The Investment Club

by Cooper, Doug

  For the first four in front of Penny, I dealt her a seven of hearts. “Eleven,” I said. “Now you want to double.”

  “The prettiest horse ain’t necessarily the best to ride,” Dallas said, sitting on a nineteen. “You’re probably taking all his bust cards.”

  Penny ignored his warning and slid over two more red.

  I flipped a king. “Twenty-one.”

  “Whoop whoop!” Penny stood from her chair and thrust her arms above her head in triumph. Dallas looked directly at her chest. She noticed his southward gaze. “Come on, cowboy, eyes up here and get up out of your chair. We have to do the twenty-one dance.” With her arms still above her head, she waved them side to side and rotated in a circle. “Every twenty-one, we got to do a dance.” The four vodkas were obviously kicking in. The filter on her voice and movements was disintegrating.

  “You don’t need a twenty-one to dance, baby,” Dallas said. “You can shake it on a twelve for all I care.”

  I turned over the next card—a ten—for the other four. “Fourteen.”

  Penny frowned and slumped back into her chair. “Boo! That’s not very good. I hate fourteens. I lost something important when I was fourteen.” She covered her mouth. “Oopsie. TMI, Penny.” She slugged more of her drink. “I should probably hit again, right?”

  “Not against my five,” I said. “Remember, always assume the down card is a ten. I probably have fifteen and should bust roughly forty percent of the time.”

  Penny waved her hand over the fourteen. “I’ll stay then.”

  Dallas stood on his nineteen.

  I flipped over my down card, a nine of diamonds. “Fourteen.”

  “Stupid fourteens,” Penny said.

  Next card was a six of spades. “Twenty,” I said, collecting the green chip from Dallas.

  “Story of my life. All smoke, no fire.” he said. “We both would’ve won if you just would’ve doubled.”

  “The book says to split.” I said, collecting the money from Penny’s losing fourteen hand and paying her four red for the successful double. “You made ten dollars.”

  Dallas said, “The book. Shiiiiit. I bet the casino wrote that damn book.”

  “Did I do it right?” Penny asked. “Cuz you gotta tell me if I make a mistake.” She leaned on the table and motioned Dallas over with her finger. “Come here. Want to know a little secret?” Dallas moved toward her. She said, “Don’t tell anyone, but I don’t know what I’m doing.” She laughed loudly and shushed herself. “Sssshhhh! And I’m a little drunk.” She sat back in her chair, giggling.

  Dallas shook his head. “You did just fine, li’l lady.” He evaluated his chip count. He was up about three hundred fifty. “If yer riding ahead of the herd, you can’t be surprised if a bull sticks you in the rear from time to time.”

  “Carpet deodorizer,” Penny exclaimed. “The other smell is carpet deodorizer. Menthol cigarettes, cheap perfume, and carpet deodorizer.” She clapped her hands together repeatedly, more excited by her discovery than her win.

  I dealt another hand. A blackjack—ace of clubs and queen of diamonds—for Penny and a sixteen for Dallas.

  “Whoop, whoop!” Penny yelped and rose from the chair to do her dance. Despite his sixteen, Dallas joined her, becoming more interested in Penny than the cards.

  Penny was officially loose. Now I’m not one to judge or discourage someone from having a good time, but I always get concerned when I see the Jekyll and Hyde, the 180-degree personality shifts when alcohol is added. Previously Penny had always kept things on the surface or gotten people to talk about themselves. Now she was center stage, swinging from the rafters.

  I tried to ease her back with some conversation. “What do you do for work?”

  Penny blinked a few times and smiled, taking another drink. “I’m not working right now.”

  Dallas said, “Well, what brought you to these parts?”

  “A new job,” Penny said.

  Dallas and I exchanged confused looks. He said, “Hang on a sec. I know I’m from Texas, and we take life a little slower there, but didn’t you just say you don’t have a job?”

  Penny sat up straight in her chair. “I said I wasn’t working,” She seemed annoyed that we weren’t following her. “I have a job, silly. I just haven’t started yet.”

  “Well, what is it?” Dallas looked at me. “Typical woman—speaks in riddles and expects you to understand.”

  Penny said, “I’m a TV reporter. I just don’t start for a few months. I moved here early to get settled.”

  “Why don’t we cash these in and grab some chow. You can tell me all about it.” Dallas pushed his chips to the center of the table. “Like my granddad used to say, don’t be at the table when you should be at the chuck wagon.”

  Penny squinted, scanning him up and down. “How old are you?”

  “Old enough,” Dallas said. “How old are you?”

  “Older.” She slammed the rest of her drink and picked up the sixty dollars in chips she had left. “Let’s go, cowboy.”

  Now, I’m not sure if they ever did get anything to eat or not. I heard from my coworker Birdie that they paid him a visit at the Parlour Bar. He said they sat in front of him, drinking and carrying on until about eleven, then left together leaning on each other and heading toward the elevators. I didn’t see Penny for a few days after that.

  Dow Jones Close: 16,040.56

  Chapter Ten

  Date: Tuesday, October 23, 2012

  Dow Jones Open: 13,344.90

  Father Bennett sat across from Les at the rectangular conference table in Father Bennett’s office. As senior priest, he had the additional space and area to accommodate meetings of this size, but Bishop Pence had also directed Father Bennett to mediate the allegations.

  Father Bennett had come to Les’s office a few weeks earlier. He said, “Father Banks, do you have a minute?”

  “Absolutely, Father.” Les scribbled a few more words on a yellow legal pad and closed the Bible on his desk. “Just making some notes for this weekend’s homily. Please have a seat.”

  Father Bennett eased into one of the two chairs facing the desk. He removed his round, rimless eyeglasses and slid them into the pocket of his black blazer. Concern tightened his usually soft face. Smoothing his short gray hair, he said, “Some alarming news has been brought to my attention.” He folded his hands in his lap. “I received calls from the parents of Lucas Silverton and Malcolm Vaughn.”

  Les leaned forward onto the desk. “I’ve been meaning to come talk to you about them. We had a bit of an incident after mass on Sunday.”

  “It sounds like you did,” Father Bennett said. “The parents are quite upset and are threatening to go to the press if we don’t take immediate action.”

  “The press?” Les asked, confused. “Why would they care? I talked to the boys. They were contrite and open to punishment. I thought we had agreed to keep it between us, but I guess the guilt got the best of them.”

  It was Father Bennett’s turn to be confused. He shifted in the chair, tilting his head, searching for the meaning behind the words. “Wait a second. Why don’t you tell me your side of what happened?”

  Les walked out from behind the desk and sat in the chair next to Father Bennett. “I left the boys to close up after mass and returned to the rectory to get ready to leave for the Riveras’ for dinner and to bless their new house. My holy water container was almost empty, so I went back to the sacristy to top it off.” He hesitated, contemplating the best way to describe what he had seen. Father Bennett encouraged him to continue. Les said, “I heard the boys in the servers’ room. They had gotten into the wine and seemed quite inebriated. They were stripped down to their underwear—well, Lucas was. Malcolm had his underwear around his ankles, and Lucas was kneeling between Malcolm’s legs.” Les didn’t say any more. He didn’t have to
. The imagery conveyed enough for Father Bennett to understand what was going on.

  Father Bennett rubbed his forehead and down the length of his face. “What did you say? What happened when they saw you?”

  “Well they stopped immediately, of course,” Les said. “They were both quite embarrassed and ashamed. I told them to get dressed and waited for them in the sacristy. I didn’t think we needed to involve the parents and could just handle it through counseling and some additional work chores for the abuse of the wine. What do the parents think happened?”

  Father Bennett closed his eyes and shook his head back and forth. He looked back at Les. “Well, according to Malcolm and Lucas, they were changing in the servers’ room, and you came in and said you needed help finishing the wine. You then poured them each a cup and made them drink it. Afterward you had them take off their underwear and touch each other while you did the same to yourself.”

  Les leaned forward in his chair, both elbows resting on his knees. “Father, I can assure you that did not happen. You have known me since my Xavier days in New Orleans.” Les had met Father Bennett at a conference at Louisiana’s Institute for Black Catholic Studies, the main center for educating ministers for the black Catholic community. Les was still a student then, and Father Bennett was a guest lecturer. Les said, “You know I have always held myself to the highest of standards. I have never once given wine to an underage person and would never engage in such behavior.”

  Father Bennett raised his hand, lowering it slowly to encourage Les to relax. “That’s what I told the parents and why I came immediately to talk to you.”

  Les recognized his aggressive posture and eased back into the chair. “What did the parents say when you challenged the story?”

  “They backed their sons, of course,” Father Bennett said. “Wondered why the boys would make up such a story if it wasn’t true.”

  Les’s agitation returned. “Well, it’s obvious why. The boys were afraid I would go to their parents, so they decided to accuse me first.”

  “Here’s what I suggest we do,” Father Bennett said. “Let’s all sit down in a room together and hopefully the boys will admit what really happened.”

  “What if they don’t relent?” Les said. “What if they stick to the lie?”

  Father Bennett rose from the chair and walked toward the door. “We’ll deal with that when it happens. In the meantime, I’ll inform the bishop, to get his input.” He stopped in the doorway and faced Les. His eyes sagged, somewhat from stress but mostly with sadness. “I think it goes without saying that this couldn’t come at a worse time. With the shifting demographics of the community, your ethnicity, and the boys’ different ethnicities, this could get to be a real mess.”

  To call it a potential problem was an understatement. The congregation had always been diverse, since the county was a landing spot for refugees new to the country. But in the past ten years, the needle had moved even more dramatically. What was originally 20 percent of the population, made up of roughly four hundred families from a scattering of Caribbean islands, Latin America, and African countries had grown to 65 percent, with over thirteen hundred families representing over sixty countries. And not everyone in the community was happy about the rapidly changing demographics. There had been several racial-fueled flare-ups, and the tension was spilling over into the church. An accusation like this could further divide the congregation or, even worse, set off a chain of violence similar to other communities, when color became the issue more than what had actually transpired.

  After Father Bennett left, Les reclined back in his chair staring at the ceiling, numb. The feeling itself wasn’t new because most days as of late he felt detached, like he was drifting and just going through the motions. In that moment, though, the source of his stupor was shock and disbelief. He hadn’t seen this coming at all. He had wanted more connection to the parishioners. At that moment he felt further away from ever.

  Now seated across from Father Bennett in his office awaiting the Vaughns and Silvertons, he didn’t know what to feel. Anger nipped at the edges of his usual compassionate countenance. He searched for meaning in the betrayal he felt from the boys. He understood their actions. He just couldn’t understand why it was happening to him.

  Sister Vera brought in a pitcher of water and glasses and placed them in the middle of the table.

  “Thank you, Sister,” Father Bennett said, waiting for her exit to continue the meeting. “Father Banks, after more thought I just don’t think it’s wise for you to be in the room for the initial meeting. Your presence may escalate the emotions and make the parents more aggressive.”

  But in Les’s mind, there was no way he was not going to be in the room. He needed to sit face to face and hear the lie from their lips. He said, “With all due respect, Father,” Les said. “I believe it will be much more difficult for the boys to perpetuate the lies with me in the room.”

  “It also might create friction and cause the parents to be more rigid in front of each other and more protective and defensive of their own children.” Father Bennett stood and poured them each a glass of water. “But I understand why you would want to be here and be your own advocate.”

  Sister Vera returned with the Vaughns and the Silvertons. Lucas Silverton and his mother were seated to the right of Father Bennett and the left of Les, and Malcolm Vaughn sat between his mother and father on the other side. Both boys stared at the floor. Even though Father Bennett knew everyone in the room, he made the introductions. He said, “I appreciate your coming in to discuss this matter. I have talked to each of you individually, but I think it’s important that before we take any action, we have all the facts.”

  Lucas was shaking his leg, causing the whole table to vibrate. Ms. Silverton reached over and put her hand on his thigh, rubbing it gently. There was no Mr. Silverton, or maybe there was. He just wasn’t in the picture anymore. He had split when Lucas was two. Ms. Silverton hadn’t heard from him since. The ten years as a single mother were visible in the lines on her face but not in her affection for Lucas. She said, “I really don’t understand what there is to discuss. We told you what happened.”

  “Well, that’s just it,” Father Bennett said, “We have a discrepancy in the accounts. As you know, Father Banks performed mass that day. He was scheduled to go to the Riveras’ for dinner, so he left the boys to clean up after. Before departing for the Riveras’, Father Banks went back to the sacristy to refill his holy water for the blessing at the Riveras’. He didn’t see the boys, so he had assumed they had finished and left. While filling the bottle, he heard noise in the servers’ room. Upon investigating, he discovered the boys had gotten into the church wine and were engaged in sexual activity.”

  “With who?” Mrs. Vaughn said, leaning forward, ready to leap from her chair.

  Father Bennett hesitated, knowing he needed to choose his words with care. “Well, with each other.”

  “With each other?” Mr. Vaughn gasped. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t think we need to go into the details of what they were doing,” Les said.

  “Is this true?” Mrs. Vaughn glared at Malcolm. His eyes remained fixed on the floor. She grabbed his chin and directed his face toward her. “Look at me, boy, when I’m talking to you. Have you been lying to me?” Malcolm’s eyes darted toward Lucas. She shook his chin. “Don’t look to him. Tell me what happened.”

  Malcolm’s voice cracked as he spoke. “I’m not lying, Mama.”

  Hearing Malcolm’s words, the numbness returned to Les. But this time it had transformed to powerlessness. He knew he could dispute the allegations, but it wouldn’t do any good. If the boys were going to stick to their story, the accusations alone would be damaging to him and the Church. In that moment he knew his only course of action was to leave, not just the parish, but the Church. He wasn’t sure if his resignation to the consequences was just a further evol
ution of the debilitating dullness he had been feeling, but for the first time in a long while he opened up to the possibility of a new path.

  Taking back control of the meeting, Father Bennett addressed Malcolm and Lucas directly. “Boys, I hope you understand the severity of this situation. What you have accused Father Banks of will hurt a lot of people and the Church. Are you sure what you say happened really happened?”

  Both boys returned their eyes to the floor and sunk into their chairs.

  Mr. Vaughn stood up. “Is that what this meeting is? An ambush? You trying to pressure the boys into changing their story?” He pointed at Les. “This man violated the trust this parish has placed in him and needs to be punished. Against my better judgment, we came to you first to provide the opportunity to deal with it and not cause the Church any embarrassment.”

  Father Bennett said, “And we appre—”

  Mr. Vaughn had obviously heard enough. He stood and banged his fist on the table. “Now we know that’s not going to happen, we’ll be going to the police and file charges.” He pulled Malcolm’s chair back. “Let’s go.” Malcolm and Mrs. Vaughn followed him out of the room.

  Ms. Silverton put her arm around Lucas. “Father, Lord knows my boy ain’t perfect, and I haven’t been the best mother, but he ain’t ever lied to me.” She stood and took Lucas by the hand. “I don’t want to cause no fuss by going to the police, but we can no longer come here as long as Father Banks is here. I trust you to do the right thing.” Ms. Silverton slid her arm down to Lucas’ hand and stood, leading him out of the room.

  Silence filled the room. Father Bennett and Les just looked at each other. Father Bennett had a look of apology and bewilderment about what the next step was. The blank look on Les’s face was one of eerie contentment. He was not ready to reveal his next move, but he was at peace with it.

  Dow Jones Close: 13,102.53