Pokergeist (5 page)

CHAPTER SIX

T
elly sighed, leaving her. He hated that place. She’d worked there before they met. After they got together, he had gotten her a position serving drinks in the high-roller section of the casino. She was a victim of the takeover, having lost her job as well. She told him he should be grateful Rob took her back. The tips were decent; she got to take home wings for them nightly; and it didn’t involve stripping. It wasn’t a bad gig, Gretchen insisted. “Believe me,” she told him. “I’ve had worse.” He loved her tough resilience. Gretchen was like prairie grass: strong and willing to adapt. His parents had balked in the beginning. She wasn’t what they expected for him—no career, no education, no family to speak of. He could do better, they complained. Pliable, moldable Telly stood resistant to his parents for the first time in his life. Their criticism fell on deaf ears, and when he finally told them in his quiet, reasonable way all the reasons he loved Gretchen, they gave in, only to fall under her delightful spell. Gretchen was magic as far as Telly was concerned, and he felt alive when he was with her.

A dog barked, the sound echoing on the deserted street. Telly felt a coldness dance down his spine. He paused to look around. Once, when he was young, he’d felt a weird kind of chill shake his body, and his father had told him someone was “walking on his grave.”
Well,
Telly thought as he made a slow 360-degree spin,
someone’s break-dancing on it right now.
He stopped, listening for something, and then concentrated on the shuffle of his footsteps. Left, right, left, right, left, left, right, right—he spun…someone was following him. The bleak street stared back at him, devoid of anything. Even the barking dog disappeared. It was silent. The air thickened. Telly strained his ears for any sound but heard nothing. He scanned the street and then picked up his pace with a skip. The additional steps picked up theirs as well. Soon Telly sprinted, the slap of his feet echoed by someone behind him. He faltered, falling to his knee and ripping his pants as he skinned it on the dirty pavement, his breaths coming in huge gulps. Digging his fingers into the blacktop, he rose, craning his neck frantically to look for the person following him. Sweat dripped down his face as he ran, his uneven footsteps echoed by the phantom pursuer. His escape was cut short when he felt a tug on his shirt. Spinning breathlessly, Telly raised his hand to whack someone but turned to the nothingness of the dank Vegas night. The stars mocked him, twinkling down, while he breathed hard, feeling scared and trapped. Telly gulped air, sweat running down his face. It was hot, even at night after the sun went down. The air was sultry, the streetlamps enveloped in a haze. The blare of sirens rent the evening. Shots were fired. The sounds of a Vegas evening back again. He listened to the tinny sound of music coming from a house down the block. The dog commenced its complaint, barking wildly, its pit-bull body hitting a chain-link fence with a resounding crash. Telly shuddered and took a deep, reassuring breath. There was no one there. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he looked around once more. A man wearing only his boxers and a pair of slippers moved his trash can into the street. They stared hard at each other. Telly raised his hand in a friendly salute. The other man ignored him and turned to head back into the buttery light of his front door. Telly watched him closely, the door shutting out the inviting light. He headed for home.

* * *

Telly walked into the apartment, the television bathing the room in an eerie blue glow. He looked, his eyes widening as he stared at the screen.
Why is the television on?
he thought nervously. Grabbing the remote, he pressed the power button but the TV remained on. Telly squeezed the power button so hard, it got jammed in the plastic of the remote. Frustrated, he chucked it onto the orange sofa. They must have left the television on when they’d departed. Telly thought that was strange. They had never done that before. Gretchen was very careful with waste. He changed from pants to a pair of shorts and washed his knee, wincing when he cleaned the abrasion, and then he covered the scrape with a bandage. He kicked off his shoes, grabbed a beer, and flopped on the worn couch, stuffing a flattened pillow beneath his head. The Poker Channel was on, and Telly snorted, thinking Gretchen would never have left that on knowing how cruel it would be. She must have thought it was just another sports channel. The sportscaster droned on about different contestants. Telly recognized the old guy he’d played with tonight at the Bellagio, the one who said if he played at the Series he wanted to sit next to him. The old guy was being interviewed, and Telly’s eyelids drooped. He watched Friday end and the weekend start. The Series was officially three days away, and he would be driving some other guy to play in it.

“The annual International Series of Poker’s Main Event kicks off this Monday. The biggest and brightest stars in the poker world will be in attendance. One who won’t be returning is the legendary Clutch Henderson, who passed away of a massive coronary at last year’s final table.”

“A sad day in Vegas,” said the other newscaster, Kevin-something. Telly listened absently, turning away from the screen. He had a vague memory of the Henderson guy dying right before he lost. “A tragic day. Do you recall his hand, Stu?”

“Indeed I do: four kings were at that table that night,” he intoned sadly.

“FOUR KINGS, you asshole?”

Telly’s eyes popped open at the expletive. It was loud. It didn’t get bleeped. Telly rolled up. The voice sounded as if it were in the room. He looked wildly around. Laughter filled the apartment.

“He must be senile, that fat bastard. I had three kings,” Clutch chuckled. “Sheesh, Stuie, what happened to you?”

Telly turned to see a vague outline of a man on the sofa next to him. He was old, with a shock of white hair and a lean, wolfish look. He crushed Telly’s beer can, burped loudly, and said, “Go get us another one, son. I’m powerfully thirsty.”

Telly looked over his shoulder to see Sophie sleeping on her little round dog bed. He called her name softly. For Chrissakes, she barked at everything. Sophie looked up, her eyes refracting the light. “Do you see anything strange, girl?”

Sophie snuffled noisily, placed her head back into the well of her body, and began to snore again.

“The dog don’t care about me.”

There was no mistake—he heard a voice, clear as day. Telly blanched; his skin tightened on his scalp as if it were being pulled back from his face. He scrambled up the arm of the couch, while the image wavered as it shook with good-natured laughter.
I’m losing my mind,
Telly thought feverishly.

The television droned on. “Clutch had two kings with one on the table,” Kevin corrected his colleague.

“Oh, listen, listen,” Clutch stood, moving closer to the TV to make the sound louder. “This guy was paying attention to me that night. Like my grandpappy Buster used to say, ‘You can judge a man by the amount of hair in his ears.’”

“That makes no sense,” Telly told him.

“The way I see it,” Stu shook his head, “Clutch may have had three kings, but he was the king of the table that night. He is the king of poker.”

“The king of poker?” The apparition stood before Telly. “I’m the fucking emperor of poker! The caesar of poker! The khan of pok—say, what’s wrong with you, boy?” He bent low to see Telly’s frozen face. Clutch reached out, causing Telly to lean back and slide off the couch, landing with a thud. The older man crouched down, but Telly skittered away, his hand scrambling for his cell phone. He pulled it down but couldn’t get the screen to wake up.

“It’s no use; it’s dead. Like me,” the spirit told him.

Telly crawled toward the bedroom. In a burst, he scrambled on all fours, his forgotten skinned knee raw with pain. His glasses were off, so everything had a muted, fuzzy look. He could barely see. He hurried into the next room, slamming the door behind him. His back against the door, he pressed every button on the phone, his breath harsh. His asthma came back, tightening his airways, and soon he was wheezing like a set of old bellows. His pulse pounded in his head, his hands shaking. He was tired.

He figured he must have been sleeping.
I never should’ve eaten yesterday’s wings—who knows how old they were?
he thought frantically.

Placing a hand on the floor, he made to rise, only to find himself face-to-face with the green, glowing person. “You better take your spray, man. You’re noisier than a freight train.”

This time, Telly closed his eyes and screamed as loud as his closed throat would allow. It came out like a reedy clarinet, and Clutch covered Telly’s mouth to silence him. The last thing Telly remembered was that the cold hands didn’t feel bad at all.

Telly came to awareness on his lumpy bed, a wet cloth on his head making runnels of water that were soaking the pillow. He felt clammy. When he sat up, the rag fell into a sodden heap in his lap. The man was sitting on the edge of the bed reading a newspaper.

“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice…” Telly repeated frantically.

“Aw, kid, that don’t work. That’s fake. All that crap is fake from the movies. It’s nothing like that,” Clutch held out a ghostly hand. “Don’t go all white and faint again, now. Listen…Telly—”

“You know my name?”

“I’ve been watching you for a while.” He picked up Telly’s hand to shake it. “Clutch Henderson. Nice to meet you.”

Telly pulled his hand away, chilled with the contact. He looked around the room, squinting at the digital clock to see the time.

“It’s two, and no, you’re not dreaming. Here, put on your glasses so you can see me better.”

“I don’t want to see you better.” Telly put on his glasses anyway, blinking owlishly.

Clutch ignored him with good-natured bonhomie. He reached over to pick up a book on the nightstand. “I like your reading material.” The ghost held up his last book; a photograph of Clutch himself on the back cover mocked him.

Telly opened and closed his mouth like a hooked trout. Clutch pointed to the author’s picture. “Yep, it’s me all right.”

Telly reached out a hand to touch Clutch’s knee. His hand went right through him, but his fingers stiffened with cold. He pulled back, rubbing them to warm them back to life.

“What’s happening? Am I having a breakdown?”

“Nope. Something happened tonight—something special. I was walking along and saw you make a wish.” Clutch held up his hands, wiggling his fingers. He reached forward, pulling a coin from Telly’s ear. “Your wish became our wish.”

“But you’re dead. You can’t have wishes.”

“Who says?” Clutch demanded. “Maybe I died with my wish. They don’t disintegrate, just because we die. Wishes have lives of their own. You should know that.”

He did know that. Telly’s wish was a living, breathing thing that he carried with him all hours of the day. “What has that got to do with me?”

“You and I have the same wish, and we’re going to make it come true together.”

“That’s crazy. You’re dead. You’re not alive. You can’t play poker.”

“Well, you’re alive, and you can’t play for shit either. Together, we’re going to win this game.”

“You’re nuts!” Telly screamed, the veins popping on his neck. He jumped up to pace the room. “No, I’m nuts! I’m certifiable. Gretchen’s going to have to commit me.”

“Well, if that’s true, at least you won’t have to drive a cab.”

“How did you know that?” Telly demanded.

“I know everything.” Clutch came nose to nose with him, his blue eyes glaring. “That’s how we are going to win—I can see and hear everything.” He winked. “I can see the other players’ cards. I’m gonna tell you what to do. My grandpappy always said, ‘A man’s got to have eyes in his ears and ears in his eyes.’”

“That’s just about the dumbest…hey, that’s cheating!”

“So what? All you need is a chip and a chair, and I’m going to take you all the way to the top.”

“Are you asking me to sell my soul? Are you the devil?” He sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Now I know you’re nuts. That shit only happens on the television, Telly.” The ghost moved closer to him on the bed. Telly skittered away. Clutch asked gently, “Don’t you want to know what it feels like to win?”

“You are the devil,” Telly said softly.

“Just imagine what Gretchen’s going to say when you give her that big, fat, yellow diamond.”

Telly gasped. “How did you know…”

“I told you—I know everything.”

“It’s cheating. I don’t cheat.” Telly stood to pace the room.

“Neither does Gretchen…yet?” Clutch said cryptically. He waved his hands, and the television in the bedroom went on. It was the bar, and Gretchen was setting up a tray of drinks. “Sit back and watch the show, Telly.”

Telly stared wide-eyed as the seedy bar filled the television screen like a cheap sitcom. He grabbed the remote, clicking it to the off position, fear lodging in his chest when the picture remained. His jaw dropped when he heard Gretchen speak.

“Glad those losers left,” she said as she placed cash on the bar.

Chrissy, Gretchen’s friend, leaned against the bar separating a group of bar tabs. Assorted piles of change were spread across the counter. She looked at the C-note Gretchen had placed on the bar. “What you’d do to earn that?”

“Dazzled them with my charming wit.” Gretchen laughed. “I gave them coupons to the nearest strip club. They were so grateful, it was pathetic.”

“You don’t have to split that with me,” Chrissy told her. She was a whey-faced waitress with a fake diamond stud in her nose and a matching one on her upper lip.

“We decided to pool everything, Chris. We can’t change the rules now.”

“No one ever got nothing that big here. You ran your ass off for them tonight.”

Gretchen shrugged. “That’s the job.”

“You might as well keep it—you’re going to need it. If Telly’s luck doesn’t change, you’re going to have to ask for more hours. I don’t know why you put up with his crap.”

Gretchen shook her head. “Telly’s a great guy. I’ll never leave him,” she said with a smile.