Pokergeist (8 page)

Telly ignored the remark as he seated himself. He glanced up to see Clutch circling the table like a shark.

“You ready to play now?” triple chin asked him.

“Big blind’s on you,” the dealer told him, which meant Telly had to be the first to throw in money to play the hand.

“Right.” He looked up to see Clutch mouth the word
fifty
with a nod. He slid two green chips into the pot. “Fifty dollars.”

“OK, kid,” the man next to him said with a smirk. “Let’s play poker.”

The cards came at him as if in slow motion. He watched the older woman look at him.

He felt Clutch’s presence at his elbow as he lifted the cards.

“Jack ten suited. Not bad on the big blind.” He heard the words echo in his head. “Telly, don’t repeat what I just said.”

A smile tugged at Telly’s lips, but then he caught the chin lady watching him closely, so he relaxed his face to be expressionless. He heard Clutch tell him he was a good boy, with a hint of approval.

Toupee man next to him glanced at his cards, which were covered by his palm. He heard Clutch mutter, “Move your hands, Elvis, so I can see.”

Telly watched intently as he licked his lips and then pulled at the gray hair of his sideburns. The man was oblivious to his observance, so Telly lowered his eyes and stole a look at the elderly woman. She was watching him with interest. She smiled and then drummed her fingers impatiently. She had a huge wart high on her cheek with coarse black hairs growing out of it. Telly stared at it with fascination.

A finger flicked his ear, and he heard Clutch say, “Stop staring at her wart; that won’t tell you anything. She’s got nothing anyway. Watch, she’s going to fold. She drums her fingers and then she’ll fold. Her name’s Ramona Heart. Most people call her Black Widow.”

Telly watched in astonishment as her turn came and she folded. There were a few other players at the table. An Asian guy with dark glasses glanced at his hand, his face blank, as he shuffled the cards beneath his fingers. He said “call” so softly that Telly had to lean forward in order to hear him better.

A young kid wearing a hoodie and an expensive Rolex watch casually flipped a black hundred-dollar chip into the pot. Telly heard Clutch say, “Come to papa…Telly, build the pot, baby.”

The pile in the center of the table grew substantially after the flop, which revealed a seven of diamonds, a jack of clubs, and a nine of diamonds.

Clutch whispered urgently, “You have top pair and a belly buster.” Telly shrugged, and Clutch explained, “Belly buster means you need an eight for a straight. But we’ve got jacks; we’re good, kid.”

Another man, dressed head to toe in powder-blue polyester, rifled his chips with annoying clicks while chewing on a thin cocktail straw. Shaking his head, he threw his cards into the center, giving up.

They were at the turn; the dealer decisively flipped the card, revealing another seven. Telly looked up for direction, his hand hovering over the chips.

“Let’s make this interesting. Toss in a hundred,” Clutch ordered.

Telly fumbled with four green chips, sending the small column into an avalanche that spilled toward the center of the table, wincing when he heard Clutch call him a putz. Toupee man chirped, “Make it two.” He rolled two black chips into the center of the table. Telly heard muttered curses and a soft grunt from the Asian man, who threw his cards into the muck with disgust. Hoodie boy rubbed two black chips between his fingers, shrugged, and tossed them toward the pot. “Call,” he said lazily.

At this point, the hand was between him, hoodie kid, and toupee man, who was twisting the hair of his long sideburns.
Is the sideburn twisting good or bad?
Telly wondered. Clutch was quiet.

“That’s right, Telly. We are playing poker. He thinks he got you. I see your eyes. Grandma drums her fingers when she’s got nothing. Frick and Frack over here shuffle the cards exactly the same way, and Elvis is pulling at his facial hair like he’s got trichotillomania.”

Telly looked at the kid in the hoodie, a question in his face.

“Dotcom boy? He’s an idiot; he has nothing. Don’t worry about him. I can’t see what the toupee is holding. He won’t pick up his cards. Don’t worry about me, Telly. I ain’t worried.”

Bully for you,
Telly thought, swallowing hard. He picked at his bottom lip.

“Careful, partner. They’re all watching for a message from you.” Clutch was silent for a minute. “Let’s get rid of the dotcom—go all in.”

Toupee man threw in three hundred dollars, took a long pull on his drink, and burped gently. “Call,” he added.

Dotcom’s phone trilled. He glanced at the face, cursed, and threw away his cards. “I’ll be back.”

“Show him the boy,” Clutch said to Telly, telling him to turn over his cards and reveal his jack.

Elvis stood, his toupee falling to the side of his head, covering his large ear. His face split into a crooked smile filled with tobacco-stained teeth. Crisply, he turned over a deuce-seven offsuit.

“Shit! Trips,” Clutch muttered.

“Trips?” Telly squeaked, looking for support.

“Yeah,” Toupee man sneered. “I got trip sevens; beat that, bozo.”

Telly bit his lip furiously as the red blush of both anger and embarrassment stole over his face. He should never have trusted Clutch. He was playing blind. While he was busy studying the other players, he forgot to think about what they were holding. Clutch didn’t know shit about the game either! Some big help he turned out to be.

“It ain’t over, Telly; we got outs. We’ve still got the river, so don’t cry me one yet,” Clutch said with excitement.

All sound receded as the dealer placed the last card on the table. When his hand moved, Telly saw an eight of hearts. He felt a jolt and looked up to see Clutch, who was dancing on the table, his worn cowboy boots floating above the large pile of chips. “We did it! We did it!” he sang.

“Good river,” Ramona called out. “Nicely played.”

“Straight wins,” the dealer announced to the table, pushing a mountain of chips totaling over two thousand dollars toward Telly.

“Sheeesh.” The loser half stood to confirm his loss. “Luck doesn’t last forever. He still doesn’t get it. You won, jerk.”

Ramona laughed deeply. “Straights always beat trips in my book. What’s your name?”

“Telly Martin.” He nodded politely to the older woman.

“Any relation to Dean?” The whole table stopped to look at him. “You know, Dean Martin, the Rat Pack?”

“No.” Telly laughed. “I wish.”

“I have to think of a name to call you,” the old lady said. “Everybody’s got to have a special name. You playing in the Series next week?”

Telly shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“I think you are. I’ll see you there, and I’ll have a name ready for you by then.”

“Thanks,” Telly said.

“Ramona Heart.” She nodded to him. “I’m the Northeast Poker Champion. Anyone care to place a little wager this kid’ll be there?”

Telly piled the chips in color-coordinated columns in front of him. He heard Clutch slap his hand together and say, “Like taking candy from a baby. I told you it was easy. Let’s play some poker.”

CHAPTER NINE

“I
’ll give you a ride home, Gretchen,” said a voice behind her as she exited the building.

She waved him off. “No thanks, Rob.”

The sun was lining the ridge of the mountains, separating light from dark.

“I insist.” He pushed past her to open the door of his Firebird. “Hop in. I’m not going to bite you, Gretchen.”

“Look, Rob, you know I’m with somebody.”

Rob shrugged and said contemptuously, “Oh, the little guy.”

“He’s not little.”

“He is to me.” He revved his engine as if he were flexing his muscles.

“Not where it counts,” she said contemptously. She looked at his face. His lips thinned, and he stuck his bottom lip out. She shouldn’t have sparred with him.

“Come on, I’ll give you a lift.” Rob was persistent, his voice oily.

Gretchen shook her head. “I called a cab. It’ll be here in a minute.”

“Cancel it. You’re making a big mistake here. I can make things real nice for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gretchen asked angrily, feeling dreaded tears fill her eyes. She willed them not to fall.

“Don’t come on Tuesday and see what it means,” Rob said with a cruel twist to his thin mouth.

Gretchen sighed with relief when the cab pulled into the parking lot. She bit her fingernail to the quick, giving the driver the whole ten for a six-dollar ride without a thought. She headed up the concrete steps, her mind replaying her conversation with Rob, worried about what he was going to do. She didn’t want to go back there, but they needed money to live. Telly had to get something going. She had wanted so badly for him to have the experience of his life, but it was too hot for her at work. She didn’t feel safe anymore. Rob was a ticking time bomb, and she didn’t want to get caught in his explosion. She nodded to Cheryl, who responded with a friendly greeting. She didn’t want to talk, but it seemed she wasn’t getting out without a few pleasantries.

They chatted about the weather, the lousy television reception, and the creep in 4A. Nobody was sure what he looked like, but they all knew his voice. He used it often enough to complain about the noise.

Cheryl turned to go in, paused, and said, “Oh, and Gretchen—please tell Telly he really doesn’t have to pay us back.”

Gretchen stopped, her face going numb, her hand on the doorknob. “What?”

“Yeah, Telly borrowed a few bucks from us tonight. Tell him we—”

“Telly borrowed…how much?”

“Five hundred, but—”

“Five hundred dollars?” Gretchen’s voice rose.

“Yeah. He was so shy about it. But really. He’s such a great…Gretchen?”

Gretchen ran into the room looking for Telly. She walked purposefully into the bedroom. The bed was fully made and empty. Sophie looked up from her little bed, snuffled, and went back to sleep.

“Telly?” she called out into the darkness, knowing she was alone…and pissed.

CHAPTER TEN

“I
can’t tell you how good this feels,” Telly said, looking at the stacks of chips before him.

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” polyester man said sourly.

A crowd had developed on the balcony overlooking the poker room, all eyes on Telly’s table.

“Quiet,” Clutch told him. “Seat seven has an ace-king. Seat nine has pocket threes. Stop smirking, you idiot. What are you holding?” Telly felt the chill of Clutch behind him as he held open his hand for the ghost to see. “Pocket sixes. Raise.”

“Raise,” Telly repeated.

“Order a vodka,” Clutch told him.

“Vodka? It’s going on six in the morning.”

“So get it with orange juice. Breakfast of champions.”

“Drinks on Table 261!” the dealer called out. The pit boss motioned for a waitress to hurry over. A tall blond girl with impossibly long legs bent down to whisper, “What would you like?”

Telly shook his head, “No, thanks.”

“Vodka and orange juice,” Clutch whispered.

“I’m not in the mood,” Telly said plainly.

“Uh-oh, here he goes again,” toupee man whined. He had returned with more money. “Who do you think you are talking to?”

“How would you like it, sir?” the waitress persisted.

“Can we play here?” toupee man interrupted. He was beet red. Half of his sideburn was missing. “Get the drink and decide what you’re doing!”

“Vodka, OJ, and reraise,” Clutch advised.

Telly repeated the order.

The Asian man watched Telly and then said, “I raise one thousand.”

The drink magically appeared at his elbow. “Give her a tip,” Clutch told him. Telly picked up a five-dollar chip, heard Clutch growl at him, and went for a twenty-five-dollar one.

“You’re up seventeen thousand dollars, man. Give her a hundred.”

“A hundred?” Telly echoed.

“You have to match his thousand, not hundred,” the dealer said impatiently.

Telly felt the cold sting of Clutch reach over to shove his hands onto the hundred-dollar chips.

“OK, OK already.” He snatched a black chip and placed it on her water-marked tray.

“Thanks a lot,” she said with a bright smile.

“Grandpappy always said, ‘Give big, get big,’” Clutch said sagely.

Telly was tired; he wanted to go home. The thrill of the game had evaporated. There was a tenseness at the table that made his old job seem like a vacation. He sipped the icy drink, shuddering when the liquor painted his throat. He turned to the Asian man on his left. “How much do you have over there?”

“I have twenty-two thousand. Why?”

Telly looked at his pile of chips. He could walk out of here a big winner. He already had enough to pay Quick Daddy
and
get into the Series. He looked at the other man’s pile thinking that he wanted to buy Gretchen something—something special. He finally got it.
Give big, get big.

“I’m all in.” He shoved all his money into the center of the table.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Clutch smiled.

The other player hesitated. His eyes searched Telly’s face. Finally, he sighed and folded.

“What did you have?” the loser asked wearily.

“Tell him it’s going to cost a hundred to see one card,” Clutch said smugly.

Telly repeated the statement with a mumble.

“What did you say?” the Asian man questioned.

Telly looked at the faces surrounding him. They were all leaning forward, watching him, waiting expectantly. He was entertaining them. “I said it will cost you a hundred to see one card.”

The man tossed a black chip, which circled Telly’s obscene pile of money.

“Tell him to choose which one.” Clutch was enjoying the evening immensely.
I could get used to this,
he thought happily.
Seems just like old times.

There was a murmur of appreciation at the table. People were looking at him with respect and smiling with approval. They were enjoying the show. Telly sat up straight, feeling incredibly cool. He finally had it—the cool factor. This was easy. “You pick it,” he said boldly.

The other man pointed to the card on the right. Telly flipped it gently, exposing a six of hearts.

“You had a six?” The Asian man stood. “You went all in with a six?”

“You had nothing too,” Telly accused.

The table got very silent.

“How did you know I had nothing?”

“Careful, Telly,” Clutch warned him.

“I…I…”

“You read his tell!” Clutch shouted.

“I read your tell.”

“The hell you did.” The player stood and put on his jacket, a look of disgust on his face.

“He won. Fair and square,” Ramona said. She’d stopped playing hours before but had stayed to watch the game. “He’s a strange little bugger, but he won fair and square.”

“Drinks all around.” Telly placed another hundred-dollar chip on the waitress’s tray. “I’m heading home.”

“What?” Clutch crouched next to Telly, who was busy stacking his chips into a tray. “I’m just getting started.”

Telly shook his head. “Nope, I’m done.”

“Played a good hand,” Ramona nodded sagely.

“I’m tired,” Telly said to the table. He tipped the dealer three hundred dollars. The dealer nodded with surprise.

“Wise decision,” she agreed. “Not smart to play when you’re tired. I’m still thinking on a name to call you. You playing here tomorrow?”

Telly shook his head. “Probably not.”

“Like hell you say,” Clutch said angrily.

Telly grinned at Clutch as he carried the four trays of chips toward the cashier. Clutch steamed with frustrated rage. Telly refused to let it bring him down or allow Clutch to bully him anymore. He was tired.

“I want to thank you,” Telly said with astonishment at the two stacks of ten thousand dollars, plus a few thousand extra. Just yesterday morning he would have given his eye teeth to hold a couple thousand, and here he was tipping hundred chips like they were nickels and dimes.

“You’re so welcome, sir,” the cashier smiled back. Telly plucked out a hundred-dollar bill and handed it to her. “Thank you.” She nodded, folding it in half and sliding it into her pocket. He could get used to this, he thought, feeling great.

“Very nice,” Clutch said sarcastically. “If you keep tipping like that, you’ll go through all your money in no time.”

“You said, ‘Give big, get big.’” Telly shrugged, pushing up his glasses, which had slid down his nose.

“You can’t give big if you don’t play enough.”

“Look,” Telly said, “it’s six thirty in the morning.” People gave him a wide berth. He realized that he was getting some strange looks. “Come on.” He motioned toward the entrance. “I have to get home and tell Gretchen,” he whispered, his eyes darting around. He realized suddenly that he was alone.