The dealer’s name was Mira. She had quick hands and a face that gave nothing away, which is all you can ask of anyone at a card table.
The man came in loud. Travelers usually are. He sat down, lost two hands, and decided the problem was Mira. Called her a cheat. Then something worse.
I kept playing.
He said it again. Louder, this time, for the room.
I set my cards face-down. Finished my drink. Stood up.
I didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything worth saying. He saw me stand and made the mistake of standing too, which I appreciated — saves the trouble of pulling someone out of a chair.
The other players found somewhere else to be. Mira didn’t move. She just watched, hands flat on the table, dealing nobody’s hand.
It didn’t take long. It never does when someone’s drunk and angry and not actually looking for a fight — just looking to be angry somewhere. I walked him out the door. Mostly he walked himself, once I explained the alternative.
He wasn’t badly hurt. He’ll say he was.
Mira dealt me back in when I returned. Didn’t say anything either. I won the next three hands.
Good evening, all things considered.