I ask real casual like, “Can I join your game?”
I sense the four guys looking at me, trying to gauge just how much of a chump I may be.
“Have any cash, Little Rick?”
The inquirer’s name is Kevin, and the fact that he talks for the table tells me he’s still the reigning alpha dog of this old gang.
“Yeah,” I reply acting sheepish, hoping they’ll think I’m ripe for fleecing. “I have a few bucks.”
Blowers excuses himself, “Say Mister Rick, while you play, I’m gonna go hike the mountains.”
He turns and leaves.