Seven Stud by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 8
When I got there I made my customary breakfast and had coffee. I was feeling surprisingly well and remembered that I had a few loose ends that I could possibly tie up today. After eating I drove to Frank Happle’s house and knocked at the door.
He again answered rather quickly, saying; “Ed. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”
I said; “Oh no, not that. I just wanted to see if it was okay with you, if Butch played in Friday night’s game.”
He chuckled; “Where would Butch get that kind of money?”
“I’m lending him some and he’ll be close.”
“Fine with me, Ed. But, let him go in his own car.”
I said; “Thanks,” and returned to my car, this time going to Butch’s. He was outside in front, trimming some bushes. I parked in front of the garage and got out. He said; “Just the person I wanted to see. Let me get you a pair of clippers.”
“I get three dollars an hour, sir.”
He brought my tools and said; “Just clip. My mom’s going to kill me if I don’t get this done soon.”
It was a very pleasant, sunny, eighty degree day, with a small breeze. We didn’t speak for some time, concentrating on the task at hand. He finally said; “Alice told me you saw Acheron again.”
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“Yeah, she’s right about that.”
“Have a good time?”
“Yeah, I like her.”
“Get laid yet?”
I put the clippers down, looked at him and disgustedly said; “Why do you keep asking me stupid questions?”
“I’m just trying to see if you’re stupid enough to answer them. You can’t blame me for evaluating the intelligence of my business partner.”
“Well now that I’ve answered question number five correctly, can we proceed to questions six, seven, eight and on and get the whole fucking thing over with?”
“No problem. But right now we have real work to do.”
We resumed our clipping in silence, getting near the end in fifteen minutes, when I said; “Looks pretty good.”
“Yeah, my mom will appreciate it.”
“Hey, Butch.” He looked at me. “Tell me. What kind of lay is Alice?”
He opened his mouth and with smiling eyes said; “Almost as good as Acheron.” I gave him a gentle whack on the side of the head and then he laughed and added; “And don’t you ever tell Alice or Acheron I said that.”
“You’ve known Acheron for some time, I take it.”
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He again laughed, this time I’m sure it was at me and said softly, “I’ve only known Acheron personally, since I’ve gotten re-acquainted with Alice. Everything else is what Alice tells me about her.”
“I wasn’t worried about anything you might be thinking. I was just curious, you know, making polite conversation.”
“Right,” he said. “Let’s finish with these bushes and go find a deck of cards.” I complied and we finished expeditiously. He took my clippers and hung them back up in the garage alongside his own. I was following him back to the house when he said; “Seriously, Ed, I have to know one thing.”
“All right.”
“Did you?”
Before I could think of any bright answer, he took a few fast steps away from me, turned and put his left hand on his head and said; “I don’t want you going upside my head again, all right, boy.”
I jokingly chased him into the house and headed for the family room couch. He went to the kitchen, saying; “Hungry?”
“Yeah, very.”
“How about a hero?”
“Sounds excellent. Got any wine?”
“Should we?”
“I don't know about you, but I’m okay with it.”
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He brought me the hero and the wine, saying; “I don't know about me, either. So, I’m not going to join you. I’ve got this goal I plan on attaining one day. I’m not going to be convinced that I’m cured until I can go one whole month without a drink.
Since we’re going to be involved in some serious business, I figure this month is a real good time to start.”
I was really impressed and happy to hear that and said;
“You’re my hero,” and held up my sandwich. I stood up next to him and extended my open right hand. He did the same and we slapped five. I said; “You’re quite a guy, Butch. The more time goes by, the more I think that we’ll pull this off. At least you’ll hold up your end of it anyway.” I paused a few seconds and then said; “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot, the most important thing I came here to tell you is that it’s okay with Frank if you get in the Bedminster game. However, he’s driving me and you’ll have to take your own car.”
Butch sat down and said; “That fucker.”
I couldn’t gauge how he really felt, so I didn’t say anything. He got up, started looking around the room and found a deck of cards. He said; “I don’t really care. Let’s get in some more practice.”
We played knock-rummy for about an hour, a game which combines the elements of logic and memory with gambling considerations, though it isn’t necessary to use real money.
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Loretta and Sam returned from their shopping trip. When they saw us, Loretta said; “Thanks, Butch, you did a good job.”
Butch pointed my way and said; “I had some help.”
Loretta said; “Oh, Ed, hi, thanks.”
I said; “Glad to do it. It’s a great day to be out in the sun.”
Sam said; “Speaking of which, how about you bring those cards outside and we’ll get a three way going.” Loretta took the packages into the kitchen and started to put things away.
Butch answered in a questioning tone; “We’re playing knock, dad.”
Sam confidently said; “Well, don’t worry about me. Who taught you how to play, anyway? It’s more fun with three, it gets more complicated.”
We walked out the back door and moved three of the plastic chairs and a small table into the grass. We played about half an hour, making very idle chit-chat and I wasn’t detecting any flaws in their games, just penchants to proceed in somewhat predictable patterns, like myself. Then out of the blue real conversation got started.
Sam said; “I heard you boys won a lot of money at Frank’s house.”
Butch obviously tried to deflect the question, at least momentarily and said; “Where did you hear that?”
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Sam replied; “It’s a small town.”
Butch mumbled; “We did pretty good.”
Sam probed for more information; “I heard Ed was the big winner.”
Both Butch and I realized that we may have revealed a secret. When Butch said; “We did pretty good” the “we” part could imply that “we” were playing partners, nothing against the law, but best kept quiet.
I tried to re-direct the possible drift of the conversation; “We both did pretty good. I had the lucky day of my life.” I went on to explain the details of the last hand to Sam.
Sam scratched his head and made a general comment; “Yeah, I think the worst thing that can happen to someone is to get an exceptional hand just when someone nearby gets an even better one.”
The deflection either worked, or it was not necessary to begin with. I made a mental note that I would have to talk to Butch about the use of the word “we” when we again got some privacy.
Butch must have also already detected his near faux pas and said: “But, I too, did pretty good, Dad.”
Sam seemed proud when he said; “Well, that’s expected, boy.
Look at what a good teacher you had.”
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We continued playing quietly for another half hour when Sam said; “Thanks for the game, boys. I ought to check on what your Mom is up to.” He gave Butch a curious look and left.
After Sam was safely back inside, Butch said; “You don’t have to tell me, I know. Watch the word ‘we’.”
I just smiled and nodded. We played a few more minutes, but with the game getting a little more boring without the third party, we got disinterested and stopped.
I said; “Well, I think I’m going to head back home and rest up. You don’t know where the game is, do you?”
“No.”
I gave him the address and time, then went back home. I spent the rest of the week meditating, not in any officially recognized manner. I called Acheron a few times, dealt out play hands and watched some television, but I kept the channel on PBS
this time. I took a few short walks, too, but my mind was 100%
on Friday night. It took a lot of time, because since I didn’t know the types of players to be in attendance, I tried to remember every card player I ever met. The types run the gamut, like people, but I was told that some of the players were Wall Street types, playing with their bonuses and also, probably enjoying the raw gambling done in cards, as opposed to the somewhat hidden and not admitted gambling, done on their jobs.
They’d be easy to pick out, but also could be dangerous, because
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some of them are extremely smart. They can smell fear and know all the numbers. I don’t think I’ll be fearful for a number of reasons, but, most significantly, if I lose, it’s Frank’s money.
Butch could lose, too, but if he does I wouldn’t have done any better. Some days you just don’t get any kind of cards at all.
I had a quirky thought; even if Butch does lose, that was Frank’s money not long ago. We haven’t even gotten used to having it around, yet.
Hopefully, some of the Wall Street babies will be overly deferential to real gamblers, so I’ll play that role with minimum conversation. Another type of player probably to be present is another professional with a backer. I had to bask in the glory of joining the set for a few moments. Usually these guys are unpredictable. They’re all very good and will say, if asked, that they are too smart to gamble with their own money.
Most don’t really believe that, however and say things like that to end the conversation on a chuckle. If they let it continue people start to ask about professional secrets. And, they do gamble with their own money at times, but only when they think the odds are greatly in their favor. I would have to watch one of these guys for a long time to have any hope of seeing patterns of repeated behavior. Most of all they don’t want to do anything that looks stupid and possibly screw up their professional status. Consequently they’re fairly conservative,
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play their cards, don’t bluff and look for others to make mistakes. I recalled that when I was a 13 year old kid, one of these guys, who was about 23 at the time, let me stand behind him an hour one day as he played. Everyone wanted to watch this guy, because he was a consistent winner and when he lost, he lost small. He was good enough to pay for his college education on winnings. Anyway, I couldn’t tell what the hell he was doing. He didn’t seem to have a definitive characteristic, other than to drop out of games very early, no matter how small the bet, if he didn’t like the cards already given. This kind of player doesn’t bet on potential. It could be interesting because I do and one might soon note that.
The ones that make me laugh are the ones with a calculator and all the odds somewhere at their disposal. You can pick them out easily, as they often bet things like $147.50, instead of $125 or $150, because it was the precise correct calculation.
They work on very small margins and I think, inevitably, perform some calculation incorrectly and break even or lose a little bit. They of course notice this pattern themselves, but continue to play because they believe that there will be no errors the next time. They oddly, despite their reliance on numbers, must have more faith than most.
When I watched PBS I really wasn’t concentrating on it, as if it were a bird singing indecipherable lyrics. I wondered
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what Butch was thinking about. I didn’t know that his area of concern centered around how he could get a loaded undetectable gun in. Butch also cased the Bedminster address to determine how easily he could get the gun and himself back out, quickly if necessary.
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