Jimmy looks around and contemplates his next move.
The guy in the brown fedora tips the hat to shield his eyes as he turns toward a scantily clad waitress. He orders a rye on rocks.
The beatific young woman with bright green eyes, the eyes obviously not their natural color, adjusts her Phillies cap so that it holds back more of her sleek, black hair.
The big dude wearing an away Jeter jersey taps his fingers on the table and bobs his head slightly, moving to whatever rhythm flows from his iPod. He gives Jimmy a stern, serious look.
Jimmy considers each of them.
Fedora man seems like he’s been around the block and will likely walk away if he smells trouble. Jimmy doubts he’ll stick around for a showdown, but doesn’t want to be wrong.
Green eyed girl’s sneaky tactics don’t scare Jimmy this time. She’s the one who should be afraid, he thinks, of all the possibilities he may be concealing.
Big Jeter’s fidgeting and occasional staring could indicate that he just wants this one to end quickly, or perhaps he has grand aspirations to make this his big moment? Jimmy’s not sure, but decides to go with his gut.
Conscious of keeping his face frozen, Jimmy slides his chair closer to the table, rolls up his sleeves, leans forward and, bluffing, declares himself, “all in.”
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