Copyright Information
Smith’s Monthly Issue #24
All Contents copyright © 2015 Dean Wesley Smith
Published by WMG Publishing
Cover and interior design copyright © 2015 WMG Publishing
Cover art copyright © by Andrew7726/Dreamstime.com
“Introduction: Two Full Years” copyright © 2015 Dean Wesley Smith
“Gambling Hell” copyright © 2015 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2015 WMG Publishing
“Dead Post Bumper” copyright © 2015 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2015 WMG Publishing
An Easy Shot copyright © 2015 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2015 WMG Publishing, cover art by Fotoslaz/Dreamstime.com
“Cheerleader Revelation” copyright © 2015 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2015 WMG Publishing
“For Your Consideration” copyright © 2015 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2015 WMG Publishing
Bad Beat: A Cold Poker Gang Novel copyright © 2015 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2015 WMG Publishing.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in the fiction in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
CONTENTS
Short Stories
Gambling Hell: A Poker Boy Story
Dead Post Bumper
Cheerleader Revelation
For Your Consideration: A Bryant Street Story
Full Novel
Bad Beat: A Cold Poker Gang Novel
Serial Novel
An Easy Shot: A Golf Thriller (Part 7 of 8)
Nonfiction
Introduction: Two Full Years
Subscribe to Smith’s Monthly
Copyright Information
Full Table of Contents
Introduction
TWO FULL YEARS
In late October of 2013, the first issue of Smith’s Monthly came out.
Admittedly, this was a crazy idea, to put a full novel, serial novels, some non-fiction, and a bunch of short stories in a magazine issue, all written by me.
And do that every month.
Something like this magazine had never been done in publishing history. Not ever.
It hadn’t even been tried before.
Occasionally, back in the old pulp days, one writer would fill an issue of one magazine or another, often with stories written under pen names.
And a few authors, Lester Dent to name one, wrote a novel a month for years.
But no one had tried filling a monthly magazine before every month.
Yes, I am that crazy.
Each issue over the last two years averaged around 70,000 words. Every month.
You are reading now the last issue of the second year.
Next month starts year three, and I will just keep doing this on into the future.
Why keep going?
Simple answer. Because I’m having a blast.
So there is one thing I want to be clear about here at the end of two years. Even with my ability to write and publish this many words every month, I would not have been able to keep this magazine alive and going without fantastic support.
The fine people at WMG Publishing Inc. have supported this project from the start. And the publisher, Allyson Longueira, has gone above and beyond the call of duty at times to help me stay on track.
Thanks, Allyson.
And Judy, the fantastic copyeditor who works there as well, has learned my style and just helps me give you clean reading.
Thanks, Judy.
And my wife, the fantastic writer, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, has supported this magazine from the start as well.
When I suggested this idea the first time, she just laughed and said, “Well, if anyone can do it, it’s you.”
And then over the last two years, she has read novel after novel and story after story, sometimes on short deadline to help me stay on the monthly schedule.
Fantastic support. Thank you Kris. I could not have gotten to the end of this second year without you.
I couldn’t even have gotten this started without your support.
But even with all the fantastic help at WMG Publishing and here at home, this project would have died a very quick death if not for the support of those of you who subscribed, taking a chance on a really crazy idea.
Thank you!
And for all the readers who buy the back issues. Thank you.
And thank you to those of you who support this magazine through Patreon and get the issues every month. There is a full page in the back of this issue thanking you all as well.
This idea of doing a magazine full of only my own fiction every month sounded crazy to start. But now, two years and 24 issues later, this magazine continues onward.
For me it has been wonderful fun.
I hope all of you have enjoyed reading the stories and novels as much as I have had writing them.
And I hope you will stick with me for more years into the future. I promise to keep you reading and enjoying stories and novels as best I can.
Thank you all.
—Dean Wesley Smith
September 20, 2015
Lincoln City, Oregon
A beautiful woman sits down at a poker table and Poker Boy knows instantly everything feels wrong.
She seems beautiful, but her appearance hides something far more sinister.
Poker Boy, in a fair hand of cards, finds himself in a fight to save an entire table of innocent card players from ending up playing a very, very long and losing game in the poker room in hell.
First published as “Poker Boy vs. A Denizen of Gambling Hell” in All Hell Breaking Loose, edited by Martin H. Greenberg from Daw Books.
GAMBLING HELL
A Poker Boy Story
ONE
The ten-twenty hold’em game at the Mirage was going just fine until Heidi sat down in the empty seat.
I was up about three hundred and enjoying the game, staying out of the way of another pro at the other end of the table. We were basically taking turns slowly relieving the tourists of their money, while making sure they had a good time giving it to us.
Heidi, with her long blonde hair, plunging V-neck sweater, and front-loaded assets shifted the feeling of the table. I sensed it at once, even without using my Ultra-Intuitive Super Power.
She gave everyone a bright, white smile, fumbled with her chips like she was a beginner, and then laughed at something the tourist beside her said that more than likely wasn’t funny.
At once my Poker Boy Gut-Sense Power shouted at me like a voice coming up from the depths of the Grand Canyon. Normally the power never shouted at me unless I asked it to. Now the Gut-Sense Grand Canyon voice was echoing in my head.
She’s a good player!
The breasts are fake!
She’s evil!
As the superhero Poker Boy, I’ve fought my share of evil and played with more than my share of both good and bad poker players. The first because fighting evil is what superheroes do. It is the job description. The second because I make my living, pay the expenses to the next fight against evil, by playing professional poker.
Trust me, superheroes have to get money somewhere, and it might as well be from people who are enjoying themselves over a card game while they give me money to cover the costs of fighting those that needed to be fought.
Since the first day I put on my leather coat and Fedora-like hat that became my superhero costume, I knew that the Gambling Gods ran anything to do with gambling. Laverne, Lady
Luck herself, was head of all things corporate, with Burt the General Manager running all casino operations in the god realm.
Stan was the main God of Poker and my direct boss. I liked Stan, and over the years I had actually met both Laverne and Burt during adventures. I knew them to be powerful and damned scary. No poker player I know of screws around with Lady Luck and lives to win another pot. I always treated Laverne with the respect she deserved and so far my luck had just been fine.
Of course, over the years there had always been evil to fight. Otherwise there would have been no need for my services as Poker Boy. But until Heidi sat down at my table, I had never faced evil over a game. And I had no real understanding that there was also a gambling hell where the evil I was fighting came from.
To be honest, I’m not sure why I hadn’t put two and two together and come up with a gambling hell. The evil had to come from somewhere, didn’t it? Besides, if there were Gambling Gods, I knew there had to be a gambling hell to keep the universe balanced. I just hadn’t thought of it before I met the denizen of Gambling Hell named Heidi.
She had finished stacking her chips in a beginner-like manner, a neat triangle coming out from the rail, all chips stacked neatly in piles of five. Then she looked up at me and smiled.
Only there was nothing about that smile that reached her dark eyes.
I didn’t move, didn’t smile back, but it was clear from her look that she knew who I was.
And she was challenging me.
My Grand Canyon warning voice echoed in my head again.
EVIL!
Evil!
evil!
After the echo in my head died off, my next thought was to rack up my chips and just find another table, or maybe even call it a night. But I was a superhero, and superheroes didn’t run from evil, they fought it, head on. Normally I had to go track it down, dig it out, and then vanquish it in some fashion or another. Evil had very seldom come to me and asked to be beaten like Heidi was doing.
But now Evil itself was sitting three chairs down the table from me in a ten-twenty game, directly across from the dealer, and I had no idea why. But I had a hunch I was about to find out.
The pro at the other end of the table, a man I respected for his great skill at poker and his ability to read just about any player, gave Heidi a quick once-over, shook his head, and racked up his chips. He knew, just as I did, that what had been a very good game had just gone sour.
“Good luck,” he said to me before turning to leave.
I nodded at him and then glanced down at the two cards the dealer had just given me. Pocket kings.
I was two in front of the blinds so I raised the bet to twenty. Everyone at the table folded except Heidi, who pretended to fumble with her chips and had to have the dealer help her get her bet right.
She was good. Every man at the table was watching her, either her smooth-skinned hands or her plunging neckline.
The flop gave me another king, with two smaller cards that didn’t match in suit or reach for a straight. Since I figured she was going to play the dumb blonde to the hilt and if I checked, she would check, I decided instead to bet ten more.
She again made a production out of calling. She was either giving me the first hand as part of the act, or she had aces and was playing me, pretending she didn’t know what she was doing.
Then I realized there was something else going on. The calm, fun nature of the table was gone, replaced with tension and a focus that was distracted from the cards. It was almost as if the entire table had been shifted slightly out of the big Mirage Casino card room and into another dimension.
I glanced around. The rest of the room seemed distant and a little fuzzy.
So she wasn’t just after the money, she was taking the table for another reason. As Poker Boy, I had seen a lot stranger things and for the moment I was willing to ride along to see exactly where we were going.
And why.
TWO
With the turn came another garbage card, with a rainbow, all four suits, on the board. I still had my three kings, but this time I just checked to her, wanting to see how she played her hand next. To a pro, in certain circumstances, a check means a weak hand. At other times it’s a trap, meaning the hand is strong and the pro wants someone to bet so the pro can raise.
She looked at me with a puzzled smile on her face, pretending she didn’t know what a check meant.
“Up to you,” the young dealer said, resting his hand in front of the woman to indicate it was her turn to bet.
“Oh, it’s my turn?” Heidi said, looking down at her cards again, then pretending to study the cards on the table. Then she looked up at the dealer, “What can I bet?”
A few men around the table who were taken in by her act chuckled. When a beginning player asked how much they could bet, it always meant they had a strong hand, or thought they had a strong hand. With Heidi I knew it was all an act.
But with that question, the room around us seemed to grow even more distant and blurry. The noise from the other tables faded farther into the background.
I had a sense of downward movement. No one else at the table noticed, including the dealer, as all their attention remained focused on Heidi, her blonde hair, and her V-neck sweater.
“The bet is twenty,” the dealer said.
She fumbled with her chips and then slid twenty forward.
She smiled at the dealer and then looked my way.
I knew I was going to have to make my move pretty soon to stop what she was doing with this table, but I wanted to see that last card before I did. If she had two aces in her hand, there were still two aces left out, and I wanted to be sure that third ace didn’t hit the board before I moved. So I simply flat-called her twenty.
The dealer patted the table to indicate the bets were all square, burnt a card and turned over the river card. A four of hearts that matched the four of clubs already on the board.
I had kings full of fours, the highest full house possible with the cards on the board. But not the highest hand possible. And that worried me a lot.
Around the table the rest of the Mirage poker room had become nothing more than a distant blur, the only sounds a faint rumbling. And the air was getting warmer and warmer by the moment. Heidi was moving the entire game into gambling hell, and no one but me seemed to be noticing.
I took a deep breath and focused on a spot between two upcoming seconds. I wanted to use what I had called my Unstuck-in-Time power. Stan the God of Poker had told me I had the power, and since then it had come in handy more than once.
My power froze everyone’s movements except Heidi’s. Clearly my power hadn’t worked on her. She truly was evil and very powerful.
Seven of the men were frozen staring at her chest, the dealer and one of the other players were staring at her hands.
“Nice trick,” she said, laughing in a way that made me shiver, even though I had on a leather jacket and the temperature around the table had gone up by twenty degrees.
By slipping myself between moments in time, I could see a little better where we were.
Granted, the Mirage poker room was a faint overlay, sort of blurred and fuzzy, but through that vision I could clearly see a huge cave with dark walls and bright lights hanging from the roof. The table I was at seemed to be up near the roof of the cavern, still sitting in the Mirage, but yet at the same time floating in space, not yet all the way down to the surface.
A river of molten lava ran through one side of the cavern, accounting for the extra heat. There had to be at least a hundred different poker games going on around the room, all frozen because I was looking at them from a moment between seconds.
A poker room in gambling hell. This was the last place I wanted to be.
“So, Poker Boy,” she said, smiling at me, “you hoping to freeze time and come and take a quick glance at what I have in my hand?”
I laughed at her. “Not my style. That’s something you’d do I’m sure. I just wanted to stop t
his little elevator act you have going on.”
“And you think this trick is going to stop it for long?” she asked, flaunting her chest assets by leaning forward and making sure her V-neck sweater bagged out just enough.
Granted, I was a man. But I had turned down sexual advances from a goddess far more interesting than her, so her attempts to distract me dropped short.
“Long enough to get this settled,” I said.
“And just how do you plan to settle this?” she asked, smiling at me. “Knock me off my chair?”
I stared at her, looking deep into her eyes. In my years of doing superhero deeds, I had found many ways of solving problems, and none of them, not once, had I needed to use any physical-type action. Anyone who actually looked at me would know I wouldn’t be any good at that stuff anyway. I kept my poker face on and just kept staring at her, trying to get any kind of read on what exactly what would work. Frighteningly enough, at the moment I didn’t know. I was just playing a bluff.
THREE
She waved her arm around at the cavern. “You’re in my world now.”
I said nothing.
She shifted slightly, still smiling at me, still leaning forward trying to get me to look at her fake assets.
I just stared at her face, into her eyes, like I stared at any poker player who tried to make a move on me. And I made sure I kept us firmly planted between seconds of time.
After a long moment of me staring at her she shifted slightly again, then turned to stare back, her fake smile frozen on her face.
I could tell I was getting to her. But I still had no idea what to do to get this table and all the men around it back into the Mirage poker room. I needed some answers.
“So what do you want me for?” I asked. “Why these guys?”
Smith's Monthly #24 Page 1
