Darkness. Eighty miles from Albuquerque, and the 3 a.m. air is clear and still outside the tavern save for a chorus of singing tires fading down the highway. Shapes jumble together in the parking lot: Cadillacs, pickup trucks, even a police cruiser, all squatting near a faded frame building whose rusty sign urges consumption of a local beer. A visitor knocks on the front door, mumbles a greeting and is ushered inside and down a long hallway. Another door opens, and for an instant the heart quickens and pupils contract at the sudden glare, the smell of money and the hint of violence.
The room is stale and blue with cigarette smoke but it has a kinetic feel to it, and Danny DiLiberto, Danny D, is the center of attention as he stalks the rich, green-felt billiard table. Men in chairs with paper bags of money between their legs, men perched languidly on tables, men leaning at odd angles in a corner, all stare at Danny D as he considers his next shot. After 30-odd hours, two nights and a day, against a variety of changing partners, at times no longer caring about winning or losing but shooting on instinct, his mind filling with the combinations and possibilities, Danny D now has the shot to end it. His opponent is shirtless and slouching, looking bored and insolent, a young, redheaded boy of about 20, an amateur boxer with teeth too big for his freckled face. Danny D is playing him one pocket, the champagne game to some pool hustlers, spotting the kid two balls. Now he needs one more to win the game and go "five ahead," meaning five games ahead in the series, which means victory in the match. ...