No Such Thing as a Sure Thing
by Moses Levi
A Crooked Game
“That’s not how I heard it. Story went different.”
Myles folded his hand, dropping the cards next to his stack of chips.
“Says who? I got it from a Dago who was around. What’d
you hear?” The greasy beast of a man sat across from Myles, squinting at him
like he was a half of a roach caught squirming inside his sandwich. A sandwich
that he’d been enjoying. He dropped his cards, too, flicking them over the table
in Myle’s general direction.
“Can’t tell you who. Won’t. But they’re reliable
enough. The scuttle was that one of them Mick cops got trigger happy halfway
through the raid. Started shooting up the place. Once one finger twitched, they
all started twitching. Some wonk eyed copper hit a gas line, and WHOOF !!! It
all went up in a puff of smoke. Killed the Jew accountant. The Guinea’s
accountant. Old dude, and others. Burned in the fire. All of the books went up with
him. Can’t tell you how pissed theys are, I bet. No trace of who owes what. ‘Cept
for the bookie’s scribblers. And that’s gonna take some time for a new numbers
guy to track, from back to front. I’m telling yas, serious fuckery going on around
town. Coppers looking for a fish to fry, since the raid was off book. Big ole
bonfire of cash dollars. Grands and grands. Nothing you could even imagine. Couple
of cops got theirs, too. The rest of them have some explaining to do. Everyone’s
on edge. Whole city’s pissing red.” Myles leaned back, checking his stack of
chips to see how short he was. Too short. A hop and a skip too short. He glanced
over at the other three players. Their game was stalled for a second while they
chewed on the new take. After a pause, they played out the hand, and everyone
kicked in the ante for the next round.
The skinny dock-worker to Myles’ right reshuffled,
and dealt everyone in. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his top
button was unhooked, tie loosened, just like everyone else at the table. It was
a hot night. And humid. Glancing at his cards, Myles took a swig from the half
empty pint of vodka he kept in his breast pocket, and tossed another two bits
into the pool. “Check.”
Mid-hand there was a knock at the door. Double tap,
pause, double tap. The code for the day. Someone out at the front of the house
let in a late bloomer. Greasy beast stood to answer, but not after placing his half
glass of whisky on top of his cards, and taking an account of his little stack
of chips. He glanced through the peep-hole, and unbarred the deadlock. Stepping
aside, he let in the newb. Young chump. Slicked dirty-blonde hair. Smirky twist
to his grin as he stepped passed Greasy, ducking under the man’s chunky arm.
“Heard there was some fair action here. Got the
word from a friend of a friend. Harley. One’a the door guys. M’name’s Cornelius.
Think I can join y’all for a few hands? Promise, my wife won’t be fussin. She’s
at her mother’s. D’ya mind at all?” He grinned wide, and without waiting for an
answer, he pulled up a spare stool and flashes a wad of fresh greenbacks.
Dock-worker looked at him sideways, “Buy-in’s
twenny. Re-up is ten. Ante is a quarter. Next hand, I’ll grab you some chips.
Sit tight.” The players made the rounds, and the wrinkly Old Blank-Face to Myle’s
left took it down.
With new ears the conversation shifted to news less
local. Horse-racing and pissy-wives. Couple of bad cooter jokes. Old Blank-Face
lost his mitts and galumphed his regards as he took his leave. Dock Worker
said, New deck. Raise the stakes? Fifty. All good?” Everyone nodded. Beast settled
back down to his chair after locking the door.
Cornelius was handed the fresh box of cards. “Can a
guy get a drink? Hell fire hot in here tonight.” It was his deal, and the snap
of the fresh deck in his hands announced a cool handed shark. Thus far he’d
been playing it tight, losing only the ante, laying down his cards every hand.
No real losses. No progress, neither. Greasy pulled a beer from the ice box
behind him, popped the cap and set it in front of Cornelius. “S’a buck.”
“Bucks okay, so long as it’s cold.” He dealt the
round, and sipped before peeking at his hand. Two bucks made it to the pot, one
greenback went from his pocket to Greasy’s big sweaty palm.
Myles’ mitt looked large. Kings over threes. Not
too bad. Full house on the flop. Hadda make it count. Every cent was spoken
for, and too many palms to appease. He counted his chips, and tossed in a
dollar. “Raise.” Greasy scanned his hand and grunted, matching the dollar.
Dock-Worker tossed in his share. Cornelius followed with the same. He dropped
two cards, and so did Doc. Cornelius filled their order. “Check”. “Check”. “I’ll
bump it up. Another dollar.” Greasy said,
licking his lips. Myles dropped his chips into the pool. Doc tossed his in,
plus another two bucks. “Must be a good one. Can’t be that good, though. Reraise.”
Everyone matched the bet. Myles looked at his hand. “I’m all in.” He pushed his
last six dollars into the pot. Doc grinned. Greasy looked like he was going to
piss himself. He matched the bet. Cornelius winked, and said, I don’t think any
of you got it. I’ll bump up the play. Eighteen bucks.” Doc grinned wide, and
pushed his money to the middle. Greasy was left with a short stack, but
everyone else was in to the gills.
Cornelius flipped his cards. Three of a kind, Jacks.
Greasy smiled. Three of a kind, Queens. Docker frowned. Two pair, aces over tens.
Myles took a sip of his pint bottle, and showed his full house. Finally, Lady Luck
finally had his number.
Doc and Cornelius dropped in another ten each.
Looking at his chips, Greasy did the same. He was down to thirteen dollars.
Myles was happy with his little fortune. “Almost enough to get through next Friday”,
he thought. And took another sip.
Greasy’s deal. Everyone ante’d up. Cornelius waited
for the cards to go round, and asked Greasy for another beer. “S’a buck.” Cornelius
grinned, “Thanks.” And passed the big man another dollar bill.
The rounds flew by. The hands were trash. No one
was making much of a move. Cornelius caught the deck again. And as he shuffled,
Myles caught Cornelius’ wink – a cheater’s handshake -- and noticed that he was
dealing to him from the bottom of the deck. Myles tapped his chips on the
table, a hobo-sign signalling agreement. He looked at his hand. Three aces. Cold. The bets were placed, raised,
reraised. Cornelius folded. Doc raised. Greasy raised. All in. Myles matched
him. Doc folded. Greasy was sweating. He virtually sneered at Doc as he threw
in his hand. He was down to nothing anyways. Greasy dropped two cards. Myles
dropped the odd card. He tossed two cards Greasy’s way, and Myles knew that Cornelius
was gonna slip him that last ace.
And Doc’s hand shot out, holding the sneaky fucker’s
hand in the middle of the maneuver, that last card held in place, halfway from
being tossed out from the deck. Stopped cold. Busted. Busted bad. Doc drawled, “Now,
lookee here. We got’s us a little scammy fucker.” He held Cornelius’s hand in a
death grip. “Whatcha got in your hand, there? He looked at Greasy, who turned
over three queens, and a pair of twos. A decent enough hand, if there ever was
one. “And you?” He looked at Myles, who turned his cards over. Three aces and a
six. Doc pulled the last card from Cornelius’ fingers. It was the final ace. And
just like that, a loud crunch could be heard as Doc’s grip crushed Cornelius’s
fingers, cards flying everywhere, the digits twisting upwards, disfiguring his
fingers like so many broken birthday candles.
Greasy stomped on the crook more than a few times.
Myles could hear the thuds and thumps as the blonde’s body balled up under the
table.
Greasy and Doc turned to Myles, who put his hands
up. “Now, look, fellas. We’ve been playing cards here, what, couple of times a
week for the last six years or so? I never met the dude in my life. I swear to
yous both. Now, think about it, you know my tells. You knows if’n I’d be lying.
My poker face is more of newspaper headline, if you’re askin’ me. So, hows
about you keep the pot, pull out whatever dosh the kid’s still got in his
pockets, and we call it square. Hell, way I see it, you’re ahead by a good
deal. And I’ll bring you a decent bottle of Scotland’s finest the next we meet.
Deal?” Doc looked at Greasy, Greasy looked at Doc, and they nodded. Neither was
much happy with the situation, but they turned Cornelius’ pockets inside out before
tossing him out the back door into the alley. Greasy gave Myles a good smack in
the face for good measure, and Doc swatted him a good one upside the ear. Then
they shook hands and parted ways.
Once he left the building, Myles shook his head to
clear the ringing from his ear, and took a good final swig of the bottle. He got
off easy. Those boys weren’t as aggrieved as they might have been, and walking away
with the entire night’s stakes took the edge off. Myles stopped in at a liquor
store for a top up, and realizing that his wallet was empty, he pulled out a folded
fiver from his sock.
He was about to walk home, but, against his better
nature, he turned around the corner and wandered down the alley-way to check up
on the sharper. Cornelius was sitting beside a loading dock, grinning like a
carney fool and daubing the blood from his face, stopping to wiggle at a tooth which
had been knocked half loose. He looked up at Myles, and chuckled to himself,
like it was an inside joke. “I know what you did back there. Thank you. I owe you
one.”
“I say that big talk's worth doodly-squat. You’re
lucky we were playing the same side, else you’d have been a dead fool, instead
of a sore one. Might wanna stick to Go Fish.”
Cornelius winced as he popped his knuckles back into
place. It became obvious he’d done this before. The tangled knots that might be
called bones were unceremoniously pulled out of place by the Doc. Historically,
this would be a painful torture, hustlers traditionally having had their
fingers crushed by a vice or under a hammer when caught mucking about. Anyone
unfamiliar might have called Cornelius lucky, but Myles noted that, by the lack
of effort that Cornelus pulled his claw bones back into place, he was common to
it, and not at all surprised. Myles
mused, “Some kinda Yoga for card sharps. Anyone less experienced would
be bound up in hospital rags, unable to urinate without a charitable hand.
But, as Myles came to expect, Cornelius blathered
on, filling the vacant air with his own loquacious monologue, “Look. I owe you.
You were up, what? over a hundred? I owe you something at least that much. Here”,
Cornelius pulled a card out from his wallet and handed it to Myles, who looked
it over. The card was
bright pink, like cake frosting. It read:
Cornelius pulled himself up off of the dingy,
greasy gravel. “Seriously, call me tomorrow afternoon. I’ll make it up to you.
Entirely. It’s a job, kay, but an easy tuck in, tuck out, kind of dealio. It’ll
more than cover what you lost tonight. No danger.”
And there it was, that wide, shit eating grin. A
signature. Now Myles knew what Cornelius was all about: boy couldn’t keep from
having a good time, even when his nose was bleeding, his pockets were turned
out, fingers broken and sporting a few bruised ribs.
Cornelius went left, Myles turned right, and the
air had finally cooled off a little.
(Note for Editor: Check the flow of the
card game to make sure the sequence of play and game mechanics make sense.)