I walked into the place for the second time that day.
The first time, the place had been empty. I knew that they wouldn’t be getting any clientele until after six, when people finished their dinners and decided to come in for a game or two. Me, I was out to make enough money for my dinner.
I walked in with my instrument and headed toward the tables. There were some people there, gathered for a friendly game.
I wasn’t friendly, though I acted like it, smiling at the people. “Anyone want to play?” I said, lifting my suitcase and placing it on the edge of one of the pool tables.
The group of men and women looked me over, and I, still smiling, screwed together my cue stick. “Fifty dollars if you beat me.”
A couple of men looked at each other.
“Okay, twenty-five.” Obviously not a bunch of high rollers.
“Twenty,” said one big bald man, pulling out the bill from his wallet and setting it on the side.
It was better than nothing. I peeled off a twenty from my fat roll of ones and set it on top of his. “Your break.”
I watched him break and sink a low instantly. He grinned at me, and started walking around the table. He sank a four. He tried to get a three in the side pocket but got jacked.
I then showed them what a real shark does.
I didn’t use any fancy moves, but I cleared the table of highs in fifteen minutes. Then the eight ball, and I looked up at the man. “Sorry, Charlie,” I said, taking the twenties.
“I’ll take you, double or nothing.”
Good, I thought. There was always someone in the crowd of locals who got pissed off that one of their local boys were going to get suckered in by a pool shark – and always that local boy would come up and try for a double or nothing. I set the two twenties down, and a couple of people rubbed the man’s shoulders. It was my break.
I went after lows, just for variety. Hell, I could have taken out the lows in sequence if I wanted to show off. My old man would have found these hicks as easy pickings, and I did too.
The guy didn’t even get a shot in as I scooped up his twenties.
Then a girl stepped up. She was in low cut a tank top and high heels, long hair almost down to her ass. She set down a hundred dollars and said, “I’ll take you on.”
Well, my old man would have been proud to see me not sweat. Her skirt was more like a sash across her middle region, and it moved seductively up her ass as she walked in those heels to get a cue stick.
“Since I’m a gentleman,” I said, “I’ll let the lady go first.” I saluted her with the cue stick and she stepped forward. She leaned over the edge of the table, her breasts swinging sweetly and lowly, nipples barely touching the felt, the cue stick seemingly coming out from between them.
She broke, and sunk nothing. Girls have no power when they shoot. I went after lows again. She stood at one corner, and as I looked down the cue stick to the cue ball, I was looking right at her pussy, that she had raised the skirt high enough for me to see the edges of her thigh-high hose. Any higher and I would be able to see her folds.
I looked up with my eyes and grinned at her, then shot at the four, sinking it. She pouted.
I walked around the table, picking off balls one at a time, at one time squeezing past her so close that I could smell a light musky perfume. She stood with the cue stick between her legs, leaning slightly forward.
I had the eight ball last. A cough came up from the crowd as I leaned over to hit the cue ball.
Again, I looked up with my eyes at her, and grinned. I flicked a glance at the hundred dollar bill. I leaned in and hit the eight ball.
Too hard.
Scratch.
((Due to today’s earworm’s video, “Bad Luck” by Social Distortion))