Bad Beat

by Carolina Mac

  “We’re going to break it,” I said. “I can’t stand to see what this is doing to you.” I paced from the island to the dishwasher and back. I heaved the plate that was in my hand and it smashed into a million pieces against the wall. Nerve endings danced up my arms. “I’m going to kill that fucker and get him out of your life. That’s the only way to break the cycle.”

  Angel barked twice and I peered out the front window to see a cruiser passing by slowly. “That’s the hourly patrol. A lot of good that’s going to do if Stan waits for them to leave before he rushes the house. Wolinski’s an asshole.”

  JACKSON AND I left for the hospital around eleven to spend time with Billy. When we arrived in his room, he was propped up watching the tiny TV above his bed. Some of the swelling had gone down in his face, and he was making himself understood to the nurses. I smiled to myself. They would soon have their hands full. I gave him a hug and sat in the chair beside the bed. “What’s the scoop, baby?” I asked him.

  “Feds were here and a bunch of other assholes. Never run out of questions,” he mumbled.

  Jackson stared at the floor. “Can’t believe my dad would hurt you, Billy. He’s known you since you were a kid. He’s a fuckin idiot.”

  “He’s a con,” Billy said. “They do what they need to do to survive.”

  “Well, he’s not going to survive much longer,” I said, holding Billy’s hand.

  “Doc said I’d be out of here in a couple days.”

  “That’s great,” said Jackson. “We’ll take care of you at home,” he looked at me and I nodded.

  “Things good at the club?” asked Billy.

  I watched Jackson’s face as his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. “All good.”

  How bad was it? Jackson was dealing with trouble in the club and trying to cope with his father at the same time. Too much pressure.

  We stayed with Billy until visiting hours were over, then headed home to make some dinner. On the way, we stopped by the Dodge dealer and picked up the rental car that Jackson had left there when he bought the new Ram.

  While burgers sizzled on the grill, we had a couple of beers and I made potato salad the way Jackson liked it with the hard-boiled eggs. He spent a long time on the patio smoking and talking on his cell. I wanted to ask him what was going on in Toronto but kept my questions to myself. After dinner, we made our plan for Stan’s arrival.

  “Do you think he would have the balls to come back here?” Jackson asked.

  “He’s more balls than brain,” I said, “I screwed with him, clipping his buddies and messing up his plans. He’ll come for me. I feel it in my gut.”

  We turned all the lights off at eleven as if we were going to bed, loaded the guns, put on our Kevlar and sat in the dark whispering. I was thankful I had practiced with the new rifle out in the desert with Race. I wished I had the Remington back that Stan stole—I loved that gun.

  Maybe I’ll get it back when I kill him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  TIME CRAWLED BY as Jackson and I sat silently waiting in the dark on the sofa. I made it worse glancing at my phone every five minutes. Angel was curled up on the rug at my feet. Around three a.m. Jackson dozed off with his head on my shoulder. With every squeak and creak the house made as it settled in for the night, I shivered and clutched my gun tighter.

  Come on, Stan, make a run and get it over with.

  The clock on the fireplace mantle read three thirty-three. I was staring at the threes when Angel emitted a long, low growl from her throat. I stroked her and encouraged her not to bark as I touched Jackson’s arm to wake him. He jumped.

  “What?” he whispered.

  “Angel heard something. You watch the patio door. I’m going into the kitchen,” I said, picking up the rifle. I set the gun up on the island and pointed it at the door to the garage. If he came in the same way he had last time, I had him cold. Frozen in my stance with my finger on the trigger, I stood stock still behind the counter for the next ten minutes listening for any sound indicating Stan was trying to get into the house. Nothing.

  Then an almost inaudible scraping sound at the lock sent a shiver down my spine. Trying to relax, I remained crouched down over the gun with my finger poised on the trigger. While he picked the lock, my finger began to go stiff.

  I heard the shot at the same time the kitchen door flew open and Stan collapsed in the doorway. Jackson jumped over his father’s body and kicked Stan’s gun out of reach as Angel snarled and clamped her teeth on Stan’s throat.

  A floodlight blinded me as it glared through the window, lighting up the kitchen like a night game at Yankee Stadium. The Feds were hollering outside, calling for Stan’s surrender. I stamped my foot on the floor and hollered, “Stupid fucks.”

  We could have ended this in one more minute. In a fury, I jerked open the front door to Wolinski standing there grinning. I clenched my teeth and took deep breaths to keep from punching him in the face.

  “Had a team watching the house before you called, just in case,” he said. “Thanks for the help.”

  “How bad is he hurt? I want to see him,” I said, running for the garage.

  “Your husband shot him in the leg. He’ll live.”

  “Too bad,” I said, “I wanted to put him out of his misery.”

  The ambulance roared in seconds later and they strapped Jackson’s father to a gurney. He was still conscious although there was a large puddle of his blood messing up Jackson’s pristine garage floor. Jackson stared at the man who had belittled him his whole life and said nothing.

  “Hey, son, that wasn’t a very nice welcome home for your old man.”

  I leaned down over the stretcher and whispered, “Next time I see you, Stan. You’re a dead man.”

  “Never figured Jackson to hook up with anything that looked like you, baby,” he said, as they shoved him into the ambulance. “You’re a wild one.”

  “He’ll go to the hospital with a guard, and then to a holding cell waiting on the paperwork from Canada,” Wolinski said. “He shouldn’t cause you or your husband any more trouble.”

  “I won’t believe that until he’s dead,” I said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  AFTER GETTING LITTLE sleep, Jackson and I slept until one in the afternoon. We dressed, had bacon and eggs for lunch and headed for the truck. The forensic team had finished in the garage, but the sight of Stan’s blood outside the kitchen door gagged me when I jumped over it. I’d have to clean that mess up when we got back.

  I drove the new Ram to the hospital and I loved it. I hadn’t had a chance to see what she would do before Jackson took his drive north. “This baby’s got the gift,” I said.

  When we turned onto the highway, Jackson hollered, “Giver.”

  He grinned and I stepped on it. Seeing him smile was worth the price of the truck. He hadn’t been in a happy place for a long while.

  Billy was doing much better when we arrived. The nurses had helped him into a chair beside the bed. The swelling had gone down and the black and blue bruises on his face had given way to green and yellow blotches.

  “Hey, you’re up, you little shit,” Jackson said. He made a fist to punch Billy in the shoulder and then thought better of it.

  “The feds got Stan last night, and he’s locked up,” I said.

  “Thought you would cap him, Annie, if he was in your sights,” Billy said with a grin.

  “Jackson buried one in his leg. Payback for you, Billy. The feds came before I could complete my mission.”

  “Fuck, wish I’d been there.”

  I smiled at Billy’s enthusiasm and tousled his curls. “Any clues on when you can get out of here?”

  “Tomorrow, if the X-ray on my leg is good,” he said. “The food here sure isn’t your caliber of cooking, Portia.”

  “You think I could get a job cooking in the hospital kitchen?”

  “Hell, yeah. They’d all quit from embarrassment when they tasted your food.”

  We stayed wi
th Billy for another hour before taking our leave. He promised to have the hospital call if we weren’t here in the morning by the time he was discharged.

  “I don’t want to go back to the house,” I said, the thought of Stan’s blood sticking in my throat. “Let’s go to the strip, have dinner and play a few hands.”

  Jackson brightened. “I miss playing poker. “Where do you want to play, baby?”

  “Your call, any place you want.”

  “How about the Mirage? I had some luck there.”

  Should I tell Jackson that Race and I played at the Mirage?

  The poker room in the Mirage Hotel was crowded on a Saturday night. The list was long and moving slowly. We registered and went for dinner. An hour or so later when we returned, we were second and third from the top. We sat at the bar, ordered drinks and waited for our seats.

  “Do you have enough money, Jackson?”

  “Yeah, I punched out four. Should be lots,” he said, holding my hand.

  They called our names at the same time and for the first time, we were seated at the same table. I didn’t know how Jackson felt about that, but I was uneasy. He was in seat three and I was in seven. Lucky seven.

  My big blind. The guy next to me in seat eight was a huge black dude chewing on an unlit cigar he held clenched between his teeth. He wore ten pounds of bling around his neck, and all his fingers sported flashy rings. He raised my blind to forty bucks. Seats nine and ten folded. Seat one called, seat two folded. Jackson called. Everyone else folded to me. I called with Ace-Queen of spades.

  Four players. The flop was Ace-Three-Seven of hearts. Sucked for me. I checked. Big dude checked. Seat one bet fifty. Jackson called the fifty. I folded. Big dude called.

  Three players. The turn was seven of clubs. Big dude bet seventy-five. Seat one folded. Jackson called.

  Two players. The river card was the King of hearts. The big dude went all in. The dealer stacked his chips and counted. Two-ten to Jackson. He called. I held my breath wondering what he had. He flipped over pocket Aces, giving him a boat and the big dude flipped over pocket Queens, one being the Queen of hearts for the nut flush. The dealer pushed the pot to Jackson and I smiled.

  For the next couple of hours, I folded most of my hands and watched Jackson play. I learned so much from watching the way he played his hands and the way he played the other players. He watched when the other players bet, he watched what hands they turned up, and he seemed to remember everything. The waitress arrived with my beer and when I peeked at my hand two Jacks stared back at me. Jackson always said pocket Jacks were a death hand for him. He swore he always lost with the two Johnnies.

  I was on the button, and the big dude next to me was small blind. Seat ten was under the gun and raised to thirty dollars. Seat one and two folded. Jackson called. Seats four, five and six folded. I called the thirty to see the flop. Big dude called. He had called every hand. Seat nine folded.

  Four players. The flop came Queen-Jack-Four, rainbow. Big dude chewed on his cigar and checked. Seat ten bet fifty. He had raised pre-flop so I put him on Ace-King. He was drawing for the straight and needed a ten. Jackson called the fifty. I raised to one fifty to make the draws pay. Big dude folded. Seat ten sat and stared at me, looking for a tell and considering the big raise, then he called. Jackson folded.

  Heads up. The turn was an Ace. If I had pegged seat ten correctly, he now had a pair of aces and he was no closer to his straight, but if he had raised with King-Ten he had me. I pushed all-in. The dealer counted my chips. Three-fifty to him. He folded. The dealer pushed the pot to me and I didn’t show my hand.

  We played until midnight, then headed home to bed. We had been short-changed on sleep the past couple of days and both of us were feeling the effects.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  JACKSON HAD DONE well at the Mirage the night before and made some decent cash. He let Annie sleep late while he turned his attention back to the club. Now that Stan was back in custody, he might be able to concentrate on the problems at hand. Rusty had been calling him every ten minutes during the Stan fiasco and it had almost driven him crazy. He started the coffee maker, grabbed his smokes and took Angel outside. His phone said eight fifteen—after eleven in Toronto.

  “Rusty, what’s the latest?”

  “We are so fucked, boss. We need you back here in a hurry.”

  “Sorry about the delay. My asshole father showed up again in Vegas and the feds were all over me.”

  “Did Portia unload one into him?”

  “I put one in his leg, but she could have finished him if the feds hadn’t shown up.”

  “Is he back in jail?”

  “Infirmary, waiting for extradition.”

  “When can you get back? The Dogs are killing us and we have to take some of them out. You’re the only one who can give that kind of an order”

  “Where are they pushing you?”

  “Four of them were in Morningside Park yesterday.”

  “Fuck. You got to get them out of there. That’s one of our highest traffic spots. Send Sarvino and Graziano with a couple prospects and let them earn their cuts.”

  “Got it. We need you, boss.”

  “Few more days. We’re picking Billy up this morning, then I’m gonna press Annie about the wedding. Tell her I can’t wait. Soon as that’s a done deal, I’ll tell her we need to move back to Toronto. Once we’re married I know she’ll bend my way.”

  “Okay, I’ll be in touch.”

  Jackson turned off his phone, glanced up and Annie was staring at him through the patio doors. Had she heard anything?

  “Hey, baby, I made coffee.” Jackson held her tightly in his arms and kissed her.

  “I love you, Jackson.”

  “I love you, baby. Can’t wait until our wedding.”

  “Really?” She sounded pleased. “I thought you might want to wait awhile.”

  He chuckled. “Guess I’m used to the idea now. Let’s go get Billy and we can make a plan with him.”

  Annie smiled. “Let’s do it.”

  Billy was dressed and ready to roll when they arrived at the hospital. He was chirping like a magpie to the nurses, and they were all laughing and joking with him.

  “Your X-ray must have been excellent,” Annie said.

  He chuckled. “Yep, have to come back in a week and have the bullet hole looked at. Otherwise, I’m a free man.”

  Annie smiled every time Billy laughed, but Jackson wasn’t into the merriment in any way. The club was occupying his every waking moment and he was devising a plan to put the Regulators back on solid ground. Annie was obsessed with Stan pay-back and the distraction was driving him nuts. He needed some alone time.

  The nurse helped Billy into a wheelchair and he had her giggling while she pushed him towards the exit. Jackson followed behind carrying the crutches and alternately checking the screen on his cell. He blew out a big breath as he walked alone to retrieve the truck from the parking lot. He brought it around to the entrance and gave Billy a hand up into the front seat where there was more leg room.

  “How do you like the new truck, Billy?” Annie asked.

  “Sweet. Friend of mine had a Ram and I drove it a few times. Nice truck.”

  “Let it out, Jackson.”

  Jackson pounded the gas and the truck flew out onto the highway.

  Billy grabbed the holy shit bar and hollered, “Fuckin’ G-force.”

  Annie hooted in the back seat.

  “What the fuck you got in this tank, Portia?” Billy asked.

  “Viper engine,” she said with a laugh. “Jackson wanted a spunky pickup.”

  “Spunky, ain’t the word for this mother,” Billy said. “This is one mean machine.”

  Jackson pulled into the driveway and put up the automatic garage door. He pulled in beside the rental car and parked.

  “Whose crapper is that?” Billy laughed.

  “That’s the rental car the insurance company sent over when the Hummer was stolen.”r />
  “That ain’t no Hummer. More like a bummer,” he chuckled at his own joke.

  Billy leaned on Jackson as he limped out of the truck and got his crutches situated. Annie unlocked the side door and released the hound. Angel bolted into the garage and almost knocked Billy over before Jackson got her by the collar and calmed her down.

  “Hey, girl, I’m glad to see you too. You kept me company while I was lying on the floor.”

  Annie made a face.

  “Angel hates Stan,” Billy said. “He made me put her in the yard after she bit him and tore the leg of his pants half off.”

  Jackson and Billy sat in the living room and watched NASCAR races while they ate burgers and drank beer. “Real food,” said Billy and winked at Annie. “I love fried onions.”

  During the rest of the afternoon, Jackson amused Billy playing Heads-up Texas Hold-em, while Annie made a list of furniture she wanted for the new house. Jackson heard her on the phone with Pam, the real estate lady, asking for her recommendations for the best places in town to buy furniture. He watched her writing addresses on a scratch pad.

  New furniture is a fuckin waste of money if we’re moving back to Toronto.

  “Are you sure you want to buy a house here, Annie? You might not want to stay that long.” Jackson said.

  “I’m sure, Jackson. It’s you that isn’t sure about staying.” Annie glared at him. “I’m right on with that one. I can tell by the expression on your face.”

  Fuck, I can’t afford any more fights. I need a wedding and I need it yesterday. It’s the only way. I can’t stay here. I have to guard Annie and I have to run the club. The only way I can do both is to marry her and make her move back with me.

  Annie retreated to the kitchen. She was gone for a while, then returned with cold beer in her hands. “Dinner in fifteen minutes for two of the best-looking guys in Vegas. I’m putting the steaks on now.”

  “Thanks, baby,” said Jackson, staring at his cards.