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Push: Chapter One

Event 6: Red Grove Casino

I love smokers.

At the card table, they might as well be handing me their chips before they even see the flop. I look across at the large rottweiler with the cigerette hanging down from his lips. That ace of hearts that just hit the table has him scared. You can tell when someone like this guy panics. He was talking a lot of shit when he sat down at my table, some of it directed towards me. I can tell he has a pocket pair, I'm guessing tens since the ace hit. The canine is barely breathing, no smoke getting exhaled dispite his attempt at a poker face. "Your bet, Bubba," I say in my Southern accent.

That gets his blood flowing a bit. Canids do not like being talked to in a sarcastic tone. He 'recovers' by over betting the pot, raising it to two thousand-five hundred. The pot was originally only seven hundred and fifty. I feign surprise and make a bit of a show at looking at my cards. Since it's only him and me in the pot, I can milk him without too much trouble. Thankfully, my standard raise pre-flop isolated this guy. As I thumb the corners of my cards up, I see the ace of diamonds and five of clubs. This gives me two pair, the flop being the ace of hearts, two of spades, and a five of hearts. I sit there for a moment before simply calling his bet. I want him to think I'm on a heart flush draw and not sitting on two pair. The female striped skunk that's dealing burns one card then flips over the turn, a six of spades hits. I'm not watching the dealer or what falls on the table though. Oh no, all my focus is on that rottweiler. I look for the little clues; called tells in poker. I can see that his breathing is faster, like he just fell into a field of four leaf clovers. The ears give a barely noticable twitch but the big viens in his neck are pumping. He has this 'I'm back in the hunt' look on his face. The expensive sunglasses do a good job hiding his eyes. Damn, guess I was wrong about the pocket tens.

He checks trying to play off that he didn't just get blessed by the poker gods. I think, 'Fair enough, asshole. I'll let you give me a free river card.' I check right behind him. The dealer burned the last card before flipping over the river and the whole game changed as the ace of clubs hit the board. Mr. Rottweiler can barely contain himself. He takes off the Oakley sunglasses he was wearing, looking at me with narrowed eyes and spits, "All in!'

All eyes are on me at the table. He thinks he has the heart flush beat, which he would if I had that. I know he's got a full house with the two aces on the table, it's just a matter of if I think he has the best one, or the 'nuts'. I have the second best full house possible with aces full of fives. He'd need that last ace and a six in his hand to beat me. I think he is fucked. "I call."

As I slide my chips in, he flips his cards over to reveal pocket sixes. It's a nice hand but not nice enough. Without a word, I flip my hand over and I see the rottweiler jump out of his chair, his victory turned to ashes in his trash talking mouth. Before the dealer can push the chips to me, the rottweiler is gone, just a memory and an empty chair in his place. I hear a chuckle next to me from the large bull with the Texas accent and dark brown hide, "Boy, you play good fo' a couger, Mr. Dugger."

"Actually, I'm a Florida panther," I coolly reply in my own Southern Georgia accent,"And thanks for the complement, sir. I didn't catch your name." The bull nods.

"Dean LaGentry. Seen you play in the Main Event back in '08," he rumbles, "Hell, I even bet on you to win against ol' Hoyt Casson." He thinks for a moment, "How many braclets is he up to? Nine?"

"Ten, he won the five thousand razz buy in last year," I respond while getting my hole cards. I never look at them until it is my turn to act. I watch the faces of the other players as they look at theirs. You see, poker is really about watching the players. It's a people game. One poker great summed it as 'thirty percent math and seventy percent people'. Unfortunately, he didn't leave any room for luck. A lot of players will tell you that luck has nothing to do with poker. That's something I call bullshit on. Yeah, odds-wise luck at the table evens out. However, luck doesn't just stay in the casino. That stuff follows you around and little did I know it was about to jump up and bite me in the ass.

"So you gonna win another one," he asks. I could tell that the guy was a poker fan because he recognized me as soon as I sat down at the table an hour ago. He'd been really polite, winning a few pots and losing a big one against the rottweiler I just knocked out of the tournement. It got to my turn quickly since I was in middle position. I looked at my cards slowly. I saw two red queens looking up at me. Silently, I counted to five to let myself calm down. Since the three players to act before me folded, I got to act first. There was three hundred in chips from the big and small blinds. If I was lucky, I could bully out the other players and take the pot without a fight. Counting out the chips in my fingerpads, I slide the stack of black chips into the middle of the table.

"I raise to six hundred more, nine hundred total," I announce calmly. This is my normal openning bet for middle position. The closer to the end of the betting round you are, the better position you have because you know what everyone before you is going to do. Turning back to the bull, "Of course I'm going to try to win another bracelet. Why stop at two?"

He nods before looking at his cards. I see him do this funny little wiggle with his snout; the same wiggle he did against the rottweiler when he thought he had the canine dominated. "That is true," he says in his deep bovine voice, "By the way, I raise you another..." he counts out several black chips mixed in with two purple five hundred dollar chips,"...six hundred." With a fluid motion, he places the stack down on the table before knocking the stack over with his hoof. the stack slides, making it a little easier to see how many chips he bet. The rest of the players fold to him. I furrow my brow a little in thought.

I've got this guy outstacked in chips four to one sitting at twenty thousand and some change. The only thing is, he's seen my playing style before from his previous comment. I don't know how much he knows about me. What I know about him so far is that he's a talker, bets oddly and on the low side with a tendency to just call. Going over the top of my bet like that sends off alarms in my brain. With a sigh, I look at my queens again. Either he has pocket aces, ace-king suited, pocket kings, or some flavor of ace with a face card. On the outside I'm as calm as a pond on a still day. Inside my mind though, I'm going over odds, hand histories, and probabilities like a mad man. I finally pick up a purple chip and a black chip, tossing then in, "I call."

The dealer burns the first card before turning over the three 'flop' cards. I watch the LaGentry's reaction to the flop. His ears fold back and he gives a soft snort. Shit, that wasn't what I was hoping for. I flick my eyes down at the board. It's come up with the king of diamonds, three of hearts, and the ace of spades. Fuck me. I tap the table, indicating that I checked, passing the betting to the eager bull. He makes a motion to shove all his chips 'all in' as I shake my head. "Take it down, Dean," I flip my hand to show my two queens. Some of the other players start to whisper to each other whille the big Texan grins ear to ear.

"Going to return the favor," I ask. He goes to muck his cards, then slowly turns them over. Ace-king suited, hearts. I nod, "Thought as much."

"Most people would have pushed with those queens pre-flop," I hear from the red squirrel that was the small blind. He smiled, showing his incisors, "Damn good fold, Bruno!"

"Yeah," the dark brown bull inquired with a smile, "What tipped you off?"

I give a non-committed shrug, "Gut feeling, I guess."

Chapter 2

Trina and the awkward blowjob

Like a good majority of the current poker world, I started playing seriously around 2003 when a friendly, soft spoken bear from Tennessee won the Main Event after winning an online satellite tournement for forty dollars. Thus, the poker boom was born. Unlike a lot of the others, I got my start in a 'brink and morter' card room as opposed to the online varity. Now, don't get me wrong; a lot of world class poker players come from internet backgrounds. I will give credit where credit is due. I'm not an 'old school' pro that thumbs their nose at these guys.

My two best friends from Florida, Jeremy Kline and Chris Pope took me to my first card room in December of 2003. The Duval Poker Room had just openned two months back. Originally, the place had been a dog track. You could still bet on dogs and horses in the upper level, but that's not what my friends were interested in. They were there for the poker. They thought themselves as sharks taking a fish (me) to show him how it was done. Jeremy drove us in his 1998 Ford SUV. Being a fox, Jeremy was clever, sometimes too clever for his own good. Chris on the other hand was a little more reserved but I could sense the excitement radiating from him. I guess that's part of a pitbull's psyche. "This is going to be great, Bruno," Jeremy said in his normally cheerful tone,"We are going to clean up today. I can feel it!"

"Yeah, I guess," I responded. I'd known these two pretty much all my life. We'd grown up together in the same small town. To me, it was just an excuse to hang out somewhere different on a Saturday afternoon. It was too early for the normal pool hall we usually went to. We pulled up to the parking lot of the three storied building. They hadn't changed the Duval Dog Track sign yet. Instead, there was a plastic banner stretched out above the enterence that read Duval Poker Room in white letters on a red background. There was a decal of the ace and king of hearts on either side of the lettering. The outside of the building had a cheap, used feel about it.

"This is it," Chris said in his short, clipped voice. He looked back at me from the passenger seat, his white coat contrasting with the three brown patches on his head and ears. "You ready?"

"Yeah," I shrugged, "Just a game, right?" Chris snickered while Jeremy gave a mirthful snort. We got out of the truck in the North Florida heat. There were quite a few vehicles in the lot already. It was a short walk to the glass doors which were opened by a vixen in a doorman's outfit. She checked our IDs before letting us in. You could be eightteen to get in but twenty-one to drink since the place served alcohol

The first time you step into a card room, you always remember it if you are a poker player. I had no idea that this day would change the course of my life. The ambient noise of chips clattering together, the smells of many different species, and the sight of the action at the different tables gave the place a subtle sense of excitement. It's much like going to your first titty bar.

The game was Texas Hold'em with a forty-five dollar buy-in. The tourney limit was forty-five players. We registered and got our seating assignments. I had drawn table two, seat five. Chris wound up on the next table over. I could see him stacking his chips before putting on his dark aviator-style glasses and putting his trucker's hat down low. Jeremy was at my table in seat two. He would later claim that the only way I beat him that day is because of his seating. The tournement director went over the rules after asking how many new players there were to the game. I was glad to see that my paw wasn't the only one raised as I saw about a third of the players join me. Glancing around, I noticed a few of the more experienced players all but licking their lips. Finally, the tourney director, a jovial raccoon whose name I later learned was Albert, started the tournement with ,"Dealers! Shuffle up and deal!"

The tourney lasted a solid four hours. I was being cautious but got good hands and a few monster flops. The compitition whittled down fast for the first hour. My table broke up and I found myself sitting across from Chris with a good sized chip stack. Five hands later, I was counting the last of his chips into my stack when my pocket aces held against his pocket jacks. Jeremy was my next victim when he made a very costly bluff. There were three diamonds on the board and he was playing like he had an ace-high flush. Little did he know, both the ace and king of diamonds were my hole cards. After I knocked him out of the tournement, I over heard them joking about making me walk back to Macclenny, which is the small town we lived in and was thirty-five miles away.

My style of play started to tighten down as we progressed to the money spots. I had blinded down a little at the final table with ten players left. I picked up a few pots here and there to stay alive. The last player to get knocked out 'on the bubble' had caught a bad beat when his flopped straight got destroyed by a runner-runner low club flush. I had made the money, but I was the lowest stack at the table with just over two thousand in chips with the blinds going up to four hundred and two hundred. That's when I changed gears. I'm talking a complete one-hundred and eighty degree flip. Since I was in the money, I had nothing to lose. It worked too. My chip stack grew with every hand I played. I was playing rushes on bullshit bluffs and they were buying it even after I showed them my cards while raking in their chips. It finally came down to me and another player who was new. We had about the same sized chip stack, but I could see fear in his eyes, something a wolf rarely shows. It was a battle, my bluffs and aggresive plays wore him down to the point where he became a 'calling station', letting me control the flow of the game. The last hand I had ace-six off suit and finally put him all in. He flipped over king-queen suited in spades. The flop dropped him two spades, but he couldn't pair up or make the flush. As the four of clubs hit the river, I felt that pure rush of victory. I jumped from may chair like I had just won the Super Bowl, hugging Jeremy as I turned to face him. I hadn't even noticed the large crowd that had gathered to watch were applauding. The wolf got up and shook my paw in his, being a gracious loser, "How long have you been playing tournement poker?"

"Since today," I said. We both laughed at that. He joined the three of us for a beer after we cashed our prize money. Of course, since I had won, the drinks were on me, but I didn't mind. Right then, I was a king. The second time I felt that was when I won my first bracelet during the 2008 Poker World Series.

"That was a good day, Bruno," the neatly dressed otter that was walking beside me commented, "Day two and you're going in fourth in chips." This is Pete Conway. He's what you would call a 'gopher' or a tag along. A lot of poker pros have guys like these to do things during the Poker World Series. Some of them are paid assistents, some of them are friends. Pete happens to be both and he is damned good at what he does. I met him in '09 during the start of Event 3, a one thousand dollar buy in Texas Hold'em tourney. He had been cheated out of his buy in by a friend who volenteered to pay the registration fee for the tourney but skipped out with Pete's money instead. I had over heard the poor otter on his cell phone with his parents telling them what happened. I guess I felt bad for the kid and tapped him on the shoulder. I offered to pay his buy-in on the condition that if he placed in the money, he would pay me back half of whatever he won. If he lost, he didn't owe me anything. He almost dropped the cell phone as his dad was asking him if everything was okay. At the end of the tourney, he had placed second, winning around twenty-five thousand dollars in prize money. Ever since, he has been my 'go to' guy if I needed anything. Pete doesn't play in the Series except for one or two events. Claims it's too much pressure. That's fine because I have seen him kill a cash game table on more then one occasion. If you want to know the main reason I respect the internet pros it's because that is where Pete started from.

"Yeah, I'm happy with it," I reply, "Any word on who I might have to worry about?"

The otter reaches into his shirt pocket to take out his PDA. He's wearing casual tan slacks and a crisp white shirt in comparision to my t-shirt and cargo pants. Sure, I might not look like I have style at the poker table, but when you make your living sitting for eight to ten hours a day, you want to be comfortable. I mean, it's not like I'm showing up in a 'wife beater', sweat pants, and flip-flops. Don't laugh, I've seen people do that.

"Well, you have Freddy al Said," Pete said,"We can get video of his play from last year when he was on the televised table." He presses a button, "Then we have your favorite 'blow-up' artist Mikey Waters. I think he's still mad at you for beating him for that bracelet last year." A blow-up artist is someone that looses their cool at the card table and has an over reaction. Sometimes it can be down right funny for everyone but them.

"Yeah," I can't help but chuckle,"That was a bad beat I gave him when I spikes that third jack on the flop against his pocket kings. But he did more damage to himself afterwards when we were heads up. Tossing the chair was a nice ESPN moment for him. Think I can make him lose his shit again this year?"

"Dunno. He's playing pretty mellow," Pete answered,"I think the rumors about him being off the coke might be true. Or he's eating xanex like they're candy."

"That sucks. I might have to hire a hooker to tempt him into downing an eight-ball of blow before the tourney tomorrow," Pete gave me a sour look when I said that, "I'm joking! Would I do something like that?"

The otter kept his disapproving glare at me a moment or two longer before going back to his PDA,"Let's see. In third is an unknown by the name of Bill Garret. He calls himself 'Crazy Bill'. I think he's a construction foreman or something from New York. Really wild playing style. Then again, he is a jackel. Behind you in chips is a bear named Vic Tanner. He's an Canadian internet pro. Highly aggresive so watch out for him. Next on the list is a bull named Dean LaGentry. Owns a bunch of resteraunts in Ohio and Michigen."

"Yeah, he was at my table today before it broke up," I commented, "Wow, sixth in chips? Not bad."

Pete simply nods, "From what I can tell, those are your biggest problems. Conner Jennsen got eliminated after catching three bad beats in a row so you don't have to worry about him. Most of the bigger pros got taken out early since all the fish were gunning for them. Oh, and here's your cell phone back." He fishes it out of his pocket, handing it to me.

I put it in my pocket,"Anyone important call?"

Pete nods,"Yep. The jeweler said that the engravings on your bracelets are done and they are ready to be picked up." I had taken this precaution on Pete's advice. Last year, a bracelet winner had gotten their's stolen. While the Main Event bracelets are unique every year, the other event bracelets aren't. For instance, the Main Event bracelet is platnium, gold, and diamonds. The lesser events have different patterns but other then that, they are alike. Stud events are gold with emeralds, hold'em events are diamonds and gold, Omaha is rubies and silver, and then the 'odd events' like seven to duece lowball are silver with onyx. I have a bracelet in stud and one in hold'em. He takes a deep breath, "Also Trina called." I can almost feel his loathing as he says her name.

My ears perk up as he relays this information, "Didn't know she was back in town yet." I take the phone back out, opening it to send her a text. Trina is an escort which is a polite term for hooker. She also happens to be my favorite one. I type 'BJ 2nite?'. I'm a bit too tired to do any freaky circus style bedroom games. I still have another day of poker ahead of me, but I could use some 'stress relief' in the form of that doe's lips wrapped around my cock. Some classy guys say that females are like wine and get better with time. Hookers on the other paw are the exact opposite and tend to age badly. Trina is young, fit, and to reference a favorite movie of mine 'could suck a golfball through a garden hose'.

It only takes five minutes for Trina to respond. Smiling, I open the phone to read the letters on the illuminated display, "Sure. 500 and b there @ 9". That gave me about an hour and a half before she'd be knocking at my hotel room door. She already knew which room I was in because it's the same room the hotel compts me every year. I might not be a big named pro, but people in this town know my name. I go over some details concerning tomorrow with Pete before going to my room. I hum happily as I ride the elevator to room four-seven-four. Using the card key, I push the door open. The lights of the city shine and twinkle beyond the large glass window. I can almost make out the shapes of the mountians in the distance. Looking about the rest of the room, it seemed in order. There was the flat screen television on the wall opposite the bed, a table and chairs near the window to give a good view, and a bed too large for just one person by themself. I take my phone out of my pocket, setting it on the nightstand next to the bed. Picking up the tv remote, I turn on the forty inch screen to the news. With a sigh, I look at my watch to see that Trina should be getting here in about thirty minutes. I think about taking a quick shower but I'm feeling lazy. Besides, for a five hundred dollar blowjob, Trina can deal with a little ball sweat and cock funk. Opening my wallet, I place the five hundred dollars in twenties on the nightstand beside me. The knock comes while the news is reporting on a possible civil uprising in Syria. I turn off the news and go to the door. As it swings open, Trina is standing there in a low cut dark green dress with a straight skirt that ends just above the knee with a small matching purse. Her top is sleeveless, giving me a nice show of her fur and cleavage. Flicking her ears, she walked in. "Thanks for seeing me, sweetie," her voice is West Coast but I could never place it. Then again, I never thought to ask. Trina could be from Somalia for all I knew or cared.

"Thanks for calling. Pete wasn't too happy about it though," I undo my jeans, sliding them and the boxers to the floor after closing the door. She slowly wiggles out of the dress. Without a word, she relieves me of my shirt, tossing to the floor next to my pants. Last year, I 'accidently' ruined one when I pulled out of her muzzle and shot my load on her face and chest. She was pissed about it, but I paid for her a replacement. Since then, she has had the good sense to remove her clothes before sucking me off. I lay back on the bed with my legs hanging off the edge, letting her kneel before me. Before she can ask, I point to the table and the stack of money. The doe smirks and lowers her head to my erection slowly sliding from it's sheath. A low purr starts to rumble in my chest as I see her lips get close. Then she takes a sniff. I see her look up at me quickly.

"You could have at least showered," Trina complains.

"Meh," I shrug in reply. I ignore her when she mutters 'asshole'. I gasp as those soft lips part, sliding my tip into her wet mouth. The girl has some serious skills as she licks under my dick, caressing the grooves and viens. "Oh fuck yeah, baby..." I say as I close my eyes, enjoying the pleasure. I'm not going to last very long tonight, I can tell. She speeds up her movements a little, bobbing her head up and down on me with her ears lowered and straight back. I place one of my paws on the back of her head to encourage her efforts when my cell phone goes off. I let it ring a time or two more. I know it's not Pete because he knows exactly what the fuck I'm doing right now and would wait until tomorrow. Taking the phone off of the night stand to see what the number is.

Well shit on me. It's my ex-wife.

I know that if I don't answer it then she will just call again with a good dose of pissed off. Opening the cell, I answer, "Hello, Lisa."

"So, forget what today is," the already pissed off bobcat asks. Wonderful, she's already good and angry.

I think for a moment but my mind is pretty much blank as Trina takes me in deeper into her warm muzzle. I can't help but purr a bit louder, which by the scoff I hear on the other end of the line isn't winning me any brownie points with my ex. "Wh-what's today? Got remarried so I don't have to continue paying alimony?"

She is awfully quiet for a moment, "No, it's your daughter's birthday, but it sounds like you're too busy right now. Getting your dick sucked, asshole?" I silently motion for Trina to stop. "Maybe I should go get Jasmine and let you explain it to her."

"Come on, Lisa. Don't do that!" It's too late as I can hear the bobcat calling out our daughter's name. I look down at the hooker with a hiss, "Get off my dick, I'm about to talk to my daughter." Unfortunately for me, Trina seems to be in a mood tonight and keeps sucking me off. I'm trying to push her off with my paw.

She releases me just long enough to say, "Five hundred more," before nursing on my maleness again. I have a stunned look on my face as I realize this bitch is going to try and to extort more money from me. Before I can say anything, I hear the phone being picked up. "Hi, daddy!" exclaims the cheerful voice on the other end.

I can feel my knot starting to slowly build, "H-hi sweetie. Happy birthday."

The nine year old cub's voice sounds happy on the other end of the line, "I saw you on tv today. You were playing cards. Everyone at school thinks that is so cool. Tommy Hodge's dad is a soldier and said that he could beat you up. I told him it didn't matter because you had more money and could hire someone to beat his dad up. Or hire a bunch of people to beat his dad up." ESPN must be replaying one on the tournements from last year that I sat at the featured table. Jasmine keeps babbling while Trina continues sucking me off. The whole time I'm trying to focus my mind somewhere else though my knot hardens. I do not want to cum while talking to my daughter because that is just sick as hell. Plus, I don't need that on my mind when I play cards tomorrow. Desperately, I get one of my footpaws on Trina's shoulder in an effort to push her off of me. However, she sets her teeth down hard on my dick, causing me to roar with pain and curse loudly. The other end of the phone goes quiet, then I begin to hear the sound of a sob starting to build.

Thinking quickly, I lie,"It's okay Jazz. Daddy stubbed his toe. It just surprised me. I wasn't yelling at you, okay." This calms her down some. I glare down at Trina as she has a look of satisfation in her eyes, her lips working my shaft harder. "Sweetie, I need to go get a bandaid, okay? I'll call you tomorrow after the tournement, alright?"

"Okay daddy," she answers, "Good luck and love you."

"Love you too, Jazz," I turn off the phone just in time. My body tightens as I reach down both paws onto the doe's head, rutting deep into her muzzle. As my load breaks through, I hate-fuck her face, the choking, panic sounds she makes just adding to the rush of bliss. My claws flex out, preventing the doe from pulling away. Her gagging feels good against my hardness as it twitches, my knot shrinking a bit as the flow of my cream washes down her throat. I finally let her go and see her crawl over to the trash basket near the dresser drawers to throw up. Normally, I would feel bad about that but I was in just the right mix of pissed off and satisfied not to really give a shit. I lay there purring happily as she gets up and puts her clothes on. She picks up my t shirt, wiping her lips off with it before tossing it into the trash where she just vomited. "I told you to stop," I informed her.

"Fucker," she exclaims. She is clearly ticked off. I sigh and take out another five hundred, adding it to her payment. She is still seething as she collects her money. I don't bother to apologize and she doesn't ask for one. For us, it was simply business. It's not like I did anything really messed up to her. In San Lobos, what I did was down right tame. I watch her leave, slamming the hotel door behind her. I just hope this doesn't wind up messing with my mind tomorrow.

Still purring, I enjoy the after glow. Turning on the tv again, I swtich it over to ESPN to see a re-run of the Poker World Series. It's kind of surreal watching yourself on the screen, but there I am, bluffing al Said out of a twenty-five thousand dollar pot by pushing all in with a weak two pair. Sleep over takes me about an hour later, the ambient noise of the tv putting me under as I lay naked on the king sized bed.

Chapter 3

Another Day, Another Final Table

I hate dreaming about poker, especially when I'm playing in a tourney. It always ends in one of three ways. The first is that I dream about winning a huge prize; like say the Main Event. When I wake up and realize it was just a dream I get disappointed. The second is that no matter what I do I get broke at the table. I mean I lose everything. The third is the entire dream is a dull, dreary grind where I barely get any hands to do anything. I wake up from the second.

I sit up in bed, still naked as my cell phone rings. It's Pete. I open the cell and answer, "Hey Pete. What's up?"

"Just making sure you're up," the otter responds,"I know you can get a little lazy after a night with Trina." I groans as he mentions the doe's name. "Oh, so it was that good, huh?" the otter joked.

"I'll tell you about it later. What time is it?"

I hear him pause for a minute,"Umm...Seven thirty-two. Look, if we want to beat the crowd and the 'crows' you better get ready and downstairs. The tourney restarts at ten." Crows were our nickname for what is commonly called 'railbirds' in the poker world. These are people that aren't in the game. Some of them are just folks watching the game or cheering on their favorite player. Other are beggers or con artists. They hit you with every sob story you could hear twice before getting to your seat. Thankfully, during the Series security at the casino is nice and tight.

Groaning, I reply, "Yeah, let me get a shower. I'll eat when I get down to the casino. They have any good specials?"

"I wouldn't know," Pete said in a tone of voice I rarely heard,"I'm not at the casino right now."

Laughing, I can't help but ask, "Really now? What's her name?"

"Micheal," he answers. I know Pete is gay and I don't mind. It's just that he almost never hops in the sack with a guy during the Series. He's been 'signle' with the occassional fling here and there. I didn't find out he 'liked pole instead of hole' until we got drunk after my second bracelet win. It took me a bit to figure out he was hitting on me. When I did, I politely turned him down after the first moments of shock and realization wore off. The next week was a mix of apologies and nervous glances. We got past it though. It's not that i accept his life style, it's a matter of 'it's his business, not mine.'

"Is he coming to the tourney with you," I inquire.

"Nah, he finds poker boring," Pete is smiling on the other end. I can tell by the lit in his voice. This for some reason makes me feel good. Pete's a great guy and deserves to be happy, you know?

"Alright then, I'll see you in about thirty minutes?" I hear a muffled voice in the background and Pete mutter something in responce.

"Make that an hour, Bruno," the otter answers before hanging up. I sit on my bed shaking my head with a smile on my face. Pete was kind of the little brother I never had. With a stretch and groan, I pad over the the bathroom and get into the shower. Many felines don't like showering or taking a bath. They prefer to clean themselves the 'old fashioned' way by licking. Not me. I love the feeling of hot water flowing down my back. It's one of those things that just feels so relaxing to me. I stay in the shower a few minutes more then needed but when I finally turn off the water I am feeling great.

My cell phone goes off as I'm in the dryer. I let it go to voice mail while I turn to let the blowers hit my back. Though my fur is still a tad damp, I get out and begin brushing in a few 'problem spots' that like to stick up when dry. Getting dressed doesn't take very long since I throw on one of my black retro '50's' bowling shirts and a pair of clean, pressed jeans. Since I have a good chance of winning today, I want to look decent for the cameras. It was one of those days where you felt like it was your day. I slide my jeans up over my hips, buttoning the tab over the tail hole. Giving myself a 'once over', I grab my cell, wallet, and watch.

Red Grove Casino was across the street from where I was staying. The warm morning air was nice and dry against my fur. San Lobos was a city that doesn't sleep. Twenty-four hours a day you can find something going on. It was a town built on dreams of a carnal paradise and it did a damned fine job of making those dreams come true. San Lobos had begun as a Spanish trading post and mission near a large fresh water spring back in the 1820's. It wasn't until industrialist Jennings Bowerdine; founder of Bowerdine Steel Company started to become eccentric (in other words bat shit crazy) and built a casino and hotel. He wanted to make a hedonistic utopia in the desert where all his friends in the 'upper crust' of society could come and play. Amazingly, it worked. San Lobos became THE place to be if you were anyone of status and money. In the 1940's Bowerdine suffered a stroke, dying in the middle of a three way. Of course the newspapers were more polite about it in the national press but everyone in San Lobos knew what happened. It's part of the mystique and legend of this town.

I walk across the avenue to the doors of the casino. A friendly husky in a valet uniform of red and gold opens the door for me. I tip him a five dollar bill. The cool brush of air hits my face, giving me a moment of shock and making the fur on my neck stand up a bit before settling back down. The din of sounds softly echo in a welcoming ambience while I walk down to the casino floor's edge. A growling sound rumbles in my stomach as I walk to casino's resteruant 'The Lucky Rabbit'. Since it's morning there aren't that many people here so I pick a seat at the corner and take out my tournement card from my wallet to show the older looking vixen that strolls up to take my order. She nods with a smile, "What can I get you, sweetie?"

"Hmm...I'll have the Continental with eggs sunny-side up and bacon instead of sasauge," I answered.

She nodded with a genuine smile on her rust colored muzzle. I saw that her name tag read 'Candy'. She must have been a showgirl at the casino. Candy looked to be around my age but still had a nice little body for a vixen. I'm not that into othe rpredators since my disaster of a marriage to Lisa. They must not have been very busy since the vixen, whose name tag read 'Candy'. I would have bet that she was once a showgirl for the casino. As she turned around I got a nice view of her cute little rear and full, fluffy russet tail as it slowly wagged behind her. Calling over her shoulder, she asked, "Coffee with that?" I nodded as I noticed her ears flicked when she called out to me. I guess she had caught me staring at her ass. With a brief, subtle wiggle of her ass, she silently told me that she was complimented not pissed before she poured my coffee. I felt a slight stirring in my groin but nothing that would rise in my scent or show against my pants.

While watching the fox pour my coffee I sense a looming form near me. I catch a pair of horns out of the corner of my eye, "So, what's good here," asked Dean LaGentry in his low, rumbling voice. The big bull looked over at me with a smile, dressed in tasteful black jeans, a crisp embriodered Western black shirt, and wide brimmed Statson.

"The eggs are pretty good," I reply as Candy brought me my coffe. I give a flirty wink and smile, "Thanks, hon." Candy smiles before turning to the big bull to take his order. After she takes his order she starts to turn away, "Oh, Candy," I see her stop and turn partially towards me,"Mr. LGentry is in the tourney."

"You have your tournement registration card?" the vixen asked with a grin.

Baffled, Dean took out his wallet and fished around to look for it for a few minutes. I caught sight of a nice wad of one hundred dollar bills in the main pocket of the bull's wallet. He showed it to Candy, who simply nodded before going to to cook to place Dean's order. "What did she ask me that for?" the bovine asked with a puzzled look.

I sip my coffee as I see my order appear in the window. "Meals at the casino resteruant are 'comped' or complimentory to tournement players. All you have to do is show them your registration card."

Dean nodded,"I'll need to keep that in mind. Is it for just this tournement?"

Shaking my head, I reply,"Nope. Any major tournement or any Series tournement will get you comped here."

"San Lobos is a friendly place," Dean smiled as he accepted his coffee from the vixen and I got my breakfast. Grabbing a small bottle of hot sause, I open it and tap out a few generous drops onto my eggs. To me, eggs just don't taste right without a little heat to them. It's something I picked up from my dad and my grandpa growing up. Lisa used to hate it. She hated a lot of things about me.

"Depends," I take a fork full of egg and almost begin purring at the taste. "It can be the friendliest place in the world as long as you have money and do anything too crazy."

"So, you're fourth in chips."

Nodding, I swallow another bite, "Yeah. I saw that you were sixth. Pretty good for someone new to the tournement scene."

Dean let out a chuckle,"Son, I haven't been 'new' to poker since before you were born. You ever hear of the Texas Doll?" I knew exactly who he was talking about. Doyle "the Doll" Reynolds was a legend in poker. Back in the early 1950's poker, well real poker, wasn't played in San Lobos or in Nevada. The real games, the ones that because legendary were played in Texas. Armidillo, Dunlap, and Houston were the three major areas for poker action. The main problem was that poker back then in those cities was illegal. Not only that but you have the constant threat of the game getting robbed. Nodding in answer, I let him continue,"Well, my daddy owned the sheet rock plant that he worked at when he got his leg broken while working there. He was laid up for a few weeks which is when he learned some of the games. I was only about ten at the time and easily bored so my daddy would send me over to his parents house to check on him. He'd have a few of his buddies over sometimes. Well, one day I was sent to check on him and they were playing seven card stud. That's when I played poker for the first time."

"So you learned how to play with the greatest living poker legend around?" I was a bit skeptical but I kept it out of my voice. Dean looked about the right age to fit this kind of story but it could be just that; a story.

"Yup," he smiled. Candy had come back with Dean's plate of pancakes with melted butter and a smaller plate with two large, flakey biscuits. We exchanged small talk for the rest of our breakfast. When I get up, I leave Candy a few dollars as a tip. "Good luck to you, Mr. Dugger."

"Please, call me Bruno."

The bulls smiles and extends his paw,"Dean. Nice to meet ya." I take the much larger paw in mine. He had a strong but not overpowering handshake. It was definatley friendly with no measure of dominate jocking you see with some players.

"Pleasure is all mine."

+===============================================================================================================+

They call it being 'card dead'. Every poker player has it happen to them unless they sell their soul to the devil or something. Unfortunately, on day two of the tourney it happened to me. For the first two hours the best hand I had gotten was Jack-Ace off-suit in early position. I still had enough chips to fold that hand away to a raise but I was slowly getting blinded down. The tourney was down to the last three tables with twenty players so I was at least in the money. I was in late position with about twenty-five thousand in chips. The big stack at the table was Billy Garret, an exuberant jackle who was drinking as much Jack Daniels and coke as he was winning chips. I had butted heads with him on a previous round only to have him bully me out of a pot when my pocket queens got cracked by a rogue ace on the river to give him a higher pair. Garret was just getting lucky.

The only surprise I saw this late in the game was a mottled-furred rabbit sitting to my right. Now, not to sound like a bigot, but rabbits tend to not deal very well in poker tournements. The reason being is that they tend to have an over exaggerated 'prey reflex' that causes them to twitch or freeze for a moment when they sense danger. This rabbit didn't have anything like that going on which was very strange to me. Even when he doubled up through the current chip leader, my least favorite jackle in the world, he showed no emotion. Now, there are certain substances that can inhibit a prey reflex like ketamine in low doses or xanex. Even though it isn't 'quite' illegal to use performance enhancing drugs in poker, it was frowned up. I was pretty damned sure that rabbit was on something. Or maybe he was just really, really Buddist. Waiting my turn, I watch everyone's reactions as the cards are dealt. I can't get a read on the jackle since the booze seems to be providing enough of a buzz that his facial reactions make it look like he's getting pocket aces every time. I look at my hand. Eight of spades, three of diamonds. I fold.

Getting up, I stretch my legs as I walk over to the rail where Pete is chatting with a slender-looking mink. The otter smiled as I approached, "Hey, Bruno! What happened?"

"Fucking cards are being a bastard to me," I sigh. Looking at the mink, I smile, "Are you Micheal?"

The dark furred musteliod blinked as I extended a paw to him,"Uh, yeah. I guess Pete told you about me?" I nodded while giving him a quick look over. He was wearing a set of tan loafers, neatly pressed Dockers, and a emerald green golf shirt. I got the impression that he was fairly neat guy and a bit on the conservative side by his tone of dress. Poker is about reading people for the most part and that instinct is very hard to just turn off. He takes my paw in his, giving it a firm shake.

Pete blushed just a little at me instantly identifying Micheal, "That's a shame that the cards aren't going your way. What are you down to?"

"About twenty-five after this next blind," I reply,"I just needed to get a little-" My sentence gets cut off by an ear piercing howl of triump from table three. I hear the familure voice of Mikey Waters. The three of us look over as we see the Tazmanian devil jumping up and pumping his fists in the air. I then notice why he is celebrating. He just knocked Freddy al Said out of the tournement. I see the mongoose shake his head slowly as he gets up. Mikey is too busy celebrating to even notice Freddy walk over to shake his paw for a full thirty seconds. It sickened me to see such a crass display. As the mongoose walks away to the rail, I motion him over.

"Tough break, Freddy," I offer in condolence,"What did he beat you with?"

Shrugging, he spoke in an Iraqi accent,"Eh, you know. I had the jacks and he pushed some tens. He hit on the flop. Happens." Freddy was one of the first Middle Easterners I had ever meet and was a true gentleman. He dressed with class and rarely let anything ruffle him. "So, you still in, Bruno?"

Sighing, I answered, "For now. I'm not getting shit for cards. Plus I have some jackle bulldozing the table right now."

"Amatures," Freddy smiled, "But luck evens out. Just means more money for us in the long run."

"Ain't that the truth," Pete pipes up. Freddy grins and shakes both Pete and Micheal's paws.

"Sorry I didn't see you there, Pete," The mongoose put a little emphasis on the normally silent 'e' at the end of Pete's name, making it sound like 'Pete-y'. "Good to see you again, Micheal."

"Likewise Freddy," the mink responded with a good natured smile. Pete noticed me raising an eyebrow.

"Ah, Micheal is a golf instructor," Pete explained. It took me a second, but a look of realization appeared on my face. A lot of poker pros loved to play golf. Some of them made rediculous bets on the outcome of games and such.

"I used to be on the PGA tour but needed to take a break," Micheal explained, "Just got a little too much at the time."

"Never really been much of a golfer unless you count mini-golf with my daughter."

"Oh?," the mink asked, "What's her name?"

"Jasmine but I call her Jazz," I can feel myself calming down a bit, "Well, I'm going back to the table. Pleasure meeting you, Micheal."

"Likewise." Freddy, Pete, and Micheal continue their conversation as I wander back to my chair. The blinds were one position away from me as I sit down to look at my hand. I see the six and seven of diamonds as my hole cards. I'm first to act so I simply call the blinds.

The rest fold except for the jackle who slurs, "I raise!" He splashes the pot with his chips but I can see he only doubled the blinds. The small blind folds, the big bling calls and I do the same. The flop comes four of spades, three of diamonds, and the five of diamonds. Inside I am happy as hell. I had just flopped a straight! I maintain my composure as the big blind, the unusually sedate rabbit takes a stack of chips and slides it to the center of the table. In a monotone voice, he says, "I raise to one thousand."

Taking my usual five second pause, I shrug, "I re-raise to three thousand." I count out the chips and push in the two stacks of black chips. This is a pretty good chunk of my chips but I'm trying to isolate the rabbit and prevent the jackle from coming into the hand with some crazy hand and pulling a runner-runner on me. To my horror, I see the jackle look at his cards, then look at the bet before him, and back to his cards one more time. Downing the half full glass of whiskey and coke on the small drink table next to him, he stands up, pushes all his chips to the center and loudly announces that he is all in. The stoic rabbit to my right takes about a minute before his pale white paws shove in the chips, still sitting in his chair. There was almost one hundred grand in the pot and all eyes at the table fell on me.

I already flopped the best hand with a chance to improve if a diamond falls. The only problem is that is someone has a higher diamond then me then I lose unless I get a four of diamonds. I start to second guess myself as the gears grind hard in my head. Before I know it, I push my chips in, calling. The jackle flips his cards over, revealing an ace-king suited in diamonds. I knew he was chasing and was right.

The rabbit on the other hand had flopped a set of fives, the spade and the club being exposed giving him three of a kind. This had me really worried because if the board paired it gave the rabbit a full house, beating my made straight. I flipped my card over and saw the rabbit finally show some emotion as his slightly blurry eyes focused on my cards. The jackle just stared in disbelief for a bit before yelling, "Come on, dealer! Gimme a diamond!" The dealer, a cute little striped skunk burned a card and then dropped the turn. It was a diamond...The four of diamonds. My mind went numb. I didn't register and of the sights or sounds around me. My eyes were focused on the red card laying on the table, sealing my victory. The rabbit sighed, obviously disheartened dispite his drug-induced calm. The jackle jumped in celebration before he was informed that while he did indeed have an ace high flush, my straight flush beat him. I had just tripled up through the two players. I shook the rabbit's paw, complimenting him on his play. The jackle just cussed and fumed. I was now up to just under seventy-six thousand in chips, which was about half of what was on my table in total. Billy Garret 'donked' off the rest of his chips having been put on tilt, playing with way too much emotion and losing his chips with every bad hand he played. When my table broke up with him busting out, I was not sorry to see him leave. The tourney director called for a ten minute break while the staff got the final table ready. I was second in chips; right behind one of my biggest arch rivals, Mikey Waters.

Chapter 4

Assholes finish first

One of the greatest feeling aside from winning in tournement poker is making a final table. It shows that you are one of the best or at least luckier players at the tournement. During the break I called my daughter to let her know that I had made the final table. She congratulated me and wished me all the luck in the world which made me grin. Telling her I loved her I hung up, getting ready to do battle with the other nine green felt gladiators. Mikey Waters grinned as he saw me sit down, "Looks like I might get revenge on you for that suck out you put on me."

I grinned, "We'll seen, buddy."

The rest of the players started to settle in their seats, stacking their chips, ordering a drink, or taking a deep breath before the dealer opened a new deck. I'd been to many final tables but every time I made one at a series event I got goosebumps. It didn't matter if it was a the beginning of the series or at the end. It was a thrill every time. I quickly ordered a diet cola and some cheese covered fries. My stomach was in the mood for a snack, but nothing too heavy.

Scanning the rest of the players, I was surprised to see a vixien with a green plastic visor, Hawiian-style poker shirt with the different suits on a colorful background in shades of blue. I had a feeling I knew her from somewhere but I just couldn't place my finger on it. Mr. LaGentry was seated two seats to my left. Mikey Waters was four seats to my right. The rest of the players I really didn't know. We got our cards from the dealer. I waited until my turn to act, lifting my cards just enough to see. It was an ace of diamonds and a four of hearts. I really didn't feel like gambling off my chips so I folded. I kept this up for about twenty-five minutes before I got a decent starting hand. A lot of people frown on pocket eights. As far as starting hands go, you could do better. However, if you spike a third eight on the flop the other players never seem to see it coming.

I gave my normal raise since it was folded down to me. I watched for any discomfort, seeing Dean's large ears flick as if an annoying bug had landed on his large, bovie lobe. Grinning behind my poker mask of stoic emotionlessness, I watch as he just calls. Looked like he had just enough of a hand to see the flop. This is good because if I flop big, I can string him along on each phase of betting, more or less milking him of his chips. I felt only a little bad about the cow pun that trotted through my mind but only a little. This was poker, it was nothing personal. Everyone else folded to us. I loved a little one on one.

The flop came ace of hearts, king of clubs, and the eight of spades. I felt that familar rush of adrinaline course through me. If you'd looked me in the face though, I was the picture of calm boredom. My two eights now had a friend on the board. I threw out a teaser bet to see if he'd follow along. Sure enough, he paused just long enough to register the board and look at his hand before he bet. I couldn't help myself, "Cards change on you, Dean?"

The bull paused before giving a deep, warm laugh. "Naw," he answered, "And I'm glad they didn't. I raise you the pot."

This was a bit of a surprise. Did he get two pair or a higher set. There was fifteen thousand in the pot before he raised. I didn't think he was trying to buy it. He obviously had a strong hand but not the best one since my bet obviously annoyed him. I didn't put him on slow playing aces or kings but he was a sharp one so I couldn't discount that either. Fuck, I hated when I got stuck like this. Before I could second guess myself, I push my chips into the center of the table. "All in."

There were a few murmurs at the table, players watching the action as Dean calls. If I lose, he gets about a third of my chips. I'll still be in the tourney but damn will I be hurting. I let out a sigh as i see him turn over ace-king suited diamonds. I'm in the lead until the turn is flipped up. It's the ace of spades. While I got a full house, the big bull got a much better one with that card. I know that this hand is over at the river since only one card in the deck could have helped me. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the mental sting of losing that poker battle.

"Ouch," Mikey Waters commented to the ferret sitting to his immedate left, "That's why I don't stand on low pocket pairs when facing a raise."

"Pocket eights are a mid to high pocket pair," I growl, defending my choice to play that hand.

"Not that time," Mikey quipped. I try to remain calm and collected. I try to focus on a happy moment, just something to take my mind off of Mikey's taunting. The first thing that pops into my mind is being in a nice, hot shower with Trina bent over in front of me as I plow nice and hard into her firm little rump. While that does help, it does give me an erection so I know I can't stand up until that went away. Little sacrifices I guess.

"Tough break, Bruno," Dean remarks as he stacks up what used to be my chips.

"I know it's not personal. Just poker," I state.

"Yeah, we will see when it's me and you, Dugger," Mikey grinned,"Then we will see how personal it gets."

"Bring it, Mikey. I want to see if you'll throw another chair." The game progresses as I scoop up a could of decent pots. One was against that vixen who shook her head as I busted her from the tourney. She got up and shook my paw before leaning in to whisper, "Next time let's play blackjack. That's more of my game anyway." I then realized that the person I had knocked out of the tournement was Frances Van Der Mark, current World Blackjack Champion. She was banned from several casinos because she was that good. They could never catch her counting cards because she was able to do it all in her head. Rumor had it that she could calculate the odds on up to four decks of cards. She was very gracious as she left to claim her winnings. I sat back down, a little proud of myself. Sure, she wasn't a poker pro but it was a bit of an accomplishment none the less. We were now down to six as Mikey claimed two more victims which kept him as the chip leader at the table. I was starting to feel a bit of a mental fog roll in as I went heads up with Dean again, this time scoring a small bit of payback when my higher two pair held up against his. This win put me in second place with about twenty-five grand in chips seperating me from Mikey. I had a chance to come back to win.

I was in the big blind as the cards were dealt. I could feel it. Even before I looked at my cards I knew this hand was going to be the game changer. I looked down to see pocket aces. Thank you, Lady Luck, you are my favorite mistress! I smile on the inside like a perfect plate of steak and potatoes with bottle of my favoite beer had been set down in front of me. The two black aces were going to help add to my chip stack. That is when I see Mikey make a large bet of ten thousand chips which was about five times the blind. I peg him for either pocket kings or ace-king suited. I re-raise him fifteen thousand.

"So this is going to be the hand, huh?" the skunk grinned.

"Looks that way, Mikey," I grin as he shoves the rest of his chips into the center. I instantly call. He flips his cards over, making the table release a murmur of 'oohs' and 'ahhs' as he shows his red pocket aces. I laugh as I flip over my hole cards, eliciting a smattering of chuckles and a huge smile from Mikey. What happens next was not amusing to me at all.

The dealer flipps over the flop to show three hearts; the seven, ten, and three. My heart flitters in my chest as I see the turn being ready. The crowd that is watching the hand and the players at the table fall into a still silence as the dealer turns over the queen of hearts. With that, my tournement is over. I feel numb in the center of my chest as luck betrayed me. Mikey Water had just given me the worst bad beat I had ever suffered in tournement poker. I see the river card being turned as the six of diamonds but again I don't register it. In less then sixty seconds my hopes went from high to completely dashed.

Taking a deep breath, I walk over to shake the victor's paw. To my surprise, he gives me a hug, "Payback is a bitch, but I do feel bad for winning that way, Bruno."I was geniunely stunned for a moment.

"Well, thanks," was all I could muster. I turn to Pete, who nodded as we made our way to the cashier to pick up my winnings. I got several pats on the back and a few 'you'll get them next time's from the watchers and the rail birds. I even get a pine martin that wants to take a picture with me. I smile as I shake his paw while his girlfriend or wife took our picture.

I cash out my winnings from the tournement as a lovely looking possum hands me the check. I thank her, giving her an off handed compliment about her looks causing her tail to flick and shy smile to emerge on her face.

"I don't know about you, but I could use something to eat, Pete."

He nodded after he checked his PDA, "Sure, I'm up for more or less anything."

"Where's your boy toy at?"

Sighing, Pete answered, "He had to go take care of some stuff. I think he's giving golf lessons to a couple of senators."

"Hope you don't mind me as company, Pete."

*"I think you'll do, Bruno," he smiled as we made our way out to the parking lot. *