Half of Paradise

“Call and raise it a quarter,” Benoit said.

“That was my last nickel. I got to go in the side pot,” Avery said.

“No side pot and no drawing light,” Benoit said. “It’s a house rule.”

“I can’t cover it, then.”

“I’ll back him,” Toussaint said. He dropped three quarters in front of Avery.

Avery picked them up and threw them in the pot.

“Call and raise you fifty cents,” he said.

“You splitting with him, Toussaint?” Benoit said.

“I got no part in this.”

“How come you giving your money away?”

“I don’t like to see nobody play freeze out.”

“Call his raise or fold,” Billy Jo said.

“Give me time.”

Benoit ruffled the cards in his hands.

“Do one thing or another,” Billy Jo said.

“He’s playing on somebody else’s money.”

“You don’t care whose it is when you put it in your pocket.”

He waited, his pig-eyes studying the backs of Avery’s cards. “All right, I fold,” he said.

Avery tossed a nickel out of the pot to Billy Jo and took the rest in.

“Here’s openers,” he said. He showed a pair of aces.

“What else you got?” Benoit said.

“You didn’t pay to see.”

“I got a right to know.”

“No, you don’t,” Toussaint said.

Benoit flipped over Avery’s other cards, a pair of eights and a seven of clubs.

“You didn’t have nothing but two pair. I was holding three tens.”

“You should have paid to see those cards.”

“Listen, kid,” Benoit began.

“I don’t like that crap, neither,” Billy Jo said. “I run a straight game, and we play like the rules says. You got to put up before you see a guy’s hand.”

Benoit glared at the discards and was quiet.