"Deal." Terry gestured at his opponent.
Carlos shuffled the cards with a practiced hand and pushed the deck forward. "Cut."
The tavern reeked of stale beer, tobacco, and cheap cologne. Hours of gambling had made both men immune to the stink, their focus narrowed to the cards, the coins, and each other.
This wasn't their first game. Terry often slipped into the round table when someone stepped away, playing whenever he had coins not already promised for drink.
But Terry was easy to read. Any seasoned player saw the signs: the shift of his chair, the tightening of his jaw, the way he clutched the cards close to his chest before fanning them nervously.
Across the table, Carlos Suarez was his opposite. Calm. Deliberate. Placing each card with the patience of a man who already knew the outcome.
A full house.
Again.
"Winner takes all," Carlos drawled, sweeping the small pile of coins and bills toward him. His smile was measured, his eyes unreadable.
