text: Paradise Lost Cool, calm, collected, a hotshot in the mean streets of the Dirty Sock. When he drives his Porsche through Woonsocket everyone knows who he is. Some people love him, others despise him, but all fear him. His name is Luigi, and craps is his game. The city is his Kingdom now, but it’s gonna be mine. Luigi became the Kingpin of the Dirty Sock after he won a game of craps against my pops. His name was Alfonso, and poker was his game. Unlike Luigi, everyone loved my father. At least, that’s what they tell me. Maybe they are too afraid to tell me otherwise. Either way it doesn’t matter. When it comes to power is there any difference between love and fear? What is that you said? Yeah, that’s right, I didn’t think so. Don’t get it twisted, personally I like Luigi. It isn’t his fault or my fault that my old man was dumb enough to get himself killed. Craps wasn’t my pops’ game, it was Luigi’s. Luigi came for the kingdom, so according to rule 30 of the Street Code, it was my old man that could choose the game. He chose craps because he thought he could win any game, at any time, against anyone, and he wanted to prove it against the best craps player in the city. When Luigi placed his life on the table, as per rule 30, my pops had to match. After the bet was made, my old man could only see Luigi as a dead man walking. When my dad lost the game, and Luigi lodged a bullet between his eyes, it wasn’t Luigi who sent him to hell. It was my pops’ own cockiness that did that. Unfortunately for Luigi, in my eyes, I am the heir to Woonsocket’s throne. So, as you can see, I’ve got no choice, I’ve gotta send my dad an old friend. I’ve been practicing craps since my old man died five years ago. I knew back then that Luigi wasn’t dumb like my pops. He would have to accept the challenge, but he wouldn’t choose a game that benefited me. There was only one game that he would play, and it would be a game that he couldn’t lose. Craps. So, I had to learn to be better than him at his own game, and I’m convinced I did that. When dice is in my hand it feels like part of my soul. It’s like I can control them with my mind. If I wanna roll a 12, I’ll roll a 12. If I wanna roll a 7, I’ll roll a 7. Luigi can’t beat me. “Hey kid, wake up, you fall asleep or somethin’?” Luigi yells at me. Okay maybe I exaggerated my confidence. I’m scared. I’m really, really, really scared. I mean yeah I’m a master at craps but honestly, I ain’t sure I can beat this guy. I can see in his right hand that he is shaking the golden dice that he plays with. Behind him is this dime piece rubbing his shoulders. His goons are to the right and left of him holding automatic rifles. The guy is intimidating but I think what scares me the most is he is sittin’ on my old man’s throne. Seeing that golden chair reminds me of how much of a fool he was to play Luigi in craps. Now I’m about to do the same thing. Am I as dumb as my dad? We’ll see. “Ay Luigi, nah, just chillin’.” “Did I ask you to come chill with me?” Luigi snaps back. “Nah.” While he was already impatient, I’m thinking Luigi is now ready to bust my head open. “Then why the hell are you here?” Luigi asks, as his goons’ step forward ready to confront me. At this point, I can’t even look at him. All I can do is look down and stare at the Persian rug I’m standing on. Somehow, even though I can barely breathe, I manage to reply, “Rule 30.” He starts laughing, then the woman and his goons join in. “You know with rule 30, I pick the game.” “Yeah, I know.” More laughter roars from Luigi and his gang. They keep laughing for what seems to be about a minute before he says, “You know I’m gonna pick craps, and you know you’re gonna die?” “Craps it is.” I reply realizing, without a doubt, that I’m as dumb as my old man. “Okay kid, let’s get this over with.” Luigi places a gun on the table, a gun that holds a bullet that will end one of our lives. Then takes the dice he was shaking earlier and throws them against the wall. He rolls a twelve. “You’re throw, let’s see who is rolling, you match the twelve we throw again, if not, your life depends on my dice.” I pull my dice out of my back pocket and toss them against the wall, a twelve. “Looks like we gotta roll again.” “Lucky roll kid”, Luigi replies, but I know it wasn’t luck. By rolling that twelve, I’m starting to believe I can beat this guy. Luigi rolls another twelve, but so do I. We keep rolling twelves for a couple of hours, and as time passes, I can see that Luigi is getting nervous while I’m gaining confidence. Finally, he breaks. I’m not sure if his hand was trembling a bit more than usual or if his palm was a little sweatier than it typically is but he rolled a five. All I have to do is roll something greater than five and our lives will depend on my toss. I call my shot, “Hey Luigi, check this out, I’m gonna roll a seven.” Sure enough I did. Luigi is now having an all-out panic attack. Sweat is pouring from his forehead. His legs are so weak he can barely stand. I think he might even be shedding a tear. He knows he has met his match. He knows his life is in my hands. The Kingpin knows he is gonna die, so I figure I should be courteous and give him the option of how he wants to die. Cool, calm, and collect, I look him dead in the eye and ask, “Seven or eleven?” He doesn’t reply, so I ask again, “Seven or eleven?” Still no reply, so I say “Okay, eleven.” I toss the dice against the wall and roll a seven. Did I mean to roll a seven, no, but sometimes the universe knows what is righteous. It knows that the Dirty Sock is rightfully my kingdom. I grab the gun that Luigi had placed on the table. Luigi turns and faces me. Without hesitation, I shoot him between the eyes, just like how he killed my old man. Sirens wail. “Freeze!” My finger is still on the trigger of the gun. BANG, BANG, BANG. “What’s up pops? What’s good Luigi?” Paradise Lost.