Poker News

Poker Cop by Robert Arabella

“D” is for Dealer The Ugly Man, in a wild rage, yells, “I know you have one! Give me your invitation to the House of Cards or I’ll kill you.” When I tell him I can’t! he pulls out a knife and plunges it into my chest.

My torn-in-half “Lucky Deck,” heldin my shirt pocket, stops the knife. The Ugly Man curses, pulls out the knife, and raises it again.

TWACK!

The Ugly Man collapses.

The tire iron that has knocked my assailant down is held by the girl from the poker game, the young blond eye-candy Gyp hired to serve drinks.

She yells, “You killed Gyp!” She raises the tire iron over her head.

“No!” I yell, “Wait! I didn’t kill Gyp! He was my partner! We were running a scam!”

“I saw you standing over Gyp with a gun.”

“He was already dead. The real killer was getting away . . .” The tire iron starts to come down.

“Wait! I can prove he was my partner!” I yell, “Gyp told you to serve me, and only me, the straight Stoli. Right?”

“Yeah . . . right . . . So?”

“So the Stoli was watered down. The other players were drinking 80 Proof. Gyp made sure I was drinking vodka flavored tap-water.”

“OK, she says, lowering the tire iron, “Gyp told me he had a partner.” While she unties me I tell her the story of the real killer, the Small Man, and what he said to me.

“What’s this House Of Cards all about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does he?” she says kicking at the unconscious Ugly Man.

“No, he doesn’t know either.”

“Well,” she says exasperated. “Who does know?”

I finally think of an answer. “The Dealer!” I tell her, “The Dealer will know.”

“Call me Jenny,” says the blond. Gyp found Jenny in a strip joint and hired her to serve drinks at our “Goldfish Game.” I learn all this as we drive downtown in her old wreck. She asks, “Who’s The Dealer?”

“Every neighborhood,” I explain, “has a Dealer, the guy who runs the illegal games: the Street Corner Lottery; the Under-the-Stairs Book; the Basement Craps Game; the Back Room Poker Game. My neighborhood dealer is an old time card player named Mo.” I have Jenny park across from Mo’s Liquor Store and tell her to wait.

I push open the door. Morris Goldstein puts down his Poker Player, “Jack! Looking for a game? I’ve got a $300/$600 hold’em game full of accountants!”

I tell him. “No, just some information. Does the ‘House Of Cards’ mean anything to you?”

Mo stares wide-eyed, asks, “Is this a joke? Did The Girls put you up to this?” When I say “No” all the blood drains from Mo’s face. He lunges to his feet and grabs me, pulling me close, “Have you been . . . invited?”

“What? . . . Invited where? . . . Let go! . . .”

“Don’t accept!” he yells, shaking me, “Whatever you do, don’t . . “

I try to pull him off me, ask, “What is the House Of Cards?” He stops. Takes a deep breath, begins, “The House Of Cards is . . .”

The close range gunshot is deafening. A perfectly round hole suddenly appears between Mo’s eyes. Blood oozes out of the hole. He slumps to the floor. From behind me the Small Man says, “Turn around.” …To Be Continued

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