I nodded and took the drink. Joe mixes them right—just the way I like them. They make me feel good inside. "How about a little blackjack while we're waiting?"
"Sure. They're late, anyway."
I got first ace, and dealt. We traded a few chips back and forth—nothing exciting—and on the ninth deal Joe got blackjack.
He shuffled, buried a trey, and gave me an ace-down, duck-up.
"Hit me," I said contentedly.
Joe gave me another ace.
"Mama! ... hit me again."
A four.
"Son," I told him, "you're in for a royal beating. Again."
A deuce.