Prologue
"Turn it out, Frank," growled Howie the Hand, as he racked the white and blue chips toward his overlapping gut. His sweat-stained shirt, rolled up to the shoulders, revealed pink slabs of upper arms that barely moved as his forearms did all the work. "You got to be the most unluckiest bastard human this side of Humania."
Frank Miller just let it go. Roll off his shoulders as it were, because Howie the Hand may be a troll--that alone would have forced Frank to keep his mouth shut--but toss in the fact he was Kingston Jones' bodyguard, well, that settled any debate over whether or not to reply.
"Come on," Howie waved a hand the size of a carriage tire. "Give me the rest of your chips..."
Frank swallowed the now gigantic-sized lump in his throat. He tried to move the emotional chunk down to its rightful place, but discovered his mouth had gone too dry to do so.
Larry the Licker glanced at him, his eyes round and without eyelids. He licked his right eye, dampening it with acid green salvia, and said, "You deaf?"
Frank, unable to utter any type of answer, shook his head. He stared at the empty spot in front of him on the table and pondered again how he could have gone through his entire savings within a mere three hours of Humania Hold 'Em.
He hastily looked around the table filled with goblins, trolls, and humans. There were only six of them, and Frank knew he'd definitely come out the worst. Had there been a fairy or pixie playing a game, he would have sworn he'd been cheated.
But with this crowd, he wasn't going to argue.
Howie leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his even bigger midsection. Across the smoky wisps, he peered at Frank, his lips pressed into a fine line of complete irritation.
"You ain't got it, do you, human?" he sneered, barely moving his lips.
Unable to form any words, for the lump seemed to be the only thing barring Frank's stomach contents from rushing in the wrong direction, he could only nod in fearful agreement.
The other players fell silent and the deafening quiet felt to Frank like he had entered a tomb--which didn't bode well for him. He needed to do something--no, he needed to say something. If he was good at anything, it was talking.
"Listen..." Frank stuttered, coughing to dislodge the cold rock of terror in his throat. "We can arrange something--right?"
Across the steamy, body odor-infested air, Howie's egg-shaped face nodded slowly, his poofy lips breaking into a grin.
Frank shivered.
Weren't grins supposed to comfort people? That sure wasn't a look of friendship. Dragons must give unicorns that look before they attack them...
Without warning, just as Frank's thought ended, Howie reached casually across the table and snatched a mountainous fistful of Frank's tunic. He opened his mouth to protest, but already, Howie had lifted him into the air as he stood up.
Howie the Hand stood nearly eight feet tall--small by troll standards, but he was still growing.
Swinging like a horribly mistreated doll, Frank's legs weren't even close to the floor as they made their way through the throngs of thirsty, greed-chasing customers. The Slots of Fun Castle Casino patrons barely gave them a fleeting look as Howie dragged him from the darkly lit poker room and out onto the crowded casino floor, past security headquarters, which consisted of several more massive trolls with matching blue tee-shirts that read SECURITY in black, bold lettering, and on to see "The Man."
Howie wasn't gentle with Frank and he banged Frank into machines, poles, and patrons who weren't watching where they were going. Frank howled in pain and Howie laughed.
Up the center staircase and to the top tier of the six-floor hotel and casino they went, with Frank's mind whirling on how he'd get out of this fix and Howie mistreating him with each opportunity he received.
"You don't screw over Mister Jones," Howie grunted, nearly out of breath, as he reached the top of the sixth floor landing. "You gonna get it from him."
He dropped Frank unceremoniously to the red-carpeted floor with a thump.
Landing on his rear, Frank got slowly to his feet. His backside screamed in protest.
"On the other side of that door is your worst nightmare," Howie said, his voice booming in the rather small foyer in front of the office. He drew his index finger across his neck and pointed at Frank.
Frank didn't need words to know what that meant.
Howie roared all the more in laughter at the expression on Frank's face. "Serves you right, deadbeat!"
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