The hustler Martin Kane A nineball pool-babe takes on three hustlers at their own game. Author's note: Anyone wishing to contact me may do so via the DtV messageboard for Readers & Writers. I invite anyone to send any comments, good or bad, should they wish to. I'm always interested in what others think of my little tales. Copyright is mine. I'd be flattered if anyone wanted to use this tale elsewhere, but please seek permission first. Needless to say this story is purely a fiction and all characters merely the products of an overwrought imagination. I'll abstain from the adult content warning, if you've got this far, you're certain to know what kind of thing to expect anyway. It was already late by the time Roxy entered the bar, the nighthawks already having settled themselves down. The jukebox was stoked, the air was smoky and the liquor flowed freely, greased by the all- American dollar. It was a smallish joint, the barmen keeping up well enough. Your standard sports bar, the walls were festooned with memorabilia and the occasional signed photograph. Three pool tables occupied one dark corner, guy hanging around between games. With an experienced eye she could see the hostility pent between certain parties, the tension that suggested money changing hands. Her intuition was tuned fine. She smiled, satisfied. She began her work in the subtle style that kept her on top of the game. She sat at the bar, caught the barman’s eye and then started assessing the clientele, thoroughly and meticulously. She didn’t pause in this task, even when the barman came up to her. ‘Hey pretty lady, what can I get you?’ ‘Diamond ring would be nice.’ He laughed. ‘Is that a proposal?’ ‘Actually, more of an investment.’ She met his eyes finally and winked. ‘Anyway. I mark three of them. Baseball, Crew-cut and the Geek-boy with them.’ The barman shook his head in wonder. ‘How do you do that?’ he asked her, awed. ‘I’ve been watching them all night and you come in and assess them cleaner and clearer in less than a minute.’ Roxy grinned. ‘In this game it’s a basic survival skill. If you can’t instantly spot the patsy in the first thirty seconds of any game then, chances are, you are the patsy.’ He poured her a whisky and placed it in front of her. At least, that’s what it looked like to everyone else. However, unlike whisky, this didn’t actually have any alcohol in it. She drank it down in one, tilting her head right back, wisps of hair falling away from her face. This got a few curious glances from a mostly male audience. She had been spotted and assessed by those present. Step two, after evaluating the situation, make your own desired impression upon those present, as required. She put the glass down and he refilled it. She paid, handing him a note. He went to take it but she palmed it away from his fingers at the last moment. He faked putting it into the register while she slid it into her jeans pocket with an easy ditch. This time she only sipped at the drink, despite the fact it was as tasteless as water. A few men around the bar had already made their own evaluation of her, had begun to do so the moment she stepped into the place. She was of average height and appeared to be slim beneath the bulky leather jacket. Jeans clung obscenely to toned legs, muscle visible in her thighs and especially the peaked calves. Her vest was a leather waistcoat style garment, trapping average breasts into a wicked cleavage. But more than a killer body, she was pretty in the most effecting way. Her sweetness was laced with a dirty and knowing sexuality - a vicious gleam of arrogant beauty. There was a strength and confidence in her eyes that suggested intelligence and fiery passion. ‘Nine-ball,’ Roxy remarked, watching the game. ‘Figures.’ ‘Be careful, they’re a nasty bunch,’ he warned her, in full earnestness. Her own tone however, remained light. ‘Gee, and what with me being such an impressionable girl.’ ‘I’m serious.’ ‘Yeah, I’ve noticed that. You really have to learn to loosen up a little.’ He sighed and smiled compliantly. ‘You know, one of these days, you’re gonna meet a fish with teeth even sharper than yours.’ ‘I don’t doubt it,’ she agreed with a wink. ‘But it ain’t gonna be tonight.’ The group of guys surreptitiously watching her, altered there stances, turned their heads, to keep her in sight as she left the bar and wandered over to the far side of the room, over to where the pool tables were. It didn’t take long for her scrutiny of their game to take effect. She was leaning against the side, her glass held lightly in long fingers. One foot played carelessly against her other leg, running against the calf. ‘Hi,’ the first guy said, all charm and teeth. ‘Do you play?’ She smiled at him flirtatiously. ‘Depends what you’re playing.’ ‘Oh, I know all kinds of games.’ She hid her coyness behind the glass. His name was Bobby and she declined his offer for a game. ‘I want to see how this one turns out,’ she told him, gesturing to the Crew-cut hustling some middle-aged guy. She saw the unspoken communication between the two men as Bobby told his friend with a glance to wrap it up soon. She saw she had been correct in judging Bobby as their unofficial leader. The Crew-cut seemed a little put out but complied, quickly losing on an unlucky foul ball. The middle-aged victor was put out that he didn’t want to play again, especially with the cash he’d just won. He managed to persuade the kid to play just one more game, even got him to agree to double the odds, what the hell. Roxy smiled to herself. She had to admit, he played the man well. But he certainly played the game well, disguising genuine skill as he quickly and decisively won. The middle-aged guy was less amused now, sourly handing over the money and heading off to the bar in a sulk. ‘This is Connor,’ Bobby said, introducing his friend. She smiled sweetly. ‘Louise,’ she told him. ‘That’s a nice name.’ She bit her tongue and remained amiable. The third of their trio had just lost a game, and money with it if she read it right. They introduced him later on, but for the moment were pretending not to know him. He was busy playing another kid, and by the look of things he was the one getting hustled rather than the other way around. ‘So Louise,’ Bobby said. ‘You fancy a game?’ ‘Sure,’ she agreed, sliding in a touch of the bimbo to her voice. ‘How much you playing for?’ She could tell that Bobby’s interest in her was sexual rather than financial but she figured that, given the chance, he’d happily combine the two. ‘Oh no,’ he insisted quickly. ‘I just meant for fun.’ But she’d already pulled some loose notes from her pocket, regarding them carefully, letting him see the fifties and twenties, scrunched with careless disregard. She looked up at him and frowned. ‘Don’t think that just because I’m a girl I can’t pay my way.’ She balanced the indignant and naivety with practised precision. She managed to look cute in a "little girl playing rough" way. He went straight for it. ‘Sure,’ he agreed happily, as though indulging her whim. She noticed without surprise that his eyes dropped down her top as soon as she leant down for her first shot. She stopped then, apparently noticing how awkward the leather jacket made it. She put the cue aside and stripped it off, jutting her chest as she did so. This also exposed her arms, but she’d learnt they weren’t so large as to put men off her. If she didn’t flex them, most people didn’t realise just how powerful her biceps truly were. She’d even got shocked reactions by pumping her muscles from those who’d previously seen her naked. Maybe it was just that people didn’t expect arms like that on a girl, especially a sweet and good-looking girl such as her. It was hardly an issue though. Being tough without actually looking it was definitely an advantage to a pool player. She played beneath him but not too badly. He let her win the game, losing graciously. He shrugged and handed her the cash. Of course she insisted they play again. This was fun. She couldn’t be sure whether he was going to let her win the second too, but she didn’t give him the option, closing the game by winning on a fluke. She missed the pot she was after but the screw-back threw the cue ball at an unexpected angle, sinking the nine. Roxy laughed, delighted at her fortune. Bobby took it in his stride. He noticed her glass was empty. Offering her another she insisted that she buy the round, it was the least she could do. ‘Well, OK then,’ he agreed reluctantly. ‘But when you come back I am going to kick your ass.’ The barman winked at her as he poured another pseudo-whisky and cracked open a beer. One of the guys beside her slapped her ass. The invitation of perfect flesh coated in the second skin of her jeans was too much for him to resist. Roxy managed to control herself. Instead of grabbing the offending hand and twisting the arm around until bones snapped, following with a knee that would end his sexual thoughts as sharply as a knife, she merely slapped the man across the face. Even with this, she pulled her punch, knowing her full strength would take the guy out. She did let her fingernails rake his flesh however, giving him four parallel furrows that would legitimately need stitching. It wasn’t benevolence that stayed her hand, rather the desire to use this opportunity to its best advantage. Sure enough, Bobby came rushing up to save her, grabbing the guy by the shirtfront and heaving him up. ‘Leave him,’ the barman insisted, cutting the protests off but doing so without hurting the man’s ego. Instead he turned to the assailant. ‘Anything else like that and you’re barred. I’ll throw you out myself.’ Bobby escorted her back. ‘You OK? What an asshole.’ ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she insisted. ‘Anyway, Pool. I thought you were going to kick my ass.’ And so the games continued. The drinking continued. She noticed how discreetly he managed to keep his own drinking level down, while still plying her with drinks. The tricks such as his habit of taking his old bottle up to the bar when he bought the next round so as to let her assume the one he brought back was fresh. The way he drank, tilting the bottle in long and hungry gulps but barely sipping it. For her drinks, she’d taken a few units when her barman hadn’t managed to get to Bobby in time and one of the others had served him instead. But that was only occasional and on the whole, she was as sober as ever. Not that her giggling flirtations would let you believe such a thing. She’d played each of the guys, taking significant amounts from Connor and Gary, who they had finally acknowledged. He’d finally made good against the hustler and was overconfident, using a few old-style hooks that she’d gone along with until ripping the pay-off from under his nose. But it was Bobby she played to perfection. His initial impression of her was as an easy lay, but she’d promised cash in the bargain. Now he wasn’t sure he’d get either, or which of the two he should focus upon. So she decided it was time to stir things a little. She played a blinding game, cleaning the table without pause. Now he realised she was good his ego had come into play. ‘You’re actually really good at this game,’ he admitted, still keeping it friendly. Neither one had used the word "hustler". Yet. ‘Told ya I could take care of myself,’ she grinned. It was just a little too ingratiating. He couldn’t be sure whether or not she was mocking him. ‘Again?’ he asked. ‘Are we still raising the stakes?’ she asked innocently. ‘Damn right.’ And she won. She still held back but she’d studied his form and was pretty sure she knew his limit. She certainly knew she topped it. ‘Again.’ And again. ‘Are you hustling me?’ ‘I’m just playing pool,’ she insisted. It was late now. There was one barman left, the other having gone home. All the barflies were being cleared out and they weren’t serving any more drinks. Bobby was determined to get his money back before they too were thrown out. But each time he thought he had her, she managed to pull off some incredible shot that saved her from losing. The three guys were alone with her now, the barman having told them to finish up. ‘OK,’ she told them, seeming to sense an air of danger finally. ‘You’re obviously a little put out that I’ve won your money. It’s only fair I give you the chance to win it all back. Double or nothing. One last game.’ ‘Are you for real?’ Connor asked her. He for one was no longer playing the role of amiable pool guy. ‘I don’t have that much money,’ Bobby admitted. ‘You have a watch,’ Roxy told him. ‘You have a signet ring. Your friend Connor also has a watch and ring, as well as a gold chain. Gary has a watch but I honestly don’t want it.’ Gary looked down at the plastic digital thing that he was, until that moment, quite proud of. Bobby took the final step to Connor’s state of mind. He assessed her coldly and cruelly. ‘You’re hustling me,’ he finally realised. ‘Was that yes or no?’ ‘Rack them up.’ She broke with a sledgehammer slam, sinking two balls. She then proceeded to clean the table, taking one ball at a time, occasionally planting just to show off. She avoided the nine until last, even when the shot was obvious. She had a point to make here and was making it in no uncertain terms. She lined up on the nine, finally, the length of the table between her and Bobby. Unable to resist the moment, she looked up at him, holding his gaze in her own while she sunk the winning shot. It was sardonic and calculated. It was also precision and flawless. Whatever held him back was finally gone. He stepped up to her, using his height to intimidate her. It didn’t work. Fear was not an emotion easily inspired in her, and certainly not by one such as he. Gary had come up behind her, apparently not liking the watch remark. Connor headed over to the remaining barman, just to keep him from interfering. The barman however, was not overly concerned. He was more intent on watching the outcome, knowing that the girl who wasn’t named "Louise" was more than capable of taking care of herself. Gary grabbed her from behind. She crushed his foot by stamping down on the bridge. She butted her head backwards, splattering his nose into a flat, messy pulp. She elbowed, cracking through ribs. All this she did without taking her eyes of Bobby. She reached for the staggering man behind her, catching him and throwing him forward, whilst still holing one hand. She stepped lightly onto the back of his shoulder, keeping him in place, the arm stretched above him. Applied pressure cracked bone with sadistic exactitude. Gary screamed out in pain. She finally let him go, the broken arm flopping down uselessly beside him. He sobbed to himself as he gathered the arm and cupped it to his chest, curling foetal at her feet. Roxy stepped over him, indifferent to his suffering. She was done with him, now she turned her attention to Connor, suddenly less concerned with the barman, who himself was more concerned with watching than contributing, leapt to assist his friend, running to assault Roxy from behind slamming her elbow back, shattering his face with one sharp slam. He staggered backwards. Roxy spun like a gymnast, leaping into the air to swing a kick that caught him squarely in the head. She landed to face Bobby again, arms in front of her in a hard fighting stance, fists raised kung fu style. Behind her, Connor collapsed over his friend. ‘Shit,’ Bobby muttered. Then he hit her, punching squarely at her face. She caught the blow with ridiculous ease, her speed and strength easily outmatching him. Holding his fist at bay, she raised her free arm in a flex, showing off the biceps muscle that he somehow managed not to notice until now. ‘Shit,’ he repeated, this time truly awed. Then true realisation struck. ‘Shit!’ Pure fear. She sank a fist into his gut and only her grip on him kept him upright. Then she reached her hand around his throat, holding him up by the neck, squeezing just enough to cut off his air supply. Bobby grasped her wrist, trying in vain to wrench her free. ‘What’s wrong, Babe?’ she asked him. ‘I thought you liked me. Aren’t I sexy any more?’ Bobby managed a low gurgling sound. His legs went weak. Again he would have collapsed but her hand about his neck was attached to an arm more than strong enough to keep him aloft. Her biceps muscle swelled hard as she took the extra weight but he didn’t stop to appreciate the sight. His vision had begun to blur and loosen at the sides. She let go and he fell to his knees, his throat burning. Roxy glanced across to the barman and grinned indulgently. He feigned cynical weariness and shook his head slowly. She turned back to Bobby, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to face the pool table. She thrust a knee into his back, letting him feel just how easily she could snap his spine if she so desired. She wrapped one arm about his throat, jamming the hard peak of her bicep into his windpipe. Leaning forward, she licked his ear, then whispered. ‘Baby, you should have cut your loses and run.’ She took a ball off the table, then forced it into his mouth. He resisted, twisting his head from side to side. She was far stronger than him however, and easily held him still. She squeezed his jaw hard, forcing his mouth open. Then she jammed the pool ball inside, cranking the jaw open. With the heel of her hand, she shoved the ball deep into his mouth. It sat hard against his teeth, forcing his jaws apart. Then she pushed his head forward, sitting his chin onto the edge of the table. Bobby whimpered softly, the ball muffling his cries. She held him in place while he tried to swing his head away from the pool table. She held him with one arm and raised the other, ready to strike. She aimed the elbow and brought it down hard. The barman actually winced, turning his head before she struck. But he couldn’t block the sound it made. When he looked up, Roxy was bounding happily up to him. ‘That was unnecessary,’ he scolded. ‘Yeah, but it was fun.’ She wrapped her arms around him and planted a sweet kiss on his lips. He couldn’t help but notice that her arms had pumped up with the exertion of her violence. He had to admit, his own pulse was racing. ‘I liked working here,’ he protested, but he was complaining just for the sake of it, not out of any genuine complaint. ‘Bullshit,’ she told him. ‘The money’s lousy and the manager’s a dick.’ ‘Whatever.’ ‘The other two won’t wake up for hours,’ she cooed, seductively. ‘If at all,’ he remarked dryly. But he didn’t resist when she kissed him. Her hands got inquisitive and his own followed suit, moving down the leather to her toned, jeaned buttocks. She gripped his shoulders and lifted her legs to wrap around him, hugging her body tight against his. ‘Not that one,’ she said as he rested her onto the pool table. He lifted her and swapped to one of the other, less messy tables. She lay back on the table, stretching her arms out across the felt. She gripped his hips between her thighs, giving him a painful squeeze, just for fun. He gasped but was aroused as much as he was pained. She sat up again, lifting him up onto the table and on top of her. ‘You know, if you keep this up, you might as well give up hustling and just mug the poor guys. It’d be quicker and far less twisted.’ ‘But this way is far more entertaining.’ He began kissing his way from her lips to her neck and all thoughts of the three pool hustlers left them both.