The Gambler's Fate: Johnny Luck

The Lady's Whispers

The saloon's atmosphere was thick with murmurs. Each whisper was a testament to the unfolding drama between Max and me. I leaned against the polished wood of the bar, feeling the hopes and fears of every gaze fixed upon us. No doubt some heavy bets had been placed on the outcome of this game. Hell, could be someone was going to make a small fortune just saddling up to the right pony tonight. Everyone was giving Max and me a wide berth, though I could feel their speculations.

Amara approached me, her red dress a sharp contrast to all others worn by the ladies in attendance. Her face, always so full of want, was now a canvas of genuine concern. "You've won quite a sum already," she said looking at the table. 

Following her gaze, "Yeah, I suppose," I say, giving her my attention.

 "Why risk losing it all? What would be the harm in folding?"

I studied her for a moment, a flurry of memories from our encounter in my room rushing back. I suddenly felt the urgency of an unasked question on my lips. "Who are you, really? Tell me truthfully, who are you...Amara Heartly?"

Her eyes widened in surprise and fear. "Don't ask that," she said, in something just louder than a whisper. "Not in that way. Please, tell me you don't want to know," she said, her voice trembling.

The raw emotion in her eyes was enough to make me relent. "Forget it," I murmured staring at her a bit unnerved, before waving her off. "It doesn't matter right now."

As she turned away, I noticed a peculiar glow around her, an aura of shifting colors that seemed to blend into shades of pink and yellow. Blinking, I tried to clear the illusion from my eyes. When I looked again, Lucy was chasing after the beautiful blonde, and something on the floor caught my attention.

A tiny slip of paper with a tiny hand drawing of a spade beckoned me. Casually, I slid it towards myself with my foot and bent down cautiously to pick it up. Scrawled on it in delicate handwriting were the words, 'If U trust, lose'. The words, the phrasing spoke to me; or perhaps it was the whiskey. Hearing boots advancing, I swiftly tucked it into my pocket, just in time to see Bill Blackgate making his way over.

"What was that about with Miss Heartly?" he inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"She felt I should fold," I stated coldly, trying to sound nonchalant. "I told her maybe it's best we don't converse further tonight."

Bill chuckled, shaking his head. "Women. What can you do?"

"Focus on what's important," I said, ready to resume.

Patting me on the shoulder, "Damn, with your nerve, I'm almost persuaded to bet on you," Bill said laughing. 

Little did he know, the weight of that little note and its implications bore heavy on my mind. Almost as much as the doubt I felt watching Lucy leaving the bar.