Death's Reckoning by Will Molinar Page B

rolled again.
    Another twelve hit the table, and now the crowd noise turned. Some gasped in disbelief, others in impressive calls of support. People from other tables came over, wanting to see what the commotion was.
    Jerrod snatched the dice back up again, having to reach across the entire breadth of the table. Before he rolled the third and final roll, he switched them back and took his chances with a normal third roll.
    A solid roll, a real ten, a six and a four. His total was a thirty-four, a nigh impossible score to beat. In all his years of coming to this place, he had never seen someone roll higher, and he had seen a thirty-four only twice in seventeen years.
    There was a smattering of applause from those wanting the house to lose. Many of these slugs hated them as Jerrod did, but several glares from the rest of the table’s players came his way as well, but they could all stick it. Either he’d won or proven they wanted to cheat him, and then things would be easier to work out from there on.
    The massive enforcer had his bet laid down equal to the next person in line, and the game continued. The next two players were women who rolled a dismal sixteen on the first and an average twenty-one on the second. Both elected to stop betting any further because they had already lost to Jerrod’s epic roll. From a mathematical perspective, it was almost equivalent to finding a clover with four leaves.
    The next two players hit nineteen and twenty. They opted out, but Jerrod still won their first bet. He would later be awarded a bonus if no one else that night rolled higher for the entire evening. That prospect was looking good.
    The eighth player rolled a very high twenty-nine on six dice. If not for Jerrod’s loaded dice, he would have won the game in a walk if not the entire night’s. The man was forced to withdraw from the main line of betting but made several side bets on the side with his roll to other players and spectators alike. No one after him would beat his roll. He was counting on it.
    Jerrod focused on the next man. A roll of a pitiful seventeen, but some activity began behind the table. The ninth player stood down, cursing his low roll. There was one man to beat, but the hubbub in the attendant’s circle increased, and then a manager joined them, a thin man with bad teeth and silk clothes. He and the dealer whispered to one another, along with the game runner. The three men tried to hide it, but it was obvious who they were talking about. A fourth man came up to them and handed them something. He walked off and they tried to act casual.
    “Son of a bitch,” Jerrod said under his breath. He crossed his arms and fumed, but there was nothing that could be done but watch them fuck him over. For now.
    Another man came up behind the tenth player and whispered in his ear. The player smiled, the little shit, and took his dice from the dealer. He placed them in his hand with careful attention. Then he rapped them hard on the tabletop in some pathetic attempt at concealing what he was doing and rolled them out.
    It was two sixes, and the crowd muttered. He rolled another twelve on the next two dice, and the crowd gasped.
    Jerrod steamed. At least he had been covert when he cheated, not rubbing it in their faces. Cock sucking bastards.
    The player looked nervous. His earlier bluster replaced by terror for the reality of the situation. Jerrod’s hard glare drove a hole in his head.
    He swallowed, even managed a meek smile before rearranging the dice again in his hand. Only an eleven was needed to win, and of course that exact score was rolled. The crowd erupted in applause, and the man shouted in joy. A release of tension gave his cry a surge of energy.
    People around him slapped him on the back to congratulate him. He smirked at Jerrod. His victory gave the stupid prick confidence. Jerrod made a note that this fool would be the first one he killed. The former prime enforcer of Murder Haven was down a lot of money. The