High Roller

High Roller never looked at his cards. He didn't need to.

After all, a game of poker isn't played on a table, between shuffled hands of cards. Poker is played in the mind; a match of wits and shrewdness. Can you notice the twitch of an eye, a particular fidget, the pattern in the clouds in the windows behind him?

High Roller could. It's why he was still here, playing with the best in a tower high above the frozen pavement below, leaning back and smiling as his opponents told him everything he ever needed to know.

The real trick, he knew, was to keep every other player off their guard. It meant unpredictability, and it often meant being crass, but damn if it didn't work. Earlier in this evening’s game, he had intercepted a waiter carrying one of his opponents drinks, and simply took the drink for himself, maintaining steely eye contact with her throughout.

He scanned across the table. Confusion and pity had settled like a thick fog over the entire floor. The whole casino, it seemed, was looking at him. Of course, that was the plan. If they were looking at him, they weren't looking at their cards. Just like him. He'd leveled the playing field.

He had seen enough. He slid his entire stack forwards, leaning in, daring anyone else to try and match him. He was all in.

High Roller knew he was in control, and he was just on the cusp of winning big.

High Roller didn't look at the crowd around him. He didn't need to.

He didn't need to turn his head to perfectly picture the looks of fear on their faces. Did he regret that this intimidation was necessary? Maybe, but there were worse things to happen to someone than getting startled by a man with a gun.

His focus needed to be on the woman in green across the table from him. Watching people, seeking opportunities, exploiting a tell. It's what he was best at. To be honest, it's the thing that made him feel most like himself.

The real art of it was in balancing how much of a threat he seemed to be. All he needed was a few hundred dollars from the register. He needed to make the threat of violence seem real, but not so real that the cashier’s fight or flight instincts kicked in.

The push and pull was a delicate dance, and required the utmost attention to his own body, not to mention hers. Never taking his eyes off hers, he slipped his hand lower down his thigh towards the pistol he had already made sure she could see.

She immediately stiffened, choking back a sob. Alright, that was pushing it. High Roller pulled his hand back up, and listened as she sharply exhaled. He felt for her, of course--this must have been quite frightening--but on the other hand, isn't this just how one plays the game? You need to know when to hold and when to fold, so to speak.

He heard noises outside. No one in the building had left, he thought... had they? Wouldn’t he have heard the door chime?

High Roller didn't dare look away from the woman in front of him, but he saw her looking past him, to something that made her eyes widen.

Not a problem, he thought. The balance of what counted as threatening had changed, that's all. He just needed to tilt it back.

High Roller knew he was in control, and he was just on the cusp of winning.

High Roller didn't look at the churning waters below. He didn't need to.

Really, if he focused on anything, there was a chance he'd start to vomit. He was quite susceptible to seasickness, which is why he insisted he not get in the barrel, particularly since it was too big, and he kept getting thrown from side to side as it hurtled down the Niagara River.

But the man who seemed in charge insisted that he get in, his goons seemed willing to back him up, and in the interest of picking his battles, High Roller ultimately agreed. He had to begrudgingly admit that yes, since they had paid for the clothes on his back and the gun in his pocket, they had the right to take it back if they so chose. Given all his outstanding debt, he was lucky he even got the barrel.

Anyways, it was all in the past, and it seemed far more urgent to keep his mind focused on the oncoming edge, the Maid of the Mist surely below. It was hard to pay attention, given the noise, but he had to make sure he never broke eye contact with the churning waters ahead.

Gravity was a powerful force, sure, but it was nothing he couldn't outwit if he put his mind to it. He would just need to figure out how to convince the rocks below to get smaller, to pull the sky towards him when it least expected it. Maybe he could confuse time into moving backwards long enough for him to make his escape.

High Roller knew he was in control, and he was just on the cusp of making it out of this alive. He just had to think of something.