The Gambler

(Flash fiction written for a weekly prompt.)

Gordon R. Howe was the richest man in the world. As he approached his ninety-second birthday, his lovely wife gushed about how he took three dollars and invested it in the stock market in oil way back before most people owned cars. It was a lucky guess he told her and one that shaped the rest of his life.

Gordon's three mistresses arrived at the birthday bash, each with a different cover, and were put into three separate rooms. Then he went to his office and poured himself a large highball as he recalled how his doctor told him he needed a new liver twenty years ago. He was warned that it was rare to find a perfect match. Gordon's charitable foundation ran advertisements and a donor was found. Of course, the girl whose liver matched didn't understand that she couldn't live without her liver, but the check cleared and she showed up at the hospital because she had a nasty drug habit, which was exploited by the police chief with political ambitions after he picked her up off the streets for turning tricks.

Gordon R. Howe owned many powerful men in high standing. The private trips to white sandy beaches full of underage girls in bikinis made his business dealings grow. The richest man in the world wouldn't be charged even when the dead body of his former business partner found its way on his property, because Gordon had his bodyguards take photos of the prescription bottle next to the body. Gordon had no fear of being arrested as the law only applied to those unable to buy good help.

The birthday party was full of famous folks whom Gordon had helped in one way or the other. The women wore diamonds and dresses by the most famous designers. The men took calls during the dinner party.

Gordon felt flush at the end of dessert.

The fabulous life of a gambler was coming to an end as Gordon slumped over at his seat. The lucky life had all ups and no downs, until the moment his soul was severed from his body. A very surprised Gordon R. Howe looked down at his dead self and up at a man holding a contract.

“Remember our deal?” the man said.

“I remember,” Gordon said.

“If you give me your soul, then your luck would never run out.”

“I never signed it! I never signed it!” Gordon protested.

“Your signature wasn't necessary, I have evidence.”

“What evidence?” Gordon asked.

“The evidence of how you lived your life.”