In the heart of a city lit by flickers of neon, two sharks, sharper than any switchblade, circled each other across a felt battlefield.
Finster Gillman, a blue shark in a matching zoot suit, his cigar glowing like a coral ember, eyed his opponent with a predatory glint.
Across the table, Mako Mallone, a sleek bull shark in a sharkskin suit, his smoke forming miniature cyclones as he puffed away, returned the stare with a poker face carved from toothy granite.
The room hummed with the low growl of jazz and the shuffling of checks, atmosphere thick with the scent cigar smoke.
The stakes, as always, were high, a double fistful of fins and a 1959 cherry red Cadillac convertible. This wasn't just poker; it was a duel of wills played out in whispered threats over top of a straight flush. And tonight, in this backroom brawl, one of these sharks would bleed.