“4-clubs down two, doubled,” Porter said out loud as he wrote the score of -300 for North-South.
At table 2, Cat opened her eyes wide, and this time her smile was one of obvious happiness. It was the end of the hand, and they had done it! She and Sinclair had managed to win four lovely tricks to defeat the 4-spades!
“4-spades, down one,” Sinclair wrote down, grinning insolently as he wrote down the score for their side: 100 for North-South.
“Well played, governor,” Bruce said graciously, turning to Cat.
“Thank you, darling,” she replied with undisguised good humor. She thought with satisfaction over the way she had played the hand. Yes, she had made him come to her and it had made all the difference. Her partner, she considered dismissively, had not contributed anything to their success. He is happy now, she thought, glancing quickly at Sinclair, but I don’t know if he would have made the winning play…
“What about the other table?” Bruce asked.
Peter looked down at his tablet and relayed the information. “Table 1 played the board in 4-clubs by south, doubled. Down two. North-South scored -300.”
“Mrs. Trahan and Mr. Davis are awarded a point each at this table, and at table 2, Judge Other and Father Griffith have scored a point,” Peter stated.
The scoreboard above the opening between the rooms reflected the players’ points on the first board of the first round of the game:
“The 4-clubs contract was not possible,” Porter commiserated with Storm looking stoically despondent as Tanner removed the first board from table 1.
“I guess I should have known that–” Storm said.
“Oh no, partner–” Porter shook his head vigorously. “You played very well.”
“Thank you, Mr. Porter,” the judge cleared her throat. “Let’s proceed, shall we? How did the other table fare?”
Tanner explained the results of the board at table 2.
As the judge reached for her cards in the second board of the round, she found she was glad at Bruce’s failure at table 2. He had played rather boldly, almost recklessly at times, during the first game, she recalled. And she recollected very well, that feeling – a gut instinct perhaps – to bid 4-spades, and her better judgment, which had prevailed against such a disastrous course. Not so Mr. Saber, apparently…
“Mr. Drake, the 4-clubs contract was not makeable,” Father Griffith interjected. “It’s not your fault. You played the hand well.”
“Thank you, Father,” Storm smiled. “That was nicely played,” he conceded with no hint of rancor.
Father Griffith inclined his head. He was thinking about the other contract that had been played at table 2: 4-spades by Bruce Saber. Seeing all the cards, it was easy to see how the contract could be defeated, but it would not have been obvious as the hand was played… It depended, he thought, on rather careful calculation on the part of the South player – Cat Trahan. It would have been highly unlikely for the senator, for instance, to have hit upon the correct course.
No. Catherine Trahan looked to be an entirely different caliber of opponent…
The players reached for the cards on the second board of the round.
*
“Overall, I am very pleased with the current crop of players,” Blanca said. “I believe the result of this game will definitely add variety to LiGa.”
“Yes,” Xavier nodded. “It was time to look for fresh talent. We’ve been pulling from academia for too long. They are all intelligent and capable, but tend to possess a similar outlook on life.”
Blanca laughed. A delicate, silvery sound. “That Mrs. Trahan, if she manages to prevail– well, we will certainly have quite a different outlook on our hands!”
“Yes.”
“Extortion, Xavier! And bribery and gambling too…” She shook her head disdainfully. “She is all yours, my dear.”
“Trust me, if Cat Trahan prevails, she will be one of LiGa’s greatest assets,” Xavier said gravely. “Your outlook is too narrow in some respects, Blanca. You see the possibilities in people like Danny Cross and Sinclair Davis, and even Bruce Saber, but your nature is too fastidious and disciplined to appreciate the worth of a woman like Cat, who is, in fact, more valuable, in my opinion, for LiGa, than a Danny Cross.”
“As you say, my dear…” Blanca smiled. A faraway, brittle smile. “I’m sure you’ve done your homework. I certainly hope so, for all of our sakes. I do hate the thought of a common criminal in our midst. By the way–” she added, adopting a more direct tone. “What did you mean by saying ‘even Bruce Saber’? You know very well that I have always supported Bruce’s invitation.”
Xavier assented that this was so. “But only after I made the decision to hire him to defend Peter, and you were able to observe first-hand how capable he was. He had been a great trial lawyer long before he defended Peter.
“Now, getting back to Cat Trahan: she is no petty thief. In fact, she has a very strict code of her own, which simply happens not to overlap exactly with the current law of the land. And neither does LiGa’s. But hers is a code that is entirely human in its most natural state. For instance, you see how popular she was all throughout her governorship, and beyond. So much so that it would have been hard – if not impossible – to find a New Orleans jury willing to convict their WildCat of extortion, but she insisted on pleading guilty and did not ask for a deal. She pled guilty to extortion. She made no excuses, and took full responsibility. It was a testament to her as a person that she was given probation instead of a jail sentence. She could easily have beaten that charge. She chose not to.”
Blanca laughed disbelievingly. “Xavier, you are certainly taken with this woman. But what about all the other charges – the indictments that didn’t stick – if she’s such an upstanding person, why didn’t she accept responsibility for those too?”
“Because those were federal charges.” Xavier smiled. “You have to understand Cat Trahan. Her loyalties run deep and tribal. She couldn’t let her own people down. She pled guilty to the state charges. For Cat Trahan, the federal government is no more than a cash cow to be milked to benefit hers. And Louisiana is her state.
“Unfortunately, as she is fully human – an animal – she falls outside your clean, ascetic vision. But I firmly believe that LiGa needs someone like her.”
*
Board 2 was played in 3-hearts by Porter and Sinclair at their respective tables, making an extra trick for Porter.
“I shouldn’t worry about it, darling,” Cat reached out to pat her partner, Sinclair’s hand at table 2. “Mr. Porter must have just played it a teensy bit better than you. And he’s a really good player, so really, don’t worry about it.” The gentle smile on her old lady’s face enraged Sinclair.
“I didn’t make a mistake!” he barked.
“Mr. Davis, please keep your voice down,” Peter admonished.
Cat raised a frail hand to her bosom and said nothing, turning aside with a pained expression.
Bruce smiled to himself. Even her partners aren’t safe, he thought. A dangerous opponent.
“Mr. Porter and Storm Drake at table 1 and Mr. Saber and Mr. Cross at table 2 receive a point each on board 2,” Peter announced, replacing board 2 with board 3.
Just two more hands in this round, Sinclair thought, his anger cooling. And then I’ll be rid of this woman as a partner.
*
The last board of the first round began with a bid of 1-notrump by the judge and Bruce at tables 1 and 2 respectively. Following passes by the remaining players, the contract was set: 1-notrump at both tables.
“Thank you, partner,” Bruce said automatically as Danny laid out his hand as dummy. I should be able to make this contract, he thought, and may be able to score an overtrick in hearts, if I finesse for the queen…
At table 1, the judge regarded Father Griffith’s dummy critically. There were no long suits, and very few points. It looked to be a barebones 1-notrump. No frills; no overtricks. She regarded the heart suit cr
itically. True, a successful finesse for the queen would allow her to win an extra trick in that suit, but if it failed, she would be giving up control to defenders, who would naturally take full advantage of the misstep and take any extra tricks they may not otherwise be entitled to…
It would be better, she decided, to not be greedy, but to win the obvious tricks in hearts, and leave the queen alone where she lay in the hand of one or other of the opponents. Once again she fought down an urge, an unfamiliar urge, to … what was it exactly? She could not name it quite… There was just this thing inside her that demanded, that clamored… for more. More tricks. More of everything… Just more.
No, she told herself firmly, it is not real, knowing that it was.
Porter wrote down the score on board 4 at table 1: “1-notrump bid and made by West, for a score of -90 to North-South at table 1. Nicely played, your Honor,” he smiled at the judge.
“What about the other table?” the judge asked, ignoring Porter as she replaced her cards in the sleeve of the board.
Tanner looked down at the tablet in his hands. “The board was played in 1-notrump by West, going down one trick, for a score of 100 for North-South.”
A self-satisfied smile permeated the judge’s features. Mr. Saber did not play quite as well as me, after all, she thought. I strongly suspect that he opted for the failing heart finesse instead of playing the suit straight. He wanted an extra trick, of course. He would not be content with just making the contract, and instead, he failed!
He had failed. Why? Because he made a bad decision or because that thing inside him had driven him there? It must be inside him too, she knew. Which was it? The triumph could not be complete until she knew the answer for she and he…. The judge shook her head to banish the beginning of such thoughts. How could she even think that she and he – she and that Mr. Saber – were in any way connected? It was abhorrent to even consider such things.
For she knew that they now shared Life.
At table 2, Danny’s right hand twitched on top of the table as he questioned his partner’s play on the recent board. “Why did you take the heart finesse, Saber? You gave them an extra trick!”
“Yes, you’re right,” Bruce replied, unruffled.
Danny shook his head in disbelief.
“It’s the end of the round, everyone!” Cat interrupted. “End of the partnerships. Let’s change.”
Storm and Father Griffith rose to leave. The judge took her seat across from Porter in the south seat for the next round, and they waited for their opponents, Danny and Cat, to arrive.
Father Griffith rose from the table, eager to leave the presence of the judge. On the second round he would be playing at table 2 – away from her, he thought, relieved.
He found his seat as north opposite Storm. Their opponents were Sinclair and Bruce, sitting west and east respectively.
“Well, good luck everyone,” Cat said at table 1.
The judge gave a quick nod of acknowledgment, while Danny slouched.
They all reached for the cards on board 5.
15
Board 6 was about to be played in 1-notrump at table 2 by Sinclair – doubled for penalty – and 2-hearts by Porter at table 1.
At table 1, Porter blinked twice, as he reviewed the cards laid out by his partner, the judge. His eyesight had been rather … iffy, this past week. Not worse exactly, but unstable at times – like now. Yes, he was aware he could see the cards in dummy, but somehow they did not always make sense. An odd sense of disorientation gripped him, and he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair.
Across the table, the judge remained impatiently still.
Porter opened his eyes and removed his glasses. That’s better, he thought, relieved, as the cards swam into focus – crisper in fact than he had become accustomed to in the past several years…
Looking at the cards… formulating a strategy… how many tricks would – no could – he win? And all the while he must contend with his surging eyesight, and these curious sensations from his own body; his own, unfamiliar flesh and blood. Jacob Porter thought back to that first game, when all he had had to do was play bridge! Indeed, he thought of that time with no little nostalgia… Those were, in some ways, the good old days. True, this life-taking had its advantages – sitting in the comfort of one’s home or when playing a round of uncomplicated golf – but not, he decided, while playing a hand of bridge for the rest of his life!
I must play, he told himself, shaking his head.
At table 2, Sinclair regarded the cards in Bruce’s dummy with a sense of foreboding. His best hope was to keep the losses to one trick less than the contract of 1-notrump demanded. A heavy sense of doom enveloped him. It had been with him since the transfer two weeks ago, and he could not shake it, however hard he tried…
Making great strides in concentration, Porter, at table 1, managed to play the tricks and was pleased to discover that he was able to make two extra tricks. He was delighted until he heard his partner’s voice, leaden with disappointment.
“Bid two hearts, made four,” the judge said. “We should have been in 4-hearts, obviously. What a shame.”
That is true, Porter thought, as he wrote down the score: +170 for North-South. Two weeks ago, I would have been thinking of the correct contract, wouldn’t I? Instead of feeling elated at making any contract.
“What about table 2?” Cat, one of the defenders at table 1, turned to Tanner. “Have they finished playing yet?”
Father Griffith wrote down +500 for his side, North-South, at table 2. “1-notrump, down two tricks, doubled. The contract was not makeable, Mr. Davis,” he said to his opponent.
Sinclair scowled unhappily.
The judge shook her head with obvious displeasure as Tanner read the contract and score of the second table. Her lips were drawn in a thin line. If only we had managed to find the correct game contract… Game in hearts would have scored 620 since we are vulnerable. Then we would have scored higher than the North-South pair, who made +500 for doubling the failing notrump contract. What a waste… Instead, we get zero and Mrs. Trahan and Mr. Cross, who didn’t do much of anything at our table, get a point each!
The scoreboard on the glass wall reflected the players’ points at the end of the sixth board.
*
“Out of all of them, it’s Storm Drake who will probably have the least trouble with the life-transfer, do you not think?”
“Perhaps…” Xavier looked thoughtful. “To deal with the negative physical effects, if you mean.”
Blanca nodded. “I do. And the positive aspects, I imagine.”
“He has stamina and discipline, yes. And he is accustomed to tests of endurance. If that were all it took to win a LiGa Bridge tournament, we would only be recruiting high-performance athletes…” Xavier turned to his companion wearing a half-smile. “You played LiGa Chess, Blanca.”
“So I wouldn’t understand, is that what you mean?” Blanca flashed a brittle smile.
“I mean a LiGa tournament is a complex process, whether bridge or chess, and each game has its own unique challenges…”
*
The last board of the round had been played and the players were ready to change for the third round.
In room 1, Porter watched Danny amble disinterestedly around the table as Cat and the judge rose to leave.
“Have a good round everyone,” Cat waved, opening the door. “See you all very soon!”
Danny pulled the South chair noisily and sat down.
Bruce and Storm entered room 1 to play East-West.
“Hello Mr. Porter,” Bruce said, taking the West seat. Porter glanced across the table at Danny, his partner for the third round, who sat hunched over, his hands balled into fists.
“Delighted, Mr. Saber,” Porter replied with an amiable smile.
Tanner briskly brought board 9 to the table.
In room 2, Cat and the judge had taken their seats as north and south respectively, agai
nst Father Griffith and Sinclair.
“Judge, may I ask a question before we start?” Cat ventured sweetly.
The judge inclined her head in assent.
“I’ve read a great deal about your roses, particularly Silver Dawn–” She paused. “Got something in your throat, Father?” she asked, leaning with concern towards the priest to her right. The priest had developed a sudden fit of coughing.
“Yes,” he managed, nodding vigorously between coughs.
“Is everything all right?” Peter asked sharply. They hadn’t heard him enter.
“Fine,” said the priest hoarsely, taking a deep breath. “All better now.” He smiled, waving aside Cat’s solicitous hand. But in his mind, her words brought forth another image from Rome…
“You must never rationalize, never justify what you are going to do in this game,” Father General was saying. He spoke the words distinctly, with equal emphasis on each one. “It would be easier for you if you were able to do so, perhaps…
“If you were to say to yourself, for instance, that the ends in this case do justify the means. Or perhaps, that these people – these adversaries – are willing opponents, and deserve – or at least expect – what may happen to them.
“You may say to yourself that you are bound to play out of obedience – to me, to the Society, to our Church, and to the Lord. Obedience is, after all, one of the vows you have taken…
“But you must not.”
“I will not.”
“You must never permit yourself to justify the taking of another human being’s life. And yet–” the Father General smiled gently, “my son, at the same time, you must do your utmost to win this game. You must be able to play with all the skill and strength that you possess without limiting or constraining yourself in any way on behalf of, or against, your opponents.
“In one sense, they must not exist for you.”
“Yes.”
“This is not an easy thing we ask of you. How will you do it?” Father General’s eyes – the dark steely blue of a stormy sea – were unflinching and unreadable.
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