Pokergeist (12 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
elly kissed Gretchen on the cheek. “Don’t wait up for me,” he told her. “You sure you didn’t lock up that money?” They had come home and searched thoroughly. The money was gone.

“Positive. It was on the coffee table when I left. I don’t want it, Telly. It was dirty money.”

“You believe me about Clutch then?” he asked her, his face earnest.

Gretchen tilted her blond head. “I find the whole thing hard to believe, Telly; maybe it was all a dream. Either way, it’s over, all right? You’ll never mention Clutch or poker again.” She was feeling better already. Gretchen sat on the bed, her legs curled under her, her hand protectively over her belly. She wanted to tell him, but not just yet. He was still so unsettled.

“Looks like he’s gone.” Telly bounced around the room, looking under the dusty orange drapes.

“Let’s just forget about Clutch,” Gretchen said with relief. “New beginnings.” She smiled sweetly at him. Telly walked over to kiss her tenderly and then left. She decided she would share her news with him tonight.

From the doorway he called, “Thick…”

She responded with a satisfied, “Thin.” Her hand rested over her heart.

Telly made it down to the garage and was given a 2014 yellow cab. Bob the mechanic went over the air conditioning and gave him a brief summary on the paperwork. It was sixty-forty—he got the larger number and could work for the next twelve hours. Some guys pulled in three to four hundred a night. Best news was they told him he would get paid every day, in cash. Gretchen could quit; he couldn’t wait to tell her.

Telly pulled out as the city lights started to blink on, the purple dusk bathing the evening sky. It was quiet, the squawk of the speaker the only disruption. His first call was to Harrah’s. He pulled into the cab line. A purple and beige uniformed doorman waved him in while his whistle shrieked. It was a trip to the airport. He got out to shove ten suitcases into the trunk. He couldn’t close it. He piled four of the bags in the front seat.

“Don’t you have a bungee?” the doorman asked.

“Uh…no.”

“Here,” he said, handing Telly a neon and red bungee cord. “Stuff the luggage in, and then tie the trunk with this.”

Telly pulled out a five-dollar bill, tipping the doorman. Clutch’s expression, “Give big, get big,” was ringing in his ears.

The passengers had lost, but they’d had a ball. Brenda and Warren were heading back to New Jersey. “Could we stop at In-N-Out just one more time?” Brenda pleaded.

“What time’s your flight?”

“We have three hours.”

Telly made the turn by Excalibur, pulling in through the window. The couple called out their order, laughing so hard they had tears of joy. “One for the road!” Brenda shouted. Warren laughed uproariously.

“I got it.” Telly smiled, paying the fourteen dollars for their dinner.
Give big, get big—
the words echoed in the car.

“Give big, get big,
you dope.
You’re not going to get anything from these rubes.” Clutch’s voice reverberated through the car.

Telly gasped. Clutch was back, sitting on Brenda’s lap. “I’ll say this for her: she’s got a nice rack,” he said.

Telly looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide. Brenda must have noticed his expression because she said, “Don’t worry. We’ll pay you back when we get to the airport and I can get to my purse.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” He raced down Industrial toward the airport.

“What’s the rush?” Warren demanded as they swerved down the road. “Take it easy.”

“I don’t want you to miss your flight,” he told them.

Minutes later, he pulled up to the terminal. They got out, and Telly hauled their luggage, making a stack on the sidewalk.

“Well, that was interesting,” Warren said as he took out a hundred dollars.

Telly pulled out money to make change.

“No, keep the change,” Warren said with a laugh. “You deserve it. You were as generous as you were entertaining.”

Telly thanked him and then jumped back into the cab.

“What are you doing here?” he hissed at Clutch.

“We have to make the entry fee.”

“No, we don’t. I am not doing that anymore. I think you cured me from playing poker ever again. I don’t even like it anymore.”

They passed rows of strip clubs. Clutch made appreciative noises when they sped past the tall marquees with barely dressed women advertising each club. “Well, that’s not encouraging. Hey, let’s stop here. They have great—what? I was going to say tacos! They make tacos.”

“I don’t care. Now get out of my cab and out of my life.”

“No can do, Telly. We have to make the entry fee tonight. Dump this banana and let’s play poker.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Well, then, it looks like I’m riding shotgun until you change your mind.” Clutch settled comfortably into the backseat.

Telly pulled violently to the side of the road. The hot Vegas heat hit him like a blast furnace when he exited the car. He opened the rear door. “Get out!” he shouted.

A homeless man wheeling a shiny metal supermarket cart was walking on the dirt-packed side of the road. He wore filthy clothes and a greasy fishing hat, with iron-gray hair escaping on either side like Bozo the Clown. He stopped, scratching his back. Leaning down, he peered into the dark interior of the car.

He looked up at Telly, then down again. Telly was screaming that if Clutch didn’t get out, he was going to drag him out. Clutch sat in the car laughing hysterically. Telly leaned down, trying to grab him, only to have his hands come up empty.

The old geezer in the street came closer, looking to see who Telly was fighting with. His rheumy eyes searched the backseat.

“Who you talking to?” he asked. “Wanna drink?” He pulled out a whiskey bottle from a brown paper bag in the front of the cart.

Telly was breathing hard, frustrated, just about at his wit’s end. He kicked a rock by his foot. The rock barely moved; the earth was hard packed and dry as a bone.

“You’re stuck with me until I decide to move on, so get used to it,” Clutch said between his chuckles. “You need this win as much as I do. You’ll never have a shred of confidence if you don’t see this through.”

“I don’t need you to build my confidence,” Telly responded.

“You don’t have a choice here, partner. You lost your choice when you made that wish simultaneously with me.”

“Be reasonable,” Telly pleaded and then realized that the bum was peering into the car, offering him a drink. “A bee,” he told him as he waved his arms. “A bee flew into the car.”

“Killer bee?”

“I don’t know.” Telly was exasperated.

“Beware those killer bees; they’ll get ya.” He made a snatching movement with his filthy, long-nailed fingers. Telly swallowed hard. The old man snapped loudly. “Wham, you’re a dead man.”

Telly gulped again, his voice a whisper. “It wasn’t a killer bee.”

“Good.” The bum saluted him and then shuffled off, wheeling his possessions down the road.

“You be reasonable,” Clutch’s voice pulled him back. “We’ve got twelve hours to make it to the entry. I know you can borrow from the Quick Daddy guy. Let’s go.”

Telly ignored him. “I’m working. I’ll wait until you get bored enough to leave me alone and find another sucker.” He slammed the door, jumped in, and put the car in drive to head for his next pickup.

He had a pickup at Luxor, a drop at the Nugget. Two trips to McCarran Airport. All in all, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it was going to be. People were having fun. Winning or losing didn’t seem to matter. He made small talk and was pleasantly surprised when they tipped him. He called Gretchen but turned away so Clutch couldn’t hear what he said.

* * *

Gretchen rubbed the sleep from her eyes and picked up the phone. “You OK, Tel?” He sounded nervous.

“Fine,” Telly insisted loudly, then repeated more softly, “Fine; it’s not bad. I actually like it.”

“Good, good,” Gretchen yawned. “I’m so proud of you. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Telly said sincerely. He slid his phone back into his pocket, got into the car, and gave the ghost the silent treatment. Clutch hung from the ceiling of the car, dangled his feet out the rear, and felt up the female passengers. Telly steadfastly refused to look at him.

He ignored Clutch when he stretched across the passengers’ laps and looked in the other direction when he opened their purses or stuck his fingers in Telly’s ears. Telly slammed the door in the ghost’s face when he left to grab a bite at an Ethiopian restaurant the cabbies all talked about. The food was great; he wasn’t sure what he had, but the rice was incredible. He stalled before getting back into the car, staying longer with Gretchen on the phone for his second call than he was supposed to. Clutch tried to distract him, but Telly tuned him out, refusing to acknowledge him no matter how outrageously he behaved. By four in the morning, Telly had made a few hundred dollars. He was nearing his shift’s end when he pulled into the Wynn. The line was always long there, but someone had told him it was a good door for tips. The doorman whistled for his attention, and Telly slid into place. The door opened, and a man fell into the backseat, clearly drunk. “Take me downtown! No, never mind. Take me to the desert, and leave me there to die!” he slurred. He sighed so deeply it reverberated through the car.

“Bad night?” Telly asked sympathetically.

“Bad week—no, bad year…”

“Bad life…” Clutch finished. “This oughta be fun. Roy Rogers been drinking?” Clutch was mildly bored.

Momentarily diverted, Telly asked, “Who?”

“Not who, where. I changed my mind. Take me downtown. Binions,” the older man demanded.

“Roy Rogers? You don’t know Roy Rogers? He was a famous singing cowboy from the fifties,” Clutch informed him.

“Before my time,” Telly said, shaking his head.

“Look, kid, I know Binions is an old place, but I like the atmosphere. These new casinos are like hospitals—antiseptic, you know. They don’t have any mojo.” He sighed gustily. “I don’t feel comfortable here anymore. I wish I’d never come.”

Telly realized he’d answered Clutch instead of his patron. He looked at the passenger in the rearview mirror. He wore a white Stetson and a cowboy shirt. He was definitely on the later side of sixty. The man tipped up his hat so he could make eye contact with Telly.

Telly shrugged. “They all seem alike to me.”

“Are you kidding me? Casinos used to be fun. Now it’s all computer games, sweet-smelling perfume, and loud music. I like to smell sweat.”

“I miss the good old days,” Clutch said wistfully.

The passenger complained: “We used to come here all the time, m’wife and me. Had a ball. They treated us like a king and queen. Anything we wanted—show tickets, dinner with Sinatra, boat rides on Lake Mead, you name it. It’s like I don’t fit in anymore here. Kids everywhere, messing up the rhythm of the tables. I feel like I’ve lived my time, like I’m almost invisible. They—”

“They?” Telly asked, looking at him in the rearview mirror.

“You know, the younger generation. They make me feel useless. Like I don’t have anything relevant to add. I miss my wife. I miss my old life.” He ended the sentence, his voice barely audible.

“I’m sure you have plenty to contribute to whatever you do. You have experience. You can’t buy that. You look like you have a lot to offer.”

“Looks can be deceiving. I loved my wife. I liked being married. She died four years ago, and I really struggled. Then this year, I met a gal. She’s really nice, but she’s still stuck on her guy as well.”

“Break up?”

Stan shook his head. “He died last year. Well, she told me she wasn’t ready yet. Do you know how hard it was for me to approach her? I didn’t want to even come here again; I miss being with my wife. She always knew what to do. I figured if I could just get a sign from her…a message…but that psychic would only meet me here on her western tour. It was the only reading she had for me.”

“What psychic?” Telly asked.

“Georgia Oaken, the TV medium from Long Island. She was performing here. I had my office call, but that was it. Here and on Tuesday. Everything went to shit when m’wife passed away. Cancer, you know.” Telly nodded sympathetically. “Been working at the grindstone for over fifty years. I built my business with my bare hands.” He held up his hands as if Telly could envision their capabilities. “It’s this new generation. The kids don’t respect me. The minute I open my mouth, I see them roll their eyes. They think they know everything. It’s ruining everything for me. I don’t think I can do anything anymore. Especially not alone.”

“Tell me about it,” Clutch chimed in.

Telly nodded. “I know how you feel. But seems to me you have a few choices…mister…”

“Stan. Stan Jarvis. What’s your name?”

“Telly.”

“Tell me, Telly, what choices do you see?”

“It’s simple. You have to reinvent yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” Both Clutch and Stan said it at the same time. Telly smiled.

“Sometimes when you don’t fit in, no matter how old you are, no matter how set in your ways, you have to make a new mold.”

Stan leaned forward, sticking his head through the opening. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Sounds like too much work.”

“No such thing. Nature changes, rivers and mountains change. What makes us think we have to stay the same? If everybody is telling you that you can’t dance, you can either sit down or learn a new dance.”

Stan digested Telly’s statement for a few minutes. He opened his mouth and closed it again. “It’s so simple,” he said to himself. “You’re a bright guy. Think it’ll work on the ladies?”

Telly shrugged. “Don’t see why it wouldn’t. Maybe if she sees you in a new light, she’ll be more interested.” Telly watched the emotions play over Stan’s face. “Her guy died, right? Your wife died too. Maybe your grief reminds her too much of her own. So, try a different tactic.”

“Huh.” Stan sat back in the seat, deep in thought. “Never thought about it that way before. Have you ever reinvented yourself?” Stan sat up eagerly.