Dead Man's Hand

Hugh Beauchamp

"Damn" thought Pierre, as the sun slanted through the venetian blinds. He'd known, with his first sip of coffee, that he was playing his last hand. If only he'd seen that little bottle earlier, he could have gotten out, but it was inevitable now. It was all over. He could feel the poison coursing through his veins, and just had time to force the words "Two pair" between his twitching lips, before his head hit the baize and sent his cup flying...

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