the screen and begins to step through the process of pulling money from his credit card. An “Awaiting Authorization” pop-up window with an ad for a Canadian pharmacy appears on his screen. Then the “Awaiting” window turns into a red flashing “Authorization Denied.”

Frowning, he clicks “Retry” and walks through the process again, this time selecting half the original amount he asked for. The computer again responds, “Authorization Denied.”

“What the fuck?” he asks the screen. He tries again -- just $50 this time.

“Authorization Denied.”

He stands up, sits back down, and stands up again, rubbing his eyes with the palms of both hands. He walks into the bedroom, snatches his billfold off the dresser, and heads back toward the den. Sitting again in front of the computer he pulls a credit card from his wallet. Holding the card at arms length under the desk lamp, he squints at it.

Expired.

He tosses it toward the waste basket. He pulls a handful of cards from the wallet and starts to shuffle through them.

Driver’s License. Insurance card. Business cards. Credit card … for gasoline - no help. ATM card … no help - no money in the account until payday. Citibank! There it is.

He holds the card with two fingers as though it’s hot.

I get my paycheck in a couple days. I’ll only take that much out tonight and I can put it back before she notices. She left it with me after all. She said to use it if I needed it for emergencies. I can cover it. She’ll never notice.

Besides, Elaine owes it to me. Always blaming me for her mistakes and then having the nerve to say SHE’S moving out. She’s probably got another man on the side anyway. So what if I relax playing poker. What’s it to her? I work hard. She did nothing around here. I take care of this place and I work too.

He clicks the “Retry” button, clears the automatically entered credit card information, and types in the new number and expiration date. He hits “Continue.”

 “Authorization Failed: Invalid Account Holder Name.”

He thinks: Of course, Elaine’s name, not mine anymore.

He corrects the information, cursing under his breath when the system forces him to enter the card number again. He clicks “Continue”.

Authorizing … Authorized … Enter Bankroll Amount … Yes!

His fingers pause above the keys.

Maybe I need a bigger bankroll to get back even for the night, even if my luck does change. She must have a big limit on this. I wonder how big. I wonder if the penny-pincher knocked the limit down just to keep me from using it.

$10,000. That’s the limit we had before she moved out. I can always cash it out if I don’t use it tonight. I’ll put it back. My check comes in a couple days. And besides, she owes me.

He types quickly and then clicks “Next”. The machine immediately responds: “Confirm $10,000 from account … .” Grinning, he slaps the mouse with his whole hand to trigger the “Confirm” button. The computer prompts: “Return to game?”

“Yes,” he says aloud as he clicks the button on the screen.

The computer responds with its manicured voice, “Blinds, please. Good luck.”

He leans forward in his chair. Two cards appear at the bottom of his screen.

A pair of jacks! Now that’s what I’m talking about. It’s about time I got some cards.

The game says, “It’s your bet.” His avatar on the screen lights up. He rubs his hands together.

Let’s bully a few folks. $1000.

That’s a bigger bet than anyone’s made all night. Everyone folds around to the player on his right.

Call! You think you got me, chump? Not tonight, not tonight. I can wait you out tonight. I got the skill and tonight I got the bankroll.

The player to his right calls.

All right!

With the first round of betting complete, the computer now deals three community cards face up on the screen – the Flop. All three are small cards – 2, 6, 9 -- three different suits.

Here I come. $1000 more.

The player on his right calls again.

Yum, yum. Come to papa.

The computer deals another card – the Turn: a queen.

Darn. Well you don’t know whether that helped me or not. Let’s see how confident you are. $4000, that’s almost the size of the pot. Oh, dude. I’m sorry did that put you ‘all in’. Well, OK, give me that $3120 you got in front of you.

The player to his right hesitates.

I hate slow players. Come on, bet, you jerk. I got you.

The computer voice says, “All In.”

Yes. That’s what we want.

The computer shows the players his two jacks, and shows his opponent’s cards: queen – two.

No! How did you bet $1000 with a queen-two then $1000 more with a freakin’ pair of deuces? You idiot. And now you sit there with your two pair on the Turn. I need a jack. Gimme a jack, damnit.

The computer shows the last card – the River: a jack.

“Three of a kind!” he yells.

Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah. Oh, sorry. Is all your money gone, you stupid jerk. You shouldn’t have bet in the first place. You got what you deserved, you worthless piece of … whatever. Oh, yeah.

The money flows his way on the screen with a well-simulated sound of Vegas casino chips on felt.

Five thousand dollars on one hand. Tonight is my night.

He takes a sip from the bottle of juice and peers at the screen. His new hand is showing already: an ace and king.

          Oh, yeah!

He bets strongly and wins again, forcing out another player by taking all his money. He smiles and slaps the desk.

Oh, baby. I’m on a roll, sweetheart. Come on.

He wins hand after hand for nearly an hour before finally losing a pot. From then on he wins several big pots and loses some smaller ones. People come and go from the table. His bankroll grows. He’s playing on adrenaline. The sun has been up for hours. It cuts though the gathering clouds and pierces the openings of the plantation shutters on the window. He’s heard the garbage truck come and go and heard the kids yelling as they walked to school. He never bothered to call in sick for work. He’d only gotten up twice to go to the bathroom down the hall. He hated to do it, fearing it could change his luck. But, no, his luck stayed and his winnings kept growing.

He settles in to play again. On the next hand he gets king and queen of hearts.

OK. OK. Not bad. Let’s see what a big bet makes people do.

The betting rolls around to him and he raises to $5000. Several people call his bet, then a player with the screen name URMine raises to $10,000.

This guy’s been a pain in my ass ever since he sat down. He plays pretty loose. I bet he’s got nothing.

When the bet comes to him, Mitchell calls URMine’s bet. Two other people call as well.

The Flop comes: jack of hearts, king of spades, ace of spades.

Holy Cow, what a Flop. I’ve got middle pair with the kings. I also see a possible straight and a flush. I’ve got the cash, you suckers. You’re not pushing me out of this pot tonight.

A few small bets come in until the bet passes around to URMine, who raises to $20,000.

Oh, heck. What’s this guy got? Has he got two pair, say king-ace? Or maybe he’s hoping for a straight or flush just like me. Does he have two spades? But how does he know I don’t have spades too? I’m cash up and I WANT this guy. I want to send him home. No, wait: I bet all he’s got is an ace. I bet he’s just raising on the ace. The high pair: a pair of aces between him and the board. Not good enough, buddy.

He moves the cursor over the “Call” button. His finger shakes as he taps the mouse. Now he has $30,000 in the pot. It’s easily the biggest pot of the night. Everyone else folds. He’s playing heads-up against URMine.

The Turn card is ace of hearts.

Oh, yeah! Now I’ve got a nice two pair and still a chance at my straight or flush. I just need one more heart. Just one heart, baby, come on.

As though to heighten the tension, lightning flashes outside followed immediately by a crash of thunder. Rain starts pounding against the window. His gray cat jumps onto the desk and head-butts his arm, alarmed by the storm. “Not now.” Mitchell hisses and forearms the cat onto the floor.

URMine is still thinking about his next bet.

Come on, you jerk. You’ve been playing slow all night. Make up your mind, make up your mind.

URMine bets $65,000. Mitchell’s chin sinks to his chest. He squeezes his eyes closed and pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

Aw, hell, fuck. He’s got a queen-ten and is betting his straight. Oh, no, worse: he’s got king-ace and just made his full house. Or, shit, he could have two aces in the hole and just hit four of a kind. I have to fold. I have to fold.

Of course, he could just have an ace for three of a kind. Or maybe just a couple spades and is hoping for a spade on the River. Then our chances are the same. I need a heart; he needs a spade. What’s he on?

He rubs his face with both hands and looks up at the screen to see a clock counting down from 30 seconds appear next to his avatar. A chat text from URMine arrives on the right side of his screen: “I’ve got the nuts, there sweetie. Give it up.”

No way, you arrogant jerk. You’re telling me you have two aces in your hand plus the two on the board. That’s the highest hand with these cards. You just tipped your bluff, you idiot. You got nothin’.

He slides the cursor over the “Call” button and slaps the mouse hard enough to make it jump on the desk. He’s bet $95,000 on two pair. He has less than $1000 left in front of him. He looks again at what he’s just done, runs his hand through his hair and licks his lips.

I need a heart. Oh, dear god, give me a heart. I’ll never gamble again. I’ll give half my winnings to charity. Please, god, let me win this. Please let me beat this moron. Please.

He picks up the long forgotten juice bottle and tips his head straight back to suck out the last stale drops. The cat again sits on the desk beside him, looking at his face. He scratches the cat between the ears. The computer says, “Last Card”.

“A Fucking HEART,” he screams at the screen shaking his fist.

The virtual card on the screen flips. The River card is the ten of hearts.

“My flush!” he yells standing up. Then his eyes become wide.

Ten – jack of hearts on the board, queen – king of hearts in my hand, and ace of hearts on the board. Ten-jack-queen-king-ace. All hearts.

He sits down again. His finger leaves filmy prints on the computer screen as he points to each card in turn.

Ten-jack-queen-king-ace. All hearts. That’s a Royal Flush: the highest hand in poker. I can’t lose. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. I’ve got him. I’ve got him. And my money worries are over. I’ll make $100,000 on this one hand.

He stands up yet again and takes a step back as another chat message comes in from URMine: “I told you to fold, Mitchell. I know that’s my money you’re playing with. Did you think I’d let you have that credit card without keeping tabs on it? I’ve got the cards, Mitchell. You’re done playing poker. I know you’re bluffing.”

He puts his hands on the edge of the desk and leans forward toward the screen in disbelief.

Elaine? Are you URMine? Is that you that has been playing this whole time?  Impossible. When did you start playing poker? And how did you get to be so good?

Another chat message arrives from URMine: “I had the credit card account configured to send text alerts to my phone when someone uses the card. I knew you couldn’t resist. And now I’ve got you. You’re going to be broke and no way out. I’m going to prosecute you for fraud, Mitchell. You are mine."

And with that he sees URMine go “All In” with $5000. It’s more than Mitchell has. If he bets and loses, he’ll lose it all. And then it hits him:

So what if it is Elaine? So what if it is my wife? So what? I CAN’T LOSE!

“Oh, no, Elaine. You are MINE,” he yells at the screen.

He sits down again, the cat next to him on the desk. He grabs the mouse and runs the cursor towards the “Call” button. Just as he moves the mouse, a blinding flash of lightning and a ripping crack of thunder rattle the house. The startled cat jumps forward and lands on his hand holding the mouse. The cursor skids an inch to the left and, as it does, the cat’s claws sink into his hand. His fingers clench and click the mouse key. The cursor sits over the “Fold” button.

The lights flicker and begin to fade out. The storm has knocked out the power. The last thing Mitchell sees on the screen is his mound of chips slowly flowing towards URMine’s four aces.
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Walter smiled as he read the news article online two days later. He and Elaine would be happy now with Mitchell truly out of the way. Walter's plan had worked so much better than he’d intended. He’d only meant to get Mitchell in trouble with the law. That’s why Walter had gone online and set up Elaine’s credit card to notify him when Mitchell used the card.

Mitchell was such an idiot. He’d totally believed that I was Elaine online. Why did Mitchell think Elaine knew how to play poker at all?

The whole thing could have gone so horribly wrong, and yet it all worked out so perfectly. What incredible luck: for Mitchell to pull the one hand that could beat my four aces and then to fold and let me win. Why did that fool fold the perfect hand?

And Elaine will never know that I had anything to do with it.

Walter leaned back in his chair in front of the computer and laced his fingers together behind his neck looking at the news article again. He never imagined Mitchell would commit suicide, though -- slitting his wrists with plastic shards from the smashed computer monitor. And, why had he first killed the cat by cramming a wireless mouse down its throat? Walter laughed inside.

Oh, well. Can’t worry about that, can we? So, I’ll just play a few more hands before Elaine gets home. I'll clean the house later.