The bartender stops breathing altogether.
At least, that's what it sounds like.
I look down at my own hand.
King of spades. King of hearts. King of clubs. Queen of diamonds. Jack of clubs.
Good.
Damn good, actually.
Slowly, I push my remaining bills forward.
"I call."
Death silently studies his cards. Then he calmly adds his last bills to the pot.
Naturally, he arranges them in a perfectly straight line, side by side.
For a brief moment, nobody says a word.
Only the distant metallic thunder of the train still echoes through the night outside the bar.
The Devil slowly smiles.
"Well, let's see what we've got."
He begins turning over his cards.
Ace of diamonds.
Ace of hearts.
Ace of clubs.
The bartender audibly exhales.
Then come:
Queen of clubs.
Queen of hearts.
A full house.
Aces full of queens.
The Devil leans back with satisfaction.
"Well, well."
I silently look down at my own cards.
Slowly, I lay them faceup on the table.
Three kings.
Jack of clubs.
Queen of diamonds.
Not bad.
Finally, Death moves as well.
Slowly, he turns his cards faceup on the table.
"Queen of spades. Ten of spades. Eight of spades. Seven of spades. Four of spades. A spade flush," he announces with satisfaction.
The Devil gives me a wicked grin.
"Looks like third place for you tonight."
He takes a slow, satisfied sip of whiskey.
"You played well," he says graciously. "You really did."
Once again, his heavy ring glitters in the bar's red light.
"But a loss is a loss."
By now, the bartender looks ready to crawl under the counter and disappear.
Death slowly gathers his cards and begins to stand.
"Leaving already?" the Devil asks, amused.
Death calmly adjusts his hoodie.
"I generally prefer to arrive first."
His deep whisper is completely matter-of-fact.
Almost professional.
Slowly, I look up at him.
"Sit back down."
Death freezes halfway through the movement.
So does the Devil.
For a brief moment, nobody says a word.
Even the bartender stops moving.
Somewhere outside, the metallic thunder of the train gradually fades into the darkness.
Finally, the Devil blinks at me in confusion.
"Excuse me... what?"
I slowly lean back.
"Sit down."
Death studies me silently for several seconds.
Then, to my surprise, he actually pulls his chair back and sits down again.
The Devil looks from one of us to the other.
"I'm afraid I must have missed something important."
"No," Death murmurs calmly. "You didn't."
I glance up at the clock.
3:04 a.m.
The Devil is watching me with considerably more suspicion now.
For the first time, he no longer seems entirely in control.
"There's no point bluffing anymore. The game's over. You lost, and now it's showtime," he says, rubbing his hands together with obvious delight.
"Possibly."
I'm the picture of calm, and to my shame, I have to admit that I'm savoring every second of this moment.
His eyes narrow slightly.
He stares at me in confusion.
"The train is leaving."
I slowly get to my feet, pick up my empty beer glass, and walk over to the bar.
Behind me, everything remains silent.
Almost unnaturally silent.
I calmly set the glass down on the dark wooden counter and button up my trench coat.
The bartender watches my every move. His eyes are as round as tennis balls.
I glance outside through the small, fogged-up window beside the bar.
Beyond it lies nothing but the black, motionless night.
No rumbling.
No more sounds from the tracks.
"Is it raining again?" I ask calmly.
The bartender visibly flinches before hastily looking toward the window.
"I... I don't think so."
His voice sounds as though it's decided to hand in its resignation tonight, too.
Slowly, I turn around again.
The Devil is still sitting motionless at the table.
"Don't you have bigger things to worry about? Who cares if you get wet during the last few minutes of your life?"
"Assuming these really are the last few minutes of my life..."
Now the wheels are slowly beginning to turn in his head.
Death raises his head ever so slightly.
Even the stars beneath his hood seem to stand still for a brief moment.
"No," the Devil finally says quietly.
For the first time, there's no amusement in his voice.
I give a slight shrug.
"Oh, yes. That was the last train of the night."
Silence.
The bartender suddenly looks as though he might burst into tears of relief at any moment.
The Devil says nothing.
He simply stares at the cards on the table.
Then at the clock.
Then back at me.
"When's the next one?" Death asks calmly.
"5:07 a.m."
For a moment, absolutely nobody moves.
Then the Devil slowly leans back and stares at me.
"God..."
Utterly dumbfounded, he slowly runs a hand down his face.
"You're such an asshole."
For the first time tonight, I actually have to laugh.
Quietly, admittedly.
But genuinely.
"Sometimes," I say calmly. "When I have to be."
The Devil is still staring at me as though he's having to reevaluate several thousand years of history.
I fasten the last button of my trench coat.
"But generally speaking," I murmur casually, "most people tend to worship me."