the street and dove for the door.
âNo, Miss Cooley, Iâm looking for a comment from you,â the reporter said, grabbing my forearm in such an intense vise grip that I wondered if they didnât send reporters to ambush boot camp.
âI canât imagine why.â I smiled tightly. âThere are so many other players more worthy of your attention than I am.â
âI donât think so,â the reporter answered, gleefully pointing at a sign held by a teenager that read: Bee Cool, BURN YOUR CARDS OR BURN IN HELL. âWhat do you say about that?â
âThis country is built on free speech, although that right is restricted to not injuring another with that freedom. An inflammatory statement such as that would certainly be considered injurious and thus not protected by the first amendment, wouldnât you say?â
âAnd what would you say, Miss Cooley,â a booming voice spoke from the back of the crowd, resonating so deeply I wondered for a moment if he didnât have a megaphone. I could see the coiffed snow white hair move through the protestors who suddenly parted like the Red Sea. âIf I told you that you are injuring millions of people, young and old, throughout this God-given world of ours by your sinful decision to play poker and flaunt your body in such a way as this?â
The Reverend Phineas Paul. I had to admit he was impressively charismatic, although I had to say his tan looked more artifical in person. Fighting him head-on would only play into his hand so I hit where he didnât expect it. After all, we hadnât been introduced, had we? âI would ask who it is accusing me.â
He blinked, temporarily speechless, but recovering quickly, extended his hand. I took it as he said, âI am the Reverend Phineas Paul, supremely blessed to lead the Church of the Believers.â
The camera was taking it all in. I dropped his hand as soon as I politely could, resisting the urge to wipe it on my shorts. Although it hadnât been sweaty, his shake had left me feeling somehow soiled. He smiled knowingly at me. âAnd your answer to my question? What would you tell these impressionable young girls here today about the devilâs work you do?â In a grand sweeping motion, he indicated the teenage girls holding signs around us.
âI would tell all of you to choose what you want to do in life and do it lawfully, honestly and to the best of your abilities.â
âYou are saying, Miss Cooley, that anything sanctioned by secular law is right?â Paul demanded. âHow about alcohol? It isnât against the law to drink an entire gallon of whiskey at once but is that right ?â
Heâd hit me where it hurt. Frankâs alcoholism continued to be one of the heartaches of my life. I looked at Paul, wondering if heâd just gotten lucky in his barb. Of course, he had. He was a professional verbal attacker. He used scare tactics for a living. I shrugged off the paranoia and dredged up a polite smile. âI suppose you are right. I shouldnât be telling people what is right and wrong, that is your job. Iâll just live my life and stay out of everyone elseâs.â
âAh, but it isnât that easy, Miss Cooley, with fame and fortune comes responsibility and you must face the fact that your private life is now public. What you do affects millions of others. Choose the path of righteousness before it is too late!â
Shaking my head, I pushed away, through the crowd and to the front door of the Fortune where a phalanx of deputies and casino security surrounded me and escorted me through the lobby to the registration table for the 2008 World Series of Poker.
As I was giving my name to the brush, I looked to my right and saw Dragsnashark standing amid the railbirds. He shot me a weighty glance, ducked his head and disappeared down the hallway.
Six
A ccording to the registration desk, Ben hadnât checked
âNo, Miss Cooley, Iâm looking for a comment from you,â the reporter said, grabbing my forearm in such an intense vise grip that I wondered if they didnât send reporters to ambush boot camp.
âI canât imagine why.â I smiled tightly. âThere are so many other players more worthy of your attention than I am.â
âI donât think so,â the reporter answered, gleefully pointing at a sign held by a teenager that read: Bee Cool, BURN YOUR CARDS OR BURN IN HELL. âWhat do you say about that?â
âThis country is built on free speech, although that right is restricted to not injuring another with that freedom. An inflammatory statement such as that would certainly be considered injurious and thus not protected by the first amendment, wouldnât you say?â
âAnd what would you say, Miss Cooley,â a booming voice spoke from the back of the crowd, resonating so deeply I wondered for a moment if he didnât have a megaphone. I could see the coiffed snow white hair move through the protestors who suddenly parted like the Red Sea. âIf I told you that you are injuring millions of people, young and old, throughout this God-given world of ours by your sinful decision to play poker and flaunt your body in such a way as this?â
The Reverend Phineas Paul. I had to admit he was impressively charismatic, although I had to say his tan looked more artifical in person. Fighting him head-on would only play into his hand so I hit where he didnât expect it. After all, we hadnât been introduced, had we? âI would ask who it is accusing me.â
He blinked, temporarily speechless, but recovering quickly, extended his hand. I took it as he said, âI am the Reverend Phineas Paul, supremely blessed to lead the Church of the Believers.â
The camera was taking it all in. I dropped his hand as soon as I politely could, resisting the urge to wipe it on my shorts. Although it hadnât been sweaty, his shake had left me feeling somehow soiled. He smiled knowingly at me. âAnd your answer to my question? What would you tell these impressionable young girls here today about the devilâs work you do?â In a grand sweeping motion, he indicated the teenage girls holding signs around us.
âI would tell all of you to choose what you want to do in life and do it lawfully, honestly and to the best of your abilities.â
âYou are saying, Miss Cooley, that anything sanctioned by secular law is right?â Paul demanded. âHow about alcohol? It isnât against the law to drink an entire gallon of whiskey at once but is that right ?â
Heâd hit me where it hurt. Frankâs alcoholism continued to be one of the heartaches of my life. I looked at Paul, wondering if heâd just gotten lucky in his barb. Of course, he had. He was a professional verbal attacker. He used scare tactics for a living. I shrugged off the paranoia and dredged up a polite smile. âI suppose you are right. I shouldnât be telling people what is right and wrong, that is your job. Iâll just live my life and stay out of everyone elseâs.â
âAh, but it isnât that easy, Miss Cooley, with fame and fortune comes responsibility and you must face the fact that your private life is now public. What you do affects millions of others. Choose the path of righteousness before it is too late!â
Shaking my head, I pushed away, through the crowd and to the front door of the Fortune where a phalanx of deputies and casino security surrounded me and escorted me through the lobby to the registration table for the 2008 World Series of Poker.
As I was giving my name to the brush, I looked to my right and saw Dragsnashark standing amid the railbirds. He shot me a weighty glance, ducked his head and disappeared down the hallway.
Six
A ccording to the registration desk, Ben hadnât checked
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