by Mark Joseph
To Sally, the rural Sacramento Valley struck her as so different from Los Angeles that the only thing comparable to her journey on the river was the Jungle Cruise at Disneyland, an E ticket ride for sure. Fresh water, strange sounds, new colors, bugs, fishermen, an occasional small log floating by, glimpses through levee breaks of vast fields and orchards, rusted farm equipment, swooping red-tailed hawks, the bright yellow of dried grasses on the steeply banked levees. Sally was enchanted; her heart moved. Like Alice in Wonderland, she’d slipped into another dimension. As the Toot Sweet made way slowly upriver, her radio added to the unreality by broadcasting Chuck Berry’s East Saint Louis boogie and street corner doo wop from Philadelphia. And to top off the set here’s the fantastic harmonics of California’s own, the fabulous Beach Boys. America was cross-pollinating itself on the radio.
Sally snapped her fingers and sang along with “Little Deuce Coupe.” The sun was sinking in the west and half the river fell under the shadow of the levee. Ahead, the levees gradually receded several hundred yards to create a flood plain for rice paddies. The setting sun flashed long streaks of red across the water, an alien river on an alien planet. Two hours from Sacramento the last top-forty station faded into static, and when Sally fiddled with the dial, all she could find was hillbilly music from Yuba City. Patsy Cline and Johnny Cash. She turned it off and listened to the boat, the river, and the bugs. The boys in the cabin below had been quiet for half an hour.
“This is so peaceful,” she said to Bobby. “You aren’t angry anymore, are you?”
“No. It’s okay.”
The boat was making way slowly now, skirting snags—huge tree limbs that had barreled downstream in the previous winter’s storms and embedded themselves in the bottom creating submarine hazards like organic icebergs. Bobby figured if he hit one, the trip was over and he’d turn around and go back toward Sacramento. Unless they sank.
“There’s a lot of angry people in L.A.,” Sally said, looking up at an angry red sky. “Is it like that in San Francisco?”
“Angry at what?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. The system, or because you’re black or white or Mexican. Stuff like that.”
“I suppose there’s people like that everywhere,” Bobby said. “I don’t know about any system.”
“That’s because you’re part of it and don’t know it.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re part of the system, Bobby McCorkle. You toe the line, walk the straight and narrow, don’t break any laws, stay in school, and do what you have to do to become a respectable member of society who doesn’t rock any boats, especially this one.”
“Like hell. I break plenty of laws.”
“Oh, yeah? Name one.”
“I drink beer, that’s one. I know how to hotwire a car.”
“Oh, boy. That makes you an outlaw. Hey,” she said. “Are you a tough guy?”
“What? Come on.”
“Do you get in fights and things like that?”
“No.”
“You’re lyin’.”
“When I was a kid. Not anymore.”
“Then why’d you get that tattoo?”
“A tattoo doesn’t make me a tough guy.”
“Does where I come from.”
“Then maybe it’s a good thing you left.”
“You are a tough guy. Tough in the head.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. You’re gonna go to college at Berkeley, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard of that place. They got a lot of smart people there. You’re gonna be all right there.”
“How would you know?”
“See? You challenge everything. You don’t take nothing for granted and you don’t believe anything. That’s how I know.”
Ahead, the river divided and Bobby didn’t know which fork to take. One of life’s little conundrums. He asked Sally which way she thought he should go.
“I don’t know anything about rivers,” she said. “Eenie, meenie, minie, moe, I don’t care which way you go.”
“Maybe you are a beatnik,” he said and yelled, “Dean! I need a map.”
Alex emerged from the cabin into the stern, threw up his arms in a gesture of helplessness, and hollered, “Dean threw all the maps and charts overboard.”
Bobby blinked, ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “That moron,” he said. “Why?”
“It’s just one of those things, Bobby. He was muttering about being Mike Fink the Riverboat Man and he didn’t need any damn maps. Whoosh! Out the window; then he passed out.”
“Wonderful. Take a look. The river splits. Which way do I go?”
Alex ascended to the bridge and studied the river ahead.
“Take the biggest one. Go right.”
“How’s the game?” Bobby asked.
“Dean is wasted and Charlie’s seasick. Nelson and I are playing blackjack. Crazy Nelson hit a soft eighteen and got the three of hearts. Can you believe it?”
“Stick to poker, Alex, or that Chinaman will take all your money.”
The Toot Sweet putted merrily past Verona, and Bobby steered to the right, unknowingly navigating onto the Feather. It looked the same, the banks lined with brush at the base of tall levees, a few trees, and here and there a cornfield or apple orchard in places where the levees opened and offered a peek at what lay beyond. Bobby studied the trees and bushes and realized they had to pull up on the bank somewhere and make camp before dark.
From time to time Sally turned around and smiled. The sun went down and in the twilight, a half mile ahead where the river slipped around an island and curved to the east, Bobby could see a trace of white water, the cataract at Shanghai Bend, the end of the line.
25
Foghorns and sirens moaned in the distance, klaxons of danger and distress. Closer, a streetcleaner whirred down New Montgomery, sweeping away bottles, memories, and cigarette butts. Inside the Enrico Caruso Suite the hefty pot from the last unfinished hand was pushed discreetly to one side, protected by Nelson’s gun and cuffs. Dean continued to snore loudly on the couch while Charlie, fidgety and sweating, sat at the card table watching Alex cheat at solitaire.
“You look twitchy,” Alex commented dryly without looking up from the array of cards. “I bet you never read that book on Zen.”
“You wanna talk about Zen Buddhism at a time like this? Jesus. You can play the eight of diamonds.”
“No kibitzing! Four in the morning is a fine time to practice Zen. Perhaps I should compose a Tao of Poker. I’m sure it would be a best-seller.”
Charlie poured two shots of Dean’s rum, passed one to Alex, and asked, “Why do you cheat?”
“I cheat at everything except poker.”
“Think they’ll come back?”
Simultaneously revealing and concealing a Zen-like fortitude, Alex sighed and resigned himself to answering Charlie’s impossible questions. “Nelson will, to collect his piece if nothing else,” he said, giving Nelson’s pistol a friendly pat. “There’s no telling about Bobby.”
“What would you do if you were Bobby?”
“Don’t be a twit. How would I know?”
“What if Nelson can’t talk him into coming back? What if he goes to the cops?”
“Come on, Charlie, take it easy. What are you afraid of?”
“You know damned well. Prison. San Quentin. Lethal injection.”
“Ooo, let’s be melodramatic, whaddaya say? If it comes to that, you can run away to South America, and if that isn’t appealing, you can jump off the bridge. What the hell, you can turn Japanese and slit open your belly. It’s considered an honorable way out of an untenable situation. Maybe you can get Dean to whack off your head, just to complete the ritual.”
“I’m not gonna jump off the damned bridge, but you better believe I’ve thought about taking off,” Charlie said. “But then what happens to Hooper Fish? I have eighty people who depend on me.
Alex
looked up smartly, freezing Charlie with sudden intensity. “Your soul is in jeopardy and you’re worried about your business? You have it backwards, my friend. Your employees don’t depend on you; au contraire, you depend on them. If you disappeared without a trace, you wouldn’t be missed. The boats will go fishing, the supermarkets will carve up the catch for the great unwashed, the restaurants will boil lobsters for plutocrats, and the moon will continue to push the tides back and forth. Nothing you do is as important as you think. That goes for you and me and everyone.”
“I’m not like you, Alex. I enjoy my life. I’m not bored.”
“Boredom is not my problem,” Alex replied. “I’m tired. You see my Panama hat? In New York I wear a beret, and I’m tired of looking like a French peasant, très chic. What a crock. Merde! I’m a straw hat kind of guy. Don’t you understand what’s happening here? We’ve been forced to look at ourselves in the mirror. Maybe you like what you see, but I don’t unless I’m wearing my Panama. So what? Maybe you can stay the same as you are, if you’re lucky. Do you feel lucky, Charlie? You know it’s going to come down to one hand, the hand you’re dealt and the way you play it.”
“You’re really crazy, Alex.”
“You don’t know the half of it, pal, but let me ask you this: If you’re so sane and responsible and worried about your employees, why do you play in the game every year? You always lose. If the game continues this morning, you could lose Hooper Fish, and there you are, irrelevant and broke.”
“Do you think it’ll come to that?”
“I hope so. I like fish. You’re not going to bail out, are you?”
“I’m in, Alex. Don’t worry.”
Charlie trundled off to take a shower and a few minutes later, wrapped in a towel, swept through the suite tuning all the TVs to The Untouchables, igniting a cacophony of Hollywood tommyguns blasting well-dressed bootleggers in both bedrooms, bathrooms, the living room, and kitchenette. Pow pow pow pow pow. Come out of there, Frank. You don’t stand a chance. The noise was so loud Alex didn’t hear Nelson and Bobby in the corridor. He looked up and they were standing in the foyer looking wrung out.
Nelson’s eyes were guarded, his face blank but tense. Toting a small white bag of doughnuts, Bobby showed no trace of the anger that had propelled him out the door. His spiffy clothes had acquired a few wrinkles. Watching him, trying to read his features, Alex gathered up the cards, tapped the deck square and laid it on the felt. Bobby took his seat and met Alex’s gaze.
Nelson went around turning the TVs down to a reasonable volume, pausing to prod Dean. “Wake up, Studley,” he demanded, poking the big guy in the shoulder.
“I’m awake,” Dean announced from the couch.
“You came back,” Alex said to Bobby. “How nice.”
“Nelson said this is a trial.”
“Oh, it is, but there are many ways to conduct a trial: by fire, by water, by the judgment of your peers, or even the turn of a card.”
“I’m in no mood for bullshit, Alex.”
“I’m sure that’s true for all of us.”
“Any more cute tricks like Nelson’s stunt with the microphone?”
“Definitely,” Alex answered with an impish smile.
“Christ almighty, what the fuck is going on? Are you crazy?”
“Charlie thinks so, but after all, we’re only having a card game. Glad you could make it.”
Bobby took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. If Alex wanted to be cagey and play games, maybe he really was crazy. He had a lot to lose while Bobby risked only his dignity if they really did get to the truth. He was a man; he’d cried before, but he didn’t have many tears left for Shanghai Bend.
“Thirty-two years and counting,” Bobby said. “I’ve run out a patience. What’s going on?”
“We owe you,” Alex said. “Nelson, did you tell him about the money?”
“No.”
“What money?” Bobby asked. “The stake? The twenty-five grand?”
“No, not the stake. We have something for you. Dean, would you care to do the honors?”
“Yo, boss. Comin’ right up.”
Dean pulled himself off the couch, snorted, farted, groused into a bedroom, and returned with the largest of the heavy canvas bags he’d brought to the hotel. He tossed it on the table.
They were all smiling, grins all around the table except for Bobby who stared at the bag and didn’t know what to make of it.
“That’s full of dough,” Dean said. “It’s yours, McCorkle. Take it.”
Bobby didn’t budge. “Talk to me,” he said. “For all I know there’s a smoke bomb in this bag, another stupid trick.”
“You tell him,” Dean said to Alex. “You’re the mastermind.”
“Tell me what?” Bobby demanded.
“We’ve all been part of Dean’s business for more than twenty years,” Alex said. “He grows five hundred pounds of premium marijuana on his barges every year, sometimes a little more, sometimes a little less, and we sell it in L.A., San Francisco, and New York. We’ve been doing it so long we never actually see it, let alone take possession of it. Dean takes almost all the risk, and so he gets the lion’s share of the money. For the rest of us, there’s a tidy sum every year to split up, from fifty thousand the first year to a million two this year. Every year when we divide the profits at the annual poker game, we put aside a certain percentage for you, twenty percent to be exact. It’s yours.”
“You’re putting me on,” Bobby said.
“Nope.”
Bobby blinked. “Why?” he asked.
Alex chuckled and said, “We thought it would make for an interesting card game if we increased the stakes.”
“There’s a catch.”
“No catch. You can take it and leave right now.”
“Open it, for God’s sake,” Charlie insisted, emerging from the bedroom, a bath towel wrapped around his shoulders, eyes red and face puffy but rubbing his hands like he was ready to play. He stood behind Bobby and put his hands on his shoulders. “C’mon, man.”
“No smoke bombs, no jack-in-the-box?”
Alex shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”
Bobby untied the knots, loosened the laces and poured the contents of the bag onto the table. It was all hundreds in thick packets bound by rubber bands and included several bundles of old silver certificates. It made an untidy but impressive pile on the green felt.
Staring at the money, they were silent for a long moment. In the background the TVs advertised cheap airfares and telephone psychics.
“Tell him how much,” Dean growled.
“One million eight hundred forty-seven thousand six hundred, rounded off,” Alex recited. “We could’ve invested it and made much more, but that would have been an accounting nightmare. I’m sure you understand why we stashed it in a safe deposit box every year and left it there. In fact, having so much unexplained cash will be your biggest problem. You can say you won it in a card game.”
“A million eight.”
“Yup.”
“For thirty-two years of silence.”
“Yup.”
“And continued silence in the future.”
“That’s up to you. If you want to call the Yuba County Sheriff, we have his number.”
“You guys are dope dealers? I can’t believe it.”
“Oh, we’re a regular cartel,” Alex said with a chuckle. “Or we were. Rocket Fuel exclusively, no pills or powders or anything else, but it’s all over now, done, finito. We’re not going to push our luck. We’ve retired. We’re filthy rich, and now, so are you. Aren’t you glad you came back?”
“Son of a gun,” Bobby said, scratching his chin, trying to tear his eyes away from the hill of cash. There had to be a catch, no matter how much they denied it. One point eight million dollars was simply too much money—an unbelievable amount of money—for them to let him simply walk away. Was it a bribe? It smelled like a bribe, but he couldn’t be bribed. Money didn’t mean to him what
it meant to them. If it did, he would’ve quit playing poker a dozen times when he was ahead with enough to live for the rest of his life. No, the money wasn’t nearly enough. For the moment, however, he wouldn’t mind playing cards with monopoly money.
“Anyone want a doughnut?” he asked.
“Sure. Whaddaya got?”
“Plain old-fashioned and maple bars.”
“Where you been, anyway?” Alex asked.
“We took a little tour of Noë Valley,” Nelson answered.
“The old neighborhood is still there, I presume,” Alex said, groping the sticky interior of the bag and extracting an old-fashioned.
“It’s been gentrified and prettied up but it’s the same,” Nelson said.
“As long as I was here, I wanted to see for myself,” Bobby said with a chuckle, adding, “They’re still selling dope in Dolores Park where I used to score hashish.”
“Can the nostalgia,” Alex snapped. “Are you ready to play cards?”
Dean slid into his seat, reached into his jeans, and pulled out a huge wad of C-notes. “Let’s play cards.”
“I told you I was in,” Charlie said to Alex as he sat down. “I’m in.”
Nelson sat down, stashed his pistol and cuffs under the seat, and said, “Let’s play a little poker. Bring out the bags.”
Alex started to laugh. It began with a jelly roll in his diaphragm and burbled up through his throat and erupted in a brawling, bellowing howl. “Yes!” he shouted, “Yes! Poker doesn’t matter unless it hurts. Isn’t that right, Mr. Professional? How about raising the stakes just a tad?”
Alex’s laughter echoed through the suite, just loud enough to drown out the muffled exhortations of Elliot Ness. Bust open those barrels, boys. I want to see a river of beer.
26
The first three cards of a hand of five stud had been dealt when Dean’s beady, red eyes panned the table and his laughter turned provocative. “I’m gonna raise a buck,” he declared. “Any objections?”
Excited, Charlie exclaimed, “No way! What the hell is the point of a limit if you ignore it? There has to be a limit or the game will get out of control.”
“Isn’t that the idea?” Alex said. “Isn’t that why we came up this godforsaken river, to get away from the controls of civilization?”