He has her body.
He is entitled to it.
It’s what he wanted all along, his reason for engineering the financial straits that led she and I to his bar, to the gambling den in back, to his table.
The air was heavy with cigar smoke and desperation for that last hand, where, on the ropes, I set her driver’s license, a crude chit, on the pile of money.
Two hands. A spectacular one for me. An unbeatable one for him.
I am given a whiskey for the road then escorted out.
He extends his hand to her. Into it she places her dress, as instructed.
He has her body, as he is entitled. And when she finally opens her mouth to him, it stays open.