Double Blind (20 page)

So he ended it.

Randy stopped trying to save Slick and began to amass chips slowly, putting himself first even with Crabtree then moving himself slightly ahead. He went out as far as he dared to go without forcing Crabtree to try and bring him back in line just to save face. Then he bided his time, never putting himself at risk, waiting for the right hand.

And then it came. Oh, sweet Jesus, did it come.

He lured them both slowly, and he was really fucking proud of himself, because he played his tells so that Ethan folded but Crabtree stayed in, and then he just kept building up slowly, more and more and more, until Crabtree had put half his stack in.

“Really think you have something, Jansen?” Crabtree asked.

Randy kept his eyes on the pot. “You calling or raising, Crabtree?”

Crabtree stared at him awhile, but Randy didn’t budge. Finally Crabtree grunted and tossed in a raise.

Randy hadn’t believed he could actually do this on one hand, but he’d underestimated himself. Crabtree was convinced that Randy had overplayed, and it was too pleasing to think of nearly cleaning him out, then eliminating him on the next hand so he could focus on Ethan. It had to be this, because it was the only reason Randy could think of for Crabtree to put himself all-in, especially with such a smug grin. “Call.”

They were already at the river, so Randy laid down his cards: both jokers.

“Four-of-a-Kind or Full House. However you’d like to read it,” he said.

Crabtree laid down his 9 and 2, with all the hearts on the board making his hand a pair with an ace kicker. He gave Randy a glare, a stony glare that would have scared most people and probably should have Randy, too, but he didn’t let it. It was Crabtree’s own fault for telling him he was a joker who had found an ace.

Mine
, he said with his return stare, then let his eyes slide to Ethan before he reached for the pot, just so Crabtree understood what he was claiming. He didn’t know what to expect from the gangster for that, and he didn’t care, so long as he left the two of them alone. He never expected what actually happened.

Crabtree rose, reaching for his jacket on the chair behind him. “Thank you for the dinner, Jansen, and the unexceptional dessert. I will not thank you, however for that play.”

“Good night, Crabtree.” Randy made sure his reply was laconic, but his heart was beating faster.
Yes, leave, so I can be with Ethan.

Crabtree turned to Ethan. “I want to see you in my office tomorrow at noon.”

Randy’s head whipped around, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t care what Crabtree had or hadn’t done, he wasn’t going to stand for this, not with Ethan—and then he got a good look at Crabtree’s face, and he relaxed.

Crabtree caught Randy’s look and smiled briefly—in reassurance. “I have need of some advice on investments. I understand you’re the man to ask about such things.”

Ethan, bless him, didn’t so much as glance at Randy, just looked boldly at the gangster. “I’m a fair hand, but I’m not the best.”

“In my situation, you are,” Crabtree replied. “If it goes as well as I suspect it will, I may have more work for you. And of course, I’ll give you some proper instruction in poker.” He nodded again at Randy and reached for his hat. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”

Randy rose, and Ethan followed suit. They took turns shaking Crabtree’s hand, and they walked him to the door together. They watched at the window as Crabtree went to the shining black car which had waited all evening for him at the curb. The gangster climbed inside, and the car crawled off into the night.

Then Randy ran a hand down Ethan’s shoulder, skimming the silky fabric of his coat before catching the cool tips of his long fingers. “Come on,” he said, and led him back toward the table.

As soon as Ethan saw where they were headed, though, he balked. “No. I can’t take anymore of that.”

Randy captured his hand more firmly. “I know. That’s why I’m making you keep playing. You’re too good to let that old bastard ruin you. Now sit down and listen.”

Ethan did, reluctantly. Randy poured him another drink, hesitated over his own, then put away the alcohol and made himself a plain Pepsi, just in case his plans went well. Then he sat down and began to teach his lover the next level of poker.

“You can take or leave Crabtree’s Parable of Cards, but here’s something to keep hold of regardless: there’s a lot to be learned from a man who will confess to you his own philosophy of life. Crabtree works really hard to make sure everyone knows he’s a king, which is the biggest flag you get that he’s actually at best a jack. He tells that story, then beats your pants off, and you think, ‘Shit, I’ll never beat this guy’. Mitch hates playing with him. Mitch hates him, period, but I think that’s more because he sees too much of himself in the man, too much of what he could become if he let himself cross over some mental lines in his head. And to be honest, it’s a valid worry. Mitch and Crabtree are both dominant men up against one hurricane of a handicap: no matter how masculine they are, the world around them—particularly the one they grew up in—has declared that because of who they want to sleep with they can never be full men, can never be kings. I think Sam’s generation may see that differently, maybe. Hopefully. But it’s over for Mitch, and it’s especially over for Crabtree. Even if the whole world changes around them, in their own minds, they’ll never be able to fully be kings. Mitch deals with this by making his own rules, but until Sam came along, the cost was that he was lonely. And he doesn’t like Crabtree calling his husband a parasite, because to Mitch, Sam isn’t even in that deck of cards. He’s a brilliant, perfect sun. And I’m pretty sure he’d kill for him.”

Ethan had his drink cradled against his chest and was lounging back in his chair. He looked overwhelmed. And still angry. “So—what, I’m supposed to feel better because Crabtree has a bad self-image?”

“No. You’re supposed to quit feeling wounded and start unpacking his strategy.” Randy nodded to where the gangster had been sitting. “Crabtree plays erratically. It’s his only way to assure dominance. He also only plays with people he can beat—another sign of a jack. He likes to manipulate, and he likes to control—but he actually wants to help, not punish. Which is why he told you to come see him tomorrow. He’s decided he likes you and wants to take you under his wing.”

Ethan tensed. “I don’t want—”

“Hear me out,” Randy said, trying to gentle him. “I know he grates sometimes, but stop being wounded for a minute and think this through. You already know, or at least suspect, that you’re a better person than he is. You should know you’re smarter than he is, but you think your weakness is that you aren’t as manipulative. Well, watch and learn from him, Slick. A manipulation skill set will take you far in life.” He gathered the cards from the table and began to shuffle them, though he went through the deck and discarded the jokers first. “He’s right, about you being an ace. You can be ruthless when you want to be, but you also see too much. I don’t know all about your past, how you viewed yourself before Nick did a number on you, but I can guess, and at any rate, I know where you’re at right now, and it’s not on the top, not most of the time. So go learn from him. In the meantime, sit here for a few minutes and make some of your money back.”

He dealt a hand.

“Here’s the lesson the pros will teach you that Crabtree won’t: if you want to make money, play tight. Don’t bluff. Fold liberally. Play hands you have nuts on or ones you’re reasonably sure you can win. Play like you’re playing video poker. Bet small, bet quietly, and play to win. It takes patience, which is why Crabtree can’t do it. But an investment broker ought to do all right playing tight. Seems to me that’s all you do. Use whatever mental mindset you use to invest other people’s money to play your own. Crabtree got you because he played you. You were trying to show him you were as big a dog as he was. You were drawing dead no matter what hand you drew.”

Ethan flushed, then nodded tersely. “I was. I just—” He ran a hand through his hair. He was slouching, but it was a move he still managed to make elegant. “I don’t have a whole lot right now. I wanted some pride in front of the guy you let tie you up.”

Oh, shit, but it was hard for Randy to bite back his grin.
So you
were
jealous.
Randy wiped a hand over his mouth to be sure it wasn’t giving him away. “You get pride from yourself, Ethan. I know it sounds like an after-school special, but it’s true. Smartest, kindest, proudest man I ever knew told me that, and nothing I’ve ever seen in life has proven him wrong.”

Ethan looked up at him. “Who was that?” Randy could read the tight,
Another goddamn lover?
in his eyes.

Oh, Slick, I could love you,
Randy thought, and then had to stare down at the table for a moment, he was so shaken.

He cleared his throat. “My uncle,” he said. He made a show of looking at his cards. Even though he already had. “Call, raise, or fold, Slick?”

Ethan lifted the corners of his own cards. Then he pushed them forward. “Fold.” Then he paused. “Wait, shouldn’t I have to ante?”

Randy waved a hand. “Yes, but not now. This is instruction, not play. You’re under me for two hundred already—let’s not make it any worse, shall we?”

“I’m going to have to wash a lot of your dishes to pay you back,” Ethan said, picking up the cards to shuffle them.

Randy reached for his Pepsi. “If you’re working off money from me, it’s not going to be by washing dishes, Slick.”

Ethan smiled, finished his shuffle, then dealt.

They put in an hour at it, and Ethan put back another tall G&T as well. Randy began to explain to him which hands were better, statistically, and he taught him which spreads were most ideal. Slick was all about odds, he quickly learned, and he made a mental note to dig out his David Sklansky books for him, because he had a feeling Ethan and the math-minded poker genius were a match made in heaven. Ethan was also going to have to work on his bluffs, but Crabtree would be the best man for him in that regard.

“There’s a sort of an unspoken code in poker,” he told Ethan after they put down the last hand and started counting out their winnings. “There are rules the professionals expect you to play by, and when you break them, they get upset. Just like in real life. Poker is people. Remember that. Cards are just props. And when you learn poker from Crabtree, it’s going to be how to play dirty. Really, really dirty. Not how to cheat—he wouldn’t do that. But he will teach you how to cheat on the code. That’s why people won’t play with him, because he makes it too hard to figure him out.”

“But you figured him out,” Ethan said.

Randy shrugged. “He would never have let me beat him if he hadn’t been so focused on you. You weren’t the only one in the pissing contest, Slick.”

“But you ended it,” Ethan persisted. “By playing a pair of jokers.”

That made Randy smile. “Yeah, that was pretty sweet. It’s moments like that I could almost believe in Lady Luck after all.” He rose and picked up a handful of twenties. He tossed two to Ethan.

“You mean fate?” Ethan asked. He looked down at the twenties. “I can’t. I already owe you.”

“Fate is for pussies,” Randy said. “But as a heads up, Crabtree believes in it. He’d bet on black with you, and he’s probably going to take you down to the floor to play craps first thing tomorrow.” He nodded to the money. “I’ll pay you forty, then, to go and take a ride with me right now.”