Pokergeist

by Michael Phillip Cash

  “Registration is today. You have the money. We’re in.”

  “In your dreams. I told you, I’m not playing poker. I have to return the car.”

  “No way!” Clutch sneered. “You made a promise to me.”

  “I made a more important one to Gretchen. Count me out.”

  The car started to fill with a gray fog. Telly waved his hands, having difficulty seeing. He opened the side window, sticking his head out to try to navigate the road.

  “You ain’t seen nothing yet. As my old grandpappy used to say, ‘When you got ’em by the nuts, squeeze!’ I’m gonna squeeze yours until you sing soprano.”

  “I don’t care. I made a promise to Gretchen that I won’t break.” Telly felt the car accelerate until he was going ninety in a fifty-mile-per-hour zone. Sirens screamed behind him, but Clutch wouldn’t let go of the gas pedal. “You’re going to get me arrested,” Telly said through gritted teeth.

  “So?” Clutch struggled with the wheel. It was as though they were in a tug-of-war. Cars were honking; he was a menace on the road. The siren was louder, closer, right behind him. Telly pulled over, slammed the car in park, and took the keys out of the ignition. He opened the door to fall out on the hard-packed dirt.

  “What do you think you were doing back there?” the highway patrolman demanded.

  “The gas pedal got stuck. I tried to stop.” Telly held up his hands.

  “License and registration,” the cop said.

  “By the time I get through with you, your license will be suspended,” Clutch threatened. “Nobody will hire you.”

  “I could—”

  “You could what, Mr. Martin?” the officer asked without looking up. “You’ve been drinking?”

  “No, sir.” Telly felt Clutch’s hot breath on his neck.

  “Still, maybe you should come in with me.” The patrolman observed him steadily.

  “Aw, come on. I’m fine. It was the cab. Gas pedal was stuck.”

  The cop lifted his sunglasses to look at Telly and handed him three tickets while issuing a stern warning.

  “That’s all going on your record. By tomorrow, you’ll be fired from the cab service. Remember they have a no-tolerance policy,” Clutch taunted.

  “I’ll tell them it was the gas pedal. The cop believed it.”

  “Go ahead. I can’t wait to see Bob the mechanic throw you out of there.”

  Telly walked back to the cab, knowing it was true. Looking at the three citations, he knew the job was finished. He was going to have to find something else. At least he had the winnings to live on for now.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Clutch told him as he slid into the car. “You have to use at least ten Gs to buy into the Series.”

  “I told you, I’m finished with poker.”

  “Telly,” Clutch said earnestly. “The way I see it, you don’t have much of a choice. I’m gonna haunt your ass for the rest of your miserable life. Mine will be the first face you see when you open your eyes and the last when you go to sleep at night. I’m not leaving without that bracelet, and you’re the only person who can get it for me. Let me tell you something, partner. You’re gonna see my face when you turn on the television. I will be in the air you breathe. Admittedly, I’ve been pretty tame.”

  Telly snorted.

  “Oh, I’ve been behaving, believe me. I can get real nasty. In fact, I think I can get real nasty around Gretchen. I plan to make a believer—”

  Telly slammed his foot on the brake, reaching over to swing at Clutch. His fist went through cold air.

  “Telly, Telly, Telly. You can’t hurt me—I’m dead. But I can hurt you.” Clutch was now in the backseat. Telly felt his head being grabbed. “Let’s play a little game I’ve learned.” The car moved into drive; the steering wheel jerked to life; and the car headed toward an overpass. “This would be so easy for me, Telly. I can smash this car against the concrete, and then we’ll be together for eternity.” The car accelerated, heading for the concrete barricade. Clutch hummed a song. Telly punched the brake with his foot, but the car kept moving. Grabbing the wheel, he spun it, but the course never changed. “End it, Telly, or I’ll end it. Tell me you’ll play or die, Telly. The choice is yours.”

  Telly felt the car jump the curb, the wall coming up fast. Where’s the highway patrol when you need them? he thought. “All right!” he screamed. “I’ll play.” The car stopped so suddenly, Telly’s neck snapped. His heart pounded like an oil pump in his chest. He was breathing so hard, he could barely talk. He reached into his pocket, found his asthma inhaler, and took a dose. He turned around to see Clutch sitting smugly in the back of the cab. “I always liked playing chicken when I was a kid.”

  “If I do this, you will be out of my life?”

  “Forever,” Clutch said sincerely. “And ever.”

  Telly returned the cab and took the bus to the Mandalay Convention Center without calling Gretchen. He walked through the crowds, his head down, his face devoid of expression. He was so angry his jaw hurt. How am I going to explain this to Gretchen? he thought. He’d register and then go home and break it to her. Hordes of poker buffs milled around waiting to get in lines to join up for the International Series Main Event. News vans blocked the entrance of the venue behind the casino. Telly brushed past a reporter who pushed a mike in his face. The camera followed him as he got into line for registration.

  “Hey, Telly!” someone shouted from behind. Stan Jarvis waved him over. He hadn’t slept yet—his face looked puffy, his eyes rimmed with red.

  “I thought you didn’t play poker,” Telly said as he walked closer to shake his hand.

  “I don’t, but that doesn’t mean I don’t place odds on winners. You signed in?”

  Telly shook his head. “Not yet.”

  They looked at the variety of people talking in clusters. The place was packed. There was a record turnout.

  “Great crowd,” Stan said. He punched Telly in the shoulder playfully. “Thanks for the great advice. My girl agreed to meet me here.”

  Telly smiled, genuinely happy for him. “Glad it worked.” He looked over his shoulder at Clutch wandering through the crowds, slapping backs and putting his arms around players he clearly knew.

  “What’s the matter?” Stan asked.

  Telly thought about what to say and shook his head. “Nothing. Didn’t sleep enough. Well, I have to go—games start at four, and I need some shut-eye before I start.”

  “Good luck! I’m placing my money on you.”

  Telly shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do this,” Telly said, his voice low. His eyes searched for Clutch again, and he felt a small amount of relief that he couldn’t find him. It felt good to be alone.

  “What? That’s foolish talk. You have as good a chance as anybody. A wise man once told me that if everyone is telling you that you can’t dance, try a new move. Let me tell you, Telly, you got plenty of moves. Come on, son. I’ll buy you some steak and eggs,” Stan told him.

  Telly looked at the older man. He had repeated what Telly had told him earlier. In a weird way, it brought him a sense of peace. “Thanks, but no. I need to sleep.”

  “I’ll be there to buy you steak and eggs after you win, then.”

  “You got it, Mr. Jarvis.”

  “Stan.”

  Telly quickly filled out the registration form and then headed to the cab line to get home.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Chrissy stood ironing; the morning news was on. The newscaster was reporting the immense turnout for the International Series of Poker. Steam rose from her iron. It was too hot to be doing this, but Jack needed a pressed shirt at the bank. It was a lot easier when he worked at the gym, she thought sourly. Chrissy saw a man push past the reporter on the screen. She dropped the iron to come around and get a closer look. Squinting, she peered closely through narrowed eyes a
nd cursed. “That’s Telly Martin.”

  Grabbing her cell, she dialed Gretchen.

  Her friend’s sleepy voice answered the phone.

  “I thought you said he was getting a regular job.”

  “Chrissy?”

  “Yeah. I saw Telly.”

  “You saw Telly where? He’s working.”

  “Yeah, sure he is. I just saw him on the morning news. They were covering the registration for the Series. What’s going on, Gretchen? Gretchen?”

  Gretchen had dropped the phone and glanced at her alarm clock. It was nine in the morning. “Telly?” she called out.

  “Telly!” This time she yelled. She didn’t notice that the guy in 4A didn’t yell at her. He was gone too.

  * * *

  Ruby turned on the television to watch players register for the Series.

  “Shut that shit off,” Jenny called from the other room. She came in to catch a loving testimonial from Ramona Heart about Clutch.

  Ruby ignored her, her eyes scanning the spots in the crowd as if she expected her father to be there somewhere. Ramona finished, and the reporter held out the mike as the camera hunted for a new person to interview. A guy with dark, shaggy hair brushed past her angrily. Clearly, he did not want to be approached. The camera followed his march to the registration lines. Ruby gasped. She got up to move closer to the screen. Pushing behind him was her father. Rubbing her eyes, she looked again, but saw only the back of the rude player, her father’s image gone.

  “Beloved Clutch my ass.” Jenny took a congratulatory swallow of bourbon. She held up her glass for a toast. “Rot in hell forever.”

  “You won. You got all the money. Why can’t you forgive him?”

  “I’ll never forgive him. I would give all the money away if I could have five minutes with him to tell him what I really thought of him.”

  “I just saw him on the TV,” Ruby said.

  “Sure you did; they’ve been flashing his pictures all day on the news.” Jenny threw herself on the couch.

  Ruby turned to her and said, “Not his picture, Mom. I saw him in line at registration.”

  Jenny looked at her crossly and demanded, “You using again?”

  Ruby ignored her and went over to an envelope that lay discarded on the coffee table. “Let’s go.” She pulled out two complimentary tickets that had been sent to honor his widow and his only child.

  Jenny made a face, coupled with an unladylike snort. “Uh…no. I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I’m going.” Ruby raced up the stairs to get dressed. She wanted to be among people who had loved her father.

  When she came downstairs, her mother had on makeup and a new outfit. “I might as well go with you. I am the widow of the king, after all.” She laughed, finishing her drink. “I will bask in his glory.” She bowed unsteadily.

  Ruby picked up her phone and dialed work. “I’m not going to be able to come in tonight,” she told the manager. She didn’t know why, but she felt herself being drawn to the Mandalay.

  * * *

  Ginny flicked on the television, her face crumpling when she realized it was the registration for the Series. Ramona Heart was in the middle of an interview. She and Ramona had often had drinks while they watched Clutch play. Ramona “Black Widow” Heart was one of the friendlier players. She had an annual Christmas party that included everyone, even nasty players like the Ant. May he rot in hell, she thought. A VIP ticket lay on the coffee table—her invitation to reconnect with old friends. The organizer, a buddy of Clutch’s, had called and even offered to pick her up. Stan was going to be there. Talk about awkward. She was conflicted. She liked Stan; he was…nice, so easy. Maybe she should let go.

  She had just finished filling out registration forms for the culinary school with Ruby’s information. She applied for a full scholarship and was placing it in a large manila envelope to mail. Ruby deserves a chance, she thought. She’d always liked her.

  Ginny switched over to Food Network. They were doing a piece on Stan’s barbecue restaurants. She liked Stan. He was much easier than Clutch ever was—peaceful and calm. She knew he was a whale, as they called it in Vegas, one of the big players. That’s how they had met—she was subbing as a dealer at a craps tourney at the Wynn. He’d tried to sweep her off her feet with flowers and dinners, but her heart wasn’t ready. It still felt like a big, raw bruise. Clutch, for all his charm, had never once told her he loved her. She tried not to be bitter. He had been her life. There was just something about Clutch that made her not think about anything else. She’d had a life before him—friends, trips back to the Philippines, a side career at a nail salon. She had given everything up to devote all her time to Clutch. He was high maintenance but so much fun. He had a way of changing everything into a celebration. And talk about the perks! Her picture was in People magazine once when Clutch was named a person to watch in 2004. But on the other hand, Stan didn’t even care about her mismatched caps. Some of her teeth were ivory, and the new ones were too white. That’s what happens when you let students do dental work. They were roasting a whole pig on the show—Stan was demonstrating his new recipe. She smiled. He said it was based on one given to him by a good friend from the Philippines, where they know how to cook perfect pork. He even called it Ginny’s Genuine Good Barbecue. She smiled wistfully. He was a good man, but her finger pressed the return on the remote to go back to the poker station.

  She recognized so many of the players; my, how she missed them. Oh, they had all come around in the beginning, but as time wore on, life went back to normal for everyone but her. She could almost hear Clutch’s voice saying, “It’s Clutchtime!” All of his old friends and competitors were there. Ginny’s heart ached for the loss of him…or maybe it was the comfort of their old routines. Looking around her barren home, she missed hearing his commentary, his curses; she missed his friendship. She walked over to his empty urn, hugging it close to her chest. Tears pricking her eyes, she remembered the excitement of the first day of the event. Ginny picked up the phone and called in sick to work. She picked up the VIP pass and stuffed it in her purse. First, she would drop off the application at the Culinary Institute, and then she would head to the Series. It was the closest she could get to Clutch and what was familiar right now.

  * * *

  Harriet Martin screamed, her hands covering her face. Frank ran into the room, a fork in one hand, yellow yolk dripping from his chin. “What’s the matter?” he asked worriedly.

  She pointed to the screen, her face white. “Trouble, trouble, trouble.”

  “What?” He looked around the room.

  “Telly was there.”

  Frank looked at the television, shrugging. “Where?”

  “At the Poker Series. I saw him. He’s there and he’s going to play!” she wailed.

  Frank pulled the paper napkin from under his neck. “Good for him!”

  “You can’t mean that,” Harriet turned to him, shock on her face.

  “Everybody should get a chance to live his dream, at least once. This I gotta see. Call up and get tickets. We’re going to watch in person.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “He’s threatening to haunt us for the rest of our lives,” Telly pleaded with her. He had come home and broken the news to her hours ago. It felt like they’d been arguing for days. At first, she’d sat silently. Then she had broken out into great, gulping sobs. She’d refused to talk, but Telly had followed her around and wouldn’t give up. Finally, he’d tried to convince her about Clutch.

  “A ghost, Telly?” Gretchen was crying. “You lied to me. You said you wouldn’t play poker anymore.”

  “You think I want to do this?” Telly was incredulous. “We went over it. I have never lied to you, Gretchen.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Thick…” Telly said wistf
ully.

  Gretchen ignored him and went back to her suitcase on the bed. “I think…I think we need to take a break from each other.” She looked up at him, her face filled with shock and hurt. “You lied to me, Telly. You lied.”

  “What? No, please don’t go.”

  “I love you, Telly, but this is tearing us apart. You have to decide what is more important: me or poker.”

  “You know the answer to that. It’s always you. I love you.”

  “The sad thing is, I do know that. But you are an addict. I have more things to worry about than what makes you happy, Telly.” Gretchen paused to look up at him. “I have lived my whole life running from my mother’s addictions. I can’t do that to—”

  “To what?” Telly asked.

  Gretchen shook her head. “It ruined my childhood. Don’t you see, Telly? I can’t let another one ruin what’s left for me. It’s in your hands. You decide.”

  “I…I don’t have a choice.” He took her hand, rubbing the spot that had once had a diamond ring. “Please know that everything I’m doing is for the two of us.”

  Great, crystal tears ran from Gretchen’s sad eyes. The two of us, she thought. Soon to be three, but the words couldn’t escape from her clogged throat. “Don’t look for me, Telly. This time you won’t find me.” He started to go after her and she turned, her face set with determination. “Stop. Don’t follow me. I mean it.”

  She tucked Sophie under her arm and quietly let herself out the door.

  Telly sat forlornly on the bed, his eyes smarting.

  “You did this,” he howled.

  “We have a deal, pal. You get the ring; I get the bracelet.” Clutch materialized.

  “What good is a ring if Gretchen is gone?”

  “She’ll be back.” Clutch sat on the bed. “Once you get your hands on all that money, don’t you worry, she’ll be back.”

  “Gretchen isn’t like that. She doesn’t care about money.”

  Clutch waved his hand with disgust. “That’s a crock. They all care about the money. Now go shower and get ready; we leave in an hour.”