Pokergeist (11 page)

Frank shook his head, throwing the apple core into the trash. “I’m not hungry yet. It’s early.” She ignored him as she set up two slices of bread and started cutting cheese.

“And Manny?” Frank persisted, coming up behind her.

“What are you talking about?” she asked impatiently. The aroma of whole wheat toast frying in butter permeated the room.

“We were talking about the kids. Manny, you set different expectations for them. Make me one of those too, please.”

Harriet started on the second sandwich. “Who knew? I thought bipolar was a retirement duplex in Alaska. Who knew?” she repeated, disappointment souring her face. “I had such plans for them.”

“You have different standards for the kids.”

“Telly may be the middle child, but he’s always been the most reliable of the three of them—at least until this poker business. Telly always did his homework, cleaned his room. He’s dependable, so the job is going to have to fall on him. He doesn’t have a choice.” She placed the golden sandwiches on a plate and leaned over to watch him eat.

“That’s not especially fair.” His mouth was full.

“Who says life is fair? Was it fair for you? Or me?” Harriet demanded. “You think I didn’t want to do whatever I felt like? There were bills to pay, dinners, shopping, homework, drum lessons, soccer practice. Life is about choices—could I get a manicure or have a cleaning woman? Or braces for Telly? Dance for Giddy? You think I didn’t know how you hated doing the lawn or painting the house? It’s what we did. It’s what
he
has to do. Don’t get me started on your parents, Frank—your sister did nothing for them. The whole thing fell on us when your mom broke her hip. ”

“That’s the point. He’s not married, and he doesn’t have kids; if he wants to spread his wings, now’s the time.”

Harriet shook her head. “You put the crazy ideas in his head, Frank. He’s supposed to work, and that’s it. He was the smart one, the responsible child. We spent more on his education than the others’. The only wings he should spread are on the turkey he’s going to make for Thanksgiving when he invites the family over. It’s what you did. It’s his legacy.”

“He can’t have us in that shithole he’s staying in.”

“He won’t be there for long. He made big money, and he’ll do it again. He is going to get a job. He’s not trying hard enough. Oh, I know he says there’s nothing around. He’s doing the same thing when he didn’t want to take calculus.”

Frank laughed. “The summer of mono.”

Harriet smirked. “He had us all fooled. But in the end, he took calculus, got an A, and ended up taking the advanced course.”

“But a taxi, Harriet?” Frank looked at her.

“I know Telly. He will drive the cab, and within a week a job will turn up. Maybe he’ll meet someone in the car, and they’ll see his potential and give him a job.”

“Like a corporate fairy godmother?”

“Oh, Frank.” She hit his arm. “You’ll see,” she said with a nod. “Something will turn up. It always does.”

Frank shook his head and sighed. No matter how old the kids were, it seemed he still had to worry about them. All of them. “What’s for dinner?” he asked as they wandered into the living room to watch the traffic on the street.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

C
lutch followed a group into the Culinary School of Nevada. He cruised the hallways, floating in the crowd, going into the different classrooms. He stood for a good twenty minutes watching a French chef slice up a radish so that it resembled a flower. There was a room for pastry, one with breads, and an auditorium where they were discussing the nutritional value of meals. The school was a hive of knowledge, and the one thing Clutch was sure of was he wanted his daughter to attend. It would be good for her. He sauntered into the administrative offices, sliding a folder with admissions information under his jacket. It disappeared with him out the door.
Why didn’t I know about this before? It’s not like there are instructions like my poker books, are there?
he wondered. Not that it was all his fault.
It was Jenny’s fault too,
he huffed. He didn’t see her making any plans for their kid.

Clutch felt himself pulled downtown toward the courts. He hated courts. The last time he’d entered a courtroom, he had ended up serving time for almost six years. He closed his eyes and thought about that day almost forty-eight years ago. Some things get lost to time, and some things are so razor sharp they continue to cut you with their wicked edges. He could see that courtroom in his head just like it was yesterday.

Buster sat in the front row, squeezed into a white plantation suit, his sweat-stained Stetson hanging on his fat knee. Buster’s red face was drenched with perspiration, and he wiped it with a rusty, wrinkled handkerchief. Every so often, Clutch glanced at his grandfather’s angry face. Alf, his cousin, sat next to the old man, shaking his head.

It was a sure thing—all he’d had to do was drive. They were hitting a fur storage; he wasn’t actually stealing anything. Nobody knew North Las Vegas like Clutch Henderson. It was really a favor, he’d told Buster. “I owed the guy.”

“You stupid ass,” Buster replied. “I wasted all that time teaching you the game, but you never learned nuthin’.”

“I’m the best player this side of the Strip,” Clutch boasted. “I could outplay you anytime. When this is over, I’ll show you.”

“You ain’t nothing but a punk. You don’t know how to play poker…never could. I pumped you up to make you feel good, but you are just a two-bit hustler.”

“I’m good.” Clutch told him, his voice full of hatred.

“If you were good, why’d you get involved with them?” Buster pointed to the other defendants.

“I owed too much.”

“You owed too much ’cause you played like shit, you cocky motherfucker. You think you know everything. I wouldn’t waste another minute on you. You ruined your grandmother’s life,” Buster told him. “You and me, we’re finished. You’ll never be anything, Oliver, cause you break everything that falls into your clutches.”

Alf laughed, “So that’s why you call him Clutch, Gramps?”

“I call him Clutch because he squeezes everything worthwhile in life until there ain’t nothing left but dust.” Buster’s gold bracelet winked in the sunlight that streamed in through the tall windows. “You like my Series bracelet, loser? Well, enjoy it from there, because that’s the closest you’ll ever come to it.”

“I’ll win one on my own when I get out,” Clutch called after him, stung by his grandfather’s fury. “You called me Clutch ’cause I knew how to clutch the cards right!” he shot back with venom.

Buster turned, his voice equally loud. “You’ll never win a gold bracelet—you don’t have the skill, and I’ll never teach you another move.”

“I can outplay you anytime, Grandpa. Name it and I’ll kick your—”

Buster spun, his face gleaming with sweat under the harsh lights. “The next time we play poker it will be in hell, when the devil comes to take his due.”

His grandfather turned his back, leaving Clutch to be cuffed and led away. He never saw him again.

Buster was furious, but he’d paid for a good lawyer. Clutch served half the sentence and got out with good behavior.

Both Ruth and Buster died while he was serving time, and the bracelet, along with the rest of Buster’s estate, went to his cousin, Alf.

“I loved that bracelet,” he mused. “It was supposed to be mine. Not to mention the old house and its contents.” With his mind on the past, he didn’t notice that the courtroom was beginning to fill, with Ginny and some fancy suit on one side and Ruby and Jenny on the other.

“All rise…” Clutch automatically stood as the judge entered the courtroom. She was attractive, he thought, her red hair pulled off her head in a bun, half-moon glasses hanging from a chain that rested on her black robe.

The proceedings began with Jenny’s lawyer. He was just a kid. He noticed Ruby had changed into a black dress; the face jewelry was gone, and her hair was neatly combed. The boy wonder stood in his ill-fitting suit and argued that the case was cut and dried—Oliver and Jennifer were legally married according to state laws. They were there to determine the rights of the parties in respect to the division of Oliver Henderson’s estate. As there was no will, the laws of succession applied, he told the court reasonably. Jenny sat, her legs crossed, all wounded dignity. She was the mother of Oliver’s only child; at the very least, the lawyer said, the money should be held in trust until Ruby came into her majority.

“That’s all very touching,” the other lawyer began, “but Oliver and Jennifer were married on paper only. It was a well-known fact that they both desired to be divorced. Gineva Garcia was Clutch Henderson’s common-law wife. They had lived continuously together for over ten years. Clearly, Jennifer lost all her rights based on their separation.”

“Just because Gineva Garcia was his girlfriend doesn’t entitle her to anything,” Jenny’s lawyer stated. “You can’t be a common-law wife to someone who is still married. That’s bigamy.”

“Jennifer Henderson had Mr. Henderson arrested and took out a restraining order against him. Is that the action of a loving wife?”

“Loving or not, Your Honor, the fact is she was indeed still his wife.”

“So was Ginny Garcia.”

“Objection. As previously stated, you can’t be a common-law wife to someone who is married.”

“Sustained,” the judge said in a mildly bored voice.

Clutch looked at all the players. Jenny had always been a good actress. Occasionally, she took out a crumpled tissue to sob prettily into its depths.

His daughter and the boy lawyer kept exchanging long, hot looks at each other. He walked behind him, bent down, and whispered, “She’s jailbait, pal. Not even seventeen yet.” Wait, maybe she was seventeen…what year was she born, exactly? Clutch couldn’t seem to remember. “Don’t matter, son. Underage is underage.”

Ruby appeared human today. Twice, he reached forward, ready to smack the lawyer in the back of his head when he ogled her legs. Man, but that skirt was short.
What is her mother thinking?
he wondered. He walked over to her and tugged her collar over her slight cleavage.

Ruby sat up, startled, when she felt her shirt pulled together over her chest.

Ginny was skittish; she kept looking at a man in the rear of the room. He looked familiar, but Clutch couldn’t place him. Most of the time, Ginny kept her head lowered. He caught her giving Ruby a sweet, apologetic smile, which was heartily returned. Clutch saw Ginny sigh deeply and then look at the man in the back again. Her furrowed brows told him she was nervous. He wandered over, taking a seat next to the man, studying his profile. Who was this guy, and why was he watching Ginny?

Court was adjourned. Ginny hurried out, the man following her out the courtroom doors.

Clutch sauntered after them, speeding up to move in front of them. The man caught Ginny by the arm. “I’ll take you home,” he said.

“No.” She pulled her arm away. “Don’t you see where things are going? They are never going to award that money to me. You have to stop.”

“The kid might get it.”

“Yes, and she’s underage, so it won’t be available for a couple of years. Who knows what will be left once his wife gets hold of it. She’ll be the trustee. Give it up, Victor.”

“Victor Mazzone!” Clutch grumbled. His loan shark. He owed him big, over a million with interest.
Man, that shit compounds daily,
he thought.
Might be close to two already.

“Look, I did it. I took her to court. I contested the will. I told you, I am nothing in Clutch’s estate. They aren’t going to give me anything. You wasted your money on that lawyer,” Ginny said with a plaintive voice.

“Hardly nothing, Gin—I loved you,” Clutch said without thinking. Ginny didn’t register. Why couldn’t she hear him? Telly did. Clutch swallowed and said it again, louder.

Ginny looked around. “Did…did you hear that?”

“Hear what? It’s not over. I have to get paid,” Victor said.

She shrugged indifferently. “You can’t take blood from a stone. You made a bad investment in Clutch.”

“You talking from experience?” Victor said sarcastically.

Ginny gave him a hard look, but Clutch knew by her expression that she was conflicted. He’d give anything to get inside her head right now.

Victor went on, “What do you got to show for sticking by that loser for ten years?”

Clutch considered Victor, knowing he never once told her he loved her while he was alive.

“What exactly did you see in that guy?” Victor asked.

Ginny opened her mouth to reply. “He was so…so…” She was struggling to find words. Her mouth snapped shut. It appeared that Ginny couldn’t quite remember what was so special about Clutch after all. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Mr. Mazzone. I think our business is done.”

Victor continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “If the kid gets the money, you’re right. I won’t see it for a couple of years. So…” He lowered his voice while he grabbed her arm. Clutch moved forward, ready to plow into him. “You’ll sign over your house to me.”

“That’s mine.”

“Yeah, and as Clutch’s common-law wife, you’re going to give it to me.”

“Didn’t you hear them in there? I am not his wife. I’m nothing to him. He left me nothing. I’ll be homeless.”

Victor shrugged. “Look, lady, I have to get mine. That’s the nature of this business. Like, I’m real sorry, but I have a business to run.”

Ginny staggered away, Clutch following to make sure she got home safely. He sat on the couch for a long time watching her do a crossword puzzle. The plants were dying, and she didn’t care. He had placed a watering can where she would notice it, but she kept walking past it without registering it was there. Clutch put his feet up and his hands behind his head, and for a moment, it brought him back in time to last year, Ginny’s domestic sounds filling their home. He almost felt like calling out for her to make him something to eat. He pulled out the application for cooking school but gave up trying to read it. It slid in between the cushions of the couch.

The afternoon waned, and Clutch rose. He walked over to Ginny, who worked dispiritedly at the counter preparing her dinner. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her shiver. Placing his ghostly lips on her neck, he kissed her gently, standing there enjoying the feel of her. She brushed her neck impatiently, irritated. Eventually, he left, leaving Ginny to stare out the window and wonder if she was grieving for Clutch or for herself.