John waited.

  The lights above the tables blinked and sparked, dying one by one. Chips rattled somewhere in the dark. The air smelled like smoke and bad odds.

  There were gamblers in the den.

  He didn’t see them yet, but he had expected them for years.

  Unknown gamblers.

  Maybe sharks.

  Maybe whales.

  Maybe something worse.

  He had warned the pit boss many times, but nobody had listened.

  Now the cards were already in play.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Too late to walk away.

  John had been a player for fourteen years.

  When he was young he watched the back tables where the real money moved.

  “I want to play there someday,” he told his father.

  His father shook his head.

  “No. Those tables eat people.”

  For a while John believed him.

  Then he grew older.

  Then he sat down anyway.

  Now, in the deepest room of the den, he finally understood.

  The gamblers here weren’t normal players.

  The radio on the wall crackled.

  “John,” the voice said. “You must beat them.”

  John picked up his cards.

  Figures stepped forward from the shadows.

  “HE GOING TO CLEAN US OUT,” one of them shouted.

  “I will call him,” said another.

  Stacks of chips slammed onto the table.

  The room shook.

  The ceiling cracked.

  Tables overturned.

  The den collapsed into chaos.

  “No,” John said.

  “I must finish the hand.”

  The radio hissed again.

  But the voice was different now.

  Calm.

  Certain.

  “No, John,” it said.

  “You misunderstand.”

  John looked down at the cards in his hand.

  There were six of them.

  All aces.

  The room went silent.

  Everyone knew the rule.

  There are only four aces in a deck.

  The voice spoke again.

  “No, John.

  You are the aces.”

  And somewhere deep in the machinery that runs the universe, the house realized it had just been cheated.