Poker News

Poker Cop: A poker murder mystery

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

“I, aaah have. . . umm haven’t. . . .”

“Your failure in this matter, says the Don, “is very disappointing.” He reaches into his coatand pulls out half my “Lucky Deck.” The half I gave to Jenny. “I have the girl. You can have her back if 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 was going to get me killed. I never got the chance. Just then the three men watching the redhead on the pole pull out guns and start blasting away.

I project a fearless table image. Right now I cower fearfully under a table. Every time a bullet whiz-whirs by I wince. I do a lot of wincing. The Gunfight At The OK Corral? Six-shooters. The St. Valentine’s Day Massacre? Tommy Guns. The Shoot Out At The Last Chance Lap Dance? Semi-automatics and submachine guns. Long after the fire-fight ends I stay under the table.

Crunch! Footsteps on shattered glass. Crunch!

“You can come out now,” says a woman, “they’re gone.”

I crawl out. Two of the three original shooters are sprawled dead on the floor. The Don and his Goon’s are gone.

The woman says, “Special Agent Merry, FBI Mob Task Force. I’ve been looking for you, Mr. Thayer.”

“What do you want?”

“Well, for starters, what happened to them?”

I look over at the two dead men, and answer, “Bar fight.” Agent Merry plays Bad Cop. I listen to a stream of obscenities telling me, in explicit detail, exactly what will happen if I don’t fully cooperate. She asks again, “What happened to them?”

I answer, “Really bad bar fight.”

Agent Merry plays Good Cop. “Detective Sweeny is your enemy. I can be your friend. If you help me maybe I can get him off your back.”

I say nothing. She lost me at, “I can be your friend.”

My “friend” continues, “The Mob Task Force is investigating the death of Don Giuseppe Fuocco. Like you he was a poker player. We have a wiretap of the Old Don telling his grandson Gyp, ‘I’ve been invited.’ That’s the exact word he used, ‘invited to play at the Card House, highest-stakes poker game of all.’ The next day he’s dead. Killed by a double-barrel shotgun.”

I picture the O-O of the SmallMan’s shotgun.

The FBI Agent continues, “Pretty Paulie has started a Mob War over the death of his father. This is a battlefield of that war. We have an informant who says that Don Paulo believes the assassin who shotgunned Don Giuseppe and Gyp and is now after him. You’re the only one who’s seen the killer.” I’m shown a sketch of a Frankenstein’s Monster look-alike. “Is this Gyp’s killer?”

“No,” I tell her, “not even close, “Who is he?”

“The Jackal.” A killer-for-hire. His weapon is a shotgun. Have you ever heard of him?”

Heard of him???? Every time I couldn’t pay Gyp’s 25%/day vig he threatened to sic “The Jackal” on me.

“Never heard of him,” I tell the FBI Agent.

Police sirens wail in the distance. “That’s Detective Sweeny’s whine,” says Agent Merry, “Get out of here.” I take the back door. In the alley a heavy hand falls on my shoulder. The hand belongs to Frankenstein’s Monster.

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