Poker News

Poker Cop: A Poker Player Murder Mystery

Wheels screams for “Help!”

“Let’s get out of here now!” says Jake.

“Wait!” I go to the closet and grab the Old Don’s metal briefcase. Clutching it to my chest, I run for the alley door.

The man who has fallen through the trap door is on all fours trying to stand. I stop to give him a hand up. Our eyes meet. In total disbelief I stumble backwards. The Small Man pulls out his shotgun and fires at me pointblank.

Don Giuseppe’s full metal jacket briefcase, still clutched to my chest, absorbs the impact of the shotgun’s blast. The Small Man, unable to believe that I haven’t been blown to rags, raises his weapon. I run out the door.

The alley dead-ends at the basement door. With only one way out Jake and I run up the alleyway towards the sidewalk. We don’t make it.

A Limp Inn Goon stands at the alley’s exit blocking our way out. He raises his Street Sweeper.

The Small Man stands at the alley’s end blocking our way back. He raises his shot-gun.

Jake pulls me down to the ground as The Goon and The Small Man, seeing us, but not each other, start shooting.

When the firefight ends, the score is Goon 0 Small Man 1. While the smoke clears, and the Small Manreloads, Jake and I run for the alley’s exit. The Small Man follows.

Jake and I reach the street. He turns to me and says, “Get out of here. Save yourself. Go. Now!”

I take two steps away. Suddenly a car turns onto the street and races wildly towards us. It ssscccccrrrreeeeeeches to a halt.

“Get in!” yells the driver who, once we’re in, burns rubber. The Small Man emerges from the alleyway and fires. The back window shatters as, taking the corner on two-wheels, we make our escape.

Jenny, at the wheel, says, “Wow! That was a close one!”

We find a greasy spoon.

At the table I open up the poke. The briefcase is stuffed with bundles of $100’s - and a playing card. The As. “Why would the Don have $250,000 and the Gravedigger’s Shovel?” I ask. No one knows. I put the poke away and the card up my cheater’s sleeve.

I add painkillers to my coffee. I go over all that’s happened: Gyp’s Murder. The Poker Room Massacre. The Small Man. The House Of Cards. Don Paulo. The Ugly Man. The Dealer. Honey. Thumbs. Donna Francesca. Wheels. Don Giuseppe’s $250,000 Poke.

The As.

Mismatched jigsaw puzzle pieces. Something’s wrong! What is it?

Well, for starters, I’ve had too much coffee. Jake comes with me to the Men’s Room. We stand next to each other. I rest my broken arm on the top of the urinal and begin to splash red. I say to Jake, “Something’s. . . .” . . . wrong! What is it?

Suddenly I know what it is! My rags have just turned into three of a kind! I have a set! I know what’s. . . . . . . wrong!” I yell, turning to face Jake. He looks at me as if I’m crazy. I must be. I’m pissing blood on a man who kills people for a living.

I’m still zipping up as I run up the table yelling, “Jenny, I know what’s. . . .”

What’s wrong is that Jenny and Don Giuseppe’s $250,000 poke are gone.

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