Seven Stud by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 14
We paid and left the restaurant which had a strong resemblance to a 1950’s mobile diner and again passed through the darkness. We didn’t see any of our old friends. They might have been replaced with new ones, this crop taking no notice of us whatsoever. We easily dodged the turtle paced mannequins, went into the elevator and I pushed the five button, wondering what I would do if a load of quarters came flying out of the ceiling. This proved to be another of my fleeting worries that never came to fruition.
We exited on five and walked into the hallway. Butch said;
“Are you ready?”
I said; “Most definitely. And you, sir?”
“Frankly those zombies unnerved me a little bit.”
“Well, get yourself un-unnerved, unless you want to wind up with them.”
“That fat girl in the pink ain’t bad.”
“Can we share her?”
Butch smiled, saying; “That wouldn’t be necessary. I got my game head back.”
When we got to 515 this time, Butch gave the closed door two gentle raps and then pushed it open. We were greeted by two solidly built gentlemen in suits. One said; “You boys come to play.”
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Butch said; “Yep.”
“Let’s see your money.”
Butch said; “I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.”
“We’re not players, pal.”
Butch replied; “You’re security, I guess, then,”
sarcastically.
Our new friend, Bill, was already in attendance, saw the interchange and called out, “They’re okay.”
One of the big black suited guys said; “You vouch for them?”
Bill said; “Sure.”
Big black suit mockingly bowed to us, sweeping his left arm and saying; “Come right in, friends.” We both breathed a sigh of relief, being able to hold onto our guns.
We nodded at him and entered our immediate sanctuary.
The meeting place was a gaudy high priced hotel room as expected, designed to look expensive, using a lot of red felt, gilt and shining surfaces. There was a mosaic tiled, perpetually running water fountain near the center of the twenty-five foot square room. A large picture window on one side afforded a panoramic view of the Atlantic Ocean, today under heavy clouds.
The other walls were covered with modern colorful abstract paintings. What they were abstracting was not obvious to me. A
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well-stocked bar, replete with bartender, occupied one corner.
Imitation Louis XIV chairs of different colors, but always heavy on the gilt seemed to be randomly placed on the deep purple medium shagged carpet. The table, located in the furthest quadrant from the door, was sturdy, simply rectangular, painted black, with polyurethane. The chairs surrounding it were the same as the others in the room, all matching in their intended ostentation.
We walked over to the table where all the people were.
Apparently, dressed at Brooks Brothers, one sitting portly gentleman called out; “Hey, didn’t you guys know this was a classy place?” no doubt making reference to our country
“Wrangler” duds.
I was glad to learn this quickly of one sucker in the game.
Not to yet argue I said; “Was is the right word. I think we’ve already redecorated this classy place somewhat.”
“As long as you have the money, you can redecorate it all you like. Can you show your credentials?”
I said; “Can you show yours?”
He made a phony smile, turning from side to side, looking at the other people at the table, as if to say; “These guys have got to be kidding.” I concluded that this was either the guy in charge or the guy trying to be in charge. In either case, he
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was a probable loser at cards, devoting his attention, at least in part, to his rank.
Sensing the security of the situation, Butch retrieved the wallet from his back pocket and opened it, showing the $10,000
bills to the audience spoken for by chubby Brooks Brothers. I did the same and people silently acknowledged their approval. I said; “Is anyone compelled to reciprocate?”
Bill said; “I’ll vouch for them.” He then induced brief introductions, when I discovered that chubby Brooks Brothers
“real” name was Stallion Calabresio. I hoped this name was pinned on him by another party, for his sake.
Considering the real possibility that Butch would soon be insisting on getting the game going, I took a quick scan of the imminent gladiators. There was Charles in his thick red framed sunglasses dressed like a “punky” 30 year old, with a calculator in his shirt pocket. I didn’t worry about him being in the game because it was doubtful that he had invented a system capable of factoring the down cards already dealt. Before I could continue my inventory taking, Butch said; “Is everyone going to stand around gawking or can we play some cards? We’ve got a good number.” The number was currently seven players, two backers, two security guards and Bill, whose role was not on my definition list.
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Butch walked right over to the table, put his hands on the back of one of the chairs and looked back at everyone else. The crowd slowly moved in his and Stallion’s general direction, pausing to finish incomplete conversations or take one last shot at a brilliant ending one liner.
Bill used the opportunity to say to me, when we were out of the earshot of others, that Stallion was the man here and many other places. He rarely lost and sometimes picked up meaningful sums. Any system used was so far undetectable. He was backed by Carmine D’Allesio, older and said to be well connected. I was surprised and knew all I needed to.
I grabbed a chair two away from Butch and sat down. I took a quick look at Manny, a 40 year old Chicano, backed by Ramon.
Same as Stallion, no real problem, but no mistakes, either.
“Cowboy Jakes” outfit put Butch’s to shame, displaying a very high style cowboy motif, on his thin frame. I vaguely remembered someone saying something to him about “being from Jersey City.” Completing the magnificent seven was Carl Baressi; a 25 year old, thin, muscular man wearing an Italian cut light blue suit and displaying a good Rolex. I had no feelings about him, so decided that he would be the one to initially focus on. My own possible problems appropriately came to mind first. Since I now “knew” that Stallion was the man,
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would I play to impress him or would I be able to focus entirely on the money and the cards? No problem, fuck Stallion.
Carl went to Butch’s seat and put a hand on his shoulder, saying; “Would you mind? This is my lucky seat.”
Butch shrugged, got up and took the next open one, almost directly opposite me. Sitting back down he said; “I’ll sit on the floor if that’s what it takes to get things moving.”
Stallion looked at Butch and smirked; “Anxious to lose your money, cowboy?”
“Cowboy Jakes,” who was currently more interested in figuring out how to keep his jacket fringe out of his whiskey, thought that Stallion was addressing him and said; “No more than usual. I’m going to have to take off this goddamn jacket before I get the cards wet. I wouldn’t want anyone to accuse me of marking. You know what I mean, Stallion.”
I was quietly thankful for the information and took a good look at Stallion’s hands, currently shuffling the cards. Butch felt that the length of “Cowboy Jakes” response and the possible aspersions pointed back at Stallion, alleviated him from the burden of making any reply.
Stallion announced the rules. “$2,000 ante. $10,000 max per card. No bumping off a check. No playing light.” He took a special look at Carl on that one. “Any disputes will be decided by the two rule books in the kitchen. If they disagree
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the money will be held by two uninvolved others until further clarification is obtained.”
I said; “Do they ever disagree?”
Stallion said; “Not that we yet know of. But, just in case they do, ....... All games will be seven stud, the deal rotating to my left. Any objections to my dealing first?”
The game started off slowly, everyone playing conservatively, with no killer hands dispensed. I watched the players’
penchants for continually reviewing their down cards when they didn’t have anything good and found their actions to be consistent with my expectations. After half an hour of doldrums, each apparently waiting for the others to make a mistake, which didn’t come, the game started to open up. People were at times betting $5,000 or more by the third card, attempting to predict the future based on a promising present.
Money started to change hands more heavily and I noticed that Stallion and Manny dropped out of a few hands very early.
When I determined from the betting pattern that nobody really had anything, on the last card I would rub my left eye with my left index finger, makings sure I had Butch’s attention and then betting $10,000. It worked three times and luckily, making the pattern less obvious, I actually got a great last card a few times, hiding the bluff and call routine some.
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Butch and I were probably up around $30,000 at the hour mark, when it was unanimously decided to take a break. After bathroom trips, the players displayed different approaches to preparing for round two. The professionals washed up and drank non-alcoholic beverages. The wizard played with his calculator and Carl and “Cowboy Jakes” proceeded to down a few shots quickly. Butch and I sat apart from, but facing each other, saying nothing, as we sipped our water glasses. A few times one would point his eyes at someone in the room, as if to say, “Get a load of that,” and we’d make small undetected smiles. Bill, who had been observing the game in its entirety, walked over to me and said; “Not doing too bad, are you?”
I said; “I’m up somewhere around $10,000. That’s not exactly retirement money.”
Bill just made a weak smile and nodded, saying; “The night is still young. Two are getting sloppy drunk and one is looking for special consultation from his artificial intelligence provider.”
The game resumed at 6:15 and could be characterized as
“wild” compared to round one. Stallion and Manny continued their due diligence, but Carl and “Cowboy Jakes” began betting heavily early in a number of games only to have precocious hopes dashed by the future actualities. Butch and I were somewhere between the two extremes, got decent cards and as a result were
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probably up fifty to sixty thousand combined. Charles, the electronic wizard, was playing bizarrely. At times he would seem to bet high on potential and at others he would bet low or drop out with decent actualities.
The next time I signaled Butch and bluffed on the seventh card, Stallion said, matter of factly; “Get something good on the last card again?”
Displaying as much emotion as the wizard’s calculator, I answered; “Pay and you’ll find out.”
Butch again called, despite the unfortunate fact that he didn’t have anything and at the time of his call, Stallion had a pair of nines on board and was still in the game, though he did not call in his turn. After everyone excepting Butch and I had dropped out, I announced; “Pair of eights,” one of which was in my hidden cards. Butch just threw in his cards and said,
“You’ve got me.”
Stallion was perturbed. He forcefully said to Butch; “How can you call when you’re beat on board?”
Butch said; “I knew you’d pussy out.”
Stallion yelled; “Call with nothing?”
Butch calmly replied; “If you want lessons on how to play this game, call my number in the Yellow Pages.”
I raked in the money, but decided not to use that technique again today. Eyes, other than Stallion’s were also looking
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curiously at us, no doubt trying to recall how many times they had seen the same scenario, but said nothing, until now drunken Carl added; “What kind of bullshit is going on here?”
Thinking that Carl was in no condition to understand what kind of bullshit was going on, even if explained to him in simple words, Butch chose to say; “There’s less here than meets the eye.” Carl probably didn’t have a clue as to what that meant and the others didn’t take a lot from it either, thereby ending the dangerous conversation. Frankly, I didn’t know exactly what he meant.
Some prides must have been wounded, as the game got more furious and we started hearing comments like; “You are one lucky fucker,” made to whoever won the last hand.
I was trying to refine my overall plan. I don’t really want to get into anything really nasty and we were up pretty well, as is. The only good answer I could come up with was that if they’re going to play a little crazy the best thing I could do was to play even crazier. Take the first chance I get to end all this crap one way or the other.
A few hands passed and the betting continued heavier and Butch and I dropped out of a lot of hands. My Apollonian fear decided to show up. Damn limited and fickle god of logic.
Thanks a lot. I’ll be glad to deal with you in the near future.
In the meantime can you just get the hell out of here? Anyone
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can plainly see that I already have an appointment. He must have left, for I soon felt like taking over the situation again.
I got the right feel during one particular hand where betting started off extremely heavy. Stallion got frisky, believe it or not, on the first betting card, the third one; $7,000. The rest matched him.
On the fourth card the situation changed a bit as “Cowboy Jakes” displayed a pair of kings on board and bet $3,000. Again Stallion raised to $7,000 and everyone complied, except Butch continuing his recent pattern, when holding garbage.
The fifth card was dealt. “Cowboy Jakes” was still high on board and said; “Check.” Stallion, feeling even better about his hand said; “$10,000.” By now others had some interesting hands or ones with real potential, but at this point, just called. I wished I was in the club, but Butch and I were probably the worst off. I thought; “Goddammit, Apollo. This isn’t any gigantic deal in the overall scheme of things. Show me your good side for a change. You owe me.”
The sixth card didn’t thrill me, but now I had four spades in succession, mind you. You can’t have much more potential than that. Everyone’s eyes, however, shot to Charles’s cards.
Four cards of a high straight flush is, to say the least, unusual, not to mention what only Charles knew. He already had the fifth. Carl was high on board and also had now completed
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his full house. Confident that his hand was capable of beating a flush, I suppose, he threw in $10,000. Most often the player doesn’t have the fifth perfect card. Stallion, no doubt using the same type of rationale, said; “Your $10,000 and ten more,”
making two separate deposits in the bulging kitty. Manny, after watching the first bet, didn’t think his cards warranted that kind of money, especially expecting another round like this on the seventh card and folded. Charles matched and raised another $10,000. The remaining combatants were content to match, putting more credence in the possibility of a perfect card.
I understand that the number seven has religious significance, sometimes being called the number of perfection. I never paid all that much attention to the concept in cards because it pops up regularly in seven stud, my favorite game. Something so ordinary couldn’t possibly be perfect, could it? I wasn’t sure right now, as my magical seventh card today gave me the perfect hand. Did Apollo come through? Dare I think that my favorite card game could perhaps be co-named “perfect stud”? That makes no sense whatsoever. I’ll think about that some other time.
The highest possible straight flush Charles could have was Queen high, as the King was in Manny’s showing cards. Mine was Queen high, but in spades. This might surprise someone. Sometimes I’m surprised myself. Cards defy realities themselves. In the case of a tie, spades rule over diamonds. Go figure. Sometimes
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it helps to know what the rules are, especially when they’re a tad illogical. From this point all I had to do was keep raising $10,000 until I get a simple call.
Charles, on the other hand, had a different approach, which in this case, didn’t suit him well. The math/science major focuses heavily on his own hand and where it fits into historical likelihoods, at times being blind to the current reality of other hands. He proceeded with a plan identical to mine. Carl, with his full house, was high on board with two pair showing, wanted to throw the burden to the self-announced big boy and said; “Check.” Good old Charlie proudly announced; “$10,000.”
When it got to me, I calmly said; “You don’t have it.” I assumed he did and it didn’t matter. I wanted to try to keep the focus on him and hopefully get ignored myself. Stallion stayed in for one more round of raising before throwing it in.
Stubborn Carl stayed in for two, prior to folding, when he said;
“Somebody’s got it,” a phrase mimicking his usual degree of competence.
After Charles and I exchanged another round of tactics, Carl looked at my cards and said “What could he possibly have?
Four of a kind loses to a straight flush.” He was thinking out loud and continued; “Eight of spades and ten of spades. There’s a chance in a million for a straight flush.” He perused the cards showing on board and concluded that nothing prevented it.
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The others now focused on my hand, shaking heads side to side saying; “It’s a possibility.”
Fortunately for me, Doctor Charles, perhaps clouded by his mock punk sunglasses, didn’t consider the possibility, as he didn’t adjust tactics at all. We kept raising until I was out of money. Since I was not allowed to play “light” and didn’t want to advertise my partnership with Butch, by the possible interpretation of it coming through my borrowing money from him, I called using my last piece of paper. Charlie smiled proudly, when he displayed that indeed he did have it, reaching for the mountain of green.
“Whoa, whoa, boy,” I said; “Look here.” I turned over my down cards to reveal my Queen high spade straight flush.
The other attendees had already considered the possibility without using a calculator, so they weren’t surprised. But, Charlie seemed confused at first and after a few seconds of staring at the table blinking, he said; “A tie.”
I said; “No ties in seven stud. Spades rule.”
Charles resumed some degree of composure and flatly said;
“May I get a ruling?” looking at Stallion.
Stallion said; “Sure,” and walked into the kitchen to get the two books relevant tonight, “Official Rules of the Game” and
“Poker is the Name of the Game.” He showed Charles the identically written conclusions in both books. Charles slumped
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in his chair and stared at the wall. No one had any further interest in viewing the table which held the cards Apollo or someone bestowed on me.
“Cowboy
Ed
Butch
Stallion
Charles
Carl
Manny
Jakes”
9 spades
K hearts
3 hearts
8 diamonds
6 spades
4 hearts
2 spades
J spades
7 diamonds 3 diamonds 5 hearts Q clubs
A diamonds A clubs
4 clubs
2 diamonds 10 clubs
9 diamonds
6 diamonds
8 hearts
K spades
4 diamonds J hearts
3 spades
10 diamonds 6 hearts
Q hearts
K clubs
8 spades
6 clubs
10 hearts
J diamonds
9 hearts
7 hearts
7 spades
10 spades
Folds
A hearts
Q diamonds
9 clubs
K diamonds 2 hearts
Q spades
2 clubs
3 clubs
A spades
Folds
5 diamonds
I stood, up shoveling the verdant hilly jungle into my pocket. I said, “Seems a perfect time to call it a night. Are there any objections?”
I think everyone was a bit exhausted, excepting Charles, who was doing the best imitation of a stupor he could muster.
So, we all did as we pleased, Butch and I escaping the Shanghai Delight, without hesitation.
Butch led me to his car and drove us home through the cloudy dark night. The only conversation we had was Butch saying; “Man, you scared the shit out of me for a while.”
I was tired and made the easiest response; “I scare the shit out of myself sometimes.” We had a bit of a laugh and both of our faces displayed silent peace and our eyes a sense of wonder. We were enjoying the moment because we didn’t see the guy jotting down the license plate number when we left the house of eastern pleasure, heading due west, toward the declined sun.
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