Poker News

Poker Cop: A poker Player Murder Mystery

“Clear!” shouts the paramedic. Ignoring my life-and-death struggle, Gyp says, “Not awl a’ us at da game wuz kilt.”

“You mean me?’

“No. As a matta a factI don’t. . . “

“think he’s going to make it. You. . .”

“woodn’ eider f ya’d tink out. Da problum iz ya haven’t counted up the numba a . . .”

“dead! One more failed shock and we’re declaring him dead.”

“. . . jus’ like me an’ da three poka playas. Nows iz dat”

“Clear!”

I start breathing again. Jake says, “You were dead.”

I reply, “Just like Gyp and the three poker players!”

I refuse to go to the Hospital. Instead I go out into the street, hail a cab, and give the driver a skid row address. On the way I explain it to Jake who then asks, “You want me to believe that Gyp, who is dead, told you, when you were dead, that you’d mis-counted the number of poker players at the massacre.”

“Yes, that’s right!”

“No, that’s crazy! The cops found fourdead poker players.”

“Only because I told them that number. They asked me how many players were in the game. I said, “Five.” I didn’t count Gyp - he wasn’t a player, he was the dealer!

There were, in fact, six of us at the table: Gyp, dealing, and Mo, Larry, Curley, Shemp, and me playing.

Start subtracting from six.

I saw Gyp and the Three Stooges dead. That’s three.

I’m, more or less, alive, that’s two, which leaves only one: Shemp!”

“Shemp? What about The Small Man? I thought he’s the murderer.”

“He is a murderer. Just not their murderer. No, I’m sure Shemp killed them. Killed them all for the vig. To prove it to the cops I have to find Jenny. She can tell them how many were in the room!”

The cab pulls up in front of the greasy spoon where Jenny had been abducted.

I tell the cabby, “Wait.”

“Jenny’s not here,” says Jake.

I tell him who is here. In an alleyway we find the bag lady who’d witnessed Jenny’s kidnapping. “The Small Man who grabbed the blond. You told me they got into a cab. Right?”

She nods yes. Do you remember where he told the cabby to take them?”

“Lemme think,” she says.

“It wuz somethin’ familiarlike. Oh yeah! I remember it now cause it was kinda funny he’d say somethin’ like that. It wuz the corner of. . . .”

A gunshot explodes in her face. Jake yells, “Run!” and fires into the darkness. Run!” he yells again. I’ll be right behind!”

I run. At the top of the alley the cab waits. I jump in. Jake does not follow.

“Where to?” asks the cabby.

A Goon steps out of the alley.

I yell to the driver, “Step on it!”

“Where to?” he asks.

“Somewhere! Anywhere!”

The Goon raises his gun. “I need an address.”

I scream, “Winslow, Arizona! Go!”

I collapse back in the seat. Close my eyes. Sleep. The cab lurches to a halt, waking me. “We’re here,” says the driver.

“Where?”

“Exactly where you asked to be taken. The corner of Winslow and Arizona.”

I pay the driver and get out. He’s left me in front of an old brownstone. A woman appears at the top of the stairs. “Hello Jack,” says Jenny, “Welcome to the House of Cards.”

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