Left, Right, Center

A story. About 10 paperback pages.

A few folks sit down at a card hall in Beaumont, Texas. This story was published on June 10, 2023.

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There’s a card hall in Beaumont, Texas called Faraday’s. There’s only one table inside Faraday’s—a long, narrow felt-top that runs across the whole room. It seats about twenty.

Today, the player who walked into Faraday’s was five-feet and seven-inches tall, with a cramp in the side of her gut that had been there for three years. She gripped it while she sat down across from the dealer. As always when Faraday’s opened, the player and the dealer were the only two people in the house, other than the bartender.

“Morning, ma’am. Ready?” said the dealer. He smushed his deck of cards over the table and mixed it around while he spoke.

The player nodded.

“Same game as usual. I’ll give you three, you pick one.”

The dealer collected the deck, knocked its side on the tabletop to square it, then slid three cards out in front of the player. She looked down at the cards while the dealer straightened them out with the tips of his fingers.

“Take your time,” he said.

The player tried to see through the cards, the way some older players do. The second card felt red.

“Middle,” she said.

“I need you to touch it for me,” said the dealer. The player tapped the center card with her knuckle.

The dealer nodded and flicked the card over. Three of hearts. He smiled.

“Well done, ma’am. Left or right, or a split?”

The player snorted through her sinuses. “Three left,” she said.

The dealer had to stand up and holler to get the bartender’s attention. She was looking at her phone with her elbows on the bar top. She looked over like she was waking up from a nap.

“Three on the left,” the dealer said.

The bartender went to the back of the room and pulled three folding chairs off of the wall. She dragged them around the table and set them out at even intervals beside the player. When she was done, she went back behind the bar and squatted down on an empty keg.

“You have a few others to join you?” the dealer said.

“Outside,” said the player. “Should I get ‘em?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The player went outside and shouted something across the parking lot. When she hobbled back in, three other players followed her through the door and found their seats.

“Ready?” said the dealer. The four of them nodded.

The dealer shuffled the cards around on the table in front of him, collected and squared the deck, and slid three cards in front of each player. The two furthest on the left, a pair of men in stained coveralls, chose their cards immediately.

“Left.”

“Center.”

“You have to touch them,” the first player said. She pressed her knuckle down on her third card. The others tapped their fingers on their selections. The last player, a stretched-out and acned teenager, sat pondering his cards for another minute. Finally he tapped his center card.

“Good,” said the dealer. He flicked over each player’s selection, showing two black cards for the men on the left, and reds for the woman and the boy: eight of diamonds and jack of hearts. The boy grinned down at his jack. One of the men reached around and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“Alright, well done. Ten, or none?” the dealer asked him.

“Ten,” said the boy. The dealer had already signaled the number to the bartender with his hands. She set her phone on her thigh and looked wearily at the chairs stacked on the wall.

“Five on each side?” said the dealer.

“Let’s do ten on the left,” said the boy.

“Alright. And ma’am, how about for you?”

The first player looked down at her eight, then she leaned forward and looked over at the two men sitting at the end of the table.

“Y’all want it? I already got my three,” she said. “Y’all can fight over it.”

The men looked at each other. One of them addressed the dealer: “That alright here?”

“Sure, we can do a sideboard. Or y’all can just flip for it.”

“Let’s flip.”

“Alright.”

The dealer reached under the table and pulled out a yellow-enameled token with DEALER engraved on one side. Its edges were painted to shine like the inside of an oyster’s shell.

“Heads or tails?”

“Heads for him, tails for him,” the woman said, indicating each of the men with her thumb. The men nodded.

“Okay,” said the dealer. He flicked the button up high, then caught it flat on his palm on the way down. Before anyone could see, he turned the button over to sit on his shirt sleeve and kept it covered with his hand.

“Ready?” he said. The men nodded.

The dealer lifted his hand. DEALER.

“Heads.”

The man on the left scooted up in his seat.

“Which side, or do you want a split?” the dealer asked him.

“Let’s do five left, three right.”

“You got it.”

The dealer looked behind him. The bartender was pushing through the kitchen door backwards, balancing a stack of folding chairs over each shoulder. Her belly was escaping from under her tank-top.

“Got it?” the dealer hollered. The bartender frowned at him.

The boy helped her carry in three more stacks of chairs from the kitchen, then they set them out five on the winner’s left and three on his right. The bartender tapped at the air with her finger to count the spaces left at the table.

“We’ll have to push in, or have them stand,” she said.

“That’s alright.” The dealer looked at the players. “Y’all have more that can join you?”

“There’s a lot out there,” said the boy. He jostled out of his chair, shoving the man beside him by accident.

“Sorry.”

The boy went outside and shouted into the parking lot. After a moment, the silhouette of a small crowd began darkening the stained windows at the front of the hall.

The dealer looked down at his deck, thought for a moment, then cursed and got up to get another from the back.

Eighteen more players followed the boy in. They were a collection of men from the refinery, coveralled and greasy; a young couple with piercings and canvas shopping bags; a gaggle of teenagers; and the rough man who sat in a wheelchair and held out a cup at the intersection. The rough man rolled up to the card table and started kicking at one of the chairs.

The dealer came back into the room with a stack of new decks in his hand. The rough man had managed to knock a chair over onto the carpet.

“Hey, hold on—sir, could you please?” said the dealer. He hollered at the bartender. She didn’t look up.

The boy picked the chair up off the floor and folded it by the door. The rough man rolled in under the table and crossed his arms on the felt.

“Alright, y’all all take your seats,” said the dealer. He peeled the sticker back on one of the new decks and knocked it out on the table like a pack of cigarettes. The players settled in.

“I think y’all’ve all played here before, but I’ll go through it.” The dealer shuffled one of the decks around on the table and squared it up in his palm.

“I’ll deal each of you three cards, and all you’ve got to do is pick one. Here we ask you to make your pick by touching it. You can say it too, if you want, but I’m going to go by what you touch—so make sure I’m looking at you.”

He made eye contact with each of the players while he gave his instructions. While he spoke, he shuffled a second deck over the felt and squared it back up. He handed one of the decks to the first player, and he handed the other to a teenager with her hair tied on the top of her head. She cut it even. The first player rapped her deck on the top with her knuckle. The dealer took them back and sifted them together.

“Okay, good luck,” he said.

The dealer slid three cards each in front of the players. When the dealing was finished, he squared and tapped the deck and tidied up a few of the players’ cards.

“Now remember, you can’t look,” he said. A few of the players laughed. The dealer pulled a plastic thermos out from under the table and took a long drink while the players looked over their cards.

“You just pick one?” one of the kids asked.

A few of the older players nodded.

“Just one.”

About half of the players chose immediately. The dealer nodded at each of them over his thermos while they tapped and rapped and slapped on their cards. The rough man pressed his thumb down onto his card like he was getting booked into jail. The rest of the players mulled and considered, glancing across at each other every now and then. Only the first player kept her eyes locked on her cards.

“Picks in?” said the dealer.

“Not yet.”

“Hold on.”

The last few players made their choices. Two of the teenagers giggled. The rough man reached out like he wanted to pick again, then pulled his hand back. The dealer smiled.

“Once your pick’s in, it’s in,” he said.

“I know,” said the rough man.

“I know you know. Alright, now.”

The dealer stood and walked down the table from end to end, flicking up each player’s card as he went. Four of clubs. Ace of clubs. Seven of spades.

The players watched.

Four of spades.

One of the refinery men stood up from his seat to get a better view.

Queen of clubs. Deuce of spades.

“Y’all gettin’ a little nervous?” said the dealer. A blonde-haired teenager was holding her boyfriend’s wrist. The dealer gave her a wink.

Five of clubs. Ace of spades. Six of spades.

The dealer slowed down a little without meaning to. He glanced back toward where the deck boxes lay open under the table. He flipped up the next card.

Jack of clubs.

“These cards aren’t right,” said the refinery man. The player beside him shifted in his seat.

“What did you say?” said the dealer.

The man flipped over a mucked card. Queen of hearts. The crowd of them shuddered like a draft had blown through the room. The dealer stiffened up.

“You don’t touch the cards after the pick, understand? That’ll be your only warning.”

The dealer and the refinery man held eyes for a moment, then the man sat down. The dealer moved along.

Deuce of clubs. Ten of clubs.

A teenager peeked under one of her mucked cards and showed the player next to her. “Diamond,” she whispered.

The dealer was reaching the end of the long table. His mind tried to add up the odds.

Five of spades.

“Can I change my pick?”

The dealer had his finger tucked under the acned boy’s center card. He paused—he almost wanted to let him.

“You can’t switch it,” he said. The rough man nodded slowly from his seat. The boy grimaced. The dealer flicked up the card.

Ace of hearts.

The whole room sighed; one of the teenagers started crying.

“Well done,” said the dealer. He straightened up.

“Thanks,” said the boy. A few of the other players came around their seats to pat him on the shoulders.

“Let’s get a round, after that, I think,” said the dealer. The bartender had come around the side of the bar to watch. She looked up, then she nodded and started pulling glasses down from the shelf.

“What do you think?” said the dealer. He took a long swallow from his thermos.

“I think—five,” said the boy.

“Five?” shouted the rough man.

“Five’s alright,” one of the other players said. She was looking through her tote bag for a lighter.

“Can’t get nothin’ done in five,” said the rough man. “Twenty’s about the least.”

“For you, maybe. Maybe five’s enough for him. Let him be.”

“Five’s okay,” said the dealer. “You want five?”

“Um, how about—” said the boy.

“Five’s fine, son.”

“Let’s do ten,” he said. The dealer smiled.

“Ten it is. And ma’am, what’re your orders?”

The first player was tapping at her unturned card with the end of her finger.

“Can I look?” she said.

“Sure,” said the dealer. “Game’s over.”

She flipped over her card. Four of diamonds. She flicked it across the felt with her fingernail.

“Well,” she said. “I’d appreciate you seein’ me about my gut.” She patted the side of her belly shallowly, then went on gripping it.

“What’s wrong?” said the boy.

“There’s scars inside. They keep hacking at it, but it’s all around in there. Found it first about three years ago. If you can tell me to quit drinking a few years before that, they said that would’ve probably helped. Here, I can write down my name and things for you.” She patted her pockets.

“We’ve got a notebook,” said the dealer. He went back into the kitchen.

“You think ten’s enough?” said the boy.

“Yeah, ten’s fine.”

The bartender brought over a tray of beers.

“Y’all can help yourselves,” she said. The teenagers swarmed in around the tray. A few of the adults put dollar bills on the card table and drifted out of the hall.

“You said ten?” said the bartender.

“Yes, ma’am,” said the boy.

She reached down into her apron and brought out a Ziploc filled with lacquered red pills. They looked like Skittles. She counted out ten on the felt in front of the boy.

“Take each one by itself with a swallow of something,” she said.

“Okay.”

The dealer came back with a spiral notepad and a pen. The first player took it and wrote down a few lines, then she ripped off the page and gave it to the boy.

“I appreciate it,” she said.

“I appreciate you,” said the boy. He took the page and pushed it down into his shirt pocket. Somebody put a beer in front of him. He pinched the first pill between his fingers, then he dropped it in the back of his mouth and took a drink.

The end.