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Poker Cop

“Give me your invitation to the House of Cards! screams the Ugly Man. “Give it to me or die!”

“I don’t have an Invitation. . . .”

The Ugly Man howls. He floors the taxi’s accelerator and jumps out. We speed straight down the alleyfor the brick wall. Jenny screams. The wall comes closer . . . and closer . . . and suddenly the taxi begins to slow. I watch the speedometer’s needle move down 5 | 0 … 60 … 70 I check the fuel gauge. It reads \E.

“We’re out of gas!” I yell. “We’re out of. . . .”

We crash into the wall. The impact is tremendous. Jenny and I are thrown onto the floor. The front-end disintegrates. The hood crumples. The windshield shatters. The doors fly off. The seats collapse. Dust. Smoke. Fumes. Noise. The horn is screeching. The alarm is shrieking. Jenny is screaming. I’m yelling, “Get up! Get out!” We run from the wreck. The car explodes. The fireball whoooooshes just over our heads.

Jenny and I run out of the alley. Across the street is The Last Chance Lap Dance. Three men sit at the bar watching a redhead hang upside- down. I order vodka. Jenny orders a double whiskey. I tell her, “All things considered, I’d rather be playing poker.”

“Isn’t this more exciting than poker?” she asks.

“No,” I tell her. “Nothing is more exciting than poker.” I order another round.

The waitress brings our drinks, says to Jenny, “Hon, you’ve got dirt all over your face.” Jenny gets up and says, “I’ll be right back.”

A newspaper lays discarded on a tabletop. I pick it up. The front page headline reads:

Four Players Murdered At Poker Game– Fifth Player Sought

Wait! Something’s wrong. I know there’s something wrong! What is it? I read the story:

Four poker players have been gunned down at an illegal poker game. One of the murder victims has been identified as Giuseppe “Gyp” Maggiolo, a member of the Fuocco Mob. FBI Special Agent Mary Merry speculates that the five killings may have been a professional hit. City Police Detective Sweeny, however, believes the motive may have been robbery. “We think the killer was both a poor poker player and a poor loser.” Unnamed sources close to the investigation report that the prime suspect in the poker room massacre is a known card cheat named “Thayer. . . .”

I look up from the newspaper.

Don Paulo asks, “Have you found my nephew Gyp’s murderer?”

Gyp’s Godfather is flanked by two Big Goons.

I stammer, “I’m, ummm, I ahhh . . .” and stutter, “I have, haven’t, have not. . . .”

“Your failure in this matter is very disappointing.”

He reaches into his coat . . . (The phrase “sleeps with the fishes” flashes through my mind.) . . . and pulls out half my “Lucky Deck.” The half I gave to Jenny.

The Don hands it to me and says, “I have the girl. You can have her back when you bring me Gyp’s murderer. Otherwise. . . .”

I don’t know what I was going to say to the Don. It was probably going to be something stupid that would have gotten me killed. But I never got the chance. Just then the three men watching the redhead on the pole pull out guns and start blasting away.

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