The Bet
A little modern noir with a twist.
If I learned one thing in life it’s this: never turn your back on someone who cheats at cards. There are a lot of things I can stomach, but all my life I’ve had a secret and overwhelming respect for playing cards. Maybe there’s a mystery of them, like their ancestry to the tarot, strange fingers of history and fiction tying them all the way to Egypt. Wherever it came from, I respected the game of poker, and so when I saw Tommy Knuckles dealing from the bottom of the deck, I knew it was going to be a long night.
Sometimes you step too deep into somebody else’s mess. You go from bystander to liability in a heartbeat. It isn’t a fun place to be. You sit down at a table knowing the stakes are way too high, but there’s a knife in your back telling you to push on. Sometimes that knife is called love. Then again, what do I know about love?
The blonde by the door of the smoky backroom was about three inches too tall and about three miles out of my league. That didn’t explain why she’d been giving me the eye for the last hour. I had to temper my vision by glancing at the other side of the door every couple of minutes, where the big bruiser named “Mug” stood making sure the game stayed “clean.”
Mug was about six-foot-thirteen and strong for his height. He looked like a bulldog, only not half as pretty. He brought my head back into the game. Looking at that dame too long started doing funny things to my sight and made my pants uncomfortable.
Tommy laid down three queens again. I’d watched him produce the same hand twice already tonight. My chips were dwindling, but something told me to stay seated. Maybe it was Mug, whose muscles bulged almost as much as the obvious revolver at his hip. Then again, maybe it was the leggy blonde with the sparkling green eyes and the dress cut so low only faith was keeping it on her chest. This room didn’t have much faith.
“Hey, Pete... you gonna stop eye-balling my girl long enough to bet?”
Tommy Knuckles. A shrunken husk of an L.A. loan shark. He came to Chicago two years ago thinking he’d make a name for himself in backdoor poker. He ran games all over the city, letting anybody in who didn’t look like a hustler. I guess I didn’t look like a hustler. Full of surprises, that’s me.
There wasn’t much I could do about losing, and Tommy didn’t take kindly to people leaving mid-game. He liked to shake down his “friends” thoroughly before sending them back to the cold Chicago night.
So why was I here? Did I like getting hustled? Did I like having some no-neck wannabe wiseguy from the coast take my money?
No. I was on a case. A big case. A case for the very same leggy blonde who kept smiling at me from across the room.
Her name was Catherine Prince. She walked into my office about two weeks ago with a sad story and two big green eyes full of tears. Tommy always called her Princess. She told me to call her Cat. This kitten had me wrapped around her finger the minute she walked in. She knew it and so did I. The funny thing is, when a woman like that has you in her clutches, you don’t mind being wrapped around her finger. Hell, you don’t mind being wrapped around any part of her.
She wanted me to off her boyfriend. When I told her that wasn’t my game, she said she’d settle for getting out of the little arrangement he’d forced her into. The arrangement was simple: she was his sex toy and occasional punching bag, and in return, he didn’t kill her.
When she dropped three grand in my lap, I told her I’d see what I could do.
Two weeks later I’m surrounded by four of the ugliest, scariest, gun-toting mobsters in the Windy City playing a dangerous game. And I’m not talking about seven-card stud.
I dressed in a thick brown wool suit from the back of my closet, padded myself with a couple of sweaters, and slapped an old wig on my head with a hat over it. Pete the Greek, I called myself. This bunch was so drunk they wouldn’t know a Greek from a belly dancer.
Around the thirteenth hand, I started getting itchy in my getup. The wig scratched at my hairline. The padding made me sweat. If I was going to make my move, it had to be soon.
“Listen, uh, Tommy,” I started, speaking low, hoping my voice didn’t sound too fake.
“I’m getting tired of this nickel-and-dime crap. How about a real game?”
The table went quiet. Tommy eyed me from across the felt, sizing me up, calculating how much he could bleed me for. I didn’t look like much. So I did what I always do in situations like this—I bullshitted.
“Listen, Tommy. Couple weeks ago, me and my cousin got two brand-new Mercedes in a sweet deal over in Newark. What would you say if I put those babies on the table?”
Tommy’s right hand clenched and unclenched. He fingered his gold ring, that little tell he had whenever greed got the better of him.
“Two brand-new stolen Benzes...” He leaned back. “I’ll put up four grand against that.”
One of the other players—Big Apple Bob Matenzo—laughed a little.
“Listen, Tommy. I was thinking about something else... something...” I let my gaze drift over to the door, to where she stood. She looked lazily to her left, pretending to be disinterested.
Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed. He thought about it. Then I could almost see the moment he remembered he could still cheat. A sick smile spread across that ugly face.
“You got yourself a bet, Greek.”
The other guys stood up after a minute and drifted over to the bar. I could hear them mumbling about the high stakes, about how “Princess” was beautiful and all, but two brand-new Mercedes were a whole other story.
As Tommy dealt the cards, I wiped the sweat off my forehead.
“If I lose, my cousin’s gonna kill me,” I muttered.
The weight of the situation settled on me as the last card fell. If I got caught in this play, I’d be sleeping in the lake by midnight.
Tommy took two cards. So did I. He thought he had it all perfectly planned. What he didn’t know was that I’d spent three years dealing blackjack in Vegas. I knew more tricks than Tommy could dream of. When you watch cards eight hours a day, you learn to read a mechanic’s work. I’d spotted his cold deck within the first hour.
“You want to up the stakes a little?” Tommy’s face was awash with greed and the image of shiny new cars.
“Hell no. I think I’m in enough trouble as it is.” Amazing how real a lie sounds when you’re just redirecting one fear into another.
He laid down three queens with two eights alongside them. His backup hand, the one he saved for when he really needed ammunition.
He was halfway out of his seat, already bragging, when he saw my kings. Four of them.
I stammered. I did the whole act—wide eyes, shaking hands, the works. Tommy sat back down, fuming, while the boys slapped me on the back and offered cigars and drinks.
I played it tight. Made like I’d just burned through a lifetime of luck and wanted to cash out. Because let’s face it, my luck was used up and it was definitely time to move on.
Cat didn’t say a word. She just followed me out.
We walked out of the alley and into the street with those slow steps you take when you’re trying desperately not to run.
Tommy wasn’t going to let her go easy. But when you’re a gambler, you have to look like you pay your debts or you lose face. Tommy knew that as well as I did. Still, I wasn’t naive. He’d come for us eventually. Just not tonight.
We were almost to my car when I saw the light in the alley. Mug, getting ready to take me down. He shuffled out and headed for a big van across the street.
Cat hopped in my car the same time I did. Just like always, the engine started on the first try and purred like a kitten on your lap. I smiled. Mug wouldn’t be hearing the same sound. Before the card game, I’d snuck around that clumsy van and slashed the tires. I’d also stuffed wet newspaper in his exhaust. He wasn’t going anywhere.
As we sped off, Cat watched me drive. She looked at ease for the first time since I’d met her. Her happiness mixed with a certain hunger I’d only wished for.
“You look good in a suit, tough guy,” she purred, sweeter than my engine.
She pulled off my hat and wig and threw them in the back seat. She took my hair out of the tight little bun I’d wound it into and sat back to look at me again.
“So where are you taking me?” Eyes smiling, those beautiful lips matching.
“We’re going to L.A. Tommy’s got too many enemies in that town to follow us. Plus I know a couple of clubs where you and I can dance without being gawked at.” I tried not to look over at her. Any self-control I had left would melt away if I did.
“I don’t have a say in this?” Still smiling. Still teasing.
“I won you fair and square. You’re mine now.” I tried not to let the huge smile welling up in my chest overtake me. After all, I had to stay tough.
“I guess I am yours then... forever?” Her voice still had that sexy tone, but touched now with something I could only hope was—hope itself.
“Forever’s a long time. But we’ll see.”
And we drove off, right into forever.
The End