"Fold."

Pollution's grimace was barely visible through the bellowing smoke from his cigar but it was definitely there - it was obvious in his actions, if nothing else. He flicked the ash from the end of his disappearing cigar as he waited for the next hand to be dealt. The other players were discussing money and its power, and still had some joke left in them. However, money was not in Pollution's dictionary of humour, right now. It was not something he could bring himself to laugh or joke about. With money came the further possibility of power and respect. Without it, well, quite the opposite of course. 

He'd swore to himself for as long as he remembered that he'd never end up like his forefathers - although, he didn't remember very far back once he was full with whiskey. They'd made a lot of mistakes by walking into casinos but even greater ones by not knowing when to leave. With the recent issues he was facing at home regarding his wife and his drinking habit becoming a growing problem, he'd given up fretting about what might happen. His brain was clouded with rage and anger and without control of that, he'd begun to lose control of a large number of things - gambling and drinking being the most obvious.

Staring at the two cards on the table, he crushed out his cigar and took a swig from his drink. He could already feel the pain the cards would cause, assuming he'd end up with another useless, unsuited 9 - 2. He was a keen poker player and he'd always found great joy in it. However, he'd had no luck at all in the last few weeks and with him already being so far in the red, he was just trying to recover losses - a slippery slope every gambler has known before.

He struggled to keep his eyes from popping out of his head when he spotted the beautiful red heart-shaped symbol the two cards shared. No special numbers, but the two matching hearts were enough to get his blood pumping - so to speak. He didn't wanna go in too hard after struggling to even find something to bet on for so long, so he found himself just calling the previous bets and laying the cards face down on the table, hoping to ignore them long enough to trick everyone into repaying him his losses.

The dealer collected up the bets and as the other three players burst into laughter about a joke only the happy drunks would find amusing, he stared closely as the first 3 cards were turned. The dealer flicked his hands around in the stylish, professional manner they always did and as they were removed from blocking the view, the first three cards revealed their potential - King of Hearts, Six of Clubs, Nine of Hearts. He sat stunned. He was so close to having control of the game and the excitement almost overcome him.

He'd had to learn to have a good poker face, being in his line of work. Being a Don was not all about extortion, threats and woman. There was far more to it than that - and that was just to make it to Don! What came after Don was an even bigger pond with even bigger fish - not one you'd jump in without dipping your toes first, that's for certain. Some of the qualities much required by a Don in this thing of ours was when to speak, when to listen, when to express your excitement and equally, when to seem completely vacant. While he was bursting to take everyone for their money right now, he had to continue as the vacant, distraught loser he'd become as the night had grown. The other players already had him marked as down-and-out and all he had to do was allow them to believe it for the turn of two more cards and finally, he would show them his true strength.

The betting proceeded and while Pollution remained vacant and seemingly unaware to his inevitable doom, he had raised the other men's eyebrows with his choice to raise the bet. It was quickly shrugged off as he'd done such a great job at being bad all night, they assumed it had polluted his brain somehow. And so, finally, it was time for the next card...

The dealer collected up the bets again and quickly flipped the next card over. Slickly slipping it into the run of cards, Pollution's blood pressure spiked and remained peaking while his eyes took in the glorious sight of a fifth Heart, this time the Six of Hearts.

Two Hearts in his hand... King of Hearts, Six of Clubs, Nine of Hearts, Six of Hearts on the table... He mentally checked and counted to reassure himself a number of times before he'd even considered what to do with it... Five hearts. It was definitely five hearts. His luck had finally turned, the flush had appeared in front of him and he had just one card to see turned over before he would finally show the mobsters around him the true power he held.

They continued their jokes, completely unaware of the fate that they were being prepared for. Like a goose in the coming months of Christmas, Pollution was ready to fatten them up before the final slaughter. This was it - his turn to bet had come around and now he was really lost on what to do. One of the three had folded, one had raised and the next followed. Now, it lay entirely in Pollution's hands how he would play this. 

He flicked the two cards between his fingers attempting to look as angry as possible with what he was holding. One of the mobsters, most commonly known as 'T', laughed after an unnecessary quip at Pollution's misfortune. But it was okay - it only excited Pollution's heart more as he eagerly dragged out the last few moments before bluffing his way for a bet. 

He remained as calm as possible - actually, he didn't. He acted as pissed as possible. This had become his 'normal' state of emotion and so he had to keep it as such. He threw a couple of extra chips into the centre of the table, not only seeing the bet but attempting a raise. The others naturally assumed it was a bluff and followed without even considering an alternate reality. The jokes continued as the dealer placed the final card.

The moment of Pollution bursting into roars of excitement grew ever-closer but he did well to express his false anger. He'd been acting like a sulky kid all night, it had kinda grown on him. The betting was around to Pollution once again and he decided to take the guys for as big of a surprise as possible...

"Fuck this game.." he threw his cards face down on the table. The room fell silent as they anticipated yet another "Fold" but before they could even muster up a witty joke, Pollution spoke abruptly,

"All in." He shoved all of his chips into the centre of the table and sat back in his chair before downing the last of his whiskey. He straightened his tie almost as if he had accepted the fate the others had assumed and was preparing to leave the dark room. However, Pollution knew this was all lies and he had no intention of going anywhere until he had not only recovered his losses, but suffocated the mobsters for everything they had brought.

Not a moment of concern was shared between the two remaining bettors. In fact, they were more than happy to try taking the last of Pollution's remaining scraps. The dealer requested that the three show their cards and suddenly, everything changed for Pollution...

The man sitting directly opposite him flipped his cards over and just as quickly let out the cheekiest, most enraging laugh followed by the only words that could ruin the day,

"Four of a Kind. Sixes."

Pollution's ears heard nothing more. He didn't know if there was laughter filling the room, though he did assume it. How did this happen? Was he swindled? Just outplayed? He wasn't a sore loser, though a very angry one. The whistling in his ears grew louder and more intrusive as he collected his jacket and stumbled towards the exit. He couldn't even bring himself to look back at the mobsters - he was mortified! He'd been so cocky about it all and he was entirely outplayed. Did they knew he had been so cocky? Did he do a good enough job at hiding it? He'd already lost everything he brought with him, he couldn't lose face with respected mafioso, too! Before reaching the exit, he turned and stammered a good luck to those remaining before his drunken feet dragged him through the doors. 

Falling into the busy street, the breaking light of the day bounced off of his shiny head. He lent against a nearby wall steadying himself from the shock, abundance of alcohol and very bright area he'd just tumbled back into. He attempted to walk and wander the streets a little to clear his head but could not make sense of any of it. How had he done it? He'd grown an addiction and allowed it to beat him. For all the anger he felt for his ancestors emptying the family accounts... he'd become what he hated.