by Michael A. Arnzen

Johnny Frieze is a gambler whose luck has come crashing to an end. Left with nothing to wager in a desperate card game that's more of a portent than he realizes, he leaves the table and savagely knocks the gold tooth out of his own mouth. The sacrifice is for naught and catapults him, destitute, to a homeless shelter with a cadre of strange down-on-their-luck gamblers. Here, desperation, sweat, and greasy food are balanced by an aura of sacred and profane opportunity in the form of a game being assembled by the enigmatic Winston. If only Johnny can get into the game, he knows his luck will change. But its players have been selected, and only an early "folding" affords Johnny the chance to deal himself in.

The game is Butcher Boy, and each player must create his own suit of cards, forming a deck that will then be used in the actual game. The jackpot is a million, but losers die. Brainchild of wealthy, mysteriously malevolent casino owner Nebo Tarrochi, the game is to be administered by Winston, who provides guidance as the players create their cards with escalating violence using Polaroid cameras. Johnny finds himself trapped—he's in the game, but will it make a killer out of him? What is Tarrochi's ulterior motive? How are the people who come suddenly into his life—the motherly Violet, the shelter cook, the psychotic Preacher, the simple Shorty—connected to the game?

If you're at all squeamish about teeth, you'll find Johnny's removal of his lucky tooth harrowing. But it's only the beginning, for Johnny's deteriorating dental situation becomes a grotesque metaphor for the decomposition of his life and, perhaps, his luck.

In fact, everything is symbolic in this vaguely Faustian tale that also recalls aspects of William Hjortsberg's classic Falling Angel. The lovely cook at the shelter (who herself has ulterior motives) is named Gin, as in the card game. Nebo's last name, Tarrochi, is the Italian plural for Tarots, reflecting his quirky collection and possibly his nature. The book's made up of fifty-two chapters, each named after a card in the deck. And so on. Arnzen's language is suavely, subversively poetic, recalling the best of the noir tradition and still telling a story that bobs and weaves to a climactic "Seventh Seal" type of face-off. Buried in this striking Vegas noir is a meditation on chance, fate, destiny, and fortune. Johnny Frieze seeks his place in the Universe, but invisible forces pull the strings. Play Dead is no gamble—it's a winner of a novel, representing the lyricism possible in our field when an accomplished writer plays his gruesome cards in just the right order.