The Trophy by burrlypup

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Grant nodded and smiled at the bouncer. He walked past the muscle bound man feeling superior, looking him straight in the eyes, only averting them up to see the meatheads scalp shining under the industrial lighting. The bouncer leered a mean look back, yet Grant maintained his composure.


As the door closed and locked behind him, Grant arrogantly threw his long dark hair over his shoulder and wrapped his fingers around the tips, then let them fall to their full length just below his waist.


‘Amateurs' he thought to himself as he saw his latest victims. A bunch of old businessmen looking for a thrill, throw away a couple hundred thousand dollars. Only Grants last name secured him a spot at the table, the only thing left of his inheritance he hadn't spent. Except for the family card counting legacy.


Grant sat between old Sam and Charlie, across from a new fellow, Brett. His partner, unbeknownst to Sam and Charlie. Brett was a handsome fellow, not as crooked as Grant, but willing to play along so long as he got his cut of the money. He was taller than Grant, with a mop of blond curls and blue eyes with a golden tan, almost as buff as the bouncer.


The game was simple: Beat the two older men, take their money and then play out the game and split the profits. Charlie kept an eye on Grant, much closer than any other player. Grant would catch him staring at his ponytail and smile.


The scheme was going well. Sam bowed out after losing fifty grand, and the two had another seventy grand from Charlie, who seemed to be putting down five grand each hand, and losing it all. Grant noticed he had a suitcase next to him, so he figured he'd play until Charlie went broke.

Brett and Grant were sitting on $100 grand each when Brett cut out. Grant was about to end the night there when Charlie offered one more hand.Brett had left and Grant had enough money to fund his extravagant lifestyle for a few more weeks, and could have easily walked out the door.

"Come here, Grant. I have a proposition to make you.”
Grant turned around and faced the man, noticing his deep blue eyes and grey crewcut. Despite losing 150,000 in two hours, he seemed very charismatic and friendly. His suit jacket hung casually over the back of his chair and his tailored white shirt fit his trim and fit body.

"You're a very good player, Grant. I'd like to up the wager considerably.” Charlie told him.


"I'm interested. What do you have in mind?” Grant quickly shot back, grinning at the thought of taking this old man to the bank.

"For this next hand, I will wager a million, against a wager of your hair. All of it.” Charlie smiled as the thought of losing his hair sent shivers down Grants back. His hair!?

"That's a strange wager. Why my hair?”

"It's your source of arrogance. From the moment you walked in, I could tell. You could prove me wrong and walk away with a million dollars with nothing to lose but hair.” Grant turned red and sat down.

"So we are in agreement, you win, you take a million dollars,” Charlie casually placed stacks of $100 bills on the table, "and if I win, your hair is mine.”

"I accept the challenge.” Grant said authoritatively as he shook Charlie's hand over the mounds of cash on the table. The deck was shuffled and reshuffled and each man had his cards. Grant's stomach turned sour as he realized he had no compatible aces left up his sleeve, so he laid his cards down. He looked across the table and Charlie was grinning ear to ear.

"It appears I win.” Charlie said as he cleared the stacks of money off the table. "And I came prepared.” Charlie opened his suitcase, and instead of more cash, it only contained a barbers cape, clippers, shaving cream and a straight razor. Grant grimaced as his fate was sealed. Before he could make a run for the door, the bouncer blocked it and gave him a very smug smile. The bouncer took a seat and would be watching the whole process.

Grant was soon caped up and his long ponytail reached the floor behind him. But not for long.

"This is some beautiful hair, Grant. It will make a great trophy.” Charlie said as he pulled the long hair to its full length. Charlie took some shears from his case and placed them above the tie that bound the ponytail at Grants nape. The first crunch caused Grants eyes to tear up, and the second made him shudder. It took several snips, but finally Charlie lifted the ponytail and placed it on the table, where the money just was minutes before.

Before he could digest what had just happened, the low purr of clippers resounded in Grants ears.

"Please don't!” Granted shouted as Charlie ran them over his head. His golden locks fell to the floor as Charlie gave him a #00000 induction cut. It was suddenly cold, yet the clippers felt hot as they traced his naked scalp until no hair was left standing. Charlie relished rubbing his hands all over the pelt of velvet that would soon be gone as well.

The bouncer continued to smile and rub his own head, "Looks like you're getting a smoothie rich boy!”

Grant nearly vomited once the shaving cream was lathered on his head. Charlie took a long stroke from his crown to forehead, then wiped the razor off on a towel on Grants jacket. That did it. Grant erupted into silent sobs, convulsing until Charlie shook him and gripped his neck tightly, "Don't want me to knick your pretty scalp, boy? Stay still!”

Grant regained his composure but couldn't believe what was happening. If only he'd left with Brett! As soon as Charlie finished shaving with the grain, he placed more lather and shaved Grants head against the grain. Charlie's hands felt so strange gripping his hairless head, Grant thought.

Charlie turned to the bouncer and said, "Water.” The bouncer filled up a bucket and doused Grants head with it, soaking him in the process. Charlie pulled a towel out and dried his head, afterwards pouring aftershave and rubbing it all over his scalp. It burned but then cooled. Grant was completely broken as the bouncer lifted a mirror so he could see his new look.

Grant looked awful. He had spent a week in St. Thomas and had a golden tan. The contrast between his tan face and blindingly white scalp was humiliating. After having spent his twenties growing hair to his knees, it was shaved clean within ten minutes. His hands reached to feel the smooth skin of his scalp. The bouncer gave Grants head a long rub with his rough hands. His thick fingers massaged every square inch of the denuded scalp. He taunted Grant, whispering "nice haircut” in his ear.

"Great game, Grant. We should play again when your hair grows back in ten or so years.” Charlie laughed as he placed his ‘trophy', Grants ponytail, into his suitcase and strutted past the bouncer, handing him a wad of bills and slapping him on the ass. Grant grabbed a handful of his hair off the floor, only to have the bouncer lift him up and carry him outside, locking the door. Without his jacket. Grant pounded on the door and the bouncer opened.

"Looking for this?” the bouncer held out the jacket. Grant grabbed it from him and began to walk off when he noticed the money was missing from his pockets. Grant turned and the bouncer was at the door counting stacks of money, grinning.

"I'll make sure old man Sam gets his money back, buddy. And all these extra high cards you hid up your sleeve.” The bouncer slammed the door and that was the end of it.

Grant lost all his money, his name would be worthless, and he lost all his hair. He sat on the curb rubbing his head until a Bentley pulled over and the door opened.

"I have another proposition for you, Grant.” Charlie looked straight at Grant: shivering, without a cent to his name and completely bald. Grant had no choice but to accept, so he got in and the driver sped off.

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