Homemade Sin by V. Mark Covington Page A

hand.
    â€œI’ll take four cards,” Dee Dee said, now calm, as if she had never made the outburst, to the tall, Native American dealer dressed in an immaculate white shirt, bow tie and a headband with a feather dangling from the side.
    The dealer dealt her a card from the deck with hands bejeweled with turquoise and silver.
    â€œDirty bitch, fucking nasty bitch! Club her, club you, club your ass you queen bee bitch.”
    The other gamblers at the table stared.
    â€œSorry,” said Dee Dee. “I have intermittent Tourette’s syndrome. I start cussing for no reason, I can’t help it.”
    Hesitantly, the dealer dealt her second card.
    â€œBearded fucker,” Dee Dee hooted, “club him too, king of the assholes!”
    The man to Dee Dee’s right laid his hand face down on the table.
    The dealer slipped another card off the top of the deck and pushed it toward Dee Dee, keeping it at arm’s length.
    â€œJack off, jack off, jack off! Club the fucking jack off!”
    The other four people at the table continued to stare at her.
    The dealer slid Dee Dee the last card.
    â€œTen little fucking Indian pigs in a smallpox blanket,” Dee Dee shouted at the dealer, “a fucking smallpox on all your houses, uh … tee pees. Club all ten of you heathen sons of bitches!” Dee Dee looked up from the dealer’s brass name tag that read, ‘Cody Counting Cards’ and found a face staring at her with murderous menace. Virtual smoke curled from his ears and his black eyes burned with indignation.
    â€œUhhh, sorry, Tonto,” Dee Dee said. “It’s the occasional Tourette’s, I can’t control it.”
    Regaining his composure, the dealer turned to the man to Dee Dee’s right and raised an eyebrow. The man nodded to his fan of face-down cards lying on the table and shook his head.
    Then next player, then the next, folded until the dealer turned to Cutter.
    â€œYou folding too?” said the dealer.
    â€œI’m thinking, chief,” said Cutter, staring at his cards. “By the way, I want to be a dealer too. You got any jobs for dealers open on this boat?”
    â€œTalk to me later,” said Cody. “Right now play your hand, everybody’s waiting.”
    â€œRaise.” Cutter shoved approximately ten thousand dollars’ worth of multicolored chips into the center of the table.
    The Seminole dealer raised both eyebrows, dropped his jaw at Cutter and shook his head. He turned to Dee Dee, lowered both eyebrows then re-raised one.
    â€œSee and raise, fucker!” said Dee Dee, as she pushed every chip she had into the center of the pot, about twenty thousand dollars’ worth.
    â€œOK,” said Cutter. He shoved the rest of his chips, Hussey’s tuition money and his life savings, into the center of the table. “I’ll call. What you got?”
    Everyone at the table, including the dealer answered him in unison, “A club royal flush you idiot!”
    Dee Dee dropped her cards to the table face-up and grinned. Sure enough a royal flush in clubs stared back at the players.
    â€œI guess Roland is right,” Dee Dee said to herself. “Some people are dumber than dirt.”
    As the dealer gathered up the cards and started shuffling, Cutter broached the subject of employment once again. “So, Chief, what about that job?”
    Cody leveled his eyes at Cutter. “Son, anyone with half as much sense as a day-old kitten could have figured out that woman’s cussing tell. You start with an a-hole, add a bitch, king of the a-holes, a jack off and ten little Indians, club them all and you get a royal flush in clubs.”
    â€œI’ll do better next time.”
    â€œSon, there won’t be a next time. Not only won’t I hire you, I’m going to ban you from this casino. I never thought I’d say this about anyone, but you’re too stupid to gamble. You’re almost