Happy…

IMPROBABLE

A Novel
by Adam Fawer
PART I

VICTIMS OF CIRCUMSTANCE

A gambler, be he one who bets on horses or sports events,
on casino games or raindrops running down windowpanes,
is someone who wagers unfavorable odds.
A poker player, if he knows what he is doing,
is someone who wagers favorable odds.
The one is a romantic, the other a realist.
—Anthony Holden, poker player

It is almost always gambling that enables one to form
a fairly clear idea of a manifestation of chance;
it is gambling that gave birth to the calculus of probability . . .
it is, therefore, gambling that one must strive to understand,
but one should understand it in a philosophic sense,
free from all vulgar ideas.
—Louis Bachelier, mathematician
CHAPTER ONE

“It’s twenty to you, Caine. In or out?”

David Caine could hear the words, but he couldn’t respond; his nose wouldn’t let him. The smell was unlike anything he had experienced before—a perverse stew of rancid meat and rotten eggs floating in a vat of urine. He had read on the Internet that some people killed themselves because the smell got so bad. At first he didn’t believe it, but now . . . now it didn’t seem so crazy.

Even though he knew that the smell was a by-product of a few confused nerve cells, it didn’t matter. According to his brain, the smell was real. More real than the cloud of cigarette smoke hovering over the table. More real than the greasy scent of McDonald’s that still hung in the air from Walter’s midnight snack. More real than the smell of sweat mixed with despair that permeated the entire room.

The smell was so bad that his eyes had begun to water, but as bad as it was, Caine didn’t hate it as much as what it represented. The smell meant that another one was coming, and judging by the intensity of the vomit-inducing, brain-crying stench, it was going to be a doozy. Worse still, it was coming on fast, and of all the times it could happen, he couldn’t afford to have it happen now. Caine squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in a vain attempt to hold off fate. Then he opened them and stared at the crumpled red-and-yellow box of fries sitting in front of Walter. It pulsed before his eyes like a cardboard heart. Caine turned away, suddenly afraid he might puke. “David, are you okay?”

Caine felt a warm hand on his shoulder. It was Sister Mary Straight, an ex-nun with oversize dentures that were older than he was. She was the only woman at the table—hell, she was the only woman in the whole club except for the two emaciated Romanian waitresses Nikolaev kept around to make sure no one ever had a reason to get up. But Sister Mary was the only female player. Despite that everyone called her “Sister,” she was more like a surrogate mother to the men who lived down in the cellar or, as the Russians liked to call it, the podvaal.

Technically, no one truly lived in the podvaal, but Caine was willing to bet that if he asked any of the twenty-odd men crowded around the tables where they felt most alive, they’d say it was here, in the cramped, windowless basement fifteen feet below the East Village. All the regulars were like Caine. Gamblers. Addicts. Sure, some had fancy offices on Wall Street or important-sounding jobs in midtown and business cards with raised silver lettering, but they all knew none of that mattered. All that mattered were the cards you were dealt and whether you were in.

Every night they returned to the cramped basement beneath Chernobyl, the Russian supper club on Avenue D. Although the bar was dirty, the games Vitaly Nikolaev ran were clean. When Caine first laid eyes on Vitaly, with his pasty white complexion and thin, girlish arms, Caine would have guessed he was a CPA rather than a Russian mobster.

But all his doubts disappeared the night when Vitaly Nikolaev beat the living shit out of Melvin Schuster, a harmless old man who picked the wrong club to cheat. Before Caine knew what was happening, Nikolaev had transformed the paunchy grandfather’s face into a red, pulpy mess. No one ever cheated at the podvaal after that.

And yet this was the place Caine chose to call home. The minuscule studio he had on the Upper West Side was just where he slept, showered, and occasionally shaved. Every now and then, he would get a girl to come up, but that hadn’t happened in a long while. Not surprising, considering the only woman Caine had any interaction with was Sister Mary.

“David, are you all right?” Sister’s question brought Caine back to the world of the living. He blinked his eyes and gave Sister a quick nod, which was enough to make his nausea return.

“Yeah, I’m cool, Sister. Thanks.”

“You sure? Because you look a little green.”

“Just trying to earn some green,” Caine said with a halfhearted grin.

“Are we through coffee-housing, or you two wanna get a room?” Walter sneered through yellowing teeth. He leaned in close enough for Caine to smell the onions on his breath. “Twenty. To. You. In. Or. Out?”

Caine looked down at his hand and then again at the up cards, stretching his long, sinewy arms over his head of unruly black hair. He pushed the nausea back down his throat and forced himself to ignore the smell as he decided what to do.

“Stop running the odds and bet,” Walter said, picking at a hangnail.

Caine was known for doing the complex math in his head necessary to calculate the odds of nearly anything. The only variable that Caine couldn’t quantify was the probability that his opponents were bluffing, but he tried nonetheless. Caine felt like Walter was purposely trying to rush him, so he gave the old man a bored look and continued analyzing the board.

The game was Texas Hold ’Em and the rules were simple. Each player was dealt two cards, which was followed by “the flop” when three cards were turned over for everyone to see. Then the dealer would flip over a fourth card, known as “the turn,” and then the fifth and final card, known as “the river.” There was a round of betting after each flip, and then the players revealed. Whoever had the best five-card poker hand—out of the five shared cards in the middle and the two cards in his hand—won.

The beauty of the game was that at any given moment an intelligent player could look at the board and know the best possible hand that could be made. When Caine looked at the flop, he didn’t see three cards, he saw hundreds of probabilities. The probability that he cared most about was whether he had a shot of winning. With his current hand, Caine judged that probability to be high. He was holding a pair of bullets—an ace of hearts and an ace of diamonds. The flop consisted of an ace of clubs and a couple of spades—the jack and the six. Caine’s trip aces was the “nuts”—the highest hand possible on the board—but there were still a lot of outs.

He began calculating the odds of every possible scenario. For the few precious seconds that Caine ran the numbers, the neurons that kept insisting that the air was filled with the smell of burning flesh were mercifully silent.

Anyone holding two spades had a total of four spades—two in his hand, two on the board. That person would need another spade on the board to complete his flush. Caine did the math, his mind twisting and turning the numbers with the ease of a child singing her ABCs.

There were a total of thirteen spades in a deck, so if someone was holding two spades, at most there could only be nine spades left (in this case the “outs”). Assuming someone had the two spades, the probability that one of the next two cards would be a spade was 36 percent. High, but then again the odds that someone had been dealt two spades in the first place were only 6 percent per player. Caine turned the mental key in the lock to get the final answer, the odds of getting dealt two spades and having another appear on the board. He sighed as the number appeared in his head, spinning around like a glorious neon sign—only 2.1 percent. He could live with that.

He repeated the exercise, this time calculating the likelihood of someone having only one spade in their hand and then completing the flush—barely 2.0 percent per player. The odds of someone hitting the flush with clubs instead of spades was even tinier—0.3 percent per player. Nothing to be concerned about.

The straight was more worrisome. With an ace and a jack showing and not another face card or a ten in sight, that meant there were twelve outs that would make a straight possible (any one of the four kings, queens, or tens). Still, there was only a 3.6 percent chance that someone was already holding the two other cards necessary to make the straight. Theoretically, the straight flush was also still alive, but this was so unlikely he didn’t even bother to calculate the odds.

Since Caine already had trip aces, what he really needed was another ace, a jack, or a six. If he got the ace, he’d have quads. A jack or a six would give him the nuts full house, either aces over jacks or aces over sixes. With seven outs (one ace, three jacks, and three sixes) the odds of getting any one of the necessary cards was—Caine blinked, his blood pumping—28 percent. Not bad.

He looked at Walter, trying to read the geezer’s watery eyes, but there was nothing except for a dull weariness Caine recognized from his own reflection in the mirror. That and a nervous yearning, an intense desire to play, play, play. And then it hit him again, another wave of the foul stench. A hot stream of bile bubbled into his mouth, but he swallowed it back down.

Caine knew he should hit the john, but he couldn’t. Not in the middle of a hand when he had the nuts. No fucking way. Even if he was bleeding out his eyes, there was no way he would walk until the cards were raked. Caine reached down and blindly tossed four chips into the pot.

“Raise twenty.”

“Call.” Sister Straight was in—Caine hoped she had paired up on the jack and wasn’t chasing the straight as she was known to do.

“Call.” Shit, Stone was in, too. As always, he sat still as a statue. He almost never moved, but that wasn’t how he got his nickname; he earned his alias because he was a fucking rock. Stone always played by the rules, never stayed in on a whim or a hunch, and always ran the odds. No way would he be in unless he was in line for the straight or the flush.

Caine cursed himself for not betting higher before the flop to get out all the straight seekers. They wouldn’t have stayed in if he had hit it harder out of the gate. But the smell was clouding his brain, making him play like crap. He tried to tell himself that no, he had just bet light to sucker them in because he was greedy, but that wasn’t true. It was the smell. The smell, the smell, the smell. If he closed his eyes, he could picture the piles of rotting meat covered with wriggling white maggots.

Walter fingered his chips, flipping them over his knuckles with a tired ease. For a second Caine thought Walter was going to raise, but instead he just called. Yeah, they’re all just waiting for the turn, holding their own until they had a better idea of what was coming.

The next card was a joyous sight. To Caine it was prettier than a Playboy centerfold and more beautiful than the Grand Canyon at sunset—an ace of spades. With a pair of bullets now on the board and another pair in his hand, he had quads.

The only hand that could beat him was a straight flush, but hitting it was unlikely. The next card would have to be a king, a queen, or the ten of spades, plus someone would need to have the other two royal spades necessary to complete it. No way.

Still . . . Caine did a quick calculation in his head, his lids drooped to hide his darting eyes—the odds of being dealt any of the necessary three spade combinations (king-queen, king-ten, or queen-ten) was 442 to 1. The probability of getting dealt one of those pairs and hitting the third card was 19,448 to 1. Yeah, there was no way.

The pot was his; now it was just a question of how big he could make it before the hand ended. If he bet too hard, he might scare off all the fish. But if he decided to be a possum and slow-play, then he might waste his killer hand. He had to bet a Goldilocks—not too big, not too small . . . just right.

“Twenty.” Walter threw in four red chips and leaned back, as if preparing for a long wait.

Caine looked down at his chips and slowly picked out a pair of greens. “Make it an even fifty.”

“Out.” Sister Straight said in disgust, throwing down her cards with one hand while fingering the silver cross around her neck with the other.

“Me, too,” Stone said. He didn’t move, as his cards were already facedown in front of him. Both were probably looking for a straight and figured that someone else had hit either a boat or a flush on the turn.

“That just leaves you and me,” Walter said, absently munching on a cold french fry. “Let’s say we make it interesting. Raise another fifty.” His voice was as oily as his skin. His chips clinked into the middle of the pot.

Caine tried to block out the smell and focus. What was Walter doing? He could be completely full of shit, but Caine didn’t think so—not with a pair of bullets on the board. Plus, there was something about the man’s arrogant smirk that made Caine think he had something. Then Caine knew—Walter had either a pair of jacks or a pair of sixes in his hand. He had a full house, probably jacks over aces—the only problem for Walter was that his boat wouldn’t beat Caine’s four of a kind.

If Caine hadn’t felt so nauseous, he would have smiled. When he was vomiting in the stall after the hand was over, at least he would be comforted with a nice pile of chips. He concentrated on making his voice sound normal, even though each word that exited his mouth tasted like curdled milk.

“Fifty more.” Caine threw in a hundred-dollar chip. The matte black circle caught Nikolaev’s eye, and he sauntered over to watch the action. Walter tossed in a black of his own and stole two greens for change. Then the dealer flipped over the river—a king of spades—and Caine’s stomach did a little flip of its own.

With an ace, king, and jack of spades showing, the straight flush was officially alive and kicking. He looked back at his hand and then at the board, trying to ignore the stench. He took a long swig of his Coke to chase it away, but it was no use. Think, think, think. Don’t focus on the smell, focus on the cards, the numbers.

That was the way. The numbers would help him. They would be his guide. He recited them in his mind, putting all his energy into the litany of probability. He had four of a kind. Quads. What did that mean?

The smell, the awful smell, it was everywhere.

No, focus. Focus on the numbers.

There are almost 134 million possible hands that can be made from seven cards. Of those 134 million hands, only 224,848 result in a four of a kind. Hence there is only a 0.168 percent chance of getting quads—595 to 1.

What about the straight flush?

There are only 38,916 seven-card combinations that result in a five-card straight flush. Only a 0.029 percent chance. One in 3,438 hands.

But what about getting them both at the same time? How many combinations was that? His head was spinning. He couldn’t think. How many combinations? Not a lot. Small. Tiny. Insignificant. The math was beyond him in his current state. All he knew was that it was some small subset of 38,916 hands that would also include quads. Probably something like 5,000 hands. Five thousand seven-card combinations out of 134 million possibilities—26,757 to 1.

There was no way. No fucking way . . . but possible. Christ, the smell was killing him. He closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, everything would be back to normal. But when he raised his lids, the world looked like a reflection in a funhouse mirror. Walter’s haggard face stretched from floor to ceiling. The dark circles beneath his eyes were the size of Frisbees. His mouth could swallow a twenty-inch television set.

“Child, are you sure you’re all right?”

The voice was a million miles away. Caine turned his head, and the whole room jerked so suddenly that he almost fell over.

“Whoa, big fella.” It was Stone—he had reached out and grabbed hold of Caine’s arm. At first Caine didn’t understand why, but then he realized he was sitting at a forty-five-degree angle to the left. He grabbed the felt table with both hands and righted himself.

“I’m okay,” Caine gasped, “just a dizzy spell. Sorry.” His voice sounded like it was coming from a long tunnel.

“I think you should lie down for a spell, dear.”

“First he’s got to finish the fucking hand,” Walter said, then turned to Caine. “Unless you want to fold.”

“Don’t be such a cocksucker, Walter. Can’t you see he’s sick?”

“Cocksucker? You pray to Jesus with that mouth, Sister? I mean—”

“Walter, be quiet!” Sister Straight said the last with such authority that Walter snapped his mouth shut. Then she leaned in front of Caine. “Do you want to lie down on the couch for a bit?” Out of the corner of his eye, Caine could see Vitaly Nikolaev hovering over the Sister’s shoulder. He didn’t look worried—he looked pissed.

“No, no, I’m good,” Caine said, willing all of the strength he had into his voice. “Let me just finish up the hand.” Before Sister Straight could respond, Caine pushed one black chip into the pot. “One hundred,” he said. Now that the last card had been dealt, the game was pot-limit—the size of the raise was limited only by the size of the pot.

Walter stared at Caine, trying to size him up. If Caine had any tells, he was sure that his acute illness had hidden them. All Walter would see from his inspection was that Caine looked like walking death.

After a second, Walter muttered over his shoulder. “Vitaly, gimme a count.” Nikolaev walked over to the table and expertly stacked all the chips in the pot. Five blacks, eight greens, and fifteen reds—a total of $775.

“I see your hundred and raise you the pot,” Walter said as he pulled ten hundred-dollar bills from the money clip resting by his elbow. “That’s $875 to you.”

Walter wanted Caine to think that he had hit the straight flush, but there was no way. Not with those odds. Walter was just trying to buy the pot—but Caine wasn’t going to let him. He looked down at his paltry stack of chips and then at the slip of paper beneath. It was a credit line for fifteen grand, to reward Caine for always paying his debts promptly. When Nikolaev had given it to him, Caine swore to himself that he would never use it unless he had an absolute sure thing. If four bullets didn’t qualify, he didn’t know what did.

He nodded at Nikolaev, but he needn’t have bothered. Nikolaev had already signaled his mountainous bodyguard, who immediately placed a stack of fifteen purple chips in front of Caine. If he called the $875, it would be over in five seconds. If he lost, he would be in the hole to Nikolaev for a grand—not desirable, but he could scrape it up in a few weeks. Caine tried to fool himself into thinking that he was considering this option, but he knew it was a lie. He couldn’t fucking call. Not with quads. Not after Walter had tried to steal the pot from him. Calling was no longer an option. He had to raise.

Caine slowly pushed four purple chips toward the pot, taking back five blacks for change. “That’s $3,500. Raise the pot back to you.”

There was a quiet gasp from Sister Mary. Even Stone was impressed—Caine could tell by the tiny crease that appeared in the man’s brow. All the air sucked out of the room. Even the god-awful smell subsided for a moment as Caine met Walter’s watery eyes.

“$2,625 to you, Walter. In. Or. Out?”

Walter just smirked. “You’re really gonna kick yourself tomorrow.” He nodded at Nikolaev, and ten purple chips were placed in front of him. Walter pushed them all forward, along with five blacks, which he tossed into the pot one at a time.

“Pot-raise back to you,” Walter said. “You callin’?”

Caine felt his heart sink. There were no more raises left. This was it. He had to put in $7,875 to call. If he lost, he’d be in the hole eleven grand to Nikolaev—which was about $10,600 more than he had in his bank account. That was a serious debt to a very serious man. At least Caine could put to rest the question of whether or not he still had a gambling problem. His Gamblers Anonymous sponsor would be so proud.

But none of that mattered. If he folded his four bullets on the chance of taking the pot—now bubbling over with $15,750—he’d kill himself.

“I’m in,” he said with a halfhearted sigh, his stomach tying itself in a double knot. He slid eight purples into the pot and then said, “Show ’em.”

Caine could feel the whole table lean forward in anticipation to see whether Walter really had the queen-ten of spades to make the straight flush or if he was full of shit. Walter turned his cards over one at a time. When Caine saw that the first was a queen of spades, he knew Walter had it. But still, he watched transfixed as the old man flipped over the black ten. Royal straight flush. It was the nuts—the only possible hand that could have beaten Caine’s quads. He had lost everything. It didn’t seem real. The odds were so low as to be next to impossible.

Caine tried to say something but couldn’t. He succeeded in moving his mouth a little, but before a sound could escape his throat, the smell washed over him, swallowing him up like a tidal wave. He could feel it seeping into his skin, pulsing through his veins, pushing in through his nose, his mouth, and his eyes. It was worse than ever before. It was the smell of death.

The world went black as Caine tumbled to the floor. In the split second before he slipped into unconsciousness, Caine discovered an emotion he was surprised to find—relief.

Finally we are the champions….Spania 1 – Germania 0

Tot ce pot sa spun este ca inca mi-e frica de Schweinsteiger:-S…:)))..Astept momentul asta de 8 ani:X…Si pana la urma Spania a meritat titlul.Pot sa spun cu mana pe inima ca a fost cea mai buna:X…Si a fost ceva de genul Jose Armando…sau mai bine Fernando Torres:D….A marcat cand Spania a avut nevoie el:X….Raul i will always love you:(:X:X

Meet me by the water by Rachael Yamagata

Would you please meet me by the water, baby
We’ll have a really good time
Would you please meet me by the water, baby
‘Cause I can’t get you off of my mind

I’ve been thinking everyday about you
Don’t fit anywhere into my life, but that’s okay
‘Cause I think I might be right for you
And because of that, I’m not scared at all
And everyone says I’m crazy
And everyone says I’m a fool
Would you meet me by the water tonight
‘Cause I’m ready to break all the rules

Please don’t leave me standing
With my heart in my hand
I can’t last here
I’m breaking down,
And no on understands why I got here
But I knew from the very first moment
That I met you
You’d be the one

Would you meet me by the water tonight
Would you please fall asleep
Holding my hand
‘Cause I’ve got everything in store for you, baby
If you’ll be my man

Bella…great movie..you should see it:)

Almost Lover by A fine frenzy

Your fingertips across my skin
The palm trees swaying in the wind
Images

You sang me Spanish lullabies
The sweetest sadness in your eyes
Clever trick

I never want to see you unhappy
I thought you’d want the same for me

Goodbye, my almost lover
Goodbye, my hopeless dream
I’m trying not to think about you
Can’t you just let me be?
So long, my luckless romance
My back is turned on you
I should’ve known you’d bring me heartache
Almost lovers always do

We walked along a crowded street
You took my hand and danced with me
Images

And when you left you kissed my lips
You told me you’d never ever forget these images, no

I never want to see you unhappy
I thought you’d want the same for me

Goodbye, my almost lover
Goodbye, my hopeless dream
I’m trying not to think about you
Can’t you just let me be?
So long, my luckless romance
My back is turned on you
I should’ve known you’d bring me heartache
Almost lovers always do

I cannot go to the ocean
I cannot drive the streets at night
I cannot wake up in the morning
Without you on my mind
So you’re gone and I’m haunted
And I bet you are just fine
Did I make it that easy
To walk right in and out of my life?

Goodbye, my almost lover
Goodbye, my hopeless dream
I’m trying not to think about you
Can’t you just let me be?
So long, my luckless romance
My back is turned on you
I should’ve known you’d bring me heartache
Almost lovers always do

Let me take you there by Plain White T’s

I know a place that we can go to
A place where no one knows you
They won’t know who we are
I know a place that we can run to
And do those things we want to
They won’t know who we are

Let me take you there
I wanna take you there

I know a place that we’ve forgotten
A place we won’t get caught in
They won’t know who we are (they won’t know, won’t know)
I know a place where we can hide out
And turn our hearts inside out
They won’t know who we are

Let me take you there
I wanna take you there
Let me take you there
Take you there
Take you there
Ooohhh
Ooohhh
Ooohhh
Ooohhh

I know a place we’ll be together
And stay this young forever
They won’t know who we are

Let me take you there
I wanna take you there
Let me take you there
Take you there
Take you there
Ooohhh

We can get away to a better place if you let me take you there
We can go there now cause every second counts
Girl just let me take you there
Take you there

SEMIFINALA 2: Spania 3 – Rusia 0

Maybe i didn’t love you quite as often as i could….

“Love is a many splendid thing. Love lifts us up where we belong. All you need is love!” Movie Moulin Rouge

I’m yours by Jason Mraz

Well you done done me and you bet I felt it
I tried to be chill but you’re so hot that I melted
I fell right through the cracks
and now I’m trying to get back
Before the cool done run out
I’ll be giving it my bestest
Nothing’s going to stop me but divine intervention
I reckon its again my turn to win some or learn some

I won’t hesitate no more, no more
It cannot wait, I’m yours

Well open up your mind and see like me
Open up your plans and damn you’re free
Look into your heart and you’ll find love love love
Listen to the music of the moment maybe sing with me
Ah, la peaceful melodys
It’s your God-forsaken right to be loved love loved love love

So I won’t hesitate no more, no more
It cannot wait I’m sure
There’s no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I’m yours

I’ve been spending way too long checking my tongue in the mirror
And bending over backwards just to try to see it clearer
But my breath fogged up the glass
And so I drew a new face and laughed
I guess what I’m saying is there ain’t no better reason
To rid yourself of vanity and just go with the seasons
It’s what we aim to do
Our name is our virtue

I won’t hesitate no more, no more
It cannot wait I’m sure
There’s no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I’m yours

Well no no, well open up your mind and see like me
Open up your plans and damn you’re free
Look into your heart and you’ll find love love love love
Listen to the music of the moment come and dance with me
ah, la one big family ([2nd time:] ah, la happy family)
It’s your God-forsaken right to be loved love love love

I won’t hesitate no more
Oh no more no more no more
It’s your God-forsaken right to be loved, I’m sure
Theres no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I’m yours

No I won’t hesitate no more, no more
This cannot wait I’m sure
There’s no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I’m yours, I’m yours