Chapter 315
As the three of us idled in the empty, unfurnished unit, Jackson occasionally crossing the vast expanse of carpet, dust, and open space to peek at the street through the blinds, we played poker.
I fidgeted with the thumb drive Chuck copied the video file to, flicking the lid open and closed before folding a mid hand, checking my DMs for a response and finding none.
The mercenaries' betting pool, comprised of provisions and random materials jotted down on small slips of paper, multiplied, resembling a craft store heap of confetti. Jackson would win this hand if he stayed in, as Chuck had nothing.
You could tell a lot about a person by the way they played cards. How they dealt with loss and adversity. How clever they were, how careful.
So far, Jackson was winning in more ways than one. I'd been skewing the odds in his favor for a while, only in part because I didn't like Chuck, primarily because it presented an everyday opportunity to practice more subtle applications of my Ordinator abilities.
"This is horseshit," Chuck groused after they both placed their cards down, and Jackson, still cross-legged, leaned forward to sweep the heap of slips into the towering nest of paper at his side.
"Gotta agree." Jackson tilted his head, mouth quirked in puzzlement. "Rather catch this kinda streak at a high stakes table. The cards I'm getting, feels like tapping generational luck for small potatoes."
It was a courteous way to put it that wasn't entirely accurate. Unless I was completely wrong, Jackson was enjoying the hell out of fleecing Chuck. But he wasn't letting the wins go to his head. He was the sort of person who derived quiet satisfaction from minor victories, instead of growing overconfident and egotistical.
Naturally, Chuck went the other way. As he shuffled, he peered at his associate, tight-mouthed and suspicious. "Assuming you're not cheating."