Poker News

Poker Game Show: A Joe and Hobby Fiction

After three weeks I still hadn’t heard from Bailey Mack, the TV producer who signed me up to do the concept for a poker game show. I got burned once before by Hobby’s friend. I should have known better than to give him another shot at me. I visited Hobby to share my grief.

“Why didn’t you tell me Bailey wasn’t returning your calls?” he asked. “Maybe I didn’t want to admit I feel like a schmuck. His office phone is a bust. Can you get in touch with him?”

“I’ve got his home number. I’ll call,” Hobby offered.

As he dialed I said, “If you get him, tell him I’m pissed.”

After an inordinate length of time Hobby said, “His answering machine’s picking up.”

“Another bust, just leave a message,” I said. Hobby bellowed, “Bailey, this is Joe Crest.

Why the hell don’t you answer my calls? If you’re screwing with me, you’re dead meat!” He slammed down the phone.

“How’s that, Joe?” “Why the hell did you say you were me and threaten him? That was dumb. He’ll probably recognize your voice anyway.”

“I was just having a little fun, Joe.”

A few days later, when the telephone jangling my nerves, I thought it mightbe Bailey. It was Tom Victor, my friend who’s a homicide detective with the LAPD. “Joe, your name came up a murder investigation. Did you make a threatening phone call to Bailey Mack?” “Oh, balls,” I thought and replied, “Well, not exactly.” I elaborated, but my explanation even sounded weak to me.

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt for now, Joe, but we’ll have to bring you in for questioning.”

I didn’t want the black & white taxi service. I said, “I’ll drive down.”

“I can’t play that loose in a murder investigation, Joe. Stay put; I’ll pick you up in my car.”

On the way to the station I told Tom about my experience with Bailey, both past and present. He said, “It’s your bad luck that this is a high profile case. The brass at Parker Center are already up in arms. Since we don’t have another suspect, we’ll have to lean on you.” Four hours later I was released with the admonition, “Don’t leave town.”

“Thanks to you, Hobby,” I quietly muttered.

Tom dropped me off at the Marina. I didn’t waste any time lambasting Hobby.

“You’ve got me in a hell of a fix this time!” “What’s eating you, Joe?”

“Thanks to your having fun, I’m the number one suspect in the murder of Bailey Mack” “He’s dead! Oh my God. You didn’t…ah…” “No, I didn’t kill the bastard, but because of your stupid phone call the cops think so. I may be arraigned on a murder charge.”

“Jeez, Joe, I’m sorry. I had no idea. What are you going to do? I’ll get you a lawyer.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll wait to see if they charge me. Think about it; all of this just because of a silly-ass game show which is probably dead too.”

“Oh no, it isn’t,” Hobby said as he picked through an accumulation of newspapers. He snatched one up and said, “Not to add to your misery, but it looks like someone else had the same idea. A poker game show starts tonight on Channel 12.”

“Well, I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later. We’ll see if they came up with a better idea, but in the meantime, I’ve got some serious thinking to do. If the cops don’t come up with another suspect, I’m in deep doo. Tell me what you know about Bailey, maybe we can get a line on the killer. Was he into drugs?”

“I think he did coke, but I don’t know how much.” “Any of your friends might know?”

“Yeah, I’ll call Jimmy.”

After some conversing Hobby said, “Wow, really that much;” it sounded promising.

“Joe, he was in deep, about a grand a day up his nose. Jimmy thought he might have overdosed.” “I wish he had, Hobby. I heard the cops say they didn’t find any blow at the scene, but there’s no doubt what happened. He was shot in the back of the head. Ask Jimmy if he knows Bailey’s drug connection.”

After another phone call, Hobby said, “He wasn’t sure but he told me about Carlo, who he thinks has the same source. He has a law office out on Lincoln.”

For lack of a better idea, we decided to stake out the office. That afternoon was a bust. At 6 p.m.

Carlo, who Hobby recognized, left. We followed him to his home and waited. We were about to give it up when the garage door opened and he drove out. We trailed our quarry to the Duchess Hotel and discretely followed him into the lounge. Within minutes a slick looking dude slipped into Carlo’s booth. It was hard to see in the dimly lit room, but something changed hands under the table.

“What now, Joe.”

“When the mule leaves, we’ll pick him up. I’ll get the car, you stay with him. I trust you can hold him until I pull up out front.”

Hobby, who incidentally is one of the world’s top martial arts experts said, “No problem, Joe.”

As I drove up I spotted them. Hobby had one hand into the man’s armpit and was leading him like a bull with a nose ring. “Get him into the back seat, and put him out,” I said. I looked back as Hobby squeezed the man’s neck and saw the head slumped over.

I started to pull out but suddenly, with a loud screech of tires, a large sedan cut me off. Two monster guys jumped out and charged toward the car. I was fumbling, trying to find the door lock, but was too late. The door was pulled open. I was yanked out and splayed across the driveway. As I tried to get up I saw a boot coming toward my head.

(To be concluded in next issue.)

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