Three--Quincy at War

At this moment in time, Quincy Capers is at war against a country.  The name of that country is Patrik Antonius, and the battleground is a virtual $200/$400 heads up table on Full Tilt Poker.  Originally buying in for $20,000 and losing it with top pair against Patrik’s bottom two pair, rebuying for $40,000 more and losing it all-in preflop with queens against the Finn’s suited ace king—a rivered king that caused Quincy to send his favorite plastic army man ricocheting off the walls—he has since thrown his stop-loss rules into the trash by re-upping for another $40k, doubling through Patrik by flopping back-to-back sets—God he loves pocket threes—and now sits with an $84,000 stack and the biggest decision of the match: whether to shove all in over the Finn’s pot-sized $11,400 turn bet with the following hand:

6d 2d

on the following board:

5d 4c 9s Td

A real live 12-outer with one card to come.  And some of those 12 outs could be iffy.  Naturally the Finn’s six-figure stack has him covered.  “What are Finns afraid of?” he asks himself aloud.

The inevitable answer: Finns are afraid of nothing.  

A man with a white chef’s hat and a white chef’s frock has appeared in the doorway of his bedroom.  He looks like a chef from a child’s dream, if children ever dreamed of chefs.

Quincy finally notices the man in the doorway. “Hey Chef Carl!” Quincy says, instantly ignoring the hand.  Then he remembers that he is on a battlefield, and his frown returns.  “I’ve shoved seventeen turns in a row," he says to himself.  Is he expecting an eighteenth?”

“Sir?”

“What does he have?  Nines?  Finns don’t fold second pair heads up.”

“Dinner is—”

“Oh, cheeseburgers,” Quincy laments.  The timer appears on the screen.  Only 10 seconds left to act.

Chef Carl knows exactly what to say in this situation. “Fuck him.  Get your chips in.  Dinner is ready.”

Quincy again snaps out of his revery.  “Dinner?  Cool.  What did you make?”

“Mac and cheese.  With real cheddar and swiss, as you like it.”

“Sweet!”

Two seconds remain on the timer, but he does not notice.  Almost as an afterthought, he moves the slider to the right, clicks the all in button, and shuts his laptop.  He hops out of bed wondering if there’s any orange soda left in the house.