Discussion

The three sat around the poker table, each nursing his own brandy. Charles carefully tracked the others' consumption. Not, he told himself, because it was his brandy and he hoped they enjoyed it. But because, as a crafty player, he had to see how inebriated the two were.

John's drink could be ignored for this purpose, though. Even after five glasses of the stuff his face would still be stone. And it didn't help much that he refused to make any but the most necessary conversation. Charles thought It was understandable. Still, it was irritating. This was a goddamned social event, after all. Why did the bastard insist on turning it into a bloodthirsty competition?

"I'll call."

John then counted out some chips and threw them into the pot. They clacked heavily and the tower slid over the rest of the pile. Henry smirked from underneath his thick German beard. Charles had to call, now.

"Me too."

He was not overly confident in his hand. None of the upcards matched - just a bunch of junk. He managed to get a pair of Queens on the opening deal. Those lovely ladies were the only reason he was still in this mess. He sighed, though. It wasn't an overly expensive pot, so it would not hurt too much.

His servant then tidied the pot and announced its total. The three showed their hands simultaneously to each other.

"Son of a bitch!"