“Cheers!”

 

A cacophony of clinking and ahhs filled the pool hall as a half-dozen shot glasses thunked back down onto the bar. For a moment, all the men’s faces puckered from the liquor’s sting. Heartened by their liquid courage, however, they ordered up another round and carried the rainbow of glasses off with them to the billiard table. A veil of smoke hung about their heads as though they were characters in some dream sequence.

 

And a dream it almost seemed as the Stranger approached their table from out of nowhere and, in one swift motion, grabbed a shot from one man’s fingers, threw it back, and slammed its blue cup down on the table’s varnished edge without the slightest change in expression.

 

The guy deprived of his spirit said nothing, only rocked a little on his feet as he watched the Stranger similarly lift a cue stick from his pal’s hands.

 

“Allow me to break, gentlemen,” the Stranger said in a throaty voice that further silenced their own.

 

With a satisfying clack, the multicoloured stripes and solids burst and dispersed. A blue ball already made its way to a side-pocket and sank.

 

Smugly, the Stranger re-chalked the cue’s tip and leaned back down toward the table. As one hand rested on the table’s green felt, the orange glow of the stained glass lamp overhead lit up a bicep tattoo——a voluptuous WWII-era brunette saluting with a saucy wink. The Stranger’s other hand aimed the stick, pumping its shaft upon splayed fingers with the dexterity of a violinist gliding a bow across strings. Then, in one stroke, the Stranger generated a different music: one of balls clapping in contact and men catching their breath in the face of staggering skill.

 

One by one, the Stranger called the shots; one by one, the pockets gulped another ball. And in a grand climax that left the men reeling, the eight ball was pocketed.

 

The Stranger then stood upright and rolled shoulders backward in a confident, cocky stance before grabbing the blue shot glass again and tapping it loudly against the table’s wood.

 

“What’s your poison?” one of the men managed to sputter out, finally finding voice among his mute comrades.

 

“Whiskey,” came that low purr again.

 

As the men tossed their crumpled cash onto the pool table, the Stranger smirked on receiving the drink and raised it in a toast. In the same flash of motion, the shot was downed and the glass slammed. Gathering up the cash in both hands, the Stranger counted and straightened it out, stacking it neatly and folding the pile in half before tucking it into a bra strap.

 

“Gentleman, it was a pleasure,” she said with a salute and a wink. “I’ll take this, too, if you don’t mind.”

 

Snatching the shot glass, she sauntered with swaying hips into the smoky haze and out of sight.