Poker News

Wisked Away: A Joe and Hobby Poker Fiction Part 1

Hobby bought a place in Palm Springs to enjoy more of the sun during the colder winter months. A two-hour drive from L.A. puts you into a whole different world. During the “season” downtown Palm Springs is bustling with visitorsfrom colder climes.

They have money to spend and are looking for a good time. There’s an infectious party excitement in the air that can uplift your spirits. I’ve always loved the place.

Tonight we’ll be playing poker at the Agua Caliente Casino in nearby Rancho Mirage-after I treat Hobby to a steak dinner at Flinders.

“How’s your steak, Hobby?”

“Yummy. How’s yours?”

“Great. I don’t think you can beat the flavor of a New York strip steak. Uhoh. Don’t turn around but there’s a couple bozos coming this way.”

“I thought I recognized you guys. The last time I seen youse we were having a friendly game of poker in Vegas. This punk slammed me into a table and I broke both my wrists. You owe me big time. I couldn’t even wipe my butt for a month.”

“Sonny-boy, it seems like you’re out of control again. Please let us enjoy our dinner,” Hobby said in a dismissive manner.

“This is my town. I’ll catch up with you later,” Sonny said smugly.

“Your town? Seems to me you’re a Chicago boy.” I emphasized the boy part.

Sonny bristled and said, “Listen up you punks. I’m in business here now and you birds ain’t welcome.” “I’ll have to check with the Chamber of Commerce,” Hobby said, “but for now would you and your attack dog please leave.”

The big bruiser made a move toward the table just as the manager showed up and stepped in between. “Please gentlemen, you are disturbing our guests.” Sonny looked around at the faces staring in our direction and said, “We’re just leaving.” Then he pointed to Hobby saying, “I’m not through with you.” The manager watched them leave and said, “I’m sorry about that.”

“Not a problem, but tell me something. Do you know that guy?”

“He comes in for dinner occasionally. His name is Matissi.”

After the manager left, Hobby said, “Mr. M’s nephew. I never thought we see him again after our encounter in Vegas.”

“Well, Mr. M. assured us he wouldn’t be back there, but apparently he’s moved into Palm Springs.”

Mr. M. is a reputed Chicago mob boss who lives in Las Vegas. Hobby and I had an encounter with him that ended on a friendly note. He gave us an invitation that you couldn’t refuse to join a private poker game where he introduced his nephew, Sonny. All the other players were seasoned pros and it was obvious that we were there as pigeons.

Sonny wasn’t much of a player and before long he got into a heated all-in wager with Hobby, who beat Sonny’s set of aces on the river. Sonny went orbital, claimed the hand was fixed and lunged for Hobby’s throat. In less than a blink of the eye, Hobby grabbed Sonny’s extended hands and snapped both of his wrists.

“Let’s forget Sonny, Joe. We’ve got a full evening of poker ahead of us.”

“I agree wholeheartedly. Off to the casino, old buddy.”

Often Hobby and I choose to play at different tables. Such was the case this evening. I was in a $10-$20 hold’em game with a full table that included two or three who I thought were suckers. They played and lost too frequently to know what they were doing. I was waiting to get a piece of them, but my cards were lousy, until… I was on the button was ready to limp in when the guy ahead of me, one of the losers, tripled the big blind. I might have folded for another player, but I put this guy on an ace with maybe a picture kicker. I called.

The flop was an ace, six, and a trey. I had my set and if my assumption was correct, someone made a pair of aces. Two other players in the hand checked to the raiser who put in a pot size bet. I did some Academy Award-winning squirming before calling. The other players folded before the turn, which was a deuce.

Again, a big bet came from my opponent and more squirming from me as I called. The river was a nothing four.

The big bettor looked at his dwindling stack of chips. “What the hell, I might as well go all-in,” he said it with a confident smile.

No need to act anymore, I smiled and said, “I call.” “Aces and sixes,” he announced.

I flipped my set and didn’t say anything. It was a great night, but at one in the morning, I decided to cash in before my weary bones proved a handicap. After tucking away my cash, I found Hobby was getting ready to leave his table. “I’m all done, Joe. I’ll cash-in and make a pit stop.”

“OK. I’ll meet you outside.” The air was enjoyably fresh and crisp after four hours breathing the processed stuff. I walked around to the side of the entryway so I could see the sparkling clear night sky. I heard some shuffling feet behind me and as I turned I saw, in silhouette, something headed for my noggin.

When I came to I realized I was in a sleazy motel room bound to a chair. I thought I was alone except for the sparse furnishings … until I heard the flush of the toilet. Immediately the bathroom door opened and out came the bruiser who had been with Sonny at the restaurant.

Always a smartass, I couldn’t help but say, “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to wash your hands?”

“Don’t mention my mother,” he said as he delivered a backhand that sent me, chair and all, across the room. Next time I came to, Sonny was standing in front of me.

To be continued.

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