Poker News

Poker Cop

I look into the O-O of the shotgun’s barrel. The gunman says, ‘No one cheats the House of Cards.” I close my eyes.

Feet pounding down the hallway. Getting closer. I open my eyes. The gun-man has run into the bedroom. I pick up Gyp’s gun to go after him.

‘Drop the gun!” I turn. A cop, his .44 pointed at me, is at the door.

‘Officer! . . . the killer . . . he’s in the bedroom.”

‘Drop the gun! Now!”

I drop the gun. He steps over ‘Gyp’s” body ands says, ‘You’re under arrest for murder.”

I’ve been read my rights. Booked. Strip searched. Arraigned. Strip searched. Ordered held on $1,000,000 bail. And, you guessed it, strip searched. Now I’m in an Interrogation Room. Homicide Detective Sweeny reads from my Record, ‘Thayer, Jack - aka Ajax, aka Ram Jam Jack, aka Broadway Jack . . . .

‘Just call me Jack.”

‘Arrested for cheating at poker.”

‘I didn’t deal marked cards. . “

‘Arrested for cheating at craps.”

‘I didn’t use loaded dice. . “

‘Arrested for cheating at blackjack.”

‘I didn’t count cards . . .”

‘Arrested for murder . . .”

‘I didn’t . . .”

The Detective shakes his head. It’s truth time, Jack. You played. You lost. You killed. Five poker players walk into a room. One poker player, gun in hand, walks out. I’ve got an eyewitness. You’re going down for murder. Con-fess!”

Sweeny has overplayed a poor hand. I call his bluff, ‘Detective, you’ve got nothing. The blond saw me holding a gun. You know that gun was never fired. The murder weapon was a shotgun - which is missing. The killer, the Small Man, is missing. The money is also missing. You’ve got nothing.”

The Interrogation Room door opens. Sweeny is called outside. I wait.

‘All right,” says the Detective, returning, ‘you’re free to go. Just don’t leave town.”

‘Free to . . . go?”

‘You’ve been bailed out. Someone posted $1,000,000. Cash. I can’t hold you. Go.” I go. I walk out of the jailhouse. I take out my ‘Lucky Deck” to shuffle up my luck. A Big Goon stands beside a stretch limo. He opens the door, says, ‘Get in.”

I look to my right. Big Goon. I look to my left. Big Goon. I get in the car.

‘Good evening, Mr. Thayer,” says a well dressed man. Sitting next to him is the Big Big Goon. ‘Did you post my bail?

‘Yes.”

‘Why would you . . .?”

‘Giuseppe Maggiolo was murdered tonight. He was my nephew. My widowed sister’s only son. She named him for our late father, Giuseppe Fuocco.”

I know that name, who doesn’t: Giuseppe ‘Mad Joey”

Fuocco, former head of a Mob Family. Which means I’m talking to . . .”

‘I am Don Paulo Fuocco. Who killed ‘Gyp”?

‘I don’t know.”

‘You are the sole survivor of a poker room massacre. If you don’t know, who does?

I stammer, ‘Mr. Fuocco . . . Don Paulo . . . I . . . “

‘Mr. Thayer, you have 24 hours to bring me the name of ‘Gyp’s” murderer.”

‘I can’t . . .”

‘You can and you will. Otherwise.” Don Paulo Fuocco takes my ‘Lucky Deck” and hands it to the Big Big Goon who, with no effort at all, tears it in half.

‘You see Mr. Thayer. Unlike you poker players, I do not bluff.”

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