Chapter Twenty-One #2
The stark difference between the grinning Romeo and the annoyed elderly lady made Faye relax a little. As far as underground dens went, this wasn’t bad.
Carla broke Faye’s twenty euros using Duarte’s tip jar—it was mostly empty, which Faye put down to the man’s wild sailing—and handed her the change. She counted out their stack of coloured chips, and the two of them joined the others at the table.
Filamena let out another sharp huff, strong enough to blow the shack down, and Carla announced the buy-in bet—twenty-five cents.
The chips started moving across the stained green felt, and Filamena dealt the first round.
Faye plucked up her cards, sticky to the touch, and the numbers on the suits stared back at her.
She couldn’t remember one thing that Carla had said.
“Do you like goats?”
Faye turned to Romeo.
“What?”
He held his phone out to her. “Goats. Look.” A video was playing, showing his long limbs as he tried to encourage a white goat to jump through a hoop. He swiped to the next video. A goat stood on a raft, chewing on a hat as it bobbed along the ocean waves. A woman screamed in the background.
“Oops.” He swiped again, and a loud bleat came through the speakers.
“Para com isso.” Tiago pushed him with his big hand. “She isn’t interested in playing with your billy goat.”
The men laughed, and Romeo turned beetroot red, shoving his phone into his pocket.
The next cards were dealt. Duarte raised the bet, then his brother and Bruno matched it.
Feeling overwhelmed from the low light, the buzzing from a microwave in the corner, and the suffocating testosterone in the room, Faye folded.
She didn’t want to lose all her chips so soon, so figured she’d play it safe for a few rounds and observe.
Perhaps poor Romeo should’ve done the same.
By the end of the fourth round, his pile was almost empty.
His lack of wins didn’t seem to bother him, though.
He spoke in hushed tones in between rounds, showing her more pictures under the table.
Apparently, he was trying to train the goats for a show on the mainland, but judging by the failed attempts at tightrope-walking, which had ended with his face full of goat poop, it wasn’t going very well.
In the time waiting, Faye studied the others as they sat around the table, treating it like a field survey at work. But instead of noting patterns in species’ behaviour and ecosystems, she studied the way the players interacted with each other.
Duarte and Tiago’s sibling rivalry was obvious, as they each tried to outbet the other.
Their taunting extended to Romeo, who was often the butt of the joke, until Carla told them to cut it out.
Filamena was very hard to read, perhaps because she didn’t speak English, and the Portuguese she did speak was so fast, Faye couldn’t comprehend.
By the time moonlight glowed through the small window above their heads, the buy-in bet had doubled, and Faye had come to know all the different winning hands. She looked at the steady pile of chips in front of her; she wanted to give the Portuguese a run for their money.
“Raise,” she declared, tossing a chip into the middle.
Filamena barely blinked as she checked, her facial expression the same shade of mildly annoyed as it had been all night.
Faye channelled Filamena’s indifference as the jacks in her hand stared back at her. “Raise,” she said again, catching the men’s surprised glances in her direction.
Filamena cursed in Portuguese, folding, quickly followed by Bruno and Duarte. Tiago’s eyebrow twitched, and he mumbled something that made his brother laugh, then met Faye’s gaze across the table. The hairs on her neck stood on end.
“Raise.” He pushed two more chips into the middle.
Carla turned over the last card. A five. Faye showed no reaction but added another chip to the pile. Tiago did the same, and then, on three, they revealed their cards.
“Toranja.” Duarte chuckled, smacking his fist on the table. “Ela topou-te!”
Faye had a full house. Tiago had a flush.
He scowled, studying the cards so hard, a deep line formed between his brows.
A rush of adrenaline swam through Faye’s veins as she scraped the winnings towards her. Carla winked, and Romeo clapped her on the back.
Okay, now I get it. Winning is fun.
The next few rounds passed quickly. Carla won, Filamena cursed some more in Portuguese, and tension built between the brothers as they continued to compete against each other.
Bruno seemed unbothered—or perhaps he was used to the rivalry—but Filamena snapped at them, pointing her finger when they got too rowdy.
“és mesmo azarado, otário.” Tiago grinned, taking the winnings from the middle and the last of Romeo’s chips.
The other men laughed, calling him further names, but Faye caught the hurt on his face, the way his cheeks burned red as they continued to poke fun at him.
She imagined they did this most weeks, and she wasn’t going to sit and do nothing.
She eyed the table, noting how most chips sat beneath Tiago.
She was determined to win some back for Romeo.
She waited, keeping a close eye on the man opposite for his tell-tale twitch—the glance at his chip pile. He’d raise the bet, goad Faye into the challenge, but she’d fold, letting him win. People always underestimated her. She was going to use that to her advantage.
The cycle of folding continued, until one hand, she didn’t. She only needed one more spade for a flush.
It was risky. Tiago could have the same but a higher set of numbers.
“Raise.” She placed a handful of chips into the growing pile.
No risk, no reward, right?
Tiago tutted, shaking his head. “Oh, miúda. What will I do with all your money?” He met her call and raised again, his oily face shining under the warm overhead bulb.
Irritation flared at his use of little girl. She dug her nail into her hand as the last card was dealt, using every last drop of composure to hold her face still. A five of spades.
She tore her eyes back to Tiago, catching his glance at his skyscraper of chips. This smug arsehole thought he was going to win.
“Last round of bets,” Carla commented. “Play nice.” She tried to keep her voice upbeat and teasing, but even she couldn’t squash the tension filling the room.
All attention fell on Faye, and with all the essence of enigma she could muster, she pushed all her chips into the centre of the table. “All in.”
Romeo inhaled sharply. Carla’s gaze snapped to her. Even Filamena’s stony expression faltered for a moment, something akin to pride raising her thin eyebrows.
But Faye kept her focus on the man across from her, trying to ignore the way her heart thudded. The seconds stretched painfully. Then he pushed all of his chips into the middle, the skyscraper towers crashing down onto the table.
“Brother,” Duarte scolded, slapping him on the shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like? I’m going to win.”
“You never learn, do you? This is my money you’re gambling with.”
He gritted his teeth. “I said I’ll pay you back.”
He cursed in Portuguese, the two of them raising their voices until Filamena cut them off.
“Silêncio.” She shook her head, glaring at them, fierce Portuguese falling from her lips.
Whatever Filamena had said, the men snapped out of it. Tiago crossed his arms, and Duarte’s usual friendly demeanour had vanished.
Carla cleared her throat. “Okay… Let’s see what you got.”
The room grew quiet. Just the buzz of the old microwave in the corner, and the soft slap of the waves against the boat.
Faye held Tiago’s gaze. Even when he waved for her to go first. Even when he raised his eyebrows. She didn’t blink, didn’t waver, and then, with a shit-eating grin, he spread his cards on the table.
A row of spades looked up at her—a flush.
She glanced at her hand, then at the mountain of chips in the centre. It wasn’t a landslide amount by any means, maybe one hundred euros, but it was definitely enough to repay Romeo.
And besides, she really wanted to wipe that smirk off Tiago’s face.
She let her lips drop enough to cause Tiago’s eyes to crinkle. “Ah. I have a straight.”
He pounded his fist on the table, the chips clinking. “Yes! See. I told you—”
She cleared her throat, laying her cards down. “A straight flush that is.”
He glared at the pretty row of spades in disbelief.
“I believe that means miúda wins.” Faye grinned. “And you’re bust.” She turned to Carla, who was stacking her chips in neat piles. “You’re right. I am good at this.” She stood to reach a few flyaway chips that had rolled away, and Tiago burst from his chair.
“Aha! Ela está a fazer batota. She’s cheating!” He pointed at Faye’s abdomen, spit flying from his mouth. “I knew it.”
She glanced down, spying her bag outline underneath her T-shirt. “I’m not cheating.”
But he stood up, undeterred. “Look. She has something under her shirt. Extra cards.”
“Tiago,” Carla warned. “Sit down.”
The aggression from the man might’ve scared her, but instead, she fought the urge to roll her eyes. Being at the table with him all night felt like being trapped in a hungry gorilla enclosure. “I don’t need to cheat to beat you. This is my ostomy bag.”
He scowled. “Quê?”
She lifted her T-shirt. “It helps me go to the bathroom. That’s all. No cheating here.”
Tiago’s lip curled, more spit flying from his mouth. “That’s disgusting.”
The room stilled for a beat, but adrenaline steadied her voice. “No, it’s not. But the way you’re unable to speak without splashing everyone with your saliva, frankly, is.”
Romeo chuckled, but Tiago’s glare cut to him, and he looked away.
“Sit down.” Duarte touched his brother’s arm, but he shook it off. “She beat you fair and square. Take it like a man.”
“Or better yet, like a woman,” Faye said. “Maybe then you wouldn’t have to perform this egocentric caveman act to try to recover your pride.”