Game Changer

“So, can you teach math?”

“Um… maybe up to like grade six.”

“Great, because I have a grade eight kid for you tomorrow.”

There comes a point in every English major’s life when they can either continue tutoring apathetic students, or get on with that book they’ve wanted to write since they were twelve. For Erin Hems that pimple never popped; she just kept trying to squeeze enough creative juice out to pay off her student loans and maybe build up to an anthology one day. Instead she was only able to write half-stories, like angry little blackheads, still submerged, blistering and burning, but refusing her efforts to prize them out.

When faced with the prospect of teaching grade eight math, a subject she herself barely survived, she knew she had to make a change. Scouring the internet for something— any means of supporting herself for the next month— she managed to find a few opportunities.

On one semi-sketchy webpage she found an ad which read, “Help write college paper,” and truth be told, she half-considered it. However, Erin told herself she wouldn’t stoop to ghost writing so easily. She’d rather suffer the torpor of high school students for $20 an hour than forfeit her morals.

Just kidding, she definitely wrote the paper.

And the $150 would have made a dent in her debt had she not been caught speeding the next day. Is the universe punishing me? She wondered, watching the money transfer into her account only to be swept back out.

She turned once again to the internet for guidance. Among countless ads for copy writers, as well as pleas from three of the college kid’s friends, something caught Erin’s eye. There on Facebook shone an ad:

Hasenpfeffer Writing Tournament

Three rounds of red hot fiction, a competition of grit, wit, and rival spirit

Presented by How It Is Publishers

Immediately Erin was drawn in. She had thought about entering one of these things. She skimmed the guidelines, but her eye caught on the prize, $6 000. That’s a third of my debt wiped clean. Erin could feel her general anxiety turn to nervous excitement! This could be her American Idol moment. She was going to rise to the surface of this tournament and burst onto the writing scene (last zit joke, I promise).

Except there was a hitch; the entrance fee was $60. Sure that doesn’t seem like much, but Erin’s debit was at $50.67, she wouldn’t be paid until the end of the month, and she’d already used up her “please mum” card when she borrowed money to see Celine Dion in Vegas (worth it). The sign up deadline was in two days; if she was going to make this happen, she needed funds now.

She hovered her cursor over the email from one of the college brats, but remembered the ticket, and Mom’s look of utter disappointment… Then she googled: odd jobs near me, and found an unlikely alternative. Someone was seeking an attractive young woman to deal poker at a gentlemen’s club the next evening. They were offering $200 for the night, plus tips. The catch? She had to wear a corset (as pictured) and curl her hair. That’s not so much to ask, is it? Blocking out her internal feminist, Erin wrote an email to the proprietor, and closed her laptop for the night.

She stretched out onto her bed and thought about winning the writing competition. All the money goes towards my loans. I can use the publicity to start my career, and I’ll never have to look at a math textbook again.

Erin awoke groggily to her ringing phone the next day, but was wide awake once she bashed her toe trying to get to it.

“Hello?” She said through clenched teeth.

“Hello, this is Rauf.” His accent was strong. He sounded Russian. “I received your email last night, and I want to know that you are interested in joining us this evening.”

“Oh yeah. I mean, why not.”

“Excellent, I’ll send you address now. You understand how you should look?”

“Yeah, a little make-up, nice hair, no problem.”

“Good. One more thing.”

“Yes?”

“Some of the players can’t be seen at a game like this. You know what I mean?”

“Oh… for sure. My lips are sealed.”

“Excellent. Come at nine.”

He hung up, and Erin felt chilly. She really didn’t know what he meant at all, but she figured she wouldn’t recognize anybody anyway, even if they were some major politicians or celebrities.

For the next two hours, Erin studied how to deal poker. She’d played her fair share of strip poker back in high school, but now she actually needed to know how to shuffle. Once she was satisfied she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself, she saw that Rauf’s text had come through.

She looked up the address. It seemed like a posh night club. When she checked out the photos, there were no strippers, no over-the-top shows, just images of men in suits playing pool, drinking whiskey, and lounging in leather seats next to gorgeous servers and entertainers.

The day played out as normal, the only difference being that around 7:30 instead of donning her usual attire of sweatpants and a stained t-shirt, Erin put on black lace leggings, a crisp, black and white mini skirt, and a purple blouse. She applied minimal makeup, but went a bit overboard with eyeliner. The final touch was taming her tangled blonde hair into curls. Finally, winking at herself in the hallway mirror, she chose some sensible wedges and said good-bye to her apartment.

The club was easy to find. It was downtown, surrounded mostly by office towers and boutiques. It still didn’t look like a strip joint, which Erin was grateful for. The six foot tall doorman took one look at her and said, “Go down the hall, behind the stage. Watch the step.”

“Oh, I don’t, um. I don’t work here. I’m just dealing tonight—poker. Not… not drugs.” The bouncer’s eyebrow rose.

“The games room is behind the stage.”

“Oh, gotcha.”

“Remember the step.”

“Thanks.”

Inside the foyer, the hostess took Erin’s jacket and offered her encouragement while she scanned her ID.

“You’ll be fine. Those boys take their sweet time, but they tip well. Just don’t stare at Louie’s wart.”

The petite brunette helped Erin into a corset glittering with Swarovski crystals. There was a little bow that tastefully hid her cleavage (not that she had much to cover) and gems that lined the tops of both breasts. It sparkled pleasantly when she moved.

When she finally had a moment to take in her surroundings, she realized this place was massive. The main room had twenty foot ceilings with five glimmering chandeliers. All of the seats and tables were lavishly decorated with silver cloth, white flowers and crystal vases. There were two bars, one on either side of the main stage. The stage itself would have fit twenty dancers. At the moment it only held a few stage hands hustling about. They were building a sort of trapeze out of steel beams. Erin could only make out a few hoops and other random props on the side of the stage, so she wasn’t sure what spectacle would be taking place.

By the time she crossed the great room and found the hall backstage, she had forgotten about the step. She felt that horrible plummeting sensation as her left foot met only air and then solid concrete. Though she thought her leg would crumple, it held steady. Luckily, only one other person witnessed the misstep. Thank god she wasn’t wearing stilettos.

A huge guy like a defenseman in a tight blue dress shirt was smiling at her from the end of the hall. He was halfway out the exit, smoking a cigarette. He blew away the fumes and pointed to the room on his right. Erin walked brusquely that direction, avoiding eye contact.

The games room was more comfortable than the grand room. There were pool tables, slot machines and various videogames too. The ceiling was low, but the gilded paneling that outlined it and the walls made the whole space just as lux as the rest of the club. In the center of the room was a large white poker table with padded leather edges, space for six players and an in-cut for the dealer. For her.

The football player walked in behind her and she recognized his voice from the phone.

“You must be Erin,” he held out his hand and she shook it. It was only when he pulled away that she noticed he was missing his last two fingers.

Trying not to stare, she said, “So, what’s the plan, Rauf?”

“The boss and his associates will play an evening of poker. You will stay until the end and be compensated for your time in cash. There will be no breaks except for the washroom. You can drink if you like. You will deal the cards without making wise jokes. The boss hates wise jokes.”

“Okay, that’s easy enough.”

“Most of all, you will not ask names.”

“Got it. Don’t blow anyone’s cover.”

Rauf frowned at her, but led her to the table. There he pulled out a case with the chips and markers. Together they placed equivalent stacks at each square. Rauf wasn’t into small talk, and Erin was just trying to remember everything she’d learned that morning.

After they finished, Rauf watched her deal out a few hands and call out what each player had and who might have won.

When he was satisfied, he stated simply, “You are ready.” He crossed the room to an enormous antique globe, which opened into a bar. He poured two glasses of caramel liquid from a decanter and brought one of them to Erin. Erin thanked him, but regretted it when she tasted the scotch.

Shortly after that, voices infiltrated the hallway. Two men entered. Erin picked out Louie at once. He was in his late sixties and had a horrendous, black, crusty-looking wart on his cheek. She looked away. The other man was much younger, maybe thirty five. He had striking features: hard blue eyes, hard cheek bones, everything about him looked hard, his slightly cauliflowered ears—his muscles— she could see them through his silk shirt. Catching her eyes on him, the man did not smile. Erin averted her gaze, feigning a sip of scotch, but choking on the vapors.

Rauf took the men’s coats, and they sat at the table. As he was pouring them each a drink, two middle-aged men walked in. One of them was in a pinstriped suit and the other in a grey one, otherwise they were identical. Same grizzled beards, same shifty eyes, even their silver man-buns matched.

Erin did her best not to stare at this motley collection of well-dressed men. It was especially difficult not to check out the one who looked like he was chiseled out of stone. The others seemed like ordinary business men to her, but this guy had a mob vibe going on. He asked Rauf why the regular girl wasn’t there, and Rauf replied that she was still in the hospital. This didn’t seem to please the statue at all.

“Vy ponimayete, dlya chego my prishli syuda” he sounded angry.

“chto? Etoy noch'yu?” replied Rauf.

“Do polunochi. Ne pozvolyayte etoy devushke vmeshivat'sya.” He drank what remained of his scotch and smacked his cup into Rauf’s open hand.

Louie commented on how nice it was to have a pretty dealer. “The last one looked like the backside of a camel.”

Erin smiled nervously. Once everyone was somewhat settled and had laid their money on the table, Rauf took his place between the grey twin and the statue. He produced a brand new deck of cards, and handed it to Erin.

Erin could feel their eyes as she struggled with the plastic.

“Here,” said Louie, jokingly handing her an embossed knife. Rauf chuckled, but everyone else was quiet. Erin finally broke in— without the weapon. She separated the jokers, shuffled as best as she could, remembering to keep everything face down, and then pitched the cards like she’d practiced, managing not to flip a single one.

Each round was unremarkable. Everyone seemed evenly matched and no one was taking chances. It was like they were sizing each other up. Although they seemed to all know each other well enough, the game was a solemn affair. No one spoke and no one even looked another in the eye.

It was well past 11pm when the silence was finally broken. Rauf’s phone jumped up. After speaking in a Slavic language for a while, he turned the phone over to his boss. The beautiful, but serious man listened for a long time and then said only one word.

“Otlichno.”

After that he stood up sharply. Time stopped. Rauf handed him a gun from nowhere and he pointed it at the pinstriped twin. Erin screamed and dropped under the table. She could hear the commotion around her as a fight broke out.

“What the fuck‽” “What the fuck‽” The twins were yelling.

“Don’t you fucking move,” shouted the statue. “I had my suspicions, and my associate finally confirmed, Henry has been skimming our operations.”

“You fucking maniac! I’m Henry. He’s James, and if anyone has been skimming, it’s Louis!”

There was a pause. Erin was about to puke. Everyone could hear her nervous heaves.

“Boss, why don’t I take the girl out back?”

“Yes. See that she never says a word about this.”

Rauf appeared on her left and lifted her bodily from the floor. Even in shock, Erin felt the futility of her situation. All she wanted was to become an author and now she was going to become… dead.

The room was a classic gangster scene, the statue kept his gun on the twins, who were both on their knees facing the wall. Louie was blocking the door, but he let them pass. In the hallway, Rauf grabbed his coat and pushed Erin through the back exit. Then he reached into his pocket.

“I am sorry to drag you into this. I did not realize things would escalade this evening”

Erin’s throat was blocked with bile. All she could do was shut her eyes and await the end.

It came suddenly and horrifically.

Feeling Rauf’s three fingers on her shoulder made Erin retch. She opened her eyes and realized that he wasn’t pointing a gun at her, he was handing her an envelope. She looked down and saw that she had vomited on his polished black shoes.

“I’m… sorry?”

He put the envelope in her hand roughly and shook off both his feet. “Take this. And remember we have your information. We know where you live.”

Wrapping the coat around her shoulders almost kindly, he said, “You are a good sport. You should come next week when we have less serious business to attend to.”

Stunned, Erin turned and walked away. After a few steps she ran. Down the alley and three blocks back to her car. She scrabbled with her keys and collapsed inside.

Tears poured from her eyes, half from relief and half from terror. When she remembered the package in her hands, she was almost too shaky to open it. Inside were four stacks of $100 bills. She didn’t need to count to know she was holding at least $20 000.

Erin used the money to pay off one third of her loans. She still entered the contest and won second prize for $3 000. With the rest of her money, she self-published a Math Textbook for Kids who Hate Math. Her work has earned esteem in the homeschooling and tutoring communities alike. No one would ever suspect that every Thursday night, she still deals poker for a mafia king pin.

Photo by Dushawn Jovic on Unsplash