Poker News

Poker Cop: A Poker Player Murder Mystery

Honey’s not talking about the House of Cards. Her bodyguard, “Big Elmo,” lays sprawled, half-in and half-out of the front door of “The Girls,” Honey’s Strip Club/Poker Room. What’s left of Honey herself is splattered all over her front steps.

Neither is Thumbs.

The City Morgue’s “Meat Wagon” is parked in the alley behind “The Cat Flush Card Club.” Thumbs lays under two white sheets ten feet apart.

Or Wheels. The Limp Inn has burned to the ground. The twisted remains of a melted wheelchair, and its charred-beyond-recognition owner, sit in the ruins. “We’re too late,” says Jake. “All the injured House of Cards players are dead.”

“Yes,” I say.

“No,” says The Ugly Man as he comes up behind me and slashes at my throat.

I don’t feel the knife make its shallow cut through my flesh - must be the pain killers.Jake aims his shotgun . . .

“Drop your gun,” says The Ugly Man.

. . . raises it to eye level . . . “I’ll cut deeper!”

. . . and says to me, “It’s a 50-50 shot. Your call.”

I’ve drawn to far worse odds. “Take the shot!” “Wait!” says the Ugly Man.

Jake waits.

“I have the girl,” he says to me. “Give me your invitation to the House Of Cards. I’ll let her go.”

“You don’t have the Girl. I don’t have the Invitation.” “Stop lying to me! I know you killed four poker players to get it! Give it to me or I’ll finish cutting your throat right now! Give me The Spade!”

The knife cuts deeper into my flesh. Jake begins to squeeze his trigger.

“The Spade?” I ask.

“You mean,” pulling the Gravedigger’s Shovel out of my cheater’s sleeve and holding it up to his face, “this Spade?”

The Ugly Man yells, “Yes!” and grabs for the card. Jake shoots him.

The Ugly Man clutches the As to what’s left of his chest. He drifts in and out of consciousness. “I didn’t always look like this,” he says, putting a hand to his disfigured face, “The House of Cards scarred me just like they mutilated Honey, mangled Thumbs and crippled Wheels. They made us into freaks! Then we heard the rumors, ‘The House of Cards is coming back to town.’ I went to Honey, Thumbs, and Wheels and said, ‘Beating the House will be our revenge!’ If they’d put up the buy-in, I’d be willing to play the game.”

He takes out a bloodsoaked check. It’s for $250,000. “I had the money. All I needed was an Invitation.” He coughs up a gush of blood, “Then I found out you had The Spade!”

“Who told you I had. . . .”

He talks over my question, “Now they have to let me play! It’s in the Rules. You show the Spade, you play. The game’s tonight. All I have to do now is stand on the corner. . . .”

He drifts away. I shake him, ask, “What corner?”

“. . . Winslow, Arizona and such a fine sight to see . . .” and drifts away again.

I sit there helpless as the Ugly Man bleeds out.

Suddenly he opens his eyes, shakes The Spade in my face, yells, “Gyp told me his partner had an invitation to play at the House Of Cards. That was you, you lying son of. . . .” and dies.

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