The Ultimate Poker Face Meets His Own Worst Enemy

When Travis Choice heard about the new casino, he knew his life
would change. He imagined himself in a DJ sipping a martini, a hand
propped on the cocktail bar, gently nodding to the beat of a young
woman's breasts as she tried to persuade the King of the House to share
his winning streak. A new casino would change this dirty old seaside
town forever and Travis wanted a part of it. He wanted kick-start his
luck. He was a good liar, but his face gave him away, so he had to do
something about it.

He had obvious eyes, everybody told him that. He hid them behind
mirrored shades and watched his expression in the bedsit's cracked
mirror. There were articulations in his face that were more difficult
to hide. When was happy, his lips looked like they were forced apart by
meat hooks. He showed too many teeth and too much gum. When he worried,
arches in his skull collapsed across the high peak of his brow. This
would never do. It would give the game away completely. So he procured
three bottles of Botox from Market Joe and three hypodermics from a
drug dealer on the Four Acres Estate. He stood in front of the mirror
and, with a swap of anaesthetic and a gulp of JD, cleared his mind and
blanked his face.

After the swelling had gone down, he removed the bandages and ran his
fingers over the smooth reflection. The pain, incessant itching, and
the loss of two weeks earnings had been worth it. Market Joe had come
up with the goods and now he, Travis Choice version 1.2, had the
perfect face for gaming. He was so excited that he had to sit down on
the edge of the bed. Even though it was one of the most thrilling
moments of his life, his frozen curves registered no emotion, and that
made him more excited than ever. So he sat there, grinning more and
more inside, and staying the same on the outside, until the sun fell
into the sea.

He walked down to the beach and wandered through the moonlit skeleton
of the new casino. He had already selected his spot, over by a pallet
of breeze-blocks, where one day a window would look out to the horizon.
There was plenty of space for his entourage there - the middle aged
women begging him to roll them a double six, nerdy looking men in suits
from Cancer Research and, best of all, the low necklines of this
season's d?butantes vying for his favour. Oh yes, life would be so
sweet then, with all the drudgery behind him. He might buy lottery
tickets still, but just to smoke them. He might call into the factory,
but only to hand out advice to the sharp mouthed women that worked
overtime to better their RSI claims. He might even visit that careers
teacher to show him exactly where gambling got him. Maybe ask for his
cards back. Life would be good, Travis thought and he swung gently on
the erected girders. The steel was cold in the winter night, sticky
against his moist palms. He lifted his hands, saw them trembling in the
silver air, and realised that Travis Choice was not yet the perfect
player.

The doctor shifted uncomfortably in his seat. If he had been asked to
perform euthanasia on a healthy child he could not have looked more
uncomfortable. He moved his prescription pad into a drawer and quietly
turned the key. He explained that even snooker players would only be
allowed the drugs on medical grounds. Travis Choice had put his case
eloquently but the old man could not be swayed. Gambler was not a
profession. The Jitters was not a medical condition. And did Travis
need something for the swelling around his eye? It didn't matter how
many times Travis begged or how forcefully he stated his argument, the
old man just shook his head until a burly receptionist came in and
asked Travis to leave.

Market Joe was shutting up shop when Travis got to the high street.
He's already fastened the catches on his suitcase and spun the
combination, but when Travis explained the problem and showed his
hands, he cracked the case open again and took out a bottle.
Alpha-blockers, just like the beta's, only more powerful. Knock a
cricketer for six these would. You won't feel a thing. Knock on wood,
these'll do the job. More knock than a knocking shop. Etc, etc. Travis
would have handed over his last big purple for them, but Market Joe
wanted to haggle and brought the price down to a clean, round ?17.99,
his lucky number or something. Then he had to dash, leaving Travis
amongst the rotting apples and smashed crates that signified close of
business.

The bottle was dirty brown smoked plastic, pristine white top blemished
by a black thumb and fingerprint. The green label was half torn off.
When he shook it, the bottle rattled as if something was broken.

Travis went to The Bottler and spent his change on beir and six fags.
The new landlord had arranged for a snooker table to be positioned in
the snug so that the seated could have a close-up view of the wrong end
of the queues. He called it Live Interactive Sports on the chalkboard
outside. Travis called it asking for trouble. When his smoke rings
collided with the rear end of a young player, he tried to smile
pleasantly and dismiss the incident. The young man was not so keen, and
pressed for an apology. All Travis could offer was a blank stare and
the young man became quite irate. Travis rattled his pills and asked
the young man if he'd hit a man on medication. That seemed to calm him
down. Ten minutes later he joined Travis, leaving a stack of fifty pees
on the table.

What have you done to your face? the man wanted to know, but Travis had
other ideas. He put the bottle in his hand and closed his fingers
around it.
Ask me what these are for.
If I ask you, can I have one?
Travis tipped the bottle upside down, trying to make out how empty it
was. Plenty left. Maybe be a good idea to let the young bloke try them
out, see if they did any harm.
Yeah, I could spare you one. Now come on, ask me?
What are those tablets for?
They reverse the ageing process.
No? Really, give us one then mate.
You believe me?
Yes, why shouldn't I?
Ha! Good. Right here you go. No, take two. Stay a while. Drink with
me.
The pills where orange and white. The young man gulped one down then
swilled the other with the remained of his pint.
What do you feel now? asked Travis.
Nothing, said the young man, and he got back up and started playing
again.