A chapter from the novel, Sulley the Gambler
By James Ruka

Chapter Four

Minus three hundred, Sully thought as he watched Beez hold the street card in his beefy right hand. Sully glanced around the musty cellar, swigged his Bud Light Tall and cursed his piss poor luck. He looked at the Celtics score again on the shitty little TV praying that maybe for once his perfect eyesight had deceived him. Thanks to two bricked free throws by an overpaid asshole, Sully the Gambler had just lost another three hundred… and more than likely both his thumbs

“Just flip the fuckin’ card already,” Izzy said as plopped down the sand filled dumbbell and stood over the felt table. Fat Murph and Skinny Murph let out nervous chuckles that sounded alike. Izzy wore a tight white tee shirt that said, Beez is gay; the shirt made Izzy’s biceps appear bigger than they actually were.

Sully watched Beez do exactly as Izzy told him, just as he’d watched for the past twelve years. Beez would clean piss off the bowl with his tongue if Izzy told him to, goddamn monster was almost twice Izzy’s size too, but he always did whatever the hell Izzy wanted, no questions asked, ever. Izzy’s lackey. That’s all Beez was. Sully couldn’t worry about that now though, he had his own troubles, like somehow coming up with the more than two thousand dollars he owed Hungry Mike’s fat ass by tomorrow.

Sully tilted back his can and swallowed the rest of his warming beer. He thought about the Celtics game and the three hundred he had just lost. He wasn’t at all surprised, the last two months had been an endless streak of blown lay-ups, lazy-assed passes and innocuous fouls all going against him, all leading to the hole he would need a magic shovel to dig himself out of. Gambling went in streaks, Sully had been doing it long enough to know that. He just needed to somehow ride this streak out, he’d get hot again like he did last March when he hit four team parlays on consecutive nights during March Madness. He’d get hot again, he could feel it coming. He just hoped he’d have all his body parts intact when he finally did.

Beez turned over the card, a Queen of diamonds. “That’s the first lady Beez has seen all month,” Izzy said. He didn’t get the laughter he was looking for, so he repeated the line. The second time the two Murph’s and Boo laughed lightly as Beez flipped Izzy the bird. Sully took a short sip from his new beer and counted to ten in his head just as he did before shooting every free throw. Sully peeked at his hole cards: An Ace of Spades and a Queen of Hearts. An Ace of Diamonds was one of the community cards. Sully scanned the losers he was up against, they were friends of Izzy’s, but Sully really didn’t give a shit, he just needed their money… Bad. Sully rolled the dwindling pile of chips in his tiny hand before forwarding five blue ones into the growing pot. The men who still wanted to be boys considered Sully’s raise. Boo sipped his Hennessey and Coke and scratched his shaved head. Of the three losers he was up against, Sully thought he disliked Boo the most. He kept slowing the game down by going outside to smoke, and Sully suspected he was the one sneaking out the, “silent but violent ones” that continually polluted the already rotten air.

Skinny Murph betrayed protocol and forwarded his chips before anyone else. “So much for the fuckin’ rules huh?” Boo said. Boo had won the first four hands of the night but had pitched a shutout since. Skinny Murph ignored the comment, pulled out his pink phone and parlayed the Pistons and the over for fifty small. Skinny Murph played the game as though he were in a big hurry and it was pissing Sully off. Every two minutes he kept checking the time on his phone. Sully guessed he had nothing better to do than go home and watch bullshit reality TV with his mother or little sister. Sully could tell from the way Skinny Murph called in his bet that he was a jerk-off, get drunk on Friday night and call a few in kind of gambler. The kind of gambler Sully despised the most. The kind of gambler who, unlike Sully, did no research at all, probably couldn’t name five players on either team let alone the coaches or referees. Sully knew the name of every player, coach and ref in the entire league; he even knew half of the friggin’ trainers.

Fat Murph starred at the pot through his cheap five-dollar sunglasses. He pulled out a tube of chapstick from his pocket and slowly rolled it around his lips as he had been doing all night. He also kept cracking his neck with his hands, it was pissing Sully off. Fat Murph played lead guitar in some sucky-ass band called, Back-up Sour. The band’s big hit was a grunge version of Dora The Explorer’s “Back-Pack” song. Soon as Fat Murph arrived he passed out fliers for his show at the Ratskeller next Saturday night. Sully couldn’t wait to tear the corny thing to bits and stuff it in the overflowing garbage where it belonged.

After some pissing and moaning all three losers saw Sully’s raise. He figured they would. To this point the game had been insignificant if not boring, nobody up or down anything meaningful. Sully saw the three spades on the table, at least one loser was playing for the flush he guessed. Still, Sully figured these guys would take their chances and gamble, they weren’t here to go home even. As Sully waited for Beez to flip over the River card, Ryan came by and handed him a bottle of water. Sully hadn’t asked for it, he didn’t need to, Ryan just knew it was time, just as he knew when Sully was going to cut back-door or pop out for the three pointer, thirteen years playing in the same back-court together, Ryan knew when Sully needed to take a shit let alone needed something to drink.

Izzy, Beez, Ryan and Sully, the four of them, best friends and they all shared the common bond of growing up without a father. While the four of them went through life together, it was really Sully and Ryan and then Izzy and Beez. Sully and Ryan met in first grade. Sister Claire’s class. They’d walk home from school together, through the shitty streets of Dorchester. They’d shoot hoops together on the milk crate nailed to the tree in Sully’s backyard until it got dark and they had to go in for supper. They played their first game together when they were eight, St. Mark’s rec league. From that day forward, Sully and Ryan were always on the same team. They never played against each other, not even once, not even in practice. They were either good or bad together, usually good. As teenagers they kept gangs of players on the sidelines waiting for them to lose. Together, they beat older players, faster players, meaner players and stronger players. After the game, Sully and Ryan never gloated or talked shit. When they beat you they always shook your hand, patted you on the back and said, “good game, maybe next time guy.” They played the game the way it was supposed to be played: chest passes, back cuts and box outs. Good things happened when they got on a roll and now more than ever before, Sully the Gambler needed a good thing.

Beez held the River card in his hand as Sully quickly counted up the money in the pot. He guessed there was over five hundred in there waiting for him. Not enough to get himself out of the hole, but quite possibly enough to tide Hungry Mike over and to be able to keep his thumbs. Sully looked at his best friend who had pulled up a chair beside him. Sully thought about hitting Ryan up for money again tomorrow. He hated the disappointing look Ryan gave him whenever he asked, still he had no choice. Ryan could never say no to him.

Ryan sat next to Sully waiting for it all to be over. He was sick of it, all of it: Sully’s uncontrollable gambling, Izzy’s jokes and plans and ideas and straight up bullshit, Beez’s awkwardness and his unrelenting need to please Izzy. He hated the wasted nights and the endless name calling that should have ended when high school did. He wanted to be home on his couch snuggling with Melissa, watching a sappy movie as his fingers slowly twirled her honey brown hair. He wanted to hold her soft hand in-between his and tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to stare into her ocean blue eyes and feel for the first time in his life that he was better than this… better than the gambling and the drinking and the nights in the pissy cellar that all seemed so endless and so so the same.

Sully’s heart skipped as he saw Beez flip the red Ace on the table. This was the break he needed. This was what he needed, one little boost, surely now the poor streak was over, that’s how it worked in gambling, always; one little break to turn things completely around. Sully tried to remain calm as a million thoughts raced through his mind. He looked at the clock, if these jerk-offs hurry, I still have time to call in the Clippers and Canucks on the west coast he thought. He couldn’t wait to turn over his cards, reveal his full boat and kick these losers out of his house. He wanted to go upstairs, count his winnings, call in the late games and order a half bacon half sausage pie from Mario’s.

“All in,” Sully said as he pushed whatever chips he had in front of him into the center of the table. Boo tossed his flabby arms in the air, shook his head and without much hesitation, matched Sully’s bet. Fat Murph kicked over his chair and folded. Skinny Murph pushed his chips into the pot and called. Sully wasted no time in turning over his full-boat, Aces over Ladies.

“Fuck,” Skinny Murph shouted as he pounded his fist onto the table sending several chips to the floor. “Fucking flush and I still lose,” he said shaking his head. Boo flipped over his pair of jacks, farted loudly, slurped the last of his drink and got up to leave. Ryan helped Sully pull all the chips together. Sully tried to keep cool as he counted the winnings in his head, he felt like screaming and dancing around the table, but he couldn’t do it. The pot looked like well over $600, certainly enough to keep his thumbs he thought. This was it, he was back on track. Sully wanted to run upstairs and call in the late games, maybe he’d parlay them. He’d hit them both, he knew he would, that was the way it always worked.

The boys all put on their light jackets and got ready to leave. Sully offered them all a beer for the rode and even told Fat Murph he might drop by to see his band even though there was no way in hell he was going to. Sully then glanced under the table. He spotted two cards, a seven of diamonds and another card face down. Sully looked at the huge pile of chips in front of him and then pushed them all back into the middle, “Hey guys,” Sully said dejectedly, he then pointed at the cards resting under the table, “Looks like we have a Mickey deal.” Sully the Gambler could never take anything that wasn’t rightfully his… even if it meant losing his thumbs.