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The 8 ball ricocheted off the side rail before careening against the pocket and rolling back, coming to a stop several inches from the 9 ball. With the cue ball resting at the far end, the three balls made an almost perfect line on the long right side of the table. "Good luck," he snarked as West took his place.

West ran a hand through that mop he called his hair. Danny watched, squeezing his shoulder, as his opponent tried to figure out his next shot. West couldn't use the 9 to combo the 8. If he did, the rules gave Danny ball in hand, meaning he could place the cue ball somewhere that would allow him to easily sink the 8. He couldn't bank the cue ball off the rail to avoid the 9 ball. There wasn't enough room between the 9 and the right rail, and the only angle he could use to bank it on the left rail was occupied by the side pocket.

West's only option was to take a three-rail safety - bouncing the cue ball off of three rails and hoping the cue ball came to rest somewhere disadvantageous to Danny. The only problem was, any place on the table other than where the cue ball was right now was a better shot for Danny. He had inadvertently painted West into a corner, all but guaranteeing Danny a clear shot on the 8. From there he'd sink the 9 and walk away with twenty grand of West's money.

Anticipation gave way to frustration as Danny watched West take his measure of the table. He walked around the table, leaned over it, and checked the distance with his stick. It was dead quiet in the Topaz Lounge. Only the fact that the floor was carpeted would have prevented a dropped pin from being heard. West's eyes darted back and forth while he studied the balls. "Come on," Danny finally said with exasperation. "Take the three-rail safety and let's get on with this!"

"No," he responded quietly. "No, I think I'm gonna win it here."

"Bullshit," Danny scoffed. "You can't make that shot."

West looked directly at Danny. His expression caused Danny to take a single step backward. He had seen confidence in West's eyes, often moments before he'd crush his spirit before he could get any ideas. For the first time, however, what Danny noticed was a complete and utter lack of fear. "I can make that shot," West insisted. "As long as you don't have another allergy attack. This place have a jump cue?"

Danny snorted as Serena handed West a short wooden cue. Jump cues were used to hit the cue ball from above at a high angle, propelling the ball in a short arc over other balls. Danny had never practiced them. No pool player worth their salt did. They were gimmick shots that tore the felt surface more often than they sank balls. No surprise, then, that West was going to try one.

As West tried to line up his shot with the jump cue, Danny suppressed a hearty chuckle at the sight of his opponent wincing in pain as he pressed his right hand on the table. West would have to hit the cue ball dead on to jump it over the 9 and still give it enough force to impact the 8 ball just right and knock it into the corner pocket. But it was obvious to even a blind person that West didn't have the experience to make the shot with his left hand. He tried turning his body, he tried leaning over the end of the table, he even tried sitting on the edge of the table, keeping one foot on the floor while trying to aim the jump cue from above. All to no avail.

Danny's shoulder complained as he shifted his arm slightly. He needed to get out of here and get it looked at, but not before watching West hand him the game. "You're stalling," Danny called out when West tried a different angle.

"He's got a point, sir," Serena politely added. "Take the shot or else you forfeit your turn."

"I could make the shot if he'd just shut the fuck up," West mumbled.

"The fuck you say?" Danny barreled towards West, who turned to face him with that stupidly neutral look on his face. "What the fuck did you say?"

"I said, I could make the shot if you'd just shut the fuck up," West casually repeated.

"Bullshit. Nobody could make that shot."

West glanced down at the table. "How much is it worth to you?" he asked, chewing on his lower lip.

"How much is it worth?" Danny rubbed his chin. "I'm already going to fly out of here with seventy-five thousand of your money, but that's not enough humiliation. When you miss this shot, I want you to shave your head." He casually flipped one of the strands of West's messy brown hair, causing him to flinch. "This fucking rat's nest you've called your hair since high school? You take it clean down to the scalp."

"Can I make a suggestion?" Both men turned, as did the remaining patrons, as Amy raised her hand in the air. "You don't go to a salon to get shaved, Garrett. You go to her." Amy gestured smugly towards Sadie. "Sadie shaves you bald, live on her Twitch channel, and uploads the video to Youtube. So for the rest of your life, all someone has to do is search 'Garrett West' if they want to see you get humiliated."

"Head only," Sadie shot back, "or full Brazilian? I don't want to get demonetized."

"Don't be gross," sneered Amy.

"You brought it up." Sadie put her chin in her hand and looked directly at Garrett. "You can make that shot, right?" she inquired. He answered with a short, swift nod. "Fine. He misses this shot, I'll announce on my stream tomorrow night that he's getting shaved and then do it on my Tuesday show. And what does Garrett get when he makes this shot?"