Javier stood and swayed for a moment near the pine railing. He steadied himself, and with as much dignity as he could muster, he walked to the glass door, struggling comically with the screen, and continued down the hall toward the bathroom. The light went on, slapping the opposite wall with a block of color, and then the light was extinguished by the closing door.

“Bad run,” Conrad said, gnawing his cigar.

“Tough breaks,” Tom agreed. “More than one.”

“I guess we’re done,” Conrad said.

“I think so.”

Conrad relit his cigar and set about counting his night’s winnings, shaping the mess of bills into a weathered pile. Tom picked up his cigar as well and replaced his own remaining bills in his wallet. The money organized, Conrad peeled off a chunk and tucked it in his pocket. Then, without a word, he took the remaining pile and slipped it into Javier’s coat, a windbreaker lined with pilly fleece still draped on the patio chair.

“What are you doing?” Tom said. He was in the midst of relighting his stubborn cigar yet again, and the sweet taste of the skin clung to his lips. The tobacco caught the flame and his mouth filled with languid smoke.

“Nothing,” Conrad said, pulling on his own cigar. “He was stupid to night. The cards were against him. He should have quit a long time ago.”

“You can’t give it back,” Tom said.

“Eh,” Conrad said, and swatted the air with the back of his hand, causing whorls in the smoke cloud. “Payment for the pig.”

The two sat for a moment and Tom watched Conrad with growing contempt. On the surface the gift looked generous enough. But underneath was something vaguely insulting, too. They’d established the rules, hadn’t they? Someone had to lose. Just because Conrad wanted to make himself feel better was no reason to rob Javier of his hard-earned dignity.

Tom leaned over and reached into the coat pocket and found the wad of bills. He pulled them out and tossed them back onto Conrad’s lap. “He’s a man,” he said. “He took his chances. This is yours.”

“Fuck it,” Conrad said, cradling the bills. “Let him have it.”

Tom shook his head. He stretched his leg under the table and pushed the metal chair with Javier’s coat out of Conrad’s reach. “It’s insulting.”

Conrad sat there with the money in his hand, more puzzled by Tom’s actions than anything else. “Come on,” he said. “It’s not a big deal. It’s just a little cash.”

“Don’t do it,” Tom said, an edge entering his voice. “I’m telling you.”

Conrad glanced at the glass door. There was no movement inside. He took a deep breath, rounding his shoulders, and exhaled through his nose. He folded the bills and let them rest on his thigh, capitulating to Tom by degrees.