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Maybe I'd been kidding myself. Maybe what I'd been taking for luck was really my skills. Maybe I'd been hayriding along, just telling myself it was . . .
Almost in response, my fingers crackled with electric pain. Like I had bone-cracking arthritis, or something. Instinctively, I pulled my arm to my chest.
"Are ya gonna play, or what?" Ernie Boles asked. "It's your bet."
"Yeah, sure." I picked up my cards.
They weren't good. And they didn't get any better for the rest of the night.
By the time I got back to my room, I'd lost a good chunk of Blackie's wad. I was beginning to panic. My hand was ice-cold, both physically and poker-wise. I wrapped it in a hot towel, but that didn't help. I swallowed several pain-killers, but that didn't help. Finally, I fell into a fitful sleep.
Over the next few weeks, things didn't improve. My hand was icy cold even with a thick glove on, and I kept losing until I was broke. But I couldn't accept it. So I drank myself blotto and went to Blackie for stake money.
Without a word, he loaned it to me. I lost and went back for more. He loaned me more. Pretty soon, I was asshole to chin in debt, and pickled in bourbon. And I hated my hand -- loathed the cold arthritic curse attached to my right wrist.
That's when I made Blackie an offer.
"You want my hand, Blackie? I'll give it to you. Right now. For all the money I'm into you for."
He just laughed, and had Mr. Bodyguard toss me out with the rest of the garbage.
That night, I bought a quart of Wild Turkey. Alone in my apartment, I guzzled as much as I could while I eyed my gloved limb. It was dead, inert, cold as cement. I knew now what had to be done.
"Fucking traitor!" I screamed. I picked up the meat cleaver next to the sink, put my hand on the thin cutting board, and swung with all my weight. The blade bit through the wrist, through the wood, and buried itself in the countertop. And then the world exploded.
It was worse than I'd imagined. In a flash I realized I wanted to live. This was on big, fucking mistake and I needed help, now. I screamed and hollered while the blood shot all over the room. The guy next door started pounding on the wall. I screamed at him to call the cops.
And I kept yelling until I blacked out.
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