Gnash (3 page)

“I know it’s only 9:30, but I would like a bloody mary, some onion rings and a grilled chicken sandwich, no mayo and a glass of water.”

“Mister, we open at 5am every day, so it’s never too early for a drink.  Be right back.”  He liked her way of thinking and that was one of the good things about being a civilian, not traveling in uniform and being able to have a drink any time he wanted.  “Here you go,” she said as she thumped a highball glass on the varnished wood bar.  After a few minutes she came back from helping a few other customers.  “Where ya headed?”

“Oklahoma.  For work.”

“I went through there on the way here from New Mexico, you know, come to D.C. and be involved in your country’s politics.  Like that worked.  Went to a couple rallies and tried to work at a campaign office, but I soon realized that America’s political system was a train that can’t be derailed and one person really doesn’t make much of a difference.  Anyways, not much there in Oklahoma you know.”  She mixed him another drink without being asked for it and passed it over to him.

“Tell me about it.  Thanks,” he said as he gestured to the bloody mary.  “I’ve been there before and I’m not too happy about going back to that part of the country.”

“So, you from around here or just passin through,” she asked standing up on her tippy toes and biting her lower lip as she looked him over.  Grayson wasn’t what anyone would call gorgeous or any of that, but he did have a rugged handsomeness to him, his scars added a certain amount of intrigue and you could definitely tell he spent a lot of time at the gym.

This wasn’t his first rodeo and he knew where the bartender was going, “I live down in D.C. with my fiancé.”

“So you’re not married to her though, right?”  A little lean in over the bar and he could smell her Juicy Couture perfume and just see the top of her cleavage.

“Katy, you’re a really cute girl and three or four years ago, I’d have been hitting on you like crazy, but things change.  Is my food ready?”

“Oh,” she said dejectedly.  “Let me go check on it.”  She returned a couple minutes later carrying his plate.  He thanked her and she went down to the other end of the bar to wash some glasses. 

Her movements got more pronounced and with each successive glass she washed she slammed them down into the water harder.  Grayson could tell she was working herself into an angry frenzy.  “It’s not like I was coming on to you, I was just making conversation with a patron, trying to pass the time.  I work for tips you know,” she said loudly across the bar. 

He tried to make peace with her, but she wouldn’t have it.  He finished his sandwich and the second bloody mary as quickly as he could.  He stood up, dropped a fifty down on the bar and with a practiced motion, put on his backpack and walked out towards his gate.  He pulled out a magazine from his bag and sat far away from the open entry to the pub.

Thankfully the wait wasn’t long before the flight attendant called over the intercom for boarding to begin.  He stood up, and risked a glance over his shoulder.  Katy was glaring at him across the empty bar from behind the counter.  The seventeenth century author William Congreve was right when he wrote the phrase “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”  In popular culture it had been bastardized into “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” but the message was the same.

The McDonnell-Douglas MD-88 landed at the Lawton-Fort Sill Regional Airport at

4:43 p.m.  Grayson retrieved his bags from the baggage claim and picked up a Chevy Cobalt at the rental desk.  When he got to the car, he tried to put his bags in the trunk, but the car that had been reserved for him was so small that he was only able to fit one suitcase in the trunk and he angrily shoved the second one into the back seat.  All the money the military literally wasted on things but they had to save five bucks a day on a vehicle upgrade. 

He pulled out his cell phone and sent Emory a text message to let her know he’d made it alright, then he called the office of Colonel “Butch” Ulrich, the director of the
Field Artillery’s Doctrine and Training Development Branch to let him know he was there and to get the low-down on where to meet tomorrow. 

After two rings the other end of the line picked up.  “FADT-Development, this is Carolynn, how may I help you sir or ma’am,” a female voice queried.

“This is Grayson Donnelly from HQDA Force Management Operations, I’m calling to speak to Colonel Ulrich,” he said, once again slipping into the no-nonsense military manner that had been a part of his entire adult life.

“One moment please, Mr. Donnelly.”  The phone clicked over to hold and he listened to the local country station, which was bootlegged over the system.  By the time the phone had clicked back over he’d finished the short trip to his hotel and was sitting in the parking lot.

“Grayson, its Butch.  How the hell are ya?” 

“I’m doing well, sir.  Just calling to let you know I made it into town and checking into my hotel.”

“Where they got you stayin’ at this time?”

“The Best Western, again.”

“That shithole?  Ah well, the casino is within walking distance from there anyways.”  The Cherokee Nation Casino and Sport Club was actually closer than walking distance, they practically shared the same parking lot.  “We’ve got a meeting at 1400 tomorrow afternoon with the program manager to go over a few technical details before we go out for the live-fire shoot on Saturday at Observation Point Mow-Way.  You’ve got all your field gear right?”

“Always, sir.  Ok, I’ll be there around noon tomorrow.”

“Alright, see you then.  Bring a book, it might get boring around here.” 

Grayson jotted down the meeting information on a notebook before he got out of the car.  He’d found it was always better to write the information down when it was fresh in your mind instead of trying to remember the details later on.

He checked into his room and threw his bags onto the second bed.  He pulled the comforter off of his own and put it in the closet.  After he took his clothes out and hung them up, he called room service and then Emory.  They talked for a little bit then he told her he was going to play poker over at the casino next door and would call her back later that night.

***

14 April, 1832 hrs local

Cherokee Nation Casino and Sport Club

Lawton, Oklahoma

The acrid smell of cigarette smoke hit him full in the face as he pulled open the tinted doors to the casino.  He’d been to Fort Sill several times for the Army over the past several years so he knew exactly where to go for the poker room.  The lights from the slot machines were garish and obnoxious, second only to the sounds coming from those same machines.  The people sitting at them glanced over at him in a daze.  Their routine went something like: drop a quarter in, push the button, distract me with bright lights while I wait for disappointment, reach for another quarter…
What a waste of time
, he thought.

He made his way back to the poker room and put his name on the wait list.  There were three names ahead of him so he went over to the blackjack tables to pass the time.  He sat and cashed in $100 for some chips.

Before too long he heard his name over the intercom.  He tipped the dealer and scooped up his chips.  He was down by five bucks, not bad considering he’d seen people blow whole paychecks during his fifteen minutes at the table.  He walked up to the poker room desk and got his seat assignment.

As he sat down, he said a general hello to everyone at the table and cashed in $155 to bring his total in play to $250, more than enough to play all night if he didn’t get caught up in something stupid.  The waitress brought him a Miller Lite in a can and he set out to begin reading the other seven players at the table while making the minimum bets.

After about twenty minutes he pretty much had it figured out.  There were two players at the table who knew what they were doing but both were so short-stacked they couldn’t do much with their hands.  There was one guy who looked like he was in over his head, losing a little money in several of the smaller hands, but he consistently played and said he was just there to learn the game.  Grayson decided that one was probably better than he let on and was waiting for his time to make a move.  Three of the other guys were probably good friends because when one would get into a hand the other two would get out of the way a the majority of the time. 

That left “Jim Bob,” if you believed the patch sewn onto his overalls.  He had several thousand dollars on the table in front of him and bullied just about every pot.  Grayson watched him do it over and over, regardless of what was on the table in the community cards.  From the snippets of conversation he overheard, Jim Bob was a farmer of some type.  Six months out of the year, the government paid him
not
to farm so as to keep supply and demand in balance and to give all farmers a share in the market.  Looks like his latest paycheck was sitting on the table plus quite a bit more.

Grayson considered himself a smart poker player and one of his strengths was the ability to read his opponents.  The mood of the table shifted noticeably when Jim Bob heaved his mass out of his chair to use the bathroom.  Players started to actually play the game instead of being bullied off the pot by Jim Bob’s over-betting. 

In the twenty-five minutes that he was gone, Grayson had busted two of the three musketeers and one of the short-stackers had called it quits.  His little stack of $250 had grown to over $900 and it was looking like a good time to cash in and leave.  Two new people were sitting at the table trying to get in on the action.  Then the farmer came back.  He had a mustard stain on the bib of his overalls that wasn’t there when he left the table.  “Well, well,” he said, “the new kid got a little action while I was gone.  Guess that’s how all of you play, huh?  Afraid to put your money on the table.  My truck needs a bigger lift kit installed and I wanna put some Super Swampers under that boy, so let’s play!”

One of the other players finally got involved in a hand with the farmer.  Before he made it to the flop, Jim Bob had him all in.  He turned over a pair of kings, cowboys as some people called them, and waited for the cards to fall.  Jim Bob refused to turn over his cards and said he’d show after the last card hit the table.  Unacceptable most places, but apparently it was fine at this joint.  The last card, the river card, was played and the farmer cursed loudly and threw his cards to the dealer without exposing them. 
Just as I thought, he doesn’t have a hand, he just bullies the pot and collects the blinds
, Grayson thought to himself.

The dealer dealt the next hand and the farmer was too interested in getting the attention of the waitress to look at his cards.  “Jim Bob,” the dealer asked impatiently.

“I fold,” he said without looking, then he shouted, “Cherie, where’s that frito pie and barbecue pork sandwich I ordered?”

Grayson looked down at his pocket cards.  He had the Ace and Ten of Hearts.  He’d play that hand just about any time.  Everyone at the table except Jim Bob stayed in to the flop.  The Two, Six and Jack of Hearts came up and Grayson had the nut flush right off the bat.  The first player to act bet a small amount which everyone around the table called.  The turn was the Three of Hearts.  That sent a flurry of raises and re-raises around the table as well.  Surprisingly, only one person folded out of the hand, so there were five players waiting to go to the river.  The last card was the Ace of Spades, no help for the flush draw on the table, but someone might have paired or even tripled their aces.  Everyone at the table had to make a bet and three of the other four went all in.  Grayson called and that put him all in as well.

As the cards were turned over, player by player, there were trip two’s, a straight from the two to the six and a Jack-high flush with the Jack from the table.  That left one other player and Grayson to reveal what they had.  The local turned over the King of Hearts.  A flush, king high.  He looked smug and eyed the large pile of chips in the middle of the table.  Grayson turned over his Ten of Hearts and the other man stood up to rake in the chips.  “Hold on, I’ve still got one card left.  Unfortunately for you, it’s a doozie,” he said as he flipped the Ace of Hearts out into the middle of the table.  The young player sat down and put his head in his hands.

Grayson pulled the stack towards him and tossed a fifty dollar chip to the dealer, who looked like she’d had a rough lifetime of disappointment and drinking.  Jim Bob let out a laugh, “Hey stranger, Bernice there doesn’t give blow jobs for tips, shoulda saved your money.  Ha ha ha…” he continued laughing at his own joke.

That hand gave Grayson well over $4,500 and he motioned for the pit boss to come over.  “I’d like to cash out please,” he told the man.

“Wait a minute, boy.”  It was Jim Bob, “That’s not how the game is played ‘round here.  You don’t win a big pot then just leave the table.  Didn’t anyone ever teach you no manners?”

Grayson stared at him, about to mouth off right back at the good ‘ol boy, but then he reconsidered and cleaned up his response. “You know what, you’re right, I haven’t taken any of your money yet,” he said.

“Ha!  We got us a gentleman caller who just doesn’t know the way of things in these parts.  We don’t like all you outta-towners stopping by the casino on the way to wherever the fuck you’re goin’.  Life’s too hard here without your kind and those shitbird soldiers over at the base too.  All of ‘em outsiders, never know’d what it’s like to go hungry.”

Two of the men at the table each started to say something but Grayson cut them off with a motion of his hand.  It was obvious they were a couple of young soldiers out at the casino for the night.  “Sir, first off, it doesn’t look like you’ve ever missed a meal and second, Lawton, Oklahoma would be a no-account shit-hole without Fort Sill and the twenty-two thousand troops stationed there.  The military brings so much income to this area that it would collapse without their money.  So go fuck yourself you fat piece of shit, I’ve given too much of myself to the United States military to let some redneck goat-fucker talk like that to me…”