Man I am on page 13 and I had to jump ahead to say thanks. Love the sharing of stories, especially when said storyteller can write. This indeed should be an HBO series, and if not now I guarantee when online poker is legalized again and the second boom happens hollywood will be shopping for stories all over again. And this one is terrific......Well done buddy.

I agree that TST needs to take his talents to Hollywood, but it looks like we've got a pretty decent fiction writer on our hands here as well.

Finally caught up to the end of the thread. I was definitely pacing myself so I could make these stories last lol. Very well written and thoroughly entertaining stories, TST. Real life gets in the way but we appreciate you taking the time to write all of this down. Looking forward to lots more!

211


My mom was visibly upset with me, but she had not been yelling and screaming like the other two moms at the scene. We talked about why it had happened, and she told me she wanted me to stay home the following night. It would be the only night in my life I was ever grounded. A few days later, all of our parents decided to get together at some pool club to determine what to do about telling others about the incident. While we hung out at the pool, they were worried about the school finding out about the incident. Normally this would not be important at all, but if the administration were to find out we were caught by the cops for what we did, we would be facing suspension or expulsion from the school. They agreed on a code of silence, and the next day I was on a plane to Islip, NY to go see my grandparents on Shelter Island. I will go into depth about Shelter Island, as it is a unique place to grow up, and spent 6 years of my life there, but that is for another story. I worked in my mother's friend's restaurant, and my grandfather would take me to work everyday at 330 and I would get home at midnight. It was here I met some of my first friends on Shelter Island, including a 2p2 member and a great guy. I was smoking cigarettes like a fiend back in Richmond, and he offered me cigarettes while I was up there. It was rough work, but paid well for a 15 year old, and I was having fun. I did not get to spend much time out, as my orders from my grandfather were to come home right after work. He was a colonel in the Army and was a WWII veteran, and was one of the few people in my life I would never want to disappoint. I thought this life as a busboy was just a short stint, but I wasn't aware this would become my permanent residence the following year. I took the flight back home around the 25th of August with cash in my hand that felt so good because I had made it myself.

I walked up to my room, which was split into a ground floor and a loft, and walked up the steep stairs to find my Nintendo 64 was gone. What the ****! Did someone steal it? I asked my sister and she told me that mom had sold it. I confronted my mom, and she told me the money was going towards the fine that I owed.

“But I made money up in New York, I can pay it no problem!” I was just ready to buy Goldeneye 007 for N64, and now I had to buy the whole thing again? My mom must've done this out of anger.

One thing I was ready to do was buy some weed, and the next day I made a quick phone call to Anthony. Anthony used to go to St. Christopher's, but left in 9th grade to go to public school because his grades weren't up to par. He still kept in touch with a lot of St. Chris kids, but he was definitely hanging out with the wrong crowd. He had been very popular with the ladies before he left, so his presence was still known in the community, as well as St. Catherine's, our sister school. I told him I was ready to buy a quarter of hydro, and he quoted me a price, and I told him not to worry about it, I had the money. I even told him I'd give him $20 to swing by my house to drop it off. He asked if I wanted to come hang out with him and Tyler, a California transplant who was a little bit creepy, but he had his dad's S500 to drive around in, and other than having a mild case of tourettes, was an alright guy. I had about $400 in my wallet as they finally pulled in my driveway about an hour later. I got in the back and relaxed in the limousine-like backseat.

“Hey Liam, you want to do this now?” Anthony showed me the bag he was working with, it was about an ounce of nice fat purplish-red nuggets that caught my attention. I quickly looked around and to my left I saw a familiar car – a white Volvo station wagon, much like Chris's, but it was Scooter and Andrew. They were two kids I wasn't particularly fond of that were a grade ahead of me, but they had come along and it seemed odd that they were there. They knew I had no desire to hang out with them, and I just thought about picking up the weed and going back into the house. I pulled out $125 from my wallet, which was handmade in Florence and I had my initials stamped in 24K gold on the front. I was counting it out and as I handed it over to them, there was a rapping on the rear passenger door and it suddenly opened. A Cambodian kid in his mid-20s suddenly was sitting next to me and had a Glock pointed right at my face.

“Give me your wallet and you won't die. Just look forward.” I heard coming from the other seat. I didn't look directly at him once I saw the gun, and was in a little bit of shock. I handed over my wallet, and the kid then ordered Tyler to drive. Tyler and Anthony were in a little bit of shock, or so it seemed, and we drove two blocks down the road, and as we drove, the Cambodian kid said “just keep your head forward and you'll live.” I remember telling him just don't kill me, but it was almost in a business like manner, I was still just shocked that in my neighborhood some kid has a gun to my temple.

“Get out” The kid said, and I opened the door and walked out, wondering why the **** I was let out of the car. What was going to happen to Tyler and Anthony? I walked halfway home and something wasn't right. My friends didn't seem that scared, and I saw a white Volvo driving down the road with the Mercedes. I had been set up.

When I got home, the first person I called was Lisa, my girlfriend. She had known about me getting arrested, she said she hadn't told her parents, but was being distant. I honestly didn't know what to do, but she told me to call the cops. I called my mother instead, who called the cops, and I was brought into the station. Apparently Cambodian gang members had been a big problem in the West End of Richmond lately, a place that rarely sees any violent crime. They asked me if I could recognize the guy in a lineup, and I said I didn't know. They went through a book of suspects, and I was able to pick him out. Sure enough the dude was rounded up within a couple of days, Anthony was charged as well for conspiracy, but Tyler and the others were facing no charges as the gang member admitted to putting them up to it with threats of violence.

The second week of my sophomore year of school, I was pulled out of AP Calculus to go to the principal's office to have a talk with him and the disciplinarian. I wasn't told what for, but I had an idea it had something to do with what had happened over the summer. The detectives had told me that I had no obligation to let anyone at St. Chris know, but I knew I had to say something so they were satisfied with the situation. I sat down on the comfortable leather couch in the principal's office with both him and the disciplinarian facing me, and they both started for about 10 seconds until Billy, the disciplinarian broke the silence.

“Tell us everything about the day you met up with Tyler and Anthony – we need to clear some things up.”

[QUOTE= If you loan money to a douchebag who wont pay you back you need to accept the fact that you made a mistake and move on. .[/QUOTE]

lol...Is this for real? It works quite the opposite way buddy. Without an inherit threat everyone will rob you. More correct would be if you cannot stomach violence or the mere thought of it you best not loan out a cent.

I had hoped to put out the final part of this flashback by now, unfortunately Nicole's birthday/Valentine's/work got in the way. We went to Immokalee one night for a birthday thing, I played some poker and twice I have gone there I have run into someone who used to play in one of the games. Saturday night we were there, Nicole had three glasses of wine, got really nauseous and she was puking on the side of 82 near Lehigh Acres at 2am. She then went unconscious and I had to call an ambulance, and spent most of the morning at the hospital. Turns out she might have been roofied, not sure what to do about that at the moment. I'm about 10 orders behind right now, however if it rains tomorrow I can't do much work so I'll try and get this finished up.

If anyone plays at Immokalee, let me know - I'll meet you out there my next trip.

Lol at Lehigh acres..went to fla with family for vaca in late 70s and my dad bought a piece of swampland..he still owns a lot which is in Lehigh acres.guessing he paid a lot more in taxes than what it's worth.but it's nice to see that area is finally growing

Lehigh, Cape Coral, North Port, and Golden Gate Estates were all developed from General Development Corp I believe, starting in the 50s. They decided to bulldoze the swampland on the West coast here and start selling lots of "paradise" for next to nothing. The term "I'll sell you some swampland in Florida" comes from the disaster that Golden Gate Estates was back in the 60s and 70s. They had sold thousands of plots of land to people who just saw it by flying over it from the air, just south of 75 when it turns into Alligator Alley. If you Google Map it, you will see the remains of roads that are inaccessible, it's a fairly creepy area.

In Lee County, you basically have four towns - Lehigh Acres, Fort Myers, North Fort Myers, and Cape Coral. Fort Myers can go from the nicest houses in the county along the river to the most violent area just East of downtown. NFM is kinda half retired, half redneckish types, the Cape is mostly middle income family style living, and Lehigh is a very ethnic area now due to cheaper living. I had a friend buy a house there in the height of the boom in 2006 for $280K, it dipped below $100K 2 years later and he just dumped it. It is probably good to invest in if you want to be a landlord, but I wouldn't want to live there.

Re: abandoned development projects

Yea even without the long term history that other states have there are still some cool things to explore in FL. Have you ever been to an abandoned orange grove that's being reclaimed by forest? Those are pretty neat.

Rural fl was a great place to grow up as a kid.

Good info teller.ya I remember he was getting decent offers 10 years ago but since then nothing..last time I was in fla my buddy was telling me his neighbor grew palm trees on his land and the state paid him to do so,how does that work?

A bunch of wealthy suburbanite brats from my high school (think: Archidiacano from Villanova bball last year. Not him, but similar in thinking their s%^& does not stink, and same area) ended up in Lee County in rehab. Cape Coral, specifically. Any idea why this area specifically is a hotbed for pill-poppin' rehab for northern transplants? I wish I knew more lingo but don't touch the stuff--it just seemed strange they all started heading down in the same area that I understood to be a pill mill maybe only a decade ago...

If you guys have ever watched the movie Insomnia, the hotel owner explains to Al Pacino that only two types of people live in Alaska - those that were born here, and those that were moving from their past. Obviously there are some other categories of people in Florida, but many people just come down because you can become a new person in the Sunshine State. Warm weather used to be prescribed to help those suffering some certain ailments, and this is like a modern day version, a self-diagnosis if you will. I used to joke that everyone from Michigan, Ohio, etc. would hop on 75 to head to Florida and get off at the last exit before they would run out of gas. I have even been asked for gas money multiple times near interstates from people who had literally just arrived in FL for the first time. The pill mills were strong here in 2007-09, now there is very limited opportunities for them here, and anything over Percocet is usually not prescribed for pain nor will it be fill by a pharmacy unless it comes from the ER or an oncology clinic.

It's funny you mention Cape Coral, I know the town well. PM me if you want to talk more about it.

The Lords of Discipline

I remember walking all the way down the hall of the 1st floor of the main building at St. Christopher's Upper School, it seemed like an eternity. We got to the other end where the administration offices were and proceeded into the principal's office. This office did not have your typical high school furniture – his seats were all antique leather, his desk was solid oak and looked very old, and there were a ton of decorations on the walls, as well as books. The principal carried himself well, and as I stared at his diplomas, I realized he had graduated from one of the schools I was looking into applying – Haverford. He had quite the Napoleonic complex, we will call him Sumo (this was his nickname). He sat down in his chair with the disciplinarian, we will call him Billy, and he didn't seem quite as smart as Sumo, nor as refined. His office was in the basement, he didn't have nice diplomas like Sumo. He also wore really cheap button downs that had sweat stains on his armpits, and had a really goofy flattop haircut like R. Lee Ermey in Full Metal Jacket, except it was 1997, not 1967. I never sat across from the principal like this, much less both at the same time. Sumo started to talk.

“Tell us about the incident that happened at your house late this summer.” He said, with a satisfaction that he was about to hear a great story.

“Do you mean the one where I was robbed at gunpoint?”

“Yes, tell us what happened.” Billy would chime in almost like they were playing good cop, bad cop. I proceed to tell them what happened, and I assumed they had already heard the story from Tyler or someone else. I did not give them certain details such as I had considered buying weed from Tyler and Anthony, as I didn't see what good that would do for anyone. I was instructed by my lawyer and the police not to discuss anything that may compromise the case, so really I shouldn't have said anything at all. When I was done, there was about 15 seconds of the most piercing silence I have ever experienced outside of poker.

“Well, we know you were trying to buy marijuana from Anthony, that this was a drug deal gone bad. Tyler told us his entire story, he is now expelled from this school effective today.” Billy had a **** eating grin on his face like he was about to **** me over. I explained that I had been instructed by the detectives not to speak about anything pertaining to the case period and did not confirm or deny anything they had been talking about.

“It doesn't matter what the cops told you, this is St. Christopher's School, you abide by our honor code first. We also know about the incident that happened in Goochland County earlier in the month, where you got detained for the same problem.”

All I could think of what how the **** would they know about everything that had happened that night? It wasn't even on any record unless you were working that shift in that county, my rap sheet was on a 3x5 index card in a probation officer's desk. Either Chris, Joey, or their parents decided to roll over and tell the school what had happened. In retrospect, I believe it was Chris's mother, she wanted her son back at St. Chris so badly she would rat me out as the bad guy. I was so furious that I really just wanted out of there, so after Billy talking about how the honor code works, he said, “You are suspended indefinitely, pending an honor council decision.” I said something about them having a rat problem in this building, walked into my calculus class, got my backpack, shoved my way out of the room and started walking home, which was only 3 blocks. I called my parents, and when I had called my dad, I had never heard him so angry. I didn't even know who he was angry with at first, but when he said he was storming Sumo's office tomorrow, I figured he was mad with the school. I sat at home, stealing one of my mom's Merit Lights and was smoking outside on the porch. She wasn't coming home until the afternoon, so I decided to enjoy my day and order Chinese food. My mom came home later that day, and she felt like I had been taken for the scapegoat by the school.

My dad showed up at the house the following morning with none other than Hollywood Harry. There was very little talk involved, as my parents didn't speak regularly, but my dad told me to get into the car and we were going to the school. I got in the back of a Toyota Corolla rental and we were on our 10 minute ride to the school. Although I have come to love living in the south back and forth since 1988, my dad hated Southern customs, traditions, and “good ole boy” tactics, and he felt as if I was a victim of this. These guys were nothing but redneck inbreds with funny names and weird policies to him. Harry turned around from the passenger seat and said, “Don't worry kid, you didn't do anything wrong talking to them, they just don't understand.” I never really understood what he meant by that even to this day. We parked in the administration parking lot and they waltzed right in to the main building – Harry walked with this sort of slant like he was stalking prey. When they walked inside, they didn't go to Sumo's office, they went straight to the secretary for the headmaster. The headmaster was a title you don't really see at public schools, this person is sort of like a figurehead like the Queen of England is to the British government. They do not get involved in day to day things, however they do have quite a bit of power, including throwing all of this in the trash. One thing I didn't realize at the time was our headmaster was an interim headmaster, he was from up north, and he had once held the same position at St. Paul's School in Concord, New Hampshire. He was involved in a financial scandal, and my dad knew all about this. I was sitting outside in the secretary's office and I could hear them arguing about my tuition, ruining my education and grades, as well as dragging my personal life into the school and treating me like an outsider. After 10 years of going to this school I felt like I was being pitched to the curb, and my dad was going to bat for me. As I sat in the chair outside, Sumo came in and said hello to me, and smiled. It was the sort of smile of satisfaction, one that was happy the headmaster was getting hell unleashed on him. I think Sumo wanted that job but the board of directors wouldn't have it because he wasn't from around here. From that day on, I realized Sumo was just doing the school's dirty work, a job I would never want.

My dad was able to get the school to guarantee no expulsion, but I was suspended for a week under certain terms I had to follow the rest of the year. I had no free periods, I had to carry a 3.5 GPA, and and if I wanted to come back the following year, I had to work with the maintenance crew for the summer for free. **** that, I was never going to be coming back to this school. All of this was presented to me by the school's chaplain, a nice man, but I don't think he understood he was being used as an errand boy. I ended up having to drop AP Calculus because of the time I missed and had a ton of makeup work to do to keep the GPA I needed. Instead of embracing the decision, I rebelled against it. I would just leave school when I felt like it, took a ton of sick days, would show up reeking of cigarettes, and best of all, I would miss my French class taught by a fascist French lady who hated men to go into work early. The guys at work treated me well and more like an equal. They didn't judge me because I went to a private school. I told them what happened, and they laughed because it was just a big show for the school. On weekends there were two dishwashers, myself and a black guy from Church Hill. Church Hill was the place where Patrick Henry said “Give me liberty or give me death!” during the American Revolution, however in the 90s, there was a lot more liberty than death going on – this was one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the nation at the time. He told me he would take 3 buses just to get over to work here, and I couldn't help but offer a ride at the end of the night, the guy had 2 jobs and was a hard worker. He would give me $5 plus he would go into the store and buy me beer for the weekend when I had days off. One night after he had bought me beer, I was in his neighborhood and I got pulled over in my 82 Celica around 1am. It took over 30 minutes for the cops to realize I was just a white kid from the West End giving him a ride home and it wasn't a drug deal. The cop told me to stay out of the neighborhood, that it was extremely dangerous at night. I continued to give him rides anyway, the beer hookup was worth it.

The worst part of this scandal was during the course of my sophomore year, there was a deep divide between those who thought I had tarnished the school's name and those who understood I was getting bent over. I had to take on an onslaught of verbal abuse from classmates whose parents had gone to the school, as well as some faculty members. I tried to tell them the truth, but the Kool-Aid they drank had been well aged in the South for generations. I did have a group of friends that understood what was happening, and it did make school much easier knowing that the truth was actually out there, people just chose not to believe it. Tyler and I both had to testify against Anthony and “Loki”, the Cambodian kid who had pulled the gun on me. Virginia has mandatory sentencing laws for armed robbery, so Loki ended up getting 10 years without parole, and Anthony was sent to a military style boot camp for rehab. I remember Tyler sitting on the bench next to me waiting to be called into court for his testimony and he gave me this look that I at first thought was anger, but he started tearing up and crying and his parents were there to console them. What a ****ing pussy. He would always act so hard when we used to hang out, and now he was crying like a little girl, he had made his own bed and now he didn't want to sleep in it. Anthony sent me letters from boot camp apologizing for what happened that day, but after I moved back to New York in the summer of 1998, I lost touch with him. I found him again around 2013, he had moved to West Palm Beach with his parents. He had been in and out of jail for drugs and petty theft, his dad had died, and his mom was a severe alcoholic. He could barely keep a job, and was on and off heroin up until recently. He still apologizes to me to this day for what happened, and I tell him not to worry about it, it was a long time ago. Tyler moved back to California and started some feng-shui house cleaning business (WTF?) but have never tried to contact him. Joey went to UVA and became a douchey frat boy before getting his law degree, and I honestly don't know what Chris does, but he also looks like a frat bro from his pictures. I see it as another life from the one I live now – I could never be that person today, and I can still sleep peacefully knowing I never narked anyone out for what happened that summer besides some wannabe gangster that put a gun to my head in my own driveway. I took responsibility for my own bad actions as well as others that year, and learned who my friends truly were when the **** really hit the fan.

Also, St. Christopher's School Honor Code comes before the Constitution...... apparently.

And where's Loki?

Good question. I was notified from VA Dept of Corrections that he was released in late 2007. It would be interesting to run into him - I can ask Anthony next time I talk to him.

Schools both private and public including universities live by their own codes of conduct. I was in a much more minor situation when I was 20 where I essentially got a parking ticket in the eyes of the county / state, but the school suspended me for a semester with a few stipulations of readmission, and like you, I rebelled against - they just didn't want me back. There is some concern that these things haunt you for the rest of your life and are unfair; however, if you continue and complete your education at another institution (go to college, a different college and graduate, etc) it's hopefully not something that hangs over your head.

In your 30s now, this is all obviously well in the past, but I am curious [if you're willing to share] how this impacted college enrollment. Was it the set back that you and your folks thought it might be?

I think that my sophomore year of high school was definitely the hardest time of my life so far. Going to school as an outsider to a tight knit community can make you feel like you are on Mars. I was concerned it would kill my chances of getting into schools I wanted to go to, but in the end it didn't affect much. My dad had me tour around some boarding schools in the Northeast, but in the end I choose to go to public school and it was a great time.

I will say that writing about it is a little bit hard - I actually called my parents and made sure I had all the facts right about what happened. They asked why I wanted to know, I had to brush it off. Somehow in all the arguing at the principal's office my dad never realized I had been handcuffed, he only found out last week about the story in Goochland County when I told him.

I just look at it as if it were another life I lived that no longer exists, but I am still open to talking about it. I'm sorry to hear you had a similar problem with schools getting a little power drunk.

It's like the backstory to Scent of a Woman.

Never seen the movie, I'll have to watch it/look it up.

EDIT: On a side note, the "alligator skin" rail I was talking about is the same rail that was in Trooper's blog tonight when he was playing in Salzburg, just a little darker colored.

It's a good movie with a message about what honor and integrity really mean. You're going to relate really hard to the back story.

Al Pacino, blind guy driving a Ferrari

Donnie Narko aka Donnie Brasco Part 2


Getting a call from Donnie was a minimum 20 minute conversation. What would usually happen was he would tell me how the night went, every big hand he won, how he had a 1-2k plus stack, then ran it all down to nothing. Tonight was no different – I had to hear every detail.

“Tim treats me like an animal. He makes me pay back juice when no one else does, and I'm tired of it. I went to the sheriff's office and they took me in a corner. They had undercover detectives with masks on to protect their identity and asked me to tell them the whole story.” I personally thought it was hilarious.

“So do you really think they care about a card game?”

“No, but they care about the drugs that go in and out of there. They're going to bust it.”

The humorous tone I had went down quite a bit as I realized that even though this was not my game, Tim's game getting busted meant that my game would be under pressure, as I am sure players who were relatively innocent would talk about other games in the area. There wasn't a whole lot I could do about it and didn't expect players to not roll over if they were ever arrested. The truth was Tim had let the drug trade get a little ridiculous at his house. He had found that methadone and klonopin mixed together gave the same effect as heroin, and was buying all sorts of pills from random guys who came to the game. Tim had been nodding off at his own game recently and it was a little embarrassing for him. It honestly made my game stronger, and he was a bit pissed about that. Still, a rat was a rat, and we couldn't have that going around at our games. Donnie going to the police about drugs he never seemed to care about was just payback because Tim kept his alligator skin table as collateral. Donnie always left in amazement when he lost, and him not getting his table back shouldn't have come as a surprise. I hung up on Donnie and called up Tim, who was very uppity and was talking very erratically.

“I can't ****ing believe that guy – he comes here, I let him play on my dime half the time, and when he loses, he tries to take the table literally in the middle of play. Willy and I had to literally throw him out into the driveway because he kept on trying to start fights. The game broke early, so he ****ed that up too.”

“He narked on you man, he just called me and told me like a complete idiot.”

“What the **** are you saying, he told everyone I screwed him over?”

“No, he talked to the cops. He said he told them about the Greek, Tony, all the guys who sell weed and anything else at your game. That's where he wants to get you. The cops don't care about a home game, but they will care if they see it as a drug spot.”

“Well, I need a ride, can you take me out to get a few things? I'll give you $100.” I was such a sucker for these ridiculous rides from people who lose their license, so I banged a U-turn and headed back into town. As I pulled up to Tim's house, I noticed a new car in the driveway – a 2004ish Escalade, I had never seen this car before. I honked the horn as I usually do, and Tim waddled out and pointed to the truck. I parked the car and got out.

“Do you like it?” He asked with a big smile on his face.
“Yeah, I mean it's an Escalade, what's not to like? Where'd you get the money to buy this thing?” I knew he had been having money troubles lately, buying an Escalade was not something I pictured him doing.

“Get in the car and we'll talk.” He wanted me to drive the truck around for him, he hated my car, and my car's suspension hated him, it worked out just fine. It had a 30 day plate on it, a sign he bought it from a used dealer. We pulled out of the driveway, and by the time we had gotten a mile, I could tell this thing was hurting. It was a 2003 model, had 80,000 miles, it looked great, but it had major front end issues. It needed new ball joints or control arms, and the alignment was off. It had a million comfort features but half of them were obsolete. He told me he paid $13,000 for it, put $5000 down and the rest was financed at a buy here/pay here nearby. All he could talk about was how great of a deal he got on the car – all I could think about was how bad the dealer was pounding him from behind with the interest. He kept on talking about how it was just a simple interest loan, but considering he had the math skills of a 7 year old, simple made him feel at ease.

“I took on a partner, 50/50. He paid me half in cash and will pay me the rest every time the game runs.”

“How much is half your game worth?” I had to know if I had missed out on a good deal.

“$20,000”. I clearly had not missed out on a deal. With the credit lines that Tim lent out, the occasional missed game, and his ongoing coke habit, Tim must have done sexual favors for 20k.

“Who bought that action?”

“Rhett.”

Rhett was a 2/5 regular at the cardroom, 19 years old, and he had the appearance of a very successful entrepreneur. He had started playing in our games earlier in the year, was a decent regular, and was always good for the game. The problem with Florida is that things are more often not as they seem. Rhett was a trust fund kid from the wealthiest area of the city, his family would back all his business deals, and I would be surprised if he actually profited more than 30k a year. His parents were most likely backing this whole deal and they had no idea what they were getting into. He had a staple business buying and selling “medical commodities” and had roped Willy and a few other guys into working for him. There was someone above him who collected some sort of royalty on his sales which made me believe it was some sort of Ponzi scheme or just otherwise not a straight shooting business. They appeared to have a pretty worry-free life, just playing poker and buying and selling big quantities of medical supplies all over the state. Part of me was a little upset he didn't offer it to me first, but then again Tim knew I would never take that offer, so I realized he was just looking for some quick cash.

After picking up some money locally, Tim wanted to get some coke with his newfound assets. This wasn't something I was that comfortable with – we had temporary tags, driving a truck that may or may not make it home, and Tim was a loose cannon at the time. We went into a local shady bar that was known for its pill and coke connections, and it was dead empty minus a few pool players. I ordered a coke and Tim awkwardly ordered a beer – he rarely drank and sounded like a 17 year old who had used his fake ID for the first time when the bartender came around. After approaching the shadiest looking guy in the bar, he got turned down and we decided to go to the cardroom – no shortage of drug dealers there!

We got onto the interstate and as the Escalade got up to speed the truck took on a mind of its own. Once I got to 65mph, the front end started having a death wobble issue and I stepped on the gas to get out of the “death zone”. The wobble went away for the most part, but then a check engine light went on.

“Did you even drive this thing before you bought it?”

“I couldn't man, I don't have a valid license.”

“Then why did you buy this thing?”

“It's for my daughter.” Of course, a 15 year old daughter gets an Escalade that is a death trap. 30 minutes later, we rolled up to the valet lane in the truck, which stalled as I put it in park. I handed the guy the keys and shook my head and Tim mentioned that as something that needed to get fixed. We walked in after we were sure that the truck started back up, and went up to the poker room. Opening the doors of this room, you never know what you are going to expect. It was a summer weekday evening, and it was fairly dead in the room. Tim scoured the room, looking for the usual suspects, but none seemed to be in view. I glanced up to the board and saw a PLO game was running in the backroom, that was where anyone Tim was looking for would be.

“Go play PLO and get Bill or Miyagi to come out, they have to be in there.” Tim wanted me to jump in the 1-2-5 game and talk it up with one of them. I ended up getting a quick seat, and as I walked by the cashier I saw Peter walking towards it.

“Sucks what happened to your buddy Tim, him getting narked out and all.” How the **** would Peter know, and even so, why would he care or talk to me about it? I nodded with a sarcastic smile and went into the back room. The game was 7 handed, and this was one game I usually stayed out of because of the extreme variance. The game was a 1-2 with a 5 bring in, but most pots were 4 bet preflop and was a bingo game. If it were NL I would be happy to play, but it is hard to play a PLO game with little postflop advantage. I brought no real cash with me so I bought in for $300. Everyone else was over $1k deep with one 3k stack and I looked like a peon walking in there like that. I saw Bill and sat next to him hoping I didn't have to stay in here long. The only hand I played I picked up 5578hh and limp called a raise and on a 775 flop I checked back and donked the turn for $40, only to get folds from everyone.

“You're such a nit.” I heard a familiar voice came from the dealer box say at a level that just a few people could hear – Flynn was dealing. At this point, I had told Bill that Tim was waiting for him outside and he smiled, his gold teeth almost blinding me.

“Well, I'll give you a tip – next time you play poker, play with your own money.” I dropped a quarter in his tip box and picked up my chips to go cash out. I walked away from the cage and Peter was talking to him. They seemed to be in some kind of argument. Peter saw me and pointed.

“See, he's the problem with your game – he doesn't play, and now you have heat on your back. How do you know it wasn't him that narked you out?” Hearing Peter's redneck mouth made my blood boil.

“Maybe you haven't heard, but Donnie admitted to talking to the police Peter, though I think you wouldn't be far behind. You owe Greek $100 for that quarter you bought from him, you owe the game over $500, I'm sure you wouldn't have a problem with the game breaking up.” It was loud enough that security and other employees of the room could hear, as well as people at the bar. What followed was a sea of arms and bodies being pushed around, first Peter pushed me into a barstool, Tim pushed Peter against the podium, and security grabbed Peter to keep anything from happening. Peter just couldn't control himself and started screaming a bunch of mumbled words, something about a sports bet gone wrong, I think it had to do with Rhett. I got up and more security showed up unaware of what had happened. As I was getting up I was being grabbed and told them not to touch me. They sort of stood their ground keeping me surrounded.

“Sir you have to leave, we can't have this in the building.”

“What do you mean by THIS? Do you mean members of your floor shoving me into the bar?”

“We got a call that you threatened him and he attacked in kind.” It didn't even make any sense. These security guys were just guys in jackets that were hired off the street. The head guy was concerned because they hadn't even gotten their “G” license from the state yet and technically shouldn't be carrying weapons, nor would they pass a background check. They were moving in towards me again.

“Just back off me or I will call the police, I have a dozen witnesses that saw me get shoved. Just back the **** off.” I walked out of the building and Tim suddenly appeared from the rear entrance. I get the valet guy to get the truck and get out of there before anything else happens or the truck tries to stall again. I was all riled up, and in the midst of that, Bill still wanted to meet Tim down by the bridge to one of the barrier islands. I told Nicole I was going to be home in an hour or two, I regretted ever doing this in the first place. Tim ended up buying an 8-ball and was trying to do them on the back of some MP3 CD that was in the CD changer. I didn't know if I was going to be allowed back to the cardroom, Tim and his ****ty Escalade was making me more paranoid, and right before we got off the interstate I got a call from my sister, which was rare for this time of night. She was crying.

“What's up?”

“Mom's in the hospital, she's had some sort of heart attack. They're not sure what's going on.”

Lots of posts to read, 1 being bad 2 awesome

How much will I enjoy reading this thread?

It's one of the lone bright spots in my abysmal timeline of birth, taxes, death.

Not sure if an indictment on my job or how great TST is of a writer, so I'll give him some credit and say the latter.

I appreciate the compliment - I am sure the job is still steadier than what I do for a living though. I just got stiffed on a huge shipment of plants after they showed up dead, and another buyer backed out on a deal that left me with a lot of rare plants and no one to purchase.

I also thought people might have lost general interest in the story - I saw that views had dwindled and no responses I thought I might be writing into the abyss again. I actually considered giving up, which probably sounds stupid, but life was getting rough in February.