Buster sat in the front row, squeezed into a white plantation suit, his sweat-stained Stetson hanging on his fat knee. Buster’s red face was drenched with perspiration, and he wiped it with a rusty, wrinkled handkerchief. Every so often, Clutch glanced at his grandfather’s angry face. Alf, his cousin, sat next to the old man, shaking his head.
It was a sure thing—all he’d had to do was drive. They were hitting a fur storage; he wasn’t actually stealing anything. Nobody knew North Las Vegas like Clutch Henderson. It was really a favor, he’d told Buster. “I owed the guy.”
“You stupid ass,” Buster replied. “I wasted all that time teaching you the game, but you never learned nuthin’.”
“I’m the best player this side of the Strip,” Clutch boasted. “I could outplay you anytime. When this is over, I’ll show you.”
“You ain’t nothing but a punk. You don’t know how to play poker…never could. I pumped you up to make you feel good, but you are just a two-bit hustler.”
“I’m good.” Clutch told him, his voice full of hatred.
“If you were good, why’d you get involved with them?” Buster pointed to the other defendants.
“I owed too much.”
“You owed too much ’cause you played like shit, you cocky motherfucker. You think you know everything. I wouldn’t waste another minute on you. You ruined your grandmother’s life,” Buster told him. “You and me, we’re finished. You’ll never be anything, Oliver, cause you break everything that falls into your clutches.”
Alf laughed, “So that’s why you call him Clutch, Gramps?”
“I call him Clutch because he squeezes everything worthwhile in life until there ain’t nothing left but dust.” Buster’s gold bracelet winked in the sunlight that streamed in through the tall windows. “You like my Series bracelet, loser? Well, enjoy it from there, because that’s the closest you’ll ever come to it.”
“I’ll win one on my own when I get out,” Clutch called after him, stung by his grandfather’s fury. “You called me Clutch ’cause I knew how to clutch the cards right!” he shot back with venom.
Buster turned, his voice equally loud. “You’ll never win a gold bracelet—you don’t have the skill, and I’ll never teach you another move.”
“I can outplay you anytime, Grandpa. Name it and I’ll kick your—”
Buster spun, his face gleaming with sweat under the harsh lights. “The next time we play poker it will be in hell, when the devil comes to take his due.”
His grandfather turned his back, leaving Clutch to be cuffed and led away. He never saw him again.
Buster was furious, but he’d paid for a good lawyer. Clutch served half the sentence and got out with good behavior.
Both Ruth and Buster died while he was serving time, and the bracelet, along with the rest of Buster’s estate, went to his cousin, Alf.
“I loved that bracelet,” he mused. “It was supposed to be mine. Not to mention the old house and its contents.” With his mind on the past, he didn’t notice that the courtroom was beginning to fill, with Ginny and some fancy suit on one side and Ruby and Jenny on the other.
“All rise…” Clutch automatically stood as the judge entered the courtroom. She was attractive, he thought, her red hair pulled off her head in a bun, half-moon glasses hanging from a chain that rested on her black robe.
The proceedings began with Jenny’s lawyer. He was just a kid. He noticed Ruby had changed into a black dress; the face jewelry was gone, and her hair was neatly combed. The boy wonder stood in his ill-fitting suit and argued that the case was cut and dried—Oliver and Jennifer were legally married according to state laws. They were there to determine the rights of the parties in respect to the division of Oliver Henderson’s estate. As there was no will, the laws of succession applied, he told the court reasonably. Jenny sat, her legs crossed, all wounded dignity. She was the mother of Oliver’s only child; at the very least, the lawyer said, the money should be held in trust until Ruby came into her majority.
“That’s all very touching,” the other lawyer began, “but Oliver and Jennifer were married on paper only. It was a well-known fact that they both desired to be divorced. Gineva Garcia was Clutch Henderson’s common-law wife. They had lived continuously together for over ten years. Clearly, Jennifer lost all her rights based on their separation.”
“Just because Gineva Garcia was his girlfriend doesn’t entitle her to anything,” Jenny’s lawyer stated. “You can’t be a common-law wife to someone who is still married. That’s bigamy.”
“Jennifer Henderson had Mr. Henderson arrested and took out a restraining order against him. Is that the action of a loving wife?”
“Loving or not, Your Honor, the fact is she was indeed still his wife.”
“So was Ginny Garcia.”
“Objection. As previously stated, you can’t be a common-law wife to someone who is married.”
“Sustained,” the judge said in a mildly bored voice.
Clutch looked at all the players. Jenny had always been a good actress. Occasionally, she took out a crumpled tissue to sob prettily into its depths.
His daughter and the boy lawyer kept exchanging long, hot looks at each other. He walked behind him, bent down, and whispered, “She’s jailbait, pal. Not even seventeen yet.” Wait, maybe she was seventeen…what year was she born, exactly? Clutch couldn’t seem to remember. “Don’t matter, son. Underage is underage.”
Ruby appeared human today. Twice, he reached forward, ready to smack the lawyer in the back of his head when he ogled her legs. Man, but that skirt was short. What is her mother thinking? he wondered. He walked over to her and tugged her collar over her slight cleavage.
Ruby sat up, startled, when she felt her shirt pulled together over her chest.
Ginny was skittish; she kept looking at a man in the rear of the room. He looked familiar, but Clutch couldn’t place him. Most of the time, Ginny kept her head lowered. He caught her giving Ruby a sweet, apologetic smile, which was heartily returned. Clutch saw Ginny sigh deeply and then look at the man in the back again. Her furrowed brows told him she was nervous. He wandered over, taking a seat next to the man, studying his profile. Who was this guy, and why was he watching Ginny?
Court was adjourned. Ginny hurried out, the man following her out the courtroom doors.
Clutch sauntered after them, speeding up to move in front of them. The man caught Ginny by the arm. “I’ll take you home,” he said.
“No.” She pulled her arm away. “Don’t you see where things are going? They are never going to award that money to me. You have to stop.”
“The kid might get it.”
“Yes, and she’s underage, so it won’t be available for a couple of years. Who knows what will be left once his wife gets hold of it. She’ll be the trustee. Give it up, Victor.”
“Victor Mazzone!” Clutch grumbled. His loan shark. He owed him big, over a million with interest. Man, that shit compounds daily, he thought. Might be close to two already.
“Look, I did it. I took her to court. I contested the will. I told you, I am nothing in Clutch’s estate. They aren’t going to give me anything. You wasted your money on that lawyer,” Ginny said with a plaintive voice.
“Hardly nothing, Gin—I loved you,” Clutch said without thinking. Ginny didn’t register. Why couldn’t she hear him? Telly did. Clutch swallowed and said it again, louder.
Ginny looked around. “Did…did you hear that?”
“Hear what? It’s not over. I have to get paid,” Victor said.
She shrugged indifferently. “You can’t take blood from a stone. You made a bad investment in Clutch.”
“You talking from experience?” Victor said sarcastically.
Ginny gave him a hard look, but Clutch knew by her expression that she was conflicted. He’d give anything to get inside her head right now
.
Victor went on, “What do you got to show for sticking by that loser for ten years?”
Clutch considered Victor, knowing he never once told her he loved her while he was alive.
“What exactly did you see in that guy?” Victor asked.
Ginny opened her mouth to reply. “He was so…so…” She was struggling to find words. Her mouth snapped shut. It appeared that Ginny couldn’t quite remember what was so special about Clutch after all. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore, Mr. Mazzone. I think our business is done.”
Victor continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “If the kid gets the money, you’re right. I won’t see it for a couple of years. So…” He lowered his voice while he grabbed her arm. Clutch moved forward, ready to plow into him. “You’ll sign over your house to me.”
“That’s mine.”
“Yeah, and as Clutch’s common-law wife, you’re going to give it to me.”
“Didn’t you hear them in there? I am not his wife. I’m nothing to him. He left me nothing. I’ll be homeless.”
Victor shrugged. “Look, lady, I have to get mine. That’s the nature of this business. Like, I’m real sorry, but I have a business to run.”
Ginny staggered away, Clutch following to make sure she got home safely. He sat on the couch for a long time watching her do a crossword puzzle. The plants were dying, and she didn’t care. He had placed a watering can where she would notice it, but she kept walking past it without registering it was there. Clutch put his feet up and his hands behind his head, and for a moment, it brought him back in time to last year, Ginny’s domestic sounds filling their home. He almost felt like calling out for her to make him something to eat. He pulled out the application for cooking school but gave up trying to read it. It slid in between the cushions of the couch.
The afternoon waned, and Clutch rose. He walked over to Ginny, who worked dispiritedly at the counter preparing her dinner. He wrapped his arms around her, feeling her shiver. Placing his ghostly lips on her neck, he kissed her gently, standing there enjoying the feel of her. She brushed her neck impatiently, irritated. Eventually, he left, leaving Ginny to stare out the window and wonder if she was grieving for Clutch or for herself.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Telly kissed Gretchen on the cheek. “Don’t wait up for me,” he told her. “You sure you didn’t lock up that money?” They had come home and searched thoroughly. The money was gone.
“Positive. It was on the coffee table when I left. I don’t want it, Telly. It was dirty money.”
“You believe me about Clutch then?” he asked her, his face earnest.
Gretchen tilted her blond head. “I find the whole thing hard to believe, Telly; maybe it was all a dream. Either way, it’s over, all right? You’ll never mention Clutch or poker again.” She was feeling better already. Gretchen sat on the bed, her legs curled under her, her hand protectively over her belly. She wanted to tell him, but not just yet. He was still so unsettled.
“Looks like he’s gone.” Telly bounced around the room, looking under the dusty orange drapes.
“Let’s just forget about Clutch,” Gretchen said with relief. “New beginnings.” She smiled sweetly at him. Telly walked over to kiss her tenderly and then left. She decided she would share her news with him tonight.
From the doorway he called, “Thick…”
She responded with a satisfied, “Thin.” Her hand rested over her heart.
Telly made it down to the garage and was given a 2014 yellow cab. Bob the mechanic went over the air conditioning and gave him a brief summary on the paperwork. It was sixty-forty—he got the larger number and could work for the next twelve hours. Some guys pulled in three to four hundred a night. Best news was they told him he would get paid every day, in cash. Gretchen could quit; he couldn’t wait to tell her.
Telly pulled out as the city lights started to blink on, the purple dusk bathing the evening sky. It was quiet, the squawk of the speaker the only disruption. His first call was to Harrah’s. He pulled into the cab line. A purple and beige uniformed doorman waved him in while his whistle shrieked. It was a trip to the airport. He got out to shove ten suitcases into the trunk. He couldn’t close it. He piled four of the bags in the front seat.
“Don’t you have a bungee?” the doorman asked.
“Uh…no.”
“Here,” he said, handing Telly a neon and red bungee cord. “Stuff the luggage in, and then tie the trunk with this.”
Telly pulled out a five-dollar bill, tipping the doorman. Clutch’s expression, “Give big, get big,” was ringing in his ears.
The passengers had lost, but they’d had a ball. Brenda and Warren were heading back to New Jersey. “Could we stop at In-N-Out just one more time?” Brenda pleaded.
“What time’s your flight?”
“We have three hours.”
Telly made the turn by Excalibur, pulling in through the window. The couple called out their order, laughing so hard they had tears of joy. “One for the road!” Brenda shouted. Warren laughed uproariously.
“I got it.” Telly smiled, paying the fourteen dollars for their dinner. Give big, get big—the words echoed in the car.
“Give big, get big, you dope. You’re not going to get anything from these rubes.” Clutch’s voice reverberated through the car.
Telly gasped. Clutch was back, sitting on Brenda’s lap. “I’ll say this for her: she’s got a nice rack,” he said.
Telly looked in the rearview mirror, his eyes wide. Brenda must have noticed his expression because she said, “Don’t worry. We’ll pay you back when we get to the airport and I can get to my purse.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” He raced down Industrial toward the airport.
“What’s the rush?” Warren demanded as they swerved down the road. “Take it easy.”
“I don’t want you to miss your flight,” he told them.
Minutes later, he pulled up to the terminal. They got out, and Telly hauled their luggage, making a stack on the sidewalk.
“Well, that was interesting,” Warren said as he took out a hundred dollars.
Telly pulled out money to make change.
“No, keep the change,” Warren said with a laugh. “You deserve it. You were as generous as you were entertaining.”
Telly thanked him and then jumped back into the cab.
“What are you doing here?” he hissed at Clutch.
“We have to make the entry fee.”
“No, we don’t. I am not doing that anymore. I think you cured me from playing poker ever again. I don’t even like it anymore.”
They passed rows of strip clubs. Clutch made appreciative noises when they sped past the tall marquees with barely dressed women advertising each club. “Well, that’s not encouraging. Hey, let’s stop here. They have great—what? I was going to say tacos! They make tacos.”
“I don’t care. Now get out of my cab and out of my life.”
“No can do, Telly. We have to make the entry fee tonight. Dump this banana and let’s play poker.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Well, then, it looks like I’m riding shotgun until you change your mind.” Clutch settled comfortably into the backseat.
Telly pulled violently to the side of the road. The hot Vegas heat hit him like a blast furnace when he exited the car. He opened the rear door. “Get out!” he shouted.
A homeless man wheeling a shiny metal supermarket cart was walking on the dirt-packed side of the road. He wore filthy clothes and a greasy fishing hat, with iron-gray hair escaping on either side like Bozo the Clown. He stopped, scratching his back. Leaning down, he peered into the dark interior of the car.
He looked up at Telly, then down again. Telly was screaming that if Clutch didn’t get out, he was going to drag him out. Clutch sat in the car laughing hysterically. Telly le
aned down, trying to grab him, only to have his hands come up empty.
The old geezer in the street came closer, looking to see who Telly was fighting with. His rheumy eyes searched the backseat.
“Who you talking to?” he asked. “Wanna drink?” He pulled out a whiskey bottle from a brown paper bag in the front of the cart.
Telly was breathing hard, frustrated, just about at his wit’s end. He kicked a rock by his foot. The rock barely moved; the earth was hard packed and dry as a bone.
“You’re stuck with me until I decide to move on, so get used to it,” Clutch said between his chuckles. “You need this win as much as I do. You’ll never have a shred of confidence if you don’t see this through.”
“I don’t need you to build my confidence,” Telly responded.
“You don’t have a choice here, partner. You lost your choice when you made that wish simultaneously with me.”
“Be reasonable,” Telly pleaded and then realized that the bum was peering into the car, offering him a drink. “A bee,” he told him as he waved his arms. “A bee flew into the car.”
“Killer bee?”
“I don’t know.” Telly was exasperated.
“Beware those killer bees; they’ll get ya.” He made a snatching movement with his filthy, long-nailed fingers. Telly swallowed hard. The old man snapped loudly. “Wham, you’re a dead man.”
Telly gulped again, his voice a whisper. “It wasn’t a killer bee.”
“Good.” The bum saluted him and then shuffled off, wheeling his possessions down the road.
“You be reasonable,” Clutch’s voice pulled him back. “We’ve got twelve hours to make it to the entry. I know you can borrow from the Quick Daddy guy. Let’s go.”
Telly ignored him. “I’m working. I’ll wait until you get bored enough to leave me alone and find another sucker.” He slammed the door, jumped in, and put the car in drive to head for his next pickup.
He had a pickup at Luxor, a drop at the Nugget. Two trips to McCarran Airport. All in all, it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it was going to be. People were having fun. Winning or losing didn’t seem to matter. He made small talk and was pleasantly surprised when they tipped him. He called Gretchen but turned away so Clutch couldn’t hear what he said.
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