It was a little past ten o’clock. The little room was dimly lit and smoky. There was only one lamp, which shed its light onto the round table which took most space of the room.

Sitting around the table, just in the border of the light and shadows, were three men. Every one of them was dressed in the same way, a gray jacket and a hat which overshadowed the eyes. One of them had leaned backwards, lifted his patented leather shoes onto the table and was currently smoking a cigar with absent gestures. Another one, an older man, had leaned forward, doing his best to get the dim light of the lamp to fall onto the pages of a book in his lap. The third man was toying with two dices, fiddling them around his fingers and occasionally throwing them onto the table, only to grab them back into his fist again.

Though every one of them did his best to relax, the atmosphere of the room was like a spring stretched to its limit.

"Kearney is late again", the man with the cigar stated.

"Ronny, you really are a master in announcing obviousnesses", replied the man who had been toying with the dices. Once again he threw his toys onto the table and then grinned as twelve black eyes turned to watch the ceiling.

"That man’s starting to get on my nerves", Ronny growled, ignoring the other man’s ridicule with habituated indifference. "He’s always late, strides inside like the innocence itself, cleans the whole table and leaves. A lot less is needed to get a man angry."

"You said it", the dice man said. "Sometimes it craves me to – "

"Quiet!" snapped the gray-haired man who had been reading the book. "Both of you!"

A moment of silence followed. The two younger men stared at the third man, who casually continued to read. One second was like a minute. Then somebody knocked at the door.

"Come in!"

The hinges, which were in a serious need of care, shouted their protests and a fourth man stepped inside. He, too, was dressed in gray just like all others. "Good evening, gentlemen. Sorry that I am late."

The oldest man snapped his book shut. He summoned a friendly smile onto his wrinkled face. "Kearney! We have been waiting for you. Please, sit down so that we can start."

Kearney answered the friendly smile in kind. He sat down onto a vacant chair and started to rummage through his pockets. Ronny lifted his feet off the table and leaned forward. He, too, attempted to draw a smile onto his face, but it was more like a grimace. "Do you have enough of cash, Mister?" The tone of his voice was exaggeratedly honeyed.

"I believe so", Kearney replied. He finally found what he had been looking for and produced a box of cigarettes which he placed onto the table. Soon it was followed by a lighter and finally a bundle of bills.

"I did not know that you smoke, Mr. Kearney", the oldest man said. He was tapping the cover of his book with his fingers in the rhythm of the dance music which could be heard from somewhere above.

"Well, I tried to stop it, Mr. Greyroad", Kearney said. He drew out a cigarette and lighted it, puffing a lot of smoke in the process. "I succeeded in keeping a grip of myself for almost two weeks, but then the lure became too strong." He drew a lungful from his cigarette and blew a circle of smoke. Then he reassumed his friendly expression. "Well? Who will shuffle this time?"

"I believe it’s my turn", the dice man stated.

Mr. Greyroad took a deck of cards from his pocket and pushed it over the table. "Shuffle well this time, Erikson."

"By the way", Kearney said as Erikson started to work with the deck, "I believe I will have especially good luck tonight." He waved his cigarette upwards with a casual move. "Up there, just outside, I decided to have a peek into the future. I took out my deck, shuffled and drew a card."

"Well, what did you get, Mister?" Ronny asked, throwing a finished cigar over his shoulder. He still believed that there was a smile on his face.

Kearney answered the grimace with a genuine smile. "The Ace of Hearts", he replied.

Erikson started to serve the cards.

* * * * * *

It was raining heavily. Kearney pressed his hat deeper over his head and made sure that the magnificent bouquet of roses was in the shelter of his coat. Not even the miserable weather could erase the smile from his face. Just like cards had foreseen, the game had been quite favorable for him. Quite favorable.

It took ten minutes before an empty taxi happened to drive by. Kearny leaped forward from the doorway of the florist’s and waved his hand. "Taxi! Taxi!"

The black car stopped, its brakes screeched and wailed. Kearney opened the door and scrambled inside.

"Hey there", the taxi driver said cheerily, "Where’re you headed?" For a moment he eyed the handsome bouquet which appeared from its shelter. "To home where the wife is waiting, eh?"

"Well… in a way. To the orphanage of the Pine Street. Do you know the place?"

"Of course! I’m a taxi driver, ain’t it? Pine Street it is, then!" The driver pressed his foot down.

For a long moment Kearny watched the raindrops clinging in the window. They dribbled downwards, joined other raindrops and finally disappeared from the sight. No matter how hard it rained or how windy it was, there were always some tiny drops, too light to flow down. They just sat there, all alone, perhaps waiting for some larger raindrop to happen come by and draw them along downwards… downwards, somewhere better place than a wet car window.

"Or maybe not", Kearney suddenly said. "Do you know any good sweets store nearby?"

The driver guffawed. "I’m a taxi driver, ain’t I!? There’s just a fitting sweets store for all your needs just a few blocks down. Shall we stop by there?"

Kearney nodded. "Let us make a little loop."

"Righy-ho!"

* * * * * *

It was once again a little past ten o’clock. Kearney stepped down from a tram and started walking down the dark street while humming the theme of My Fair Lady. It was a splendid night, the weather was warm and the stars covered the cloudless sky, glittering like diamonds on a black velvet cushion. Kearney thought that it was an excellent time for a little evening walk. He was in no hurry. As a matter of fact, a little delay was his trademark in a kind.

He stopped into the familiar street corner and eyed around him. Everything looked just like it had been before. Dance music could once again be heard from the club in the other side of the street. Kearney snorted as he listened to the laughter that echoed over the street as the finer class wasted their money to luxurious entertainment.

Well, it was their style, Kearney thought, shrugging. Every man and woman, girl and boy, had their own style. He pulled his deck from the depths of his pocket and shuffled it with experienced fingers. Then he drew out a card and turned it over.

Kearney nodded to himself and returned the King of Hearts into the deck.

* * * * * *

Ronny threw the night’s last cigar over his shoulder and sniffed irreverently.

"Thank you, gentlemen. It was a very delightful game, as always. It was tomorrow, the same place and the same time, wasn’t it?" Kearney stood up and set his chair neatly back into its place.

"As always", Mr. Greyroad said, smiling. "Good night."

"The same to you", Kearney replied. He hid the bundle of bills into his pocket and carefully closed the door behind him. After the furious squeak the only thing that could be heard was the faint dance music. Then Greyroad shook his head with disbelief. "How does he do that?"

"I don’t know and I don’t care to know", Ronny growled. "But one thing I know. That man annoys me."

Erikoson’s dices clattered onto the table. "Did you get that what you were talking about yesterday?"

"I said that he annoys me", Ronny answered. He drew a small pistol, shining with its newness, out of his pocket. "He really does."

* * * * * *

The fog had already risen to wrap the streets into its gentle embrace as Kearney stepped out from a taxi. Once again it was a little past ten o’clock. Laughter, buzz of voices and music could be heard from the other side of the street. Everything was just like it had been before. Or at least that was what Kearney was hoping for. He stopped under the same lamp-post as earlier and, leaning against the sturdy metal pole, started reflecting a certain event that had occurred ten-something years ago.

When an elder gambler known only as the Jack o’ Aces had invited young Kearney, who had still been starting his career, into a night of cards, the eager youth couldn’t have been soaring higher in the heavens. There had been only three players: Kearney himself, Jack o’ Aces and a third one, whose name the young gambler had never learned. This stranger had been quite familiar with the cards. Every time he had been a little late, then he had stridden into the room as innocence itself, simply cleaned the table and gone away again.

Kearney still remembered that feeling, when the nameless gambler had politely thanked for his and Jack’s money. The first thing that every gambler learns is to prepare for a sudden loss of his or her wallet’s weight. No, losing all that money itself hadn’t felt so bad. It had been the way Kearney had lost them. The unknown gambler had seemed to win every night all too easily. The stranger hadn’t seemed to earn the youth’s money.

He had stolen them.

Kearney still remembered that feeling, that feeling of loss. Every time when the stranger had extended his hand to take stakes from the table, the young gambler had felt a furious urge to grab that arm and simply bite it off.

Kearney drew out his deck of cards. He shuffled carefully and drew a card. He hesitated for a moment before turning it over. The gambler watched the card for a moment. Then he sighed, shrugged and nodded to himself. His hand disappeared back into the pocket of his coat, took out a pen and pressed its tip onto the back of the card. After thinking for a moment he wrote:

After considering the matter for another moment he moved his pen under the word "deliver" and added: "For the reward of five pounds." Then he turned the card over and wrote another, shorter message:

The fog had gotten thicker. In the other side of the street the celebration had started to warm up, the area of bar counter was probably already full of waiters who received orders, looked hastily for the right bottles, mixed martinis and bowed politely while receiving impressive tips.

Kearney stared at the card for a moment. Then he nodded once more. Throwing the card over his shoulder the gambler turned and headed over the street, toward the familiar club.

The Ace of Spades drifted through the air, whirled in a gentle breeze and disappeared into the mist.

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