The Hustler

Vladimir Ross

From a young age, Alexei has loved the art of gambling. It gave his life meaning through all the hardships he endured. When his father mysteriously disappears and his mother is taken ill, Alexei turns to his craft in order to survive. Over the course of his life, he becomes infamous, sitting at card tables with some of the most influential players in the world. He never imagined he could lose everything in one night, thanks to his own lucky charm and a mysterious challenger.

The Hustler

Vladimir Ross

Cover designer Nada Orlic

Editor Nicole Stepanek

Translator Paul Lucken

© Vladimir Ross, 2017

© Nada Orlic, cover design, 2017

© Paul Lucken, translation, 2017

ISBNВ 978-5-4485-0840-0

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

The hustler

In the criminal underworld, money goes by many names. Some use the term “dead presidents.” Others use less creative expressions – moolah, dough. One of the most distinctive names, however, is a rather practical description: bread. Along with the consumers of this bread, bread which is as necessary for life as its namesake, comes a game.

Alexei made his living as aВ gambler. It would be very difficult toВ find aВ game, no matter the rules, principles, or essences, with which Alexei was not completely familiar. AВ phenomenal memory and persistent lifelong training allowed him toВ easily conquer any challenge laid before him. His signature game, and his favored tool ofВ profit-making and self-assertion, was backgammon.

Alexei was eight years old when he first saw his father – a man who, between jails and criminal work camps, had always been gone – a man who went by the name Big. He just turned up one day at the house of his son who, upon rushing to open the door, found himself face-to-face with a gray-haired man. He wore an elegant black suit paired with a brimmed felt hat; he was a man of both presentable appearance and worldly luck. The stranger’s smile formed two rows of gold crowns as he extended a tiny bundle to the boy, and asked, “Well what are you gawking at, boy? I’ll deal with you soon enough, now where’s your whore of a mother?”

The boy went red. He wasn’t prepared to acknowledge such an insult. He turned his attention to unwrapping the gift. Fishing his hand inside the leather pouch he found some ordinary dice. Lyoshka threw the gift into the dustiest corner of the closet, when he was startled by a rude shout.

“You little bastard! I’ll beat the skin off a you, get over here!”

For the first time in his life, Lyoshka was truly frightened. He couldn’t begin to imagine what he should expect from his papa, who had only checkered his life with various obscenities and strange, confusing rules. Summoning up his courage, the boy tucked his head between his shoulders and went into his father’s room. Lyoshka came to a stop before him, peering at the intricate, well-worn frescoes adorning the walls. His father nodded toward the table where lay the already-familiar cubes and asked, “What are those?”

It seemed that those paternal eyes tossed lightning and that his voice boomed thunder.

“I threw them away,” the boy whispered.

“There’s no room for backtalk in my house. I’m only interested in whether or not you know what these are.”

“Cubes…”

“What? Cubes!?” His father almost had a stroke. His eyes bulging, he roared, “Or maybe they’re balls? No? Then remember, you dumbass, normal people call them �dice’.”

Lyoshka sniffed loudly. His father quickly calmed down, sighed, and said warmly, “Son, it’s the bread that you eat. It’s the air that makes you a real man. Never, you hear me, never abuse them. Dice must be respected, and they’ll pay you back in kind.”

Lowering his eyes, the boy fell silent, not quite understanding what his father was trying toВ explain toВ him.

“I see. I arrived in time. Predict the stones!”

“Me?” replied Lyoshka, unsure.

“You and you alone. Come on, no stalling.”

Thinking for aВ momen