Running the Table by L. Jon Wertheim

Author:L. Jon Wertheim [Wertheim, L. Jon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

After two weeks in Baltimore, Delicious hadn't lost a set, although the competition got progressively stiffer. By the time he beat the best player in town, a lanky guy in his twenties, Max Schlothauer, known to everyone as Baltimore Max, Delicious and Bristol were up nearly $10,000. But even the best road hustler can overstay his welcome. Either the locals will call in a new stick who can beat him, or the roadie will grow careless and agree to ill-considered games. In Baltimore, the partners got careless.

Having lost decisively, but not disgracefully, at nine-ball, Baltimore Max proposed that he and Delicious play high-stakes one-pocket, say $400 a rack. Max wanted a spot, though. Riding the wave of invincibility that comes when you're on a winning streak, Delicious obliged without blinking. When Max asked for the nine-seven spot—he would need to bury only seven balls in his designated pocket, while Delicious would have to make nine—Delicious put up no resistance. "Sure, Max. If that's what it'll take."

Unbeknownst to Delicious, Max was a one-pocket specialist. When the game began, Max had a sizable entourage in tow: a backer, several friends, and a statuesque blonde wearing an outfit so tight it looked shrink-wrapped to her body. "She wasn't my girlfriend or nothing," Max said later. "She was just a girl I was hanging out with, partying with. I don't remember if she was a stripper, but she might have been."

Whatever she was, Delicious noticed her immediately. "Look at them great tits," he whispered to Bristol. "And have you ever seen a rounder ass?" His confidence still inflated like a bagpipe, he flirted with her. "If Baltimore Max ain't satisfying you and you want to get with a real man, let me know," he told her, albeit with a goofy smile and enough sarcasm so that no one took offense.

Three hours had elapsed, and the momentum had wafted back and forth like a gentle breeze. Delicious would win two games, Baltimore Max would win three. Delicious would win three, Max would counter with a mini-streak of his own. With Max up $400, Delicious suggested that they up the ante to $800 a rack. Conferring first with his backer, Max agreed. The next game was fiercely tight, with both contenders playing the defensive, heavily strategic pool that one-pocket demands.

One ball away from winning, Delicious lined up his shot and heard giggling. He turned to find Max's bombshell companion standing near the edge of the table. The peanut gallery hooted as she struck a sex-kitten pose, licked her lips, and proceeded to remove her top. She then reached into a pocket, removed the eight ball, and lodged it between her double-D's. Delicious played along: "I've been sharked before, honey, but never quite like this."

Just as he prepared to shoot, he stole another look at the woman's substantial chest. Then, his concentration not so much broken as shattered, he backed away. This went on for a few minutes. Finally he shot, and the misguided eight ball went straight into the rail.

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