Lady Luck Will Take Your Heart

Tom’s whole body hurt, or at least the parts that were still attached. He stared down at the two red backs of the cards in front of him with tears in his eyes. He didn’t want to play anymore; he had no choice but to.

He reached out with his three-fingered right hand and checked what he was dealt. The Nine of Diamonds and Nine of Hearts gave him a wink.

“You’re awfully quiet now, Tom.” The man with all his bits and pieces said from his comfortable leather chair as he lit a cigarette. “What are you putting in this time?” The man asked as he let out the smoke with a sinister smile.

The game had started hours ago when Tom still had his money. It would be more accurate to say when he still had Handsome Jack’s money. He thought he was so clever selling the merchandise at a premium price. He pocketed the difference for himself, so what? Besides who wouldn’t pay a little extra for a heart to save their daughter’s life, a kidney for grandpa. Could you put a price on new eyes for your blind son? You can, the going rate is $1525.

Tom hadn’t gone crazy. He didn’t take all the money and run. He saw it as a courier fee. A little ten to twenty percent extra, nothing crazy; Jack was still getting the money he asked for. Nobody minded. The clients weren’t the kind to haggle over these kinds of things.

“Tommy, are you in or you out?”

“I’m in.” He was always in; he had no other option. The ante was a hundred dollars when they started; now, it was a finger, and next, it would be toes.

Jack rechecked his cards and stubbed his cigarette in a crystal ashtray. “I think I’m in, too, but I raise the pot $200.”

Tom’s heart sank, and he could feel his stomach turn at the thought of losing 3 fingers. The pain from the knife was unlike anything else he had ever experienced. “Ok,” Tom answered, his voice a little more than a whisper. “Can I have a drink?”

“Sure. Your options are water or water. I’m coming for that liver boy.”

“I guess I’ll have water then.”

“Sure thing,” Jack said as he motioned to the shadows with one hand and tugged on a rope with the other.

There was a being on the other end of the rope. Tom was sure that, at one point, it had been a man. Now, it was little more than a lump of flesh. Its face was little more than a skull, lacking everything that made a face, a face. There were no eyes, no ears, no nose; the lips were absent, replaced by an ever-present wincing smile. The being took the top card from the deck and set it to the side. Then, they flipped and slid the following three cards out to the center of the table.

Seven of Hearts, Nine of Spades, Two of Diamonds.

One of Jack’s butchers came out from the dark behind Tom. They placed a cork coaster on the green velvet table that read Angel Donations LLC. Then he put a red plastic cup on top. They didn’t trust him to be any more civil than a fox trapped in a cage.

Tom didn’t recheck his cards. He didn’t need to. He had been playing poker and counting cards before he was out of diapers. He knew the cards hadn’t changed, but his luck may have. Three-of-a-kind wasn’t anything to sneeze at. He felt his heart flutter, and maintaining his composure took every ounce of his resolve.

Tom lifted the ice water with his good hand and supported it with the mangled mess of his right hand. His hands shook, and he struggled to keep the water in the cup and his mouth. The ice water burned as it rushed down his dry throat in a gulp.

“I raise you $500,” Tom said.

“You don’t have any money Tom, what’s worth 500 to you?”

“Three fingers.”

“Good one Tommy, but I don’t think so, how about a foot, you can choose which, but I think that’s more on the money.” Jack laughed as he played with his chips.

“Fine. My left foot.” Tom said. He felt he wouldn’t be walking out of this place anyway.

“I raise you 500, or in your case, your other foot.”

Tom’s heart sank. He nodded his head, afraid to use his voice. He had to play on and keep what he had left of a poker face. He reached up with his three-fingered right hand and scratched the blood-soaked bandage where his right ear used to be. That had always been his worst tell. Now, he didn’t have to worry about it.

“I want to hear you say it, Tommy.”

“Can it be my hand instead?”

“I would think your hand’s a little more valuable. But since it is missing a few digits, who am I to judge? It’s your body. Do what you want with it.”

“Then I call.”

“That’s a good boy,” Jack answered, giving the rope another tug. The jack-o’-lantern of a dealer burned the top card, then flipped and slid the next card out to the center of the table.

Eight of Hearts

Tom’s throat tightened, and he struggled to bring the cup to his lips again with his shaky hands. Three nines was still a hell of a hand. Now was the time to go on the offensive; Fortune favored the bold.

“I raise my left ear.”

“You’re going to be one ugly S.O.B. after this,” Jack said with a toothy smile. “I call. Let’s say that’s $200. Does that sound good?” Jack tossed the chips to the center of the table and tugged on the rope.

Relief flooded through Tom's body. He was thankful that he hadn’t been raised. He had to force both his heels to the floor to keep his legs from bouncing. He had always thought he was a good poker player. He had always bragged about all the money he had won. Now he remembered all the money he had lost. The grim reality set in that he wouldn’t have such a despicable life if he were a high roller.

The dealer burned the top card and slid the river card into place.

Seven of Clubs.

Tom’s heartbeat started to race. Full house. He had a Full House, 693:1 odds, and the fourth-best hand in poker. He contemplated what he should bet. He couldn’t think of anything he was willing to part with that wasn’t already on the table. His luck had changed, though, and on the next hand, he would play with some more aggression.

“Check,” Tom said.

“Check,” Jack answered.

With a smile, Tom flipped his cards, showing his pair of nines. “Full House.” He said, staring at Jack.

Jack didn’t smile back. He locked his eyes on Tom’s as he flipped over a seven and then another seven. “Four of a kind.” He said.

Tom’s heart sank to his guts. “No. No. No, no, no. Please no. Jack! Come on, please, I’m sorry!”

The hands grabbed Tom from behind, securing him to the wooden chair. He watched Jack light another cigarette and felt the knife separate his ear from his skull.

Next was the electric sting of the scalpel through the flesh of his arm. The buzz of the saw grinding through the bones followed. Finally, they finished with the roar of the blowtorch cauterizing the stump.

He was thrown back to the floor. He could hear himself screaming and crying. He couldn’t stop. He wanted to be tough, but his ego was ripped away like the rest of his missing pieces. He felt them rip his pant leg, and they stole his left foot the same way they stole his left hand.

The butchers sat him back up. Tom blubbered, and snot oozed out of his nose and down his chin. Tears blurred his vision as he muttered, “I’m sorry.” Again and again.

“I know you, sorry, Tom. Hell, I would be too.” Jack stubbed out his cigarette. “But do you know why I’m not sorry, Tom?” Jack paused for his rhetorical question. “Because I’m not stupid like you.”

Out of habit, Tom reached to wipe his face with his absent hand. The shock from the burn made him wince and cry more. Luck was a cruel bitch. She always lets the loser think they are winning right up to the point when the pot is slid away from them.

“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself, Tom? Can we get on with the game?” Jack tugged at the rope, and the dealer slid out the cards. With a shaky left hand, Tom checked his hand. Nine of Spades and the Queen of Spades laughed in his face. They were strong cards but not the best.

“Check,” Jack called out before draining his drink.

Tom let the cards slap back to the table. He had been limping this whole game, letting Jack take him piece by piece. He had paid the price and was ready for it to end. He had been a selfish coward all his life, stealing and cheating where he could to make a living. He had nothing left to lose.

“I’m all in,” Tom answered with a tight, dry voice. “Can I get some more water?”

“What do you mean all in?” Jack answered as he signaled to the shadows for another cup.

“I’m betting what’s left of me.” Tom took the red cup the butcher set in front of him and choked the cold water down. Jack watched in silence as he did. “My liver is a pretty good one. I'd say it’s around $115k, and it's the same with my heart. Throw in my eyes, scalp, spleen, stomach, and the rest, and we're looking at around $750k. That’s more than what I took. What do you say? This next hand if I win, I get out of here. If I lose, we end this sick game.”

“Tommy, I’m hurt you don’t want to play with me any more. I thought we were friends.” Jack raised his hand, and a butcher moved in the shadows and delivered a drink to him. “Alright, I’m a game show ‘em.”

Tom flipped his cards, exposing the Nine of Spades and Queen of Spades on the green velvet table.

Jack flipped his over. He had the Jack of Clubs and the Jack of Diamonds.

Tom’s heart sank. Jack smiled and tugged the rope.

The dealer burned the top card and then, with robotic precision, placed the Flop on the table.

Jack of Spades, Ten of Hearts, Ten of Spades

“Tonight isn’t your night, Tommy.”

Tom had stopped crying and stared in front of him at the community cards. It was a train wreck unfolding before his eyes. He was helpless. It didn’t matter what he had done to get into this situation. In the end, none of it mattered. The only thing to do was play the hand he was dealt.

Jack tugged on the rope, and the dealer’s mangled hands burned the top card and slid out the turn card.

Jack of Hearts joined the community cards.

Handsome Jack clapped his hands together and let out a laugh that had as much force as a 12-gauge shotgun. “Would you look at that? Tommy, you are one unlucky guy, you know that?”

Tom could feel his breathing quicken and the tears filling his eyes. He wanted to play it cool like the tough guys in the old westerns he watched. To take it on the chin like a man. This wasn’t a movie. This was real life. He didn’t have a stunt double to take it on his chin. His head bobbed as he anticipated the next card. Jack tugged the rope. The top card was discarded, and the river was placed out.

King of Spades.

The room was silent. Neither of the men or the monsters moved.

“Well, look at that,” Jack said, staring at the cards on the table. “I take it back, Tom. You might be the luckiest Son of a Bitch I’ve ever met.”

Tom didn’t understand at first. He had zoned out and was preparing himself for death. He took a second look at his cards for the first time in his adult life. His nine and queen, along with the ten, jack of spades, and king, gave him a Straight Flush 3217:1 odds. The second highest hand in poker, followed by Four of a Kind.

Tom looked up at Jack. Jack looked back at him.

“Do you still want that drink?” Jack asked.

“Yes, please,” Tom answered.

Jack signaled to the shadows, and a red plastic cup of whiskey was placed on the coaster. Tom’s shaky hand gripped it tight as he poured the burning liquor into his mouth. It made him want to gag, but he held it down.

“Give him back his keys,” Jack said to someone in the shadows. “Now listen, Tommy, you’re done in this town. You’ll get in your car and drive clear out of here. No stopping by your place to grab anything or for food or gas. If the car runs out of gas, you better start walking. If any of my guys see you, you’re dead. Got it?”

Tom nodded his head yes.

“Good,” Jack said, lighting another cigarette. “Can we get this man some crutches, too?”

Tom took his keys and the crutches from the butcher’s bloody hands and limped out of the room. He didn’t look back. There was nothing for him back there.

He climbed the metal stairs up to the metal door and swung it open to be punched in the face by the morning light. His car was still in the ally where he had left it. After some difficulty, he slid into the driver’s seat and fit the crutches in the seat next to him.

The engine roared to life with the push of a button. He put it in drive and sat for a moment before breaking out in a laughing fit. He floored his foot on the gas and flew out of the ally.

He never saw the semi.

“What the hell happened to this guy?” Dr. Ellis asked

The paramedics as they rolled Tom's corpse into the ER. An oxygen mask was over his mouth and nose, but he was dead on arrival.

“Motor vehicle accident. He got T-boned by a Semi.” The paramedic answered.

“Ok. What about all this? Did you do this?”

“Honestly, ma’am, not a lot of this seems to be before the accident. He was D.O.A.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah, not a pretty sight, that’s for sure. His ID says he’s Thomas Blaine, 36 years old, 5’10”, 190 lbs. and an organ donor. We tried to find a next of kin in the system, but he seems to be a bit of a loner."

“Crap, ok, we’ll take it from here. Thank you, gentlemen.”

An orderly came and took the gurney. They wheeled Tom down the bright white-walled hallways to the big silver elevator doors. They went down three floors in silence, then continued the grim journey down more white walls in fluorescent light. The orderly pushed the gurney through the final set of doors labeled Organ Procurement Room.