Outside the Gates of Eden

by Lewis Shiner

  “Yeah, right,” she said.

  They settled in with drinks and Ortiz said, «I thought we might relax this afternoon, maybe play some music, then have dinner, start the game around nine o’clock. Does that suit you?»

  Like we have a choice? Cole thought.

  «Fine,» Alex said. «You should know that Cole is a vegetarian. I hope you can accommodate him.»

  «Not a problem,» Ortiz said. «Juana is a vegetarian also.» He pointed to the woman who’d brought their drinks, another beauty in a low-cut black dress, and she smiled shyly.

  Ortiz tried to draw them into conversation, asking Alex about his trips to Monterrey as a kid, asking Cole about his time in Villahermosa. Artificial and awkward as it was, all three of them put their shoulders to it and got it slowly rolling forward.

  Cole asked where Ortiz had gotten his love of music, which turned out to be tied to his older brother, the one who’d been killed. He’d gotten Ortiz a transistor radio for Three Kings Day when Ortiz was 9. The earplug gave him a way to make his own space in their little house, and those memories came back every time he heard the old traditional songs.

  As if on cue, a heavyset guy in a black T-shirt brought in an acoustic guitar and a stand and put it next to Álvaro’s chair. Álvaro picked it up and checked the tuning and started to play it idly. The man came back and put a second guitar within Cole’s reach, then returned again to set one near Alex.

  «If you’re in the mood to sing and play a little,» Ortiz said, «that would please me greatly.»

  Command performance, Cole thought. He was annoyed that the guitars had been brought out before the invitation was made.

  Alex must have felt the same way because he said, «I don’t play anymore.» His tone was final. Cole glanced at him for a cue and Alex gave him the slightest of shrugs, telling him to make his own call.

  The correct thing to do was to play. To be more polite than his host or his friend, to rack up a score on behalf of the larger mission, whether he felt like it or not. As sacrifices went, it was not substantial. Alex had needed to make a point, to insist that he be treated as an equal. Cole had nothing to prove.

  He picked up the guitar, took out the pick that was threaded into the strings, and said, «‘Mexico lindo y querido’ is a favorite of yours, if I remember correctly.»

  Ortiz gave him the first authentic smile of the day. «What a memory you have. I’m flattered.»

  Cole inclined his head and began to beat out the chords in three-quarter time. Álvaro let out a long, falsetto grito, and they went into the verses. Cole was not feeling it. He played as simply as he could, hoping to warm to it. He threw in a pro-forma lead at the end and then they wrapped it up. Ortiz and Alex and Valeria applauded, Ortiz with genuine enthusiasm. Cole wondered what it was like for Ortiz to have to pay for everything he wanted. Did he genuinely not mind fake smiles? Henri, the drummer at the Old Absinthe House, liked to go with prostitutes. “It’s a power trip, man,” he’d told Cole. “It’s all about you.” Maybe Ortiz felt the same way.

  «¿Malagueña?» Álvaro suggested.

  «¿Cómo no?» Cole said. He did a long instrumental intro, then took the falsetto vocal parts, thinking that Ortiz would surely not want to kill anybody who could play and sing like he could.

  They went on like that for an hour and a half, taking a couple of minutes between songs to drink and talk, alternating requests from Ortiz with whatever he or Álvaro wanted to play. Álvaro was the first to give out. «I’m not used to this, my fingers are going to bleed.»

  Ortiz thanked them profusely and everybody applauded, including, with some prompting from Ortiz, all of the women. Then Ortiz said, «Are either of you interested in horses?»

  Alex, clearly struggling to be polite, said, «I don’t know much about them.»

  «I just acquired a beautiful pair of Morgans from a woman in Texas. I would love to show them to you.» He stood up.

  Alex got up too and Cole, who’d been waiting for his chance, said, «Álvaro and I will join you in a moment.»

  Ortiz gave Cole a look of mild curiosity, then nodded to Álvaro. «Bueno. We’ll be at the corral.»

  He and Alex went out the front door. Valeria started the movie again and Cole said, «Can we walk?»

  The sun was nearly gone and a chill wind came down at them from the mountains. Cole shoved his hands in his pockets and said, «Are the dogs out yet?»

  Álvaro laughed. «We’re safe for a while.»

  «What I’m about to tell you has to be a secret. From El Cicatriz, from Alex, from everybody. Can you promise me that?»

  Álvaro mulled it over long enough to show Cole that he took him seriously. «Yes. I promise.»

  «I have an illness. Some days worse than others. There’s a good chance that the day may come when I can’t go on.» He wasn’t lying, exactly. If the disease was failure and depression, that didn’t make it any less painful or debilitating. «Can you give me something, in case it gets really bad? I want to go out peacefully, not puking or convulsing. I want to know that if I have to, I can go to sleep and not wake up.»

  Álvaro said, «Is it cancer?»

  «It’s like cancer, but it’s not cancer. It’s not aids or anything contagious.»

  They walked for a while. «Fifty years I’ve known you,» Álvaro said. «On and off, still, most of my life. We’re friends. And you ask me to help you kill yourself?»

  «It’s the disease that’s killing me. I’m asking you to make the death less painful.»

  «I hate it that you’re sick. As for the rest, I need to think about it.»

  Cole was touched. How many deaths had Álvaro caused, directly or indirectly? Yet there were lives he still valued, and Cole’s was one of them. «Thank you,» Cole said. «I guess now we need to go look at the fucking horses.»

  «For what he paid for them,» Álvaro said, «they better be fucking day and night.»

  *

  As he sat down at the table, Alex still wasn’t sure how to make his case, or where the evening was headed. Things started badly when Ortiz won the first deal and called Texas Hold ‘Em. You never saw more than seven cards out of 52, making it impossible to know what your opponent had. It came down to luck, psychology, and bravado, and Alex preferred old-fashioned skill. Besides which, they were playing standard “friendly” poker with limits on bets and raises, which took away the crazed bluffing that made the game so popular with 20-year-olds.

  Along with Cole and Álvaro, the fifth player was an older, well-off rancher named Nicolás who was friends with Ortiz. He wore an unconvincing toupee, polyester slacks, and a Harvard sweatshirt. Alex quickly pegged him as a fish, there to fatten the pots for everybody else.

  A few trends emerged early on. Ortiz continued to call Hold ‘Em, sensing Alex’s annoyance. Álvaro did the same, and there was more than one hand where Alex was sure that Álvaro had folded a winner to let Ortiz take it. Cole, apparently overly fastidious about Alex having staked him, was playing too conservatively and slowly losing ground. Ortiz didn’t like to fold, normally an exploitable weakness, except that the cards were running hot for him. Nicolás was indeed over his head and losing steadily.

  An hour into the game, Alex said, «Did you mean it when you said we could talk seriously while we played?»

  Ortiz glanced at Nicolás before he said, «As long as we exercise a certain amount of discretion.»

  You could hardly have illusions about where Ortiz’s money came from. Alex assumed that Nicolás just wanted deniability.

  «You know that I have ambitious plans for my city,» Alex said. It was his deal and he added, «Seven card stud.»

  «I’ve heard some rumors.»

  Alex dealt everyone two cards down and one card up. «My goal is to eventually make us self-contained and self-sustaining.»

  «An admirable goal. I know I value my own independence. I’m not sure what this has to do with me.»

  Cole was high with a jack. «Check,» Cole said. Everybody checked aroun
d the table to Ortiz. Ortiz, who could never leave well enough alone, threw in a $50 white chip.

  «The political situation in Mexico is deteriorating,» Alex said. «As it is everywhere, and bound to get worse with Trump as president. You could, if you wanted to, be in a position to protect Guanajuato from being invaded by… your business rivals.»

  Everybody saw the bet and Alex dealt another up card. Cole’s jack was still tall.

  «Speaking only in terms of possibilities,» Ortiz said, «if I were able to do such a thing, why would I want to?»

  «Guanajuato is easy to defend. You wouldn’t want a rival to control it.»

  Cole checked again, and it went around to Oritz, who threw in a red chip, worth a hundred dollars. Based on nothing, Alex was sure, just wanting some money out there on the off chance that he might win. Cole folded and the others stayed. Nicolás ignored the conversation, staring into the middle distance with glazed eyes.

  «Then maybe I should control it myself,» Ortiz said.

  «There’s no profit for you there, and you are too good a businessman not to know that. Otherwise you’d have moved in already.»

  Ortiz laughed at the flattery, as he was meant to. «Maybe you’re right. Okay, how about we let the cards decide? We play until either you or I run out of the money we bought in with. If I go broke first, I will do everything I can to protect your city. If you lose, then you’re on your own, and maybe I will move into Guanajuato anyway. It’s a beautiful place. Either way, as soon as you or I lose, the game is over, any other players cash out with what they have. What do you say?»

  Alex dealt another round to give himself time to think. The only thought in his head was, “I can take him.”

  Ortiz now had a pair of tens showing, making him the high hand. «Two-fifty,» he said, the maximum bet, and tossed in a blue chip.

  Nicolás folded. Alex had the king of hearts and ten of hearts in the hole and two hearts up. Nobody else was showing any. «I call,» Alex said, «and I accept your wager.» Alex ignored the nervous look that Cole shot him. Wade, the crusty old oilman at his father’s poker game, used to say, “Got a hunch, bet a bunch.”

  Álvaro folded. Alex paired his king on the final up card, which gave him an excuse to stick around. The last down card filled in his flush and he started raising then, which went the three-raise limit. Ortiz had two pair, tens over, not a hand to raise on, even though Alex’s flush had been well hidden. Alex raked in the chips and Ortiz said, «I hope this isn’t an omen.»

  It was. Ortiz’s luck had turned, and he didn’t have the skills to compensate. As his piles of chips steadily eroded, his mood grew increasingly sour. He joked bitterly about his lousy cards and blamed whoever was dealing. Cole and Álvaro were conspicuously nervous and stopped talking, even when they dealt. Nicolás, oblivious, lost the last of his ten thousand within the hour, excused himself politely, and left the room.

  «Bueno,» Ortiz said, «now that the amateurs are out, we can get serious.»

  It took another forty-five minutes for Ortiz to lose everything but two white and two red chips. «I can’t fucking believe it’s come down to this,» he said. «Table stakes, no?»

  «That’s right,» Alex said.

  Cole was dealer. «Seven card stud,» he said, «no splits, nothing wild.»

  Everyone anted and Cole dealt the first round. Ortiz was high with an ace and bet one of his whites. Alex saw him, and Álvaro, clearly afraid of accidentally winning the last hand, folded. Cole called and dealt again. Ortiz paired his ace and bet another 50 dollars. Alex, looking at four completely random cards, reached out to fold them.

  He stopped.

  For the last half hour he’d been ignoring a persistent feeling of disquiet, and now he was absolutely certain that what he was doing was wrong. The game had degenerated into pure macho bullshit, played by Ortiz’s rules. The fact that Alex was winning didn’t make it any better. He sat back in his chair.

  «Bet or fold,» Ortiz said. «I’ve got a lot of money to win back.»

  Alex threw in a white chip and felt his pulse speed up.

  In his peripheral vision, he saw Cole trying to get his attention. Alex ignored him.

  «Fold,» Cole said.

  «Deal,» Ortiz said.

  Cole dealt the third up card, no visible help to either hand. Ortiz threw in his next to last red chip and Alex called.

  Cole dealt Ortiz a third ace and gave Alex a pair of twos. Ortiz was flushed, excited, thinking he was back in the game. He was petty, vindictive, intelligent, and spoiled. For all his calculation, he was also passionate and self-aware. If Alex was wrong about him, it could cost him everything, including his life, and maybe Cole’s life too.

  Ortiz threw in his last chip. «I’m all in.»

  Alex’s vocal cords were stuck together. He had to clear his throat to speak. «What would you say… to suspending the limits? Just for this one hand.»

  Ortiz stared at him, then said, as if explaining to a child, «I don’t have anything left. We’re playing table stakes. I have you beat in sight. Even if you could beat me, you’d have nothing to gain.»

  «Then you have no objection?» Alex didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed all of his chips, somewhere over thirty thousand dollars, into the middle of the table. «I call.» He looked at Cole, whose mouth was open. «Deal.»

  Cole, not looking away from Alex’s eyes, dealt the final down card. Ortiz immediately turned it over, along with his other hole cards. «Aces full of sixes.»

  Alex tossed his cards, face up, to Ortiz. «Pair of twos.»

  Cole continued to look as if he’d been punched in the gut. Álvaro was terrified. Ortiz said, «Are you insane?»

  «Maybe,» Alex said. «Here’s what I think. I don’t want you to protect my city because you lost a bet. I don’t want you to do it against your will. I don’t want you wondering if there’s a way out of keeping your word. I want you to protect my city because it’s the right thing to do.

  «I know that you love music. You don’t just love it, you feel it in your heart. If Guanajuato doesn’t survive, if places like Guanajuato don’t survive, then a hundred years from now, maybe fifty years, maybe in our lifetimes, all the songs that you love could be lost forever.

  «I have freed you from your obligation. It’s up to you, now. You decide what’s right. Then you decide what you want to do.»

  He held Ortiz’s eyes for a couple of seconds, then he pushed his chair back from the table. «In the meantime, the game is over. Somebody needs to cash Cole out, and I would like to go home.»

  Alex tried to gauge Ortiz’s reaction. Humiliation? Respect? Homicidal rage? For the first time all night, Ortiz was keeping it on the inside.

  «Álvaro,» Ortiz said at last. «Cash him out.» He got up and left the room.

  Álvaro followed him out and came back with Alex’s attaché case. He dumped the money out on the table, counted Cole’s chips, and put six thousand dollars or so back in. The rest he left on the table. Petty cash, Alex thought wildly. Probably leaves that kind of money around all the time.

  Nobody spoke. Alex was so full of adrenalin that he had to put his hands in his pockets to keep them still.

  After he closed the attaché case, Álvaro beckoned to them and walked them outside. A single suv waited by the door. Alex was soaked in sweat and the night air felt bitterly cold. The driver opened the door to the back seat. Alex got in first and Álvaro handed him the attaché case. Then, curiously, Álvaro hugged Cole tightly, not the usual Latino abrazo but something more, something full of regret. When he did let go, he slipped a small package into Cole’s jacket pocket.

  Álvaro reached in and Alex shook his hand. Cole got in and Álvaro slammed the door of the truck and the driver pulled away.

  Alex closed his eyes and took a slow, shaky breath. “Are we still alive?”

  “That was some kind of performance,” Cole said. “Expensive, too. You just threw away in the vicinity of thirty-four grand.”

  “Funny,”
Alex said. “For a while now I’ve been thinking that money doesn’t matter to me anymore. I guess it’s true.”

  “Well, El Cicatriz got the message. Speaking of messages…”

  Cole got out his phone and called Sallie. “We’re fine,” he said. “We’re headed home. We should get in about four o’clock. Try and get some sleep.” He listened for a few seconds and said, “I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.” He looked at Alex. “You want her to call Madelyn?”

  “Please,” Alex said.

  Cole told her he loved her and hung up. It was only, Alex noted with surprise, one am. They rode in silence for half an hour. No more classic tunes on the car stereo, no convoy, no Álvaro to escort them. Better this way, he thought. However it turns out.

  Eventually he looked over and saw that Cole was still awake. “What did Álvaro give you?” Alex asked.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  “It was heroin, wasn’t it?”

  “I’m not going to start using again. You don’t have to worry.”

  Alex was having a night for insights. “It’s not what you had in mind, is it? Thousands of miles from the music business, no touring, no band, no record deal.”

  “Living with someone more famous than I’ll ever be, who’s loved by millions.” He shrugged. “It comes and it goes. Good days and bad days.” He turned away and Alex could see his reflection in the tinted window.

  Alex took a minute to line the words up. “It’s because of you, you know.”

  “What is?”

  “This whole thing. Guanajuato. The Ark Project. It’s because of your song, about how it was already the end. I kept hearing it in my head and I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want everything I’d ever believed in, and gotten teargassed for, and gone hungry for on the Lower East Side, to come to nothing.”

  Cole turned away from the window and looked at his hands.

  “You did this,” Alex said.