Stone Junction (26 page)

Just before midnight, Daniel took fifty thousand of Rupert’s. Daniel was dealing. Rupert opened for ten thousand and everybody passed to Daniel. Daniel raised forty thousand. Rupert called and drew one card. Daniel played pat. When Rupert checked, Daniel bet thirty thousand, all that Rupert had left. Rupert considered for a moment then shook his head. ‘Take the pot, sir,’ he said with his usual crisp formality. ‘I was drawing to a six-four with the joker, and I caught a notch outside.’ He turned over his hand – 10–6–4–2–joker – then threw it in the discards.

Daniel said, ‘When you checked, I knew you didn’t have a seven or better, and I had all the eights.’ He turned over his hand, four eights and an ace.

Rupert nodded glumly. ‘Good hand.’

Guido squealed, ‘Someone call the weather station and please see for me if thees ess true. I don’t believe my eyes but I think I jus’ see some snowing.’

The last hand before midnight, Rupert tapped out.

Daniel and Bobby ate a late-night dinner in the lounge. Bobby reviewed the pro football games coming up the next day, idly asking Daniel what he thought of the spreads. Daniel wanted to talk about the card game. ‘Forget football. How am I doing?’

‘Who’s got the most chips on the table?’

‘I do,’ Daniel said. ‘I’ve got about two hundred fifty thousand, Guido two hundred forty, you’re around two ten, and Russo’s about even.’

‘Well, whoever’s got the most chips is doing good.’

Daniel ignored Bobby’s sarcastic grasp of the obvious. ‘I think I’m going to win it all. That snow hand broke me loose.’

‘It was a good play,’ Bobby said, ‘but it sure would have been interesting to see what you woulda done if Rupert had rapped pat in front of you. Beside crap your pants, I mean. But like I told you a thousand times, a good play is the one that wins the pot. That’s the measure of it.’

Daniel was about to reply when Clay Hormel approached their table. ‘Bobby, Daniel – good to see you both still in there.’ He squeezed Daniel’s shoulder. ‘Kid, that was a helluva snow you put on ol’ Limey. He’s
still
talking to himself. Tell you what, though – I sure as hell would have called you.’

Practicing his social graces, Daniel said, ‘I wouldn’t have tried it on you. You’re too tough.’

‘If I could have caught a few cards, I’d still be in it.’

Bobby agreed, ‘Yeah, you gotta catch the tickets.’

Clay said, ‘Like the ol’ saying goes: “When you’re hot, you’re hot; and when you’re not, you’re colder than a motherfucker.” And speaking of hot,’ Clay winked, ‘you guys are invited down to my place in Malibu for some serious party-time when the game’s over. Lots of gorgeous women and other fun things. Can’t tell, maybe even play a few hands of cards.’

‘We’ll be there with bells on,’ Bad Bobby grinned.

Daniel said more loudly than necessary, ‘It depends on how I feel.’

‘No matter how you feel,’ Clay patted him on the back, ‘my parties make you feel better. See you there, and good luck to you both.’

When Clay was out of hearing, Daniel leaned forward and said so evenly that the control in his voice was obvious, ‘Don’t fuck with my head when we’re not playing.’

‘You ain’t beat me yet,’ Bad Bobby replied without a trace of defensiveness. ‘Till you do, I call the shots. Clay’s Hollywood games are world renowned for a shitpot of lawyers and producers with big money, bigger egos, and just a tiny little talent for poker. And personally speaking, if I don’t win this freeze-out game, my bankroll will need some pumping up. So that’s the shot I’m calling for us. And till you beat me, you come along.’

‘Till then,’ Daniel said.

‘And besides all that, Daniel, I’m your
teacher
. I’m
supposed
to fuck with your head.’

Guido came on strong when play resumed the next afternoon. He’d changed from his tuxedo into a chambray work shirt and jeans, explaining, though nobody asked, ‘Now eet ess time to go to work.’

He went to work on Johnny Russo’s chips the fifth hand, taking half of them when he beat Johnny’s one-card 8–5 with his pat 8–4. He took a raised pot from Bad Bobby, making an 8–6 to Bobby’s pat 9–8. Daniel recognized Guido was hot and stayed away from him, the four-thousand-dollar antes slowly eroding his stack. But he couldn’t avoid Guido forever.

Bad Bobby dealt it. Daniel opened for twenty thousand with a one-card draw to ace-deuce-trey-four. Johnny Russo passed. Guido raised fifty thousand. Bad Bobby passed. Daniel had an impulse to raise all he had left, around a hundred fifty thousand, and either force Guido to fold or, if he called, let it all ride on the single card. He decided just to call, sliding two stacks of gold chips into the pot. He drew one card. Guido, after some thought, rapped pat. Daniel noticed the hesitation; Guido usually declared himself immediately. Daniel looked at his new card: he’d caught an eight, making an 8–4–3–2–1. But he didn’t know what to do. If he bet a lot and Guido raised, he’d have too much in the pot not to call. If he checked and Guido bet a bunch, he’d have to call. He decided to bet a little, hoping Guido might think he was trying to sucker him into raising. ‘I bet ten thousand,’ Daniel announced.

Guido looked at him curiously. ‘You don’t bet very much. You don’t like your hand?’

‘You can raise if that’s not enough,’ Daniel told him.

Guido thought a second. ‘No, I jus’ call.’

‘I have an eight–four,’ Daniel said, spreading his cards face up on the table.

Guido shook his head dolefully as he turned over his, a 7–5–4–3–2. ‘Put eet een a Glad Bag, keed, and set eet out on da curb.’

‘A seven–five?’ Daniel said with disbelief. ‘And you don’t
raise?
Guido, what’s the matter? You don’t
like
money? Or did you think it was a suction bet?’

‘No, no, no,’ Guido passionately denied it. ‘Eet ess jus’ that you play so bad I feel peety on you. But peety ess not a good thing for you or me, so soon it must be like God and the dwarf.’

‘God and the dwarf?’ Daniel repeated, immediately knowing better.

Guido slapped himself on the forehead, bellowing, ‘What! You have not been told of God and the dwarf?’

‘No,’ Daniel said, ‘but I have a feeling I will be.’

‘Yes, I weel gladly tell you how eet ess weeth God and the dwarf. Thees dwarf ess sitting one day in the cantina with many, many other people when God walks een the door, looks ’roun’, and says, “I’m going to shit on all the peoples een thees cantina – except for you, leetle dwarf.” The dwarf he ees very happy and he jumps down from hees chair and cries, “O thank you merciful Lord for sparing me, for already I have suffered very much being a dwarf.” And God tells heem, “Hey, I don’t spare nobody. I’m gonna use you to wipe my ass.”’

Guido laughed wildly while Daniel, without a word, tossed his hand in the discard. Guido’s laugh bothered him more than the story. Guido was crazy; he might do anything. Daniel decided to play cautiously until he regained his sense of balance.

Perhaps too cautiously. With Bad Bobby again dealing, Daniel opened for ten thousand dollars with a pat 8–7–6–5–3. Johnny Russo, who’d dropped to about seventy thousand, called, as did Guido and Bobby. When Daniel rapped pat, they each drew a card. Daniel wasn’t in love with his chances: A rough eight was good odds against one player drawing a card, but not against three. Daniel checked, prepared to call any bet. Johnny Russo pushed all his chips in, close to sixty thousand. Guido cursed the king he’d caught and pitched his hand in the discards with disgust. Bad Bobby announced, ‘I raise,’ adding another sixty thousand to the call.

‘I got nothing left,’ Johnny said, tipping up his empty rack.

Bobby reminded him, ‘There’s still another player in the pot.’

‘No there’s not,’ Daniel said. ‘I might have called sixty thousand, but not a hundred and twenty.’ He threw away his hand.

‘You got me,’ Johnny told Bad Bobby. ‘I paired fours.’

‘I caught a queen,’ Bad Bobby said, spreading his hand.

Johnny said, ‘Good call. I didn’t think anyone would expect a bluff.’ He pushed himself back from the table and stood up.

‘Don’t feel bad,’ Daniel told him, ‘I threw away the winner.’ He counted his chips. He had a hundred sixty thousand dollars, Bad Bobby three hundred thousand, and Guido around three-forty. He would have to play careful to catch up, look for a good clean shot and gamble on it.

Down to a hundred twenty thousand after Bobby snowed him with three nines, Daniel took his shot. He was dealing. Guido opened for a modest ten grand, Bad Bobby passed, and Daniel, with 9 –5–joker–2–1, raised fifty thousand.

‘Well dwarf,’ Guido smiled, ‘I wipe my ass early. Please put in
all
your cheeps eef you weesh to play.’ He called Daniel’s raise and added another sixty thousand.

Daniel looked at his hand again. It wasn’t likely he’d get a better one to play. ‘I call,’ he said, and put his remaining chips in the pot. ‘Cards?’ he asked Guido, picking up the deck.

‘
Cards
?’ Guido repeated, as if he’d never heard the word. ‘Guido Caramba does not put a hundred and twenty thousand dollars een the pot and then draw a card. Only a fool would do such a thing.’ He rapped the table violently. ‘
No cards!
’

‘Shit,’ Daniel muttered. He’d been hoping Guido would draw; if so, he’d play pat. Guido’s big production over drawing cards made Daniel think Guido wanted him pat, which meant he likely had a rough eight or seven. Bad Bobby had taught him it wasn’t a sound practice to break a pat hand if you couldn’t win any more money if you improved it, and since he was all in, there was no more to win. But any eight would beat him. It was a gut judgment. He threw the nine face up on the the table and said to Guido, ‘I’m going to get off this smooth nine.’ He dealt himself one card.

Guido feigned astonishment. ‘You are
craaazzy
. Now you must ween the pot twice.’ He spread his hand on the table: 10–9–8–7–4.

Daniel slowly turned over the card he’d drawn. It was the jack of hearts. ‘You win,’ he told Guido, ‘take the money.’ He rose numbly from his seat.

‘You are good player, dwarf,’ Guido smiled hugely as he stacked the chips. ‘You will grow.’

Still numb, Daniel watched the game continue from one of the front-row seats reserved for the eliminated players. An hour later, Bad Bobby, who’d started making hands, had pulled even with Guido, each close to four hundred thousand dollars. Next to him, Johnny Russo said, ‘Looks like it might go awhile now.’

‘I was just thinking the same thing,’ Daniel agreed.

It ended on the next hand. Guido opened for forty thousand. Bad Bobby, dealing, raised a hundred sixty thousand.

‘That ees mucho dinero,’ Guido murmured. ‘Before I call, there ees one card left I must look at een my hand.’ Squinting, Guido peeked. ‘Oh my God you weel not believe, but eet ees the yoker. I don’ even believe thees myself. I must call your raise and then raise all my cheeps I have left. Let us do eet now and go home.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Bad Bobby said cheerfully, stacking off the rest of his chips. He picked up the deck and burned the top card. ‘You drawing any cards, Guido?’

‘
Of course
I draw cards,’ Guido said with umbrage, as if he would never think of putting four hundred thousand dollars in a pot with a pat hand. ‘Thees nine ess not good.’ He flicked it into the pot. ‘Geeve me uno.’

Bobby slid him a card and picked up his own hand. Since they were all in and he was last to act, he turned it over to look at it: 9–6–5–3–2. ‘I’ll draw with you,’ he said, and threw away the nine.

Daniel, suddenly wired to the action, couldn’t believe they’d both broken pat hands.

Bobby dealt his card face down, set down the deck, then flipped his new card over – the ace of hearts. ‘I caught inside on the bottom,’ he told Guido. ‘I have a six–five.’

Guido spread his own hand on the table. ‘I too have a seex, but I like my seex very very much because eet ees seex–four–trey–yoker–ace.’

‘Take it down, then, Guido – you win it all. Congratulations.’

Guido grinned benevolently as the crowd burst into applause. ‘Thank you, Bad Bobby. You are an
hombre
of spirit and grace, and I admire very much your gamble. You got down weeth me on that last hand. We catch alike, but I draw a leetle smoother. We will play again, amigo.’

Getting to Malibu the next day was easy. They flew in Clay Hormel’s Lear jet to the airport, where a limo was waiting to whisk them to Xanadu, the producer’s ‘little beach house,’ which had a Jacuzzi and round, revolving bed in each of the thirty guest suites, and a kitchen staffed and provisioned to serve the crew of an aircraft carrier. Johnny Russo and Rainbow Schubert accompanied them on the flight. Guido had regretfully declined, citing a prior engagement with his bevy of lovelies for a religious holiday, the observance of which seemed to involve rolling naked on large-denomination bills. Daniel, in a funk, hadn’t been interested in the lurid details.

Noticing Daniel’s mood on the flight, Bad Bobby told him, ‘Just ’cause they beat on you don’t mean you have to get bent. Yesterday is history. Today’s brand new.’

Daniel muttered, ‘I don’t know why I broke that pat nine against Guido.’

Bad Bobby said softly, ‘I ain’t gonna sit here and listen to you snivel.’ He moved to the rear of the plane and sat down with Johnny Russo.

Getting to the party was easy. Getting away proved difficult. First there was his ‘personal hostess,’ Linda O’Rahl, whom Clay had introduced as ‘maybe the next Meryl Streep.’ Linda showed him to his room and informed him that there was a full bar right behind the movie screen if you lifted it (she demonstrated), that weed, coke, and ’ludes were available upon request, and that ‘Sexually, I’m into whatever you’re into.’

Daniel felt a powerful, implacable despair gathering in the center of his brain. It was difficult to keep his tone civil. ‘Thanks, Linda, but what I’m really into at the moment is a long walk along the beach, all alone except for a bottle of whiskey. I need to sulk and sort and think and scheme. You go play with someone who can do you some good. If Clay says anything, tell him I’m gay.’

Linda said helpfully, ‘I have a gay girlfriend. We could put you in a pussy sandwich?’