Dead Man's Hand

by Steven Meehan

  Since I had already taken enough grief from Matt, I decided not to mention just how little information I was able to scrape together about the location. “Well I think I just saw something a moment ago.”

  “What do you mean, you think?”

  “Considering that I was dealing with an irate and rather shrill voice at the time…” I definitely couldn’t resist the poke. “Yeah, I only Think I saw something enter the warehouse.” I had to learn how to bite my tongue. A comment like that was just going to add fire to all Matt’s objections.

  “I’m must not have heard you correctly just now…” This time, it was clear from his tone that he was furious. “The Marcus I know wouldn’t be so incredibly stupid as to even consider walking into an illegal poker game in some random warehouse!”

  Yup, zero to fight in less than a second. I was too tired for this, physically and mentally. Normally I don’t really mind arguing with Matt, it can be fun, or as I like to see it, a challenge. But the renewed vigor in his voice let me know that if I let this go on, fun was the last thing this conversation would be. The game was tomorrow, I needed to rest and clear my mind. Again I found myself wondering why I had picked up the phone in the first place. But then, I already knew the answer to the question, I was feeling a little bit guilty. Sighing, I decided to make the argument that I knew would get me out of this discussion, not that I was proud of what I was going to do.

  “Matt, where did you think a game like this was going to be played? Did you think Dempsey would just rent some office space? There is a reason I set up surveillance on the building.” I had to be very careful not to let my lack of good surveillance slip out. “I’m also not downstairs drinking heavily tonight. I do know what I’m voluntarily getting myself into. I will be fine. Okay?”

  “Was that supposed to be a hint?” I could tell that he was resigned to what was happening. I must have sounded angrier than I thought because I have very rarely heard him give up an argument so quickly.

  It made me feel like a heel and there was no reason I had to let him know that it had been intentional so I lied as best as I could. “I hadn’t intended it to be one.” And I held my breath hoping that it would work.

  “But you’ll use whatever you’re dealt, is that what you’re saying.”

  Either it worked or he knew what I was doing and decided to let it pass, for the moment. Fortunately it did not matter which was the case as long as he let it go. “Something like that. Hey, I’m not expecting to be able to place very many phone calls while the game is running so I’ll give you a call when it’s all over. And when I get back dinner’s on me so don’t cheap out on the choice of restaurant.”

  “Sounds like a deal. Just do me a favor and try, I mean really Try not to transform any of the cards you’re dealt. I’ve enjoyed our friendship far too long to see it end at Dempsey’s hands. Besides, I want that dinner.”

  I smiled at his words and bit back any pithy retort that I might have had, I was ready for the conversation to come to an end. “I promise to do as little mischief as possible.”

  “That’s not the same thing, Marcus. Remember what I said, this isn’t some back-alley game, this is Dempsey you’re dealing with. Changing anything could get you into trouble and you know it.”

  “Matt he’s not arrogant enough to make any of these people disappear. Remember, they can afford to pay his entrance fee, he would rather keep them alive so that they will keep coming back for more.”

  “Marcus you don’t need to win.” It was a last ditch attempt, just so he could say “I told you so” in case things really fell apart later on. Any fire that had previously been coursing through his words was now gone.

  “I’ll see you when I get back, my friend.”

  And just like that Matt let me end the conversation. There had been no final goodbye; no wish for luck, there had been only the silence that comes when someone ends a call. Had I pushed him too far this time? Could this be the straw that broke the camel’s back? No, I was reading too much into his momentary depression. Matt always got right back up and was stronger than ever. Once I win the tournament, I’ll go home and we’ll spend the next two months plotting our next mark and having fun, at least once he got his revenge.

  Besides Matt was worrying about problems that would never come to pass. I would be very surprised if Dempsey actually showed up at the tournament; it would be some trusted lackey running the game. Not that the possibility of his presence hadn’t crossed my mind, but after thinking it through, I had decided there was no way he was going to be present. He must have more important things to do than to attend a little poker tournament. The main reason I doubted that he would show was because, while I doubted the reputed size of his organization, I didn’t doubt its actual existence. And no matter how large or small it might be, things like that tended to require a lot of micromanagement, or so I have been told.

  For some reason this thought reminded me of the halfhearted promise I had given Matt. I knew he had wanted more, but there was no way I would handicap myself like that, not when I wasn’t entirely certain what I was walking into. There were going to be too many goons, some obviously armed others not so obviously, in that warehouse with me. And I was not going to enter a building like that unless I could defend myself. It just wasn’t going to happen. Now I was sure that was why he was trying to get the promise, but the real reason I flat out refused to make that promise was, I was determined to win the game, no matter what. If I needed to change a card here or there in order to do so, then I wasn’t going to hesitate.

  Forcing the conversation out of my mind I went back to watching my video feed. But after another minute or two I decided that there was nothing to be gained by surveillance, not live anyway. Double checking that there was enough ample memory left for the night, I placed the camera back down and let my mind wander. It seemed clear that either any work that needed to be done had already been done or there had been an entrance I missed. While I was at the warehouse I had toyed with the thought of an underground entrance, but had quickly dismissed the idea as being fanciful.

  Now I wished I had checked anyway. And at this point, worrying was not going to do me any good, so it was best to just forget about what was done and think about what was coming. I kept trying to tell myself that the past wouldn’t kill me, but every time I did, a little voice in my head would mutter that the mistakes of the past certainly could. I had trouble arguing with this logic, but there was nothing to be gained by dwelling on it. Fighting off exhaustion, I began to rub my face with both hands. I could do a quick survey of the tape when I woke up. There was sure to be something to watch in the morning, and hopefully, it would be to be more interesting than anything I had seen so far.

  Reaching for hotel phone, I decided I needed something to eat and maybe something to drink, but nothing too strong. Matt was right about one thing, I had to keep my wits about me. Once I placed my order I stretched out on the bed and waited for the night to be over.

  Chapter 2

  I’ll never again let Matt say I am not cautious enough, I thought, as I sat in a parking garage about three blocks from the warehouse. I had hoped the surveillance from this morning would have caught something, anything. But so far I was coming up empty, yet again. When I eventually woke up I scanned the footage and also made sure to check on anything I might have missed while I was talking with Matt. But what I had thought might be something had proven to be just a trick of the light.

  So after three days of useless surveillance, I saw the first sign of activity when half a dozen men exited the warehouse. The six individuals just walked out as if they were on their way to work. And none of them were the men who had been guarding the perimeter three days ago. What is going on here? Is the warehouse a modified barrack for Dempsey’s men? Shaking my head, I answered my own questions. But then, my answers may have had held a certain lack of conviction. No, Dempsey would never place his piggy banks inside a barrack where his foot soldiers could have easy access. On the
other hand, if this was a barrack that would partially explain why I hadn’t been allowed to get too close to it.

  Besides, all this proved was that Dempsey had stocked the warehouse well before I arrived in New Orleans. When did he stock it? And what did he stock it with? I shook my head as I silently berated myself, all these questions did me little good. Right now all that mattered was that the warehouse was already stocked with whatever it needed. I was sure that Dempsey probably hadn’t missed a single detail. This was not his first go around.

  Of course I was never good at stopping myself from asking questions, but I kept beating them down every time one started form. Unfortunately there was only one way that I would be able to answer any of them. I looked down at my entrance fee, wrapped in its ungodly expensive briefcase. Hopefully I would never again have to pay more for a piece of luggage than I did for a suit. How did these people manage to hold on to any of their money? There was no reason for this kind of expense. At the same time I knew that I needed to get all of the little details right. Anybody can own a nice suit that’s not what makes the elite the elite. No what makes them distinct are all of their accessories. Those extra little pieces are what truly differentiate the social classes, which is why I had a ridiculously expensive briefcase. I hadn’t dared to make my case with a transformation as I just didn’t have the familiarity to pull it off, at least not with that piece.

  Just thinking about all the money I had sunk into the thing was starting to depress me so I turned my attention back to the glass circle in my hand. Aside from the activity I had seen while eating breakfast, I had since witnessed about forty people enter the warehouse. And since none of them looked like they were employed by a kingpin, I knew the guests had started to arrive. True I had no way of identifying them or learning much of anything but I was still interested in watching the proceedings. Not that there was much to it. Each one handed their fee to a man just to the right of the door while they dealt with the man on the left. While they spoke with him they were searched, and from what I could tell, it was a very thorough search. After that, they were ushered into the warehouse with all due haste.

  I knew I was stalling, there was no longer a reason to wait. None of what I could see was going to help me. I could sit here watching as all of the ninety-nine other guests entered or I could get out of the car and walk over there now. I was going to have to go into that warehouse at some point, so why put it off any longer? With that thought I reached over to the glove compartment and stashed the piece of glass inside it. With my surveillance equipment stowed I grabbed my entrance fee and got out of the car. As I walked the short distance to the game I reviewed the persona I had crafted, not that there was much to it, but I needed to get into character.

  The best lies are always rooted in a seed of truth. That way they are anchored and much easier to keep straight. When your life depended on manipulating the truth to suit your needs, one little slip could prove fatal, especially when you were doing it to someone in Dempsey’s weight class, not that I would ever admit that to Matt. With that in mind I planned on keeping things ridiculously simple. I was going to be myself, with a few additional character traits. Granted I would normally call them character flaws but with the crowd I was joining, they would not be seen that way. After a few minutes the warehouse came into view and I clearly saw thugs at the door who were acting as doormen. They had clearly been chosen for their muscles and the intimidation factor.

  I had been willing to give them the benefit of the doubt since, from the video stream, I had been able to tell that they were wearing suits. But even though each of them was dressed in a very high-quality tuxedo, they were obviously uncomfortable in the garb. They also lacked the added little extras they would have needed if they had wanted to blend in. As I got closer I realized just why they looked uncomfortable in their rented tuxedoes, every one of them would be capable—and probably willing—to rip my arms out of their sockets if I gave them a reason. Swallowing the lump, I decided I would just have to make sure that they never got a reason. Squaring my shoulders, I closed the distance between us and proffered my briefcase to the gentleman… . Should I call thugs like these gentlemen? Silently, the gentle-thug on my right relieved me of the outstretched case before quickly disappearing with it.

  No sooner was my money gone than the gentle-thug on my left spoke with a voice that had an eerie blend of gentleness and firmness. “Sir, if you would spread your arms and legs… please?”

  Shifting my gaze from the doorway to the man who spoke, I noticed the little hitch before he added the “please,” which made the man’s tone all the more unsettling. It was as if that little piece of courtesy was entirely foreign to him. As I looked, I started to examine him and instantly saw the headset resting on his left ear. I suppressed a grin as I realized that the little piece of plastic could have been the reason for the little hitch. The actual reason for the hitch didn’t matter all that much, since I wasn’t going to have to play against him. In the end, all that mattered were the players, not the thugs watching over us.

  Now normally I would try—I mean I would really try—not to push other people’s buttons. I know just how bad things can get when you annoy an already short-tempered individual, and I could tell this guy was always a trifle testy. With that being said, on occasion I have been known to disregard my own sage advice and say something to really make someone upset. And that is what I fully intended to do right now to the gentle-thug on the left. “More than happy to oblige, my good man.” While the words may have been innocuous the tone I used was sure to get under the man’s skin.

  I got the reaction that I had expected. As I was taking my own sweet time in complying with the request, a pair of hands from behind roughly assisted me into position. Like I said, I knew it was a bad idea. As the goon behind searched me I couldn’t help but think that it was a relatively simple not to mention gentle search, aside from the initial treatment of course. I guess the tone was one they were used to considering the crowd they were dealing with.

  “You know, you could have just asked me if I was carrying weapons or anything like that.” I offered to the man who appeared to be this little group’s boss.

  With the slightest scoff he stepped a little closer to me before saying, “Our boss is not the most trusting type and so by extension neither are we. And to be perfectly blunt we don’t know you, so how can we trust you? And if we can’t trust you, why would we ask you if you were carrying anything we wouldn’t allow?”

  “So if you knew me, you would trust me?”

  “If we really knew you we wouldn’t have to trust you.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked with genuine curiosity. What is this man’s philosophy on trust?

  “Because if we knew you, you would no longer be in the land of the living.” The lead guard replied with that same blend of gentleness and firmness that he had greeted me with. And that made his tone of voice even creepier than it was already. “Cheerfully-creepy” should never be used to describe someone’s tone of voice as far as I was concerned.

  I felt the thug’s hands stop as he felt something in my pockets and I mentally sighed. Now I knew he wasn’t going to find guns, a wireless antenna, or anything like that. But there were a few things I had been hoping they would overlook. Unfortunately, it seemed that the guard searching me was more observant that I had hoped. He pulled out one of the hand warmers that were stuffed into my coat pocket and asked, “What’s this?”

  For a second I considered softening my tone, but then I thought better of it as all these guys were the type of men who might see that as a weakness. It was better they thought me rude than weak. So I kept up the defiant attitude as I flashed their boss a smile and turned my head to look at the goon. “It’s a hand warmer my dear friend. Did you want to borrow it?”

  The only reaction I saw from the man was a slight tightening of his eyes. It was actually the boss who replied to my question, and, again, I had to suppress a shudder at his tone. “More importantly,
why do you need one? It’s a perfectly warm day out.”

  I turned my head back to stare at the lead thug as I answered him, with the first obfuscated truth I could think of. “Sometimes my body has trouble regulating itself and I can get cold very easily. So when that happens I need to have something on hand to warm myself up.” It’s mostly true anyway.

  “Really?” He asked. Why can so many people master that technique while I struggle with it?

  But I pressed on with the fabrication, “It’s a condition I’ve had since childhood. And while it’s gotten better over the years, it does seem to crop up at the most inconvenient times. So I have learned never to leave home without a few of these stowed in my pockets.” Finished with my explanation I turned my head back around to face the thug who had taken the hand warmer out of my pocket and asked. “Could I please have it back? I would hate to need it and not have it.”

  For anyone else a hand warmer would be nothing special. But for me, it was like a triple shot of espresso laced with amphetamines. Fortunately no one here had any idea what I was capable of. Presumably the head gentle-thug gave his man a nod because a hand was thrust into my pocket, with more than enough force to rock me slightly. The thug behind me chirped a feigned apology, “I’m so sorry about that, sir.”

  Apparently the tone I had been using was working, since the rented muscles stopped searching me. With that boon I should have just moved on. After all I had clearly rattled them enough that they forget to fully do their job. There was no reason for me to insult them further. Of course my big mouth ignored this logic. “It’s quite alright my dear man, I know how the uncoordinated fair in life.”

  I could see the face of the lead man change from casual dislike to fierce animosity, I doubted that anyone ever dared insult him or his men. And with a man like that there was always sure to be a reckoning. Lucky for me his leash would keep anything from happening right here and now. Fortunately, he remembered this just before his rising temper exploded. With a stiff gesture he wordlessly pointed at the door while someone hurriedly spoke for him with an altogether shaky voice. “Your fee was accepted sir, welcome to the game.”