Double or Nothing

The scene opens up to a smoky, dimly lit room with a shot of a poker table in the center. Two men sit on opposite sides of the poker table; Frankie to the right, and an unknown person to the left. They both appear to be dressed in tailor made, black suits with black fedoras on their heads. The room seems completely dark, save for their figures, the poker table and the light shining down on the table.

The camera focuses on a frontal shot of Cocheese, whose narrow eyes peer up from 5 playing cards he holds out in front of him. The shot then changes to the opposing person, a scrawny, 20 something black male that some may remember as his good friend Rich.

The shot is aerial now, revealing that it's a very high stakes poker game, with a whole lot of money in the center of the table. Yes, money, not poker chips.

Another shot change to Cocheese, waiting for his friend to decide if he wants to bet some more or fold. He says and does nothing, looking completely emotionless.

Now the shot is back on Rich. Rich is obviously seeming indecisive. It's written all over his face.

The focus is on Frankie now as he speaks. "What up, slim? You ain't tryin to bet? C'mon. This is double or nothin, after all."

Now the angle is showing the two of them at the table. Rich shakes his head, folding. He places his cards face down on the table. The wooden chair he's sitting in can be heard sliding against the floor as he stands up and walks away from the table.

Frankie laughs a little, putting his cards face down and reaching both arms forward to scoop up the cash.

The camera now fixes on him, face and part of his upper body visible over the stacks of money in front of him. With an exasperated sigh, he speaks. "Sad, isn't it?" He shakes his head. "It's double or nothing, and motherfuckers just seem like they want to fold..."

He picks up a stack of money and starts to fan himself with it. It looks like a solid stack of $100 bills. "Maxwell folded like an accordion when I gave him The Takeover through a table, and he hasn't been the same since. And now Devin KONSTANTINE finally breaks his silence but it sounds more like a fart in the wind than anything worth hearing. A shame." He looks to his upper left, with a smug look on his face as he fans the money near his face, then moves his head in the opposite direction, fanning the other side of his face. He tosses the money carelessly now onto the poker table.

"I'd say I'm disappointed, but I was kind of expecting it. Maxwell, by now, is keeping up to his namesake and acting "Perfectly Sane" by not saying another word. And KONSTANTINE... Well, he's too busy being on Maxwell's dick to even acknowledge me much in this match. And I guess that's to be expected, too. Isn't Devin a bitch's name?" He raises his brow. "I know I've fucked a bitch or two named Devin." He shrugs. "Anyway. I'm happy for that, you know? I'm honestly happy for that and I'll explain why." He leans forward, folding his arms across each other on the edge of the poker table. "It's because he doesn't expect much out of me, see. He expects a lot out of Maxwell, because the man already embarrassed him a while ago. Gave his ass his first loss. And then what happens? Maxwell runs into me, and I smack the dog shit out of him. So like I said before, Konstantine. What the FUCK" He slams his right hand onto the poker table, which makes a loud smacking sound and causes the stacks of money to jump a little, with some of them falling over. "makes you think you can even STEP in the ring with me let alone try to rip this thug apart? Huh? HUH?! Answer me that! Since you're a motherfucker that seems to have all the answers!" He rolls his eyes and leans back in his seat. "You got some damn nerve thinking I don't matter in this match. I'd almost give you the benefit of the doubt but you should know better, Mr. Fuckin Know-It-All, that my name rings out from here in the South to fuckin Japan! I'm not going to sit here like some dumbass and talk about how many title reigns I've had, but you should know me. You should know my name! And you should know that here, my name matters. You should know enough to know that in that ring, I'm a threat, not some gnat that you can easily swat away while you focus on your little love affair with Max. Max and Devin. Maxine and Devin. Goddamn... I'm going to be in the ring with two bitches. And ya both look like bitches too. Holy shit!" His eyes go wide.

He dramatically throws himself forward onto the pile of money, moving his hands like a kid making a snow angel, causing the stacks to spill off and around the table. "Goddamn. Let's look at Devin. He looks like he plays guitar outside Silver Spring Metro for bus change like shit. Ol' hippie ass boy. Bet his beard smells like a squirrel's nutsack like shit. He wants the championship but what he needs is a barber like shit. Table cloth for a shirt ass boy. He shops at Whole Foods for yogurt like shit. His favorite movie is The Notebook like shit. Ol' soft ass boy. He the type of motherfucker to cause a scene cuz there's too much cream in his venti mocha frappalatte like shit."

He says all this without a hint of a smile or any laughter from himself, as if he truly means that about Konstantine and what he's about to say about Maxwell. "And don't think I forgot about your ass Maxwell. Motherfuckers hide in your beard when they wanna escape the police like shit. Here hold your head over my car so I can squeeze your greasy ass hair for an oil change like shit. Bitches shave your chest hair once a year so they can make wool blankets for the winter like shit. This motherfucker looks like Weird Al Yankovich fucked John Wayne Gacy like shit. Ol' crazy lookin motherfucker looks like a Rottweiler like shit."

He picks up another stack of money. "Spittin so much fire in here, I need to cool down. Goddamn." When he's satisfied, he tosses the money as carelessly as he did before onto the table. "Maybe I ain't the nut in this situation. Maybe Max and I should give that title to you KONSTANTINE with all that talk about pet projects and children. Shit, the way you talk, makes me concerned that you're the type of motherfucker to lead children away to a sex dungeon. I should've seen it before with that pedo beard you're rockin. Stupid motherfucker, too. Sat there and said you was gonna talk about me but you didn't say shit. Only thing you ever said about me was shit that's already true. I'm a thug. I'm a poison spewing degenerate. People are focused on me. You're goddamn RIGHT people are focused on me! I'm gonna be their next champion! Okay. Let's break it down like this. How many matches has Maxwell lost? One. To who? Me. How many matches have YOU lost? One. To who? Maxwell. How many matches have I lost? None. Exactly."

Frankie adjusts his fedora and leans back in his seat, slumping down a little. He laces his fingers together over his stomach. "Y'all talk and talk but at the same time ain't got shit to say about me. It's boring. Makes me wanna pass out in my seat right hea'..." His fedora falls a little, like it's trying to cover his eyes so he can take a siesta. He pushes it up with his finger, then brings his hands together again. "You saw me earlier, bust my own goddamn head open again. It's to prove to you that I don't really give a shit. I'm going to crush the BOTH of you! So you can run and think I'm just going to be the third wheel in this match, but really, I'm the top dog. I already broke that down. You say it's gonna be a bloodbath. It is. And right now, I feel like Dracula. Fellas..."

He leans forward, licking his lips as his fedora falls past his brow, almost concealing his eyes, saving only his left one. "What you guys got against me, right now, is the same thing you're going to end up with in points after our match. What you've got against me, is what I have in" He starts to poke his finger downward onto one of the cards. "this here poker hand..." He moves to turn them over, but the camera isn't able to get a good view of the cards.

"Double or Nothin, boys, and right now you've got double of what you got against me... Heh..... see you when I see you....."

A figure emerges from the darkness. It's Cinnamon, with her crimson hair tied in a braid. Over her head is a red mesh headband with a red feather in it. She looks like she's dressed like someone out of the 1920s. It's a flapper girl red dress, fringe style with 6 layers, and a red feather boa around the middle of her back and falling to rest over each arm at the elbows. In her right hand, she holds a slimline cigarette holder, at about theatre length which is anywhere from 10 to 14 inches. She brings the holder to her lips and takes a puff, blowing a ring of smoke at the camera while Frankie smirks. Frankie makes a gun motion with his right hand and pulls back on it as if he's pulling the trigger.

The camera now focuses on the cards as if we're watching them from Frankie's viewpoint. The cards are:

Ace of spades
2 of clubs
4 of hearts
9 of clubs
Queen of diamonds.

He had nothing.

Max and Devin have double of nothing.