“You’re Not Going to Fall For That, Are You?”
with a purposeful grimace- going off one after the other
- played some all-night poker games
- also called “blood sugar”
- if the plane crash hadn’t killed him
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“You’re not going to fall for that, are you?” I asked Lyudmila. She kept glancing back and forth between us, her initial shock and confusion replaced with a purposeful grimace. “Come on,” I said, “listen to him. He’s the one lisping.”
“That proovthe nothing,” Jason retorted. “We’re twinnth! We both lithp!”
“I’m not lisping now,” I pointed out. That Lyudmila was still struggling with the situation had alarm bells in my head going off one after the other. In sunnier times I’d played some all-night poker games with her, so I knew it was hopeless trying to read her expressions. Jason knew it too, which was why he still wore his malevolent grin.
Maybe those card games held the key to convincing her, though. Jason knew about the games, and had probably memorized a tally of who’d won every pot, but perhaps his sources hadn’t explained to him the peculiar house rule of jacks-over-queens, also called “blood sugar” or “sang-sucre,” that had wrecked so many of her full houses through the years. Still, she was always the winningest player at the table.
Before I could offer a poker-related anecdote that would confirm my identity, we were interrupted by a shadowy figure. “All of you, into the basement. There’s no time to waste,” said the familiar, grizzled voice. In silhouette, he could clearly be seen to be missing his left arm. Things were more confusing than ever. It was our great-uncle Jinx Damocles, whose presence in a church would have been surprising even if the plane crash hadn’t killed him.
bonus points for using them in order