The Music of Chance (15 page)

Stone’s face gave away nothing. One by one, he turned over his hole cards, but even after all three of them were showing, it would
have been difficult to tell whether he had won or lost. “I have these two eights,” he said. “And then I have this ten” (turning it over), “and then I have this other ten” (turning it over), “and then I have this third eight” (turning over the seventh and last card).

“A full house!” Flower roared, pounding his fist on the table. “What can you do to answer that, Jack?”

“Not a thing,” Pozzi said, not bothering to turn over his cards. “He’s got me beat.” The kid stared down at the table for several moments, as if trying to absorb what had happened. Then, mustering his courage, he wheeled around and grinned at Nashe. “Well, old buddy,” he said. “It looks like we have to walk home.”

As he spoke those words, Pozzi’s face was filled with such embarrassment that Nashe could only feel sorry for him. It was odd, but the fact was that he felt worse for the kid than he felt for himself. Everything was lost, and yet the only feeling inside him was one of pity.

Nashe clapped Pozzi on the shoulder, as if to reassure him, and then he heard Flower burst out laughing. “I hope you boys have comfortable shoes,” the fat man said. “It’s a good eighty or ninety miles back to New York, you know.”

“Cool your jets, Tubby,” Pozzi said, finally forgetting his manners. “We owe you five thousand bucks. We’ll give you a marker, you give us the car, and we’ll pay you back within a week.”

Flower, unruffled by the insult, burst out laughing again. “Oh no,” he said. “That’s not the deal I made with Mr. Nashe. The car belongs to me now. If you don’t have any other way of getting home, then you’ll just have to walk. That’s the way it goes.”

“What kind of bullshit poker player are you, Hippo-Face?” Pozzi said. “Of course you’ll take our marker. That’s the way it works.”

“I said it before,” Flower answered calmly, “and I’ll say it again. No credit. I’d be a fool to trust a pair like you. The minute you drove away from here, my money would be gone.”

“All right, all right,” Nashe said, hastily trying to improvise a
solution. “We’ll cut for it. If I win, you give us back the car. Just like that. One cut, and it’s finished.”

“No problem,” Flower said. “But what happens if you don’t win?”

“Then I owe you ten thousand dollars,” Nashe said.

“You should think carefully, my friend,” Flower said. “This hasn’t been your lucky night. Why make things worse for yourself?”

“Because we need the car to get out of here, asshole,” Pozzi said.

“No problem,” Flower repeated. “But just remember that I warned you.”

“Shuffle the cards, Jack,” Nashe said, “and then hand them to Mr. Flower. We’ll give him the first try.”

Pozzi opened a new deck, discarded the jokers, and shuffled as Nashe had asked him to. With exaggerated ceremony, he leaned forward and slapped the cards down in front of Flower. The fat man didn’t hesitate. He had nothing to lose, after all, and so he promptly reached for the cards, lifting half the deck between his thumb and middle finger. A moment later he was holding up the seven of hearts. Stone shrugged when he saw it, and Pozzi clapped his hands—just once, very fiercely, celebrating the mediocre draw.

Then Nashe was holding the deck in his hands. He felt utterly blank inside, and for a brief moment he marveled at how ridiculous this little drama was. Just before he cut, he thought to himself: This is the most ridiculous moment of my life. Then he winked at Pozzi, lifted the cards, and came up with the four of diamonds.

“A four!” Flower yelled, slapping his hand against his forehead in disbelief. “A four! You couldn’t even beat my seven!”

Everything went silent after that. A long moment passed, and then, in a voice that sounded more weary than triumphant, Stone finally said: “Ten thousand dollars. It looks like we’ve hit the magic number again.”

Flower leaned back in his chair, puffed on his cigar for several moments, and studied Nashe and Pozzi as though he were seeing them for the first time. His expression made Nashe think of a high school principal sitting in his office with a couple of delinquent kids. His face did not reflect anger so much as puzzlement, as if he had just been presented with a philosophical problem that had no apparent answer. A punishment would have to be meted out, that was certain, but for the moment he seemed to have no idea what to suggest. He didn’t want to be harsh, but neither did he want to be too lenient. He needed something to fit the crime, a fair punishment that would have some educational value to it—not punishment for its own sake, but something creative, something that would teach the culprits a lesson.

“I think we have a dilemma here,” he said at last.

“Yes,” Stone said. “A real dilemma. What you might call a situation.”

“These two fellows owe us money,” Flower continued, acting as though Nashe and Pozzi were no longer there. “If we let them leave, they’ll never pay us back. But if we don’t let them leave, they won’t have a chance to come up with the money they owe us.”

“I guess you’ll just have to trust us, then,” Pozzi said. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Butterball?”

Flower ignored Pozzi’s remark and turned to Stone. “What do you think, Willie?” he said. “It’s something of a quandary, isn’t it?”

As he listened to this conversation, Nashe suddenly remembered Juliette’s trust fund. It probably wouldn’t be difficult to withdraw ten thousand dollars from it, he thought. A call to the bank in Minnesota could get things started, and by the end of the day the money would be sitting in Flower and Stone’s account. It was a practical solution, but once he worked out the sequence in his
head, he rejected it, appalled at himself for even considering such a thing. The equation was too terrible: to pay off his gambling debts by stealing from his daughter’s future. No matter what happened, it was out of the question. He had brought this problem down on himself, and now he would have to take his medicine. Like a man, he thought. He would have to take it like a man.

“Yes,” Stone said, mulling over Flower’s last comment, “it’s a difficult one, all right. But that doesn’t mean we won’t think of something.” He lapsed into thought for ten or twenty seconds, and then his face gradually began to brighten. “Of course,” he said, “there’s always the wall.”

“The wall?” Flower said. “What do you mean by that?”

“The wall,” Stone repeated. “Someone has to build it.”

“Ah …,” Flower said, catching on at last. “The wall! A brilliant idea, Willie. By God, I think you’ve really surpassed yourself this time.”

“Honest work for an honest wage,” Stone said.

“Exactly,” Flower said. “And little by little the debt will be paid off.”

But Pozzi was not having any of it. The instant he realized what they were proposing, his mouth literally dropped open in astonishment. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said. “If you think I’m going to do that, you’re out of your minds. There’s no way. There’s absolutely no fucking way.” Then, starting to lift himself out of his chair, he turned to Nashe and said, “Come on, Jim, let’s get out of here. These two guys are full of shit.”

“Take it easy, kid,” Nashe said. “There’s no harm in listening. We’ve got to work out something, after all.”

“No harm!” Pozzi shouted. “They belong in the nuthouse, can’t you see that? They’re one-hundred-percent bonkers.”

Pozzi’s agitation had a curiously calming effect on Nashe, as if the more vehemently the kid acted, the more clearheaded Nashe found it necessary to become. There was no doubt that things had
taken a strange turn, but Nashe realized that he had somehow been expecting it, and now that it was happening, there was no panic inside him. He felt lucid, utterly in control of himself.

“Don’t worry about it, Jack,” he said. “Just because they make us an offer, that doesn’t mean we have to accept. It’s a question of manners, that’s all. If they have something to tell us, then we owe them the courtesy of hearing them out.”

“It’s a waste of time,” Pozzi muttered, sinking back into his chair. “You don’t negotiate with madmen. Once you start to do that, your brain gets all fucked up.”

“I’m glad you brought your brother along with you,” Flower said, letting out a sigh of disgust. “At least there’s one reasonable man we can talk to.”

“Shit,” Pozzi said. “He’s not my brother. He’s just some guy I met on Saturday. I barely even know him.”

“Well, whether you’re related to him or not,” Flower said, “you’re lucky to have him here. For the fact is, young man, you’re staring at a heap of trouble. You and Nashe owe us ten thousand dollars, and if you try to walk out without paying, we’ll call the police. It’s as simple as that.”

“I already said we’d listen to you,” Nashe interrupted. “You don’t have to make threats.”

“I’m not making threats,” Flower said. “I’m just presenting you with the facts. Either you show some cooperation and we work out an amicable arrangement, or we take more drastic measures. There are no other alternatives. Willie has come up with a solution, a perfectly ingenious solution in my opinion, and unless you have something better to offer, I think we should get down to brass tacks.”

“The specifics,” Stone said. “Hourly wage, living quarters, food. The practical details. It’s probably best to get those things settled before we start.”

“You can live right out there in the meadow,” Flower said.

“There’s a trailer on the premises already—what they call a mobile home. It hasn’t been used for some time, but it’s in perfectly good condition. Calvin lived there a few years ago while we were building his cottage for him. So there’s no problem about putting you up. All you have to do is move in.”

“It has a kitchen,” Stone added. “A fully equipped kitchen. A refrigerator, a stove, a sink, all the modern conveniences. A well for water, electrical hookup, baseboard heating. You can do your cooking there and eat whatever you want. Calvin will keep you stocked with supplies, whatever you ask him for he’ll bring. Just give him a shopping list every day, and he’ll go into town and get what you need.”

“We’ll provide you with work clothes, of course,” Flower said, “and if there’s anything else you want, all you have to do is ask. Books, newspapers, magazines. A radio. Extra blankets and towels. Games. Whatever you decide. We don’t want you to be uncomfortable, after all. In the final analysis, you might even enjoy yourselves. The work won’t be too strenuous, and you’ll be outdoors in this beautiful weather. It will be a working holiday, so to speak, a short, therapeutic respite from your normal lives. And every day you’ll see another section of the wall go up. That will be immensely satisfying, I think: to see the tangible fruits of your labor, to be able to step back and see the progress you’ve made. Little by little, the debt will be paid off, and when the time comes for you to go, not only will you walk out of here free men, but you’ll have left something important behind you.”

“How long do you think it will take?” Nashe said.

“That depends,” Stone answered. “You’ll get so much per hour. Once your total earnings come to ten thousand dollars, you’ll be free to go.”

“What if we finish the wall before we’ve earned ten thousand dollars?”

“In that case,” Flower said, “we’ll consider the debt paid in full.”

“And if we don’t finish, what are you planning to pay us?”

“Something commensurate with the task. A normal wage for workers on this kind of job.”

“Such as?”

“Five, six dollars an hour.”

“That’s too low. We won’t even consider it for less than twelve.”

“This isn’t brain surgery, Mr. Nashe. It’s unskilled labor. Piling one stone on top of another. It doesn’t require much study to do that.”

“Still, we’re not going to do it for six dollars an hour. If you can’t do any better than that, you might as well call the police.”

“Eight, then. My final offer.”

“It’s still not good enough.”

“Stubborn, aren’t you? And what if I went up to ten? What would you say to that?”

“Let’s figure it out, and then we’ll see.”

“Fine. It won’t take but a second. Ten dollars apiece comes to twenty dollars an hour for the two of you. If you put in an average of ten hours of work—just to keep the figures simple—then you’ll be earning two hundred dollars a day. Two hundred into ten thousand is fifty. Which means it will take you approximately fifty days. If it’s late August now, that comes out to some time in the middle of October. Not so long. You’ll be finished just as the leaves are beginning to turn.”

Bit by bit, Nashe found himself giving in to the idea, gradually accepting the wall as the only solution to his predicament. Exhaustion might have played a part in it—the lack of sleep, the inability to think anymore—but somehow he thought not. Where was he going to go, anyway? His money was gone, his car was gone, his life was in a shambles. If nothing else, perhaps those
fifty days would give him a chance to take stock, to sit still for the first time in over a year and ponder his next move. It was almost a relief to have the decision taken out of his hands, to know that he had finally stopped running. The wall would not be a punishment so much as a cure, a one-way journey back to earth.

The kid was beside himself, however, and all during the conversation he kept emitting disgruntled, petulant noises, aghast at Nashe’s acquiescence and the insane haggling over money. Before Nashe had a chance to shake hands on a deal with Flower, Pozzi grabbed hold of his arm and announced that he had to talk to him in private. Then, not bothering to wait for a response, he yanked Nashe out of his chair and dragged him into the hall, slamming the door shut with his foot.

“Come on,” he said, still pulling on Nashe’s arm. “Let’s go. It’s time to leave.”

But Nashe shrugged off Pozzi’s hand and stood his ground. “We can’t leave,” he said. “We owe them money, and I’m not in the mood to get hauled off to jail.”

“They’re just bluffing. There’s no way they’d get the fuzz involved in this.”

“You’re wrong, Jack. Guys with money like that can do anything they want. The minute those two called, the cops would jump. We’d be picked up before we were half a mile from here.”