by Alan Lee
Marcus released a soft sigh. He knew.
He knew Manny and I had crossed into territory we wouldn’t come back from. A place where he couldn’t protect us.
I said, “You three gentlemen back off Ronnie, I’ll let you live. That’s the deal.”
“Tell me, August,” said Darren Robbins. He and I were playing a hand, only the two of us remained in. He slid in a big bet, maybe two hundred dollars. “What kind of man are you?”
I glanced at my cards. I was weak.
“I’m a man who doesn’t bluff,” I said. I folded—tossed in my cards and let him win the pot. “But I also don’t lose.”
Darren turned over his two cards—he had nothing. He’d been bluffing.
“You don’t belong at this table. I’m a man who gets what he wants.” He pulled the winnings his way and began stacking chips. “You see this? This is your money, inspector. A shame, you have precious little to begin with. But I will take it all.”
“Does that mean you surrender?” I said.
“That means, no deal, rookie. You threatened me in front of the gathering. Your fate is sealed. You should’ve been aced last week but Marcus cashed in some credit. Two diamonds’ worth. God knows why.”
“One of us is gonna die, huh,” I said.
“One of us.”
“Mercutio’s soul is but a little ways above our heads,” I said, quoting my favorite play from high school. “And either thou or I or both must go with him.”
Toby frowned. His face was still swollen and the motion caused his left eye to close. “The hell does that mean?”
“Thou wretched boy,” said Darren, completing the line. “Shall with him hence.”
“How about that? You can read,” I said. “I assumed you still looked at picture books.”
There was a lull. We played several more hands. No one spoke, like the first round of a fight had ended and we were getting our breath. Marcus won a big pot off Big Will. Toby took one off Dexter.
Marcus said, “So you two assholes gonna kill each other. That’s squared. Now we talk about Calvin and his assets.”
Clay Fleming said, “Calvin’s pot still growing? What’s-his-name still tending the fields?”
“Rueben, and yes. Acres of the shit,” said Marcus. “Represents millions. And it belongs to Ronnie Summers. Time being, let’s focus on that. She inherited a variety of investments, but we only worried about the fields of hash.”
“Isn’t one of the things she inherited,” I asked, “a seat at this table?”
Marcus and Darren glanced at one another.
“More or less,” said Marcus.
I said, “How great for Ronnie, her possessions being parsed in absentia, so her feeble mental powers won’t be taxed.”
“This is a table for grownups,” said Darren. “For men. Veronica Summers is a toy. She’s a toy I dangle in front of colleagues to keep them loyal, to keep them horny. She doesn’t get to sit here.”
Darren and I were in another hand together. I’d just taken a fair amount off Dexter, who fumed. It put me around $700.
“Enlighten me. Why not?” I asked. I had a pair of 10s and I made a modest bet.
Darren immediately raised me. Something like $360. “Because I said so.”
“Ah. The airtight reasoning of bad elementary teachers,” I said.
“She’s an item. A thing to be used. Everyone at this table has had her. Or did you not know that? You didn’t, did you. How sad. You think she loves you? She’s a professional slut. And she doesn’t. Get to. Sit here,” said Darren.
I did not know everyone at the table had had her.
I took a moment to collect myself.
“Your ears are turning purple, gumshoe,” said Darren. “That a tell? Or are you about to cry?”
I showed him my cards. A pair of 10s.
“I fold,” I said. Folding meant surrender. He won.
He exposed his cards. He had nothing. Another bluff. I could have won if I hadn’t folded.
“I don’t need to ask again. But I will. What kind of man are you?” he said. “I’ll tell you. It’s obvious. You’re a weak man. Scared. You don’t have what it takes.”
I stayed quiet.
I had a plan. I hoped it would work. Eventually.
But so far this was harder than I anticipated.
Mackenzie August, swimming up stream.
Marcus said, “Maybe Veronica, she should be at the next meeting. But that ain’t what we’re discussing tonight.”
“Listen. Marcus, about Calvin’s marijuana. You’re making this harder than it has to be,” said Darren. He was shuffling the deck.
Big Will and Edgar and Clay, they were all staying quiet. Letting the more powerful players reckon things.
He said, “This is how it’ll go, Marcus. With your approval. The gumshoe is dead. His boy Manny too. That isn’t up for debate. I’ll give Veronica one last chance. She either returns to Washington to play ball, so to speak, or she’s aced. Either way, we take the marijuana. She doesn’t get a say-so.”
“She owns the fields,” said Marcus. “That’s something we honor. She’s a stakeholder.”
“Only through inheritance. I respect the commandments. But I’ll find a way. The Kings will approve,” said Darren.
“So you’ll take what you want,” I said.
“That’s right, gumshoe. You’re catching on. A little too late, though.”
“Know what I can’t figure out,” I said. “Why you get a seat at the table.”
He chuckled. Silly Mackenzie.
“See,” I said. “Ronnie’s been kicked around her whole life. She fought through it. Paid her way. Mother died, got no help from her father. Abused by old men. Abused by you. And yet, here she is—growing as a person. Getting stronger. Smarter. Changing her mind about important things. Earning her way to the top. She’s taken your punishment and come out the other side. Whereas you? You were born rich. Your old man gave you everything. You only got into Michigan Law because your father bought you in—I checked. Privilege made you soft. And being wealthy still isn’t enough. You’re the fat kid at lunch getting fatter. And you don’t deserve to be at any table with Veronica Summers.”
There was a hush. Like a storm had just passed, leaving the world in silence.
Big Will laughed quietly through his nose.
The next hand was dealt. I had an A-2 of spades.
I bet $50. Darren called. Everyone else folded. They knew this hand was important.
The first three cards flopped. A-2-8.
I had two pair. As and 2s. Strong. But the 2 and 8 were hearts. If another heart came, I could lose to a flush.
I bet $100.
Darren matched it.
“The fat kid getting fatter,” he said.
“That’s right. You’re not going to win. Not this poker game. Not the trial with Grady Huff. And not against Ronnie,” I said.
Big Will was dealing.
He placed down the fourth card.
It was a ten of clubs. No harm but no help.
I checked, which was a sign of surrender.
Darren grinned. He pushed in $260.
I thought about it.
“Wrong on all accounts,” said Darren. “I’ll beat you at this poker game, you piece of shit. You have no chance of getting Grady a lesser sentence. And I’ll rape Veronica Summers in front of you.”
“Sure you won’t change your mind?” I said. “To me, that’s a sign of maturity. Ronnie’s mature. You’re just the fat kid stealing cookies.”
“August. You’re an amateur. It’s a waste of my time talking to you.”
I slid the $260 into the pot. Darren blinked twice and sat up straighter.
My hand didn’t shake. But it was close.
Dear Lord, don’t let there be another heart.
Edgar dealt the final card.
It was a heart. Three hearts on the table, making a flush possible.
But it was the ace of hearts. I had a full
house. AAA22. Unbeatable.
“You may win this poker game,” I said. “But you can’t beat Ronnie. She’s better than you. Stronger. Smarter.”
“Focus on the game, rookie. You lost this hand and you know it,” said Darren. “I dare you to bluff. Go ahead, push money in.”
I didn’t bet.
I said, “Check.”
He took my action as surrender.
“That’s what I thought. You aren’t a man. You’re like Veronica. I take what I want out of your ass. And you can’t even resist. I’m all-in,” he said.
He had just bet all his money.
He and I held eye contact. He absently fiddled with the ring.
“You’re out of your league,” I said. He frowned. He glanced at the cards and then back at me. “Especially with Ronnie.”
“Fold your cards, gumshoe. You’re done.”
“You’re out of your league,” I said again. “Even with Grady Huff. He’s not getting first degree.”
“Christ, the mouth on you. Shut up and act.”
I slid all my money in. “I call.”
“Hah,” he cried. A loud sound that caused Clay to jump. Darren showed his cards. “You got played for a fool. I have the nut flush. To the king. You’re a joke, August.”
“Yikes,” I said.
“You're broke. Go home.”
“You have the flush,” I said.
“That’s right.” Darren reached for the chips. “Thanks for playing.”
“That’s a good hand.”
Something in my voice made him pause. He glanced at the cards on the table again. “That’s right…”
“Almost as good as my full house.”
“Bull shit,” he said.
“You’re taking the wrong cookies, rich kid,” I said.
I showed him.
Three aces and a pair of 2s.
“Aces full,” I said. “Get your hands off my damn money, Robbins.”
Big Will threw his hands up and laughed.
Clay whistled and clapped a few times.
Marcus Morgan grinned.
Darren was too stunned to move.
It was at that moment that Veronica Summers walked into the room.
26
The game froze.
Hip cocked, Ronnie paused in the doorway, allowing us a long inspection. She wore black heels (strappy Jimmy Choos, unless I missed my guess), a Harley black leather mini skirt, and a slim-fitting white button-up. Collar flicked wide, buttons undone down to her solar plexus, providing a tease of the dainty red lingerie underneath.
Had an albino Bengal tiger wandered in, we might’ve been less astounded. Or had Christie Brinkley, or Cindy Crawford, Heidi Klum, or who ever it was the boys gawked at these days. Compared to the pack of us ugly idiots, she was so gorgeous it hurt my eyes.
“Hello gentlemen,” she said and she strode in, heels clicking. “You started without me.”
No one responded. Like we’d been caught doing something naughty and we awaited our fate. I had no reason to feel guilty but I did.
She must’ve been outside the last few days—her cheeks and nose had a pinkish healthy suntan. Her blonde hair was held back by a pair of sunglasses. The facial contusions had entirely healed except for a little scarring at the outside corner of her right eye. That might be permanent.
I started to rise but she said, “Don’t get up, handsome.”
Not sure if that bought me street cred with the fellas or not.
She stopped at the head of the table between Clay and me. We scooted our chairs, making room for her. She set her crimson purse on the poker table. Edgar looked like he wanted to object but didn’t.
Ronnie winked at Fleming. “Get me a drink, would you, Clay? Something that’s gin forward.”
Clay leapt to obey.
Fat Susie came in, followed by Freddie. Freddie was grinning happily, which caused the facial dragon to ripple.
Ronnie bent her right leg at the knee, kept her left straight. Leaned forward over the table and placed her fingertips on the felt. At the moment, those were the longest legs in the world.
The gentlemen at the table didn’t know whether to crane our necks to look at her legs, keep our eyes on her face, or let them wander down her open shirt.
We were a mess. It was the sudden shock of so much skin.
“I need to catch up,” she said. “What have I missed?”
For a moment, she received no reply.
“Clearly you need a stenographer,” she said. “Cat got your tongue, boys?”
Darren cleared his throat. “How did you—“
“I wasn’t talking to you, my dear,” she said. “Someone else, please.”
Darren’s eyes bulged.
Manny, normally unflappable, raised his hand. He looked a little cowed. Her total control of the room was that strong.
“Yes Manny.”
“So far we have decided that Mack will kill Darren and his stupid amigos because they threatened you. And then Darren will kill Mack. And also me. Also Darren will rape you and maybe kill you. And that maybe Darren is bad at cards.”
“Thank you, Manny.”
“De nada, senorita.”
“Distressing news. What did we decide about my father’s fields of marijuana?”
“That Darren, he will steal the fields even if he let you live,” said Manny. “He figure out a loop hole to seize them.”
Darren shifted in his chair. Somehow, some way, everything was going against him and he didn’t know how to stop it. He said, “That’s not exactly—“
Ronnie turned her bright eyes onto Marcus. “Marcus, I’m surprised. I expected better from you.”
Marcus squirmed.
How the hell was Ronnie doing this? Why was she in charge?
I knew how. She’d caught us by surprise and now she pressed her advantage. The better question was, would anyone dare stand up to her?
Marcus said, “That course of action, Darren proposed it. I would never sign off.”
“Oh real nice, Marcus,” said Darren.
Clay returned with Ronnie’s drink. Something clear and swirly with a coil of orange peel. She sat in Clay’s chair and accepted the drink without comment.
Clay, the poor guy, didn’t know what to do so he stood beside Carlos, behind me.
“And the rest of you? You approve of Darren’s plan?” she said.
She reached down to fiddle with her shoes, little scooping motions. Then she raised her feet, set her bare legs on the poker table, crossed at the ankles. Edgar looked pained.
Her toenails matched the red lingerie.
“I do not approve of Darren’s plan,” I said.
“Why not?” she asked.
“I prefer you alive. Which is true of myself too. And besides, I am besotted with you.”
Toby made a weird choking sound.
“So? They are too,” she said, indicating the silent host with the hand that held her drink.
“But I am fonder of you than I am of myself or of money,” I said. “Which gives me some freedom to stand up for what I believe.”
She nodded simply.
Toby thought about getting to his feet but changed his mind, caught halfway between. He looked around for support. “So…who cares if she’s here? We still have business to discuss…right?”
Ronnie turned her eyes on him. Her calves, resting on the table, rubbed together a little.
“Or…maybe…” said Toby and he lost his steam. “I don’t know.”
I read somewhere that men became stupider in the presence of beautiful women. They perform poorly on tests, that kind of thing. Their cognitive resources become invested in the woman and they can’t do other things well anymore.
Watching the men at the table, I concurred with theory.
“So Mackenzie is to be murdered and I am to be raped,” she said and she sipped her drink. “And my property to be taken. Homicide, sexual assault, and grand larceny in the first degree. Yes?”
> “That’s the idea,” said Big Will in his high-pitched voice that sounded like Mike Tyson’s, “offered by the honkies up north.”
“I know the code. I know the commandments. What gives you the right?” she asked.
“August’s earned his fate a dozen times over,” said Darren.
I shrugged and took a sip of my Old Fashioned.
“Potentially true. I struggle with impulse control.”
Clay guffawed.
“And me?” asked Ronnie.
Toby said, “Maybe you don’t walk away from your job with Darren and you don’t worry about that.”
Ronnie did the thing again where she repositioned her legs. The muscles pressed and slid together, and her tiny skirt slid half an inch farther up. Toby fell quiet.
As a child I’d seen the televised and censored version of Basic Instinct, unbeknownst to my parents. There was a scene where Sharon Stone used her beauty and her raspy voice and her legs to render a group of professional detectives into a pack of blithering idiots.
Something like that was happening here. She was utilizing her body like a precision instrument. Not even I, bastion of nobility and etiquette, was impervious.
I’ve since been told that I missed some of the finer points in that Sharon Stone scene.
Darren said, “Keep your end of the bargain, Summers. We had a deal.”
She made a tsk’ing sound.
“A deal in which my choices are to be prostituted or raped?”
“If the shoe fits…”
“I have a new deal for you,” she said. She took another drink and set the glass down. “Everyone ready to listen?”
Marcus leaned backward in his chair. “I think we’re all ears.”
“I’ve had sex with most of you,” she said. “Or at least, something to that effect. Either my father or Darren demanded it and you didn’t object. Edgar. Dexter. Darren. Toby. Big Will. Clay. Freddie.”
The names caused a latent grief somewhere inside me.
Everyone did the math. Who got left out?
Carlos, Marcus, Manny, and me.
She continued, “I was also blackmailed and forced into sex with most of Darren’s powerful buddies in Washington. And so, I’ve seen too much. I know too many secrets. But I’m no longer under your control. I’m a loose end which needs to be tied off. Right?” she said.