by Brad Cook
Ant shrugged his slender shoulders. “If you would rather deal with him than me, be my guest.” Ant pointed behind Leroy. In the distance, he could just make out a flashing light on the edge of the trees.
“Your best bet is to wait it out in the jungle. I shall personally escort you to your ride when the trains are ready to go, squire.” Ant bowed, smirking.
Leroy wanted to leave as soon as possible, but if what Ant said was true, it wouldn’t matter where he waited. The key difference was, one spot had food, and the other had police. He wasn’t sure what the jungle was, but it sounded like the better option.
Leroy beckoned to Ant. “You first.” He wanted to have an out in case this man wasn’t who he seemed to be. For all Leroy knew, ‘the jungle’ could be what he called the back of his rape van.
A salty grin snaked across Ant’s face as he passed Leroy. “Good instincts.”
When he was a safe distance ahead, Leroy followed.
Ant spoke from ahead as they walked. “I can assure you, I am no threat. I am simply a misplaced soul, careening through a capricious life, wherever it leads me. All of us are, out here.”
Around a large oak tree sat a clearing, trampled to dirt from decades of fortune-seekers and families, tramps and travelers alike. Encircled by large stones, a middling fire flared under a pot hung from a stand made of branches.
Ant joined two others by the fire. To his right side was an older man, scrawny with a high waist and long chicken legs. His puffy, ashen beard seemed to grow straight down from below his jawline. No mustache. His eyes twinkled behind the thick lenses of his glasses.
As Leroy approached the fire, Ant gestured to his right.
“Before you sits the one and only Cracker John. He is a good man. We have had countless discussions and debates over the years, and somehow he always manages keep up. Many in academia with whom I have had the… pleasure… to engage in discourse could not. Yet he is a man of few words. A rare and elegant combination, to be sure. Although you would not know by looking at him!”
Leroy offered a weak wave.
Cracker John offered a loose nod and a crooked smile in return.
Ant then gestured left to a round man with a pinched, sun-burnt face, gut protruding between his blotchy wife-beater and his too-low jeans.
“This gentleman has refused to tell me his name, yet has no problem eating my chili. He is lucky I am so munificent.” Ant turned to the man, getting close to his face. “You are lucky I am so munificent.”
The tension broke when Ant threw his arms around both men and said “But everyone is a friend in the jungle. One cannot afford not to be.”
The round man shrugged Ant’s arm off with a scowl.
“Leroy.” If Cracker John didn’t have to give his last name, he didn’t either. Unless Cracker was his first name. The thought boggled his mind.
He held his hand out to greet them. That was what men did, right? He shook hands with Cracker John and Ant, then after hesitating, the nameless man, as his hand was as stained and soiled as his clothes. The things he did to please people.
“Leroy.” Ant stood, then proclaimed “Well, now that we are all acquainted, sort of, let us eat.” He produced four paper cups from a rucksack behind Cracker John, and ladled chili into each, before passing them around.
Anxious to get some real food in him, Leroy immediately put the cup to his mouth as Ant warned him, his inflection ascending. “You might want to—”
Leroy spat the mouthful of beans and beef to the ground, dropping his cup in the process. Eyes wide, he fanned his mouth, but it was no use. His tongue was thoroughly burnt. So much for enjoying real food.
Ant finished his sentence. “Let it cool off.”
The anonymous man cackled at Leroy’s misfortune until he could no longer contain a repulsive, hacking cough. Leroy recognized it well as that of a smoker. His mother had made those same awful sounds all too often. For a long time he had found them scary; the thought of his mother being ill aroused a primal fear in him. But he grew accustomed to, and later irritated by them. He always figured lung cancer would take her, but hanging herself, dying of her own accord, was much more appropriate. A selfish end to a selfish life.
Leroy stared down at the scattered chili in the dirt. He felt awful for wasting Ant’s food. It could’ve been the last can he had, for all Leroy knew.
“I- I’m really sorry.”
Ant motioned to Leroy. “Come. Sit.” He nudged the nameless man left of him with his elbow. “Could I ask you to move over, please?”
He looked at Ant cock-eyed over the brim of his cup, eyebrows furrowed.
Ant elbowed him again, harder. “Scoot!”
“Poke me with that thing again and it’s gon’ bend the other way.”
Leroy knew there was something brewing between those two. It was only a matter of time before it boiled over. Pointing beside Cracker John, he said “I can sit over there, it’s cool.”
Ant shook his head. “This gentleman is going to make room for you.”
The ‘gentleman’ stared daggers at Ant, tipping the cup of chili to his mouth and chewing as he spoke. “Won’t do no such thing. This is America, not some damn Sharia state. I’ll sit anywhere I please.”
Leroy wished he knew how to defuse the situation. The last thing he needed was more drama, more trouble. The men stared each other down, and though Ant was taller than the stubby man, Leroy couldn’t help but think he was probably not the stronger of the two.
Leroy sidled over to Cracker John, who watched the situation unfolding with a calm amusement, then lowered himself to the ground.
Ant noticed and turned to Leroy. “Do NOT sit there!”
Leroy froze, mid squat.
“If the gentleman will not make room, he will have to leave the jungle.”
The fat man chuckled with a wheeze, his teeth like little yellow corn nuts. “Oh, yeah? And who’s gon’ make me?”
“I will. I have shared this camp with you for two days, and not once have you contributed in any way. No food, no drink, not even a decent story!”
The man stood, and Ant followed suit.
“You best watch what you say to me, boy.”
Ant stepped closer to him.
“I do not know of your experience with the jungle, but there are rules. ‘No buzzing,’ for instance. As far as I can tell, you are a user, a taker, a mooch. In other words, a buzzard. Secondly, while ‘everyone is a friend in the jungle,’ I would certainly hesitate to call your manner heretofore friendly. That is two rules you have broken. The self-policed nature of the jungle requires someone to take charge, and I am more than happy to do it. Now, if you would like to stay and continue to enjoy what others are kind enough to share, make room for Leroy.”
The man didn’t know how to react. He looked to Cracker John, apparently the final word in the matter, who nodded in agreement. “Rules are rules.”
The fat man snorted and huffed, then begrudgingly stepped aside, making just enough room for Leroy. Ant motioned again for him to sit.
Leroy hesitated, then plodded over and sank down into the seat between the two warring factions, hoping he wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.
“The jungle is an unpredictable place, Leroy, but if you respect it you will be just fine. Remember that. And do not worry about the chili. There is more.” Ant handed Leroy his own cup, then went to fill another.
Leroy tested the temperature with the tip of his tongue. Hot, but just right. He ate slowly, until his patience ran out, and he scarfed the rest up.
Looking around, he noticed everyone else as entranced by the food as he’d been. Nothing brought peace and quiet like a fresh batch of chili.
After a minute, the rest of them had finished as well. The disgruntled man stared at the ground and spoke. “Name’s Ted.”
Ant reached across Leroy and slapped Ted’s back affectionately. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last, Ted!”
A hint of a real smile flashe
d across Ted’s unsightly mouth.
Leroy was amazed by how Ant had kept his cool, explained his position, and backed it up. It wasn’t how Leroy had learned to deal with an argument, but it seemed much more effective than screaming and name-calling.
Ted reached into his pocket, struggling to fit his hand inside. “I got something might could contribute.” He labored for a moment, then slipped out a dog-eared deck of cards. “Had planned on Solitaire, but in the spirit of friendliness…” He held out the deck to Ant, who accepted it with warmth.
“That, right there, is exactly what the jungle is about. Yes, it is a place to wait, sleep, and eat. A semi-secure haven for travelers. But it is more than that. It is a place of community, and camaraderie. It is defined by action and interaction. Yet one must fend for himself.”
Cracker John, arms crossed over his chest, spoke with a twang to his unexpectedly high-pitched voice. “The human experience in a nutshell.”
Ant gestured to John. “You see what I mean? Honestly, the man is a genius.”
* * *
The game was poker.
Texas Hold ‘Em, specifically. Ted had refused to play anything else, due to his undying commitment to the lone star state. This wasn’t a problem with anyone. It was his rambling on the topic that’d grown tiresome, until Ant took the reigns and regaled the group with his adventures.
The half-baked stupor on Ted’s face as he glanced from Ant to the cards in his hand to the flop, nodding occasionally, told Leroy he’d tuned out.
Leroy had only just learned what a flop was, let alone how to play Texas Hold ‘Em. He’d sat out the first few games, observing as the men picked up and laid down cards seemingly at random, betting cigarettes along the way.
The pieces fell into place as he watched. He’d gathered the game was based on two things: betting and bravado. Each player made a bet before receiving two cards, then bet again. That’s where the flop—three cards players can use with their own to make a hand—came into play. Then, two more bets, and two more cards. It seemed tedious and drawn out to Leroy.
All of which preceded ‘the showdown,’ when players created their hand from their two cards and the flop. Leroy couldn’t make heads or tails of the seemed to him arbitrary criteria for winning, but he figured as long as the others knew the rules, he didn’t need to.
Underlying this whole dance, as Ant kept reiterating, was one’s poker face. It was fascinating to observe each man’s expressions as they played. Cracker John never once changed his manner; win, lose, fold, he always had that subtle look of mild amusement. Leroy supposed that was what made a good poker face—the hiding of one’s intentions. Ted had a good thing going, too, with his slack jaw and lazy eyelids. No one would suspect anything was going on in there with a demeanor like that.
Then there was Ant. As much as he went on about the importance of a poker face, he didn’t seem to have one of his own. In fact, he hardly seemed to be paying attention to the game at all. He was too caught up in telling his tales, most of which seemed pretty tall to Leroy.
“So, in an instant, he changed completely. He had a look in his eye, as if he were not human anymore, as if some primitive state of mind had taken over. Not unlike what you displayed earlier, Teddy. Ha!”
Ted’s open mouth curled into a slight smile as he focused on his hand.
“Then, quick as a pickpocket, he sucker punched me in the nose.” Ant exuded passion as he spoke, miming the punch he received and grinning at what seemed to Leroy an unfortunate turn of events. “You would not have believed the speed of the old man.”
The three men laid down their cards.
“I felt a painful crunch, then the hot drip of blood running over my lips and down my chin, but more than I remember the sound. A sickening crack reverberated throughout my skull, so loud and repulsive it sent waves of nausea through my body.”
Cracker John interrupted him. “You win again.”
“Oh, my.” Ant collected his winnings of six cigarettes, handed his cards over, and continued his story without skipping a beat. “Shielding my face, I blinked the tears out of my eyes. A moment passed, and no further harm came my way. When I could finally see, the old geezer stood before me bearing a knife. Needless to say, that was enough for me.”
As Cracker John collected the cards and began to shuffle them for the next game, Leroy interjected. “Can I play now? Pretty sure I get it.”
“A fast learner. I like that. Deal him in, John.”
So Cracker wasn’t his first name. Still shuffling, John looked over to Ant, poker face intact. “I must take issue with giving the boy smokes.”
“I don’t smoke,” Leroy proclaimed. “Seen what that gets you.”
Ant cupped a hand over his mouth and whispered to Leroy, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Me neither, but there is nothing these suckers will not trade for these once the craving hits.” He handed Leroy four cigarettes. Cracker John collected the opening bet.
“As I was saying, this crazy old man was staring me down with a knife, so I took a quick step and leapt out of the boxcar. I felt like Indiana Jones. I tell you, it must have been going fifty, easily. I hit the ground running, and rolled forward on the ballast, which felt wonderful,” he chortled. “But I was unharmed, apart from my nose. For that I was thankful.”
John dealt two cards to each player, then held out a cracked palm for that round of betting. Ted and Leroy put one cigarette in. Ant put in two.
Leroy checked his hand—king of spades and king of hearts. He’d deduced that the more of one type of card you had, the better, so that was probably a good hand. A smirk crept onto his face, which he relaxed before anyone noticed. He saw Ted’s shifty eyes darting from face to face conspicuously, mouth still hanging agape. Maybe his expressionless gaze earlier hadn’t been a tactic after all. Leroy stifled a giggle.
“I removed my shirt and swabbed the blood off of my face, not realizing what a mistake that was, for it would be a long while—”
“You done yet?” Ted snapped as he stared at the flop—three of hearts, seven of diamonds, and king of diamonds. “I can’t think with all your yappin’.”
“The moral of the story, which I was attempting to impart to young Leroy, is that one can never be too careful around others out here.” He rubbed his head with an open palm. “Generally, too, but more so out here. That knife-wielding fogy had seemed a perfectly reasonable fellow when we entered the car.”
“If you’re trying to get me to trust you, you’re not doing a very good job,” Leroy pointed out, a gleam in his eye. Something about Ant made him comfortable enough to speak his mind, which was new.
Ant threw his hands in the air. “So there is a sense of humor in there!” When he realized that he was revealing his cards to the group, he hid them.
The players put in another cigarette, then the five of hearts was played.
“Ah, the earthworm card,” Ant murmured.
Leroy chuckled. Coincidentally, he’d learned about earthworms and their five hearts last semester when his science class had dissected them.
“The hell’s that mean?” Ted scratched his nose with his cards.
Ant turned to Leroy. “He must not be a fisherman.”
“Dunno what y’all are talking about. I’m up at the lake any chance I get.”
Ant and Leroy shared a laugh. He was impressed by Ant’s ability to stand up to others. Leroy often went out of his way to agree with or indulge others just to keep things going smoothly. But Ant seemed to have no qualms whatsoever with rubbing people the wrong way. He almost seemed to revel in it. Leroy wished he had more of that in him.
Four more cigarettes into the pot, and the fifth card—the king of clubs.
“How apropos. The suit of clubs symbolizes many things.” He pointed at Cracker John. “Intellect.” Then to Leroy. “Youth.” Then Ted. “Irresponsibility, judging by the state of your laundry.” He grinned and waved his hand as if to say ‘just kidding,’ but Ted didn’t look amused. Ant
pointed to himself. “Education.”
“Last round. Call or check,” John ordered.
The three men checked, and Leroy followed their lead.
Ted tossed his cards to the ground. The jack of spades and nine of diamonds landed face up. “Looks like I’m playing the board. Pair kings.”
Unfazed, John held a pair of sevens—spades and clubs. “Three of a kind.”
Ant glanced around, then dramatically revealed his cards—six of spades and four of clubs. “Straight, three to seven.”
Ted groaned as Ant clasped his hands together in a champion pose, then reached down and collected his winnings. “Thank you, thank you all.”
Leroy set down his hand of two kings, ending Ant’s celebration.
“How about that? Four kings. Leroy wins.”
Leroy was sure he detected a note of disdain in Ant’s voice. He held out an open palm to accept the cigarettes from him.
“Bah. Luck of the tyro,” Ant snorted.
“Huh?”
Cracker John’s beard moved with mouth. “Beginner’s luck.”
Leroy found it strange that Ant could go from jovial to a sore loser when he didn’t even seem to care about the game. Then it dawned on him. Ant had taken his poker face beyond hiding his expressions—he had made them irrelevant. His humorous, eventful stories had kept his face alight with a spectrum of emotion. Not only did he prevent the other players from reading him, but he’d distracted them from the idea that they should be watching his face at all. It was the ultimate poker face.
And yet it had failed him. Preparation and practice were critical, but Leroy was learning that sometimes they could be trumped by simple luck.
Half-grin carved into his lips, John cut the deck and riffle-shuffled the cards with ease, which impressed Leroy. “Shall I deal another?”
From his rucksack, Ant produced a water bottle and took just a sip, then put it back. “If you wish, but count me out.”
Ted’s pebbly teeth showed as he simpered at Ant. “You won damn near every hand, now you lose one and you’re out?” He coughed into his fist.