He Played for His Wife and Other Stories

by Anthony Holden

  My breath was a chiffon scarf for an elegant ghost.

  I turned to go back inside. Bring me the Beast for the night.

  Bring me the wine-cellar key. Let the less-loving one be me.

  A Devil In New Jersey

  by Michael Craig

  I.

  Lenore was a prisoner of Atlantic City. For two days, confined to her hotel room, her world had shrunk to a handful of text messages from a professional poker player named Jonah Ashburn.

  Her relationship with Jonah defied easy description. She had been referred to him by a mid-sized LA law firm for whom she freelanced occasionally. For the firm, it was a chance to offload a few of their more unusual cases to a lawyer with expert-level forensic accounting skills at a bargain rate. But for Lenore? Well, she could tell her mother – and occasionally herself – that she was still actually practising law.

  In this instance the client, a payroll-services company, faced a common problem but of unusual scope. A former customer had ceased operations, leaving it with authority over a bank account on which it had written a few unclaimed cheques. In this instance, however, the chequing account had a balance of $443,000 – the amount of three cheques issued to but never cashed by a man named Jonah Ashburn. The address Ashburn had provided belonged to a long-shuttered Bell Gardens card room. However, the most recent cheques had been returned as undeliverable.

  Lenore accepted the assignment. Eventually, she found Jonah living in Las Vegas in an estate-style home in a neighbourhood favoured by senior casino executives and entertainers. He was easy to locate but difficult to find, as he rarely stayed in one place for very long.

  Jonah seemed vaguely appreciative of the information but genuinely unconcerned that he had been dodging someone’s attempt to pay him $443,000. After spending an hour together in his house, during which he casually mentioned that he had not opened his mail in over a year, Lenore could not tell if he was flirting with her or offering her employment. He was a mess – an oblivious and charming mess, but still a mess – and she had avoided messy situations ever since she’d accepted the suspension of her law licence some seven years prior. She was, however, mildly intrigued.

  By the end of that evening, Lenore had agreed to help Jonah straighten out his finances, including what he dismissively referred to as ‘a possible tax thing’. She took up his offer to stay in his guesthouse during the job, on the condition their relationship remained strictly professional.

  ‘I’m away almost all the time,’ he told her.

  ‘Those aren’t the times I’m worried about.’

  He made her a promise, though she sensed he was also taking this as a challenge.

  II.

  That ‘possible tax thing’ turned out to be imminent criminal charges for tax evasion. He had ignored communications from the IRS for so long that the US Attorney assigned the case actually laughed at her when she asked whether they could negotiate the matter.

  Lenore had spent most of the last six months recreating Jonah’s wins and losses, preparing bulletproof tax returns, forcing Jonah to segregate the funds necessary to pay those taxes (and those incurred in earning the money he would be using), and persuading him to agree to make immediate payment of 150 per cent of what he owed to make the whole matter go away. Lenore reactivated her network of Washington contacts, and convinced a senior enforcement officer in the Treasury Department to take the deal. All that remained was getting Jonah to a meeting with the IRS in Washington, DC to formalise it.

  Four days before their scheduled departure, Jonah announced he was leaving immediately for Atlantic City. To his surprise, Lenore took up his standing offer to come along. He even agreed to her conditions: separate travel and accommodations in Atlantic City, contact during the game, and his presence on the Sunday 5.50 p.m. flight from Philadelphia International to Reagan National.

  III.

  Resolving tax problems of this gravity would be a significant accomplishment. Lenore felt justifiably proud of her work, though that feeling had been evaporating with each passing hour. After scouring the casino-resort to find Jonah on her arrival on Thursday, she discovered he had fled to a hotel suite – he never told her which one – to play an ultra-high-stakes poker game. Even though the casino had a large poker room, this game was strictly private.

  Jonah’s opponent wanted to play heads up. To further speed the action, he insisted that he and Jonah deal themselves, constantly shuffling cards. A third person attended the game, shuffling additional decks, so each new hand could begin as the previous hand ended. Jonah had put up with this particular opponent’s many eccentricities in private games over the previous two years: meeting on short notice in hotel rooms in different cities, frequent changes in games and rules, marathon sessions without breaks, demanding to raise the already astronomical stakes, crude conversation, foul manners and disrobing during the game, not to mention some occasional cheating.

  Even though Jonah’s opponent had never played a hand of poker in public, he was a legend in poker rooms around the world. Because this high-roller trusted no one (and was trusted by no one), he refused to play with casino chips, private chips, markers, a scorecard, or even cash. All transactions had to be conducted immediately, on demand, in gold. Consequently, all those players speculating about his origins, identity, and whereabouts nicknamed him ‘Goldfucker’. Jonah, however, referred to him only as ‘The Beast’.

  IV.

  Other than one short phone call, all Lenore’s contact with Jonah since arriving in Atlantic City had been by text. Appearing at random intervals around the clock between late Thursday night and Saturday afternoon, Jonah’s texts read like ransom notes:

  DOWN 60 OZ-FAST!!!!!! (Friday, 12.08 a.m.)

  Based on her general knowledge of the then-current price of gold – and she dared not ask Jonah any details, like where he got what must have been hundreds of ounces of gold that he had to bring to the game or how he transported it – he had quickly lost an amount approaching six figures. But from her work on Jonah’s finances, that was not alarming.

  Throughout Friday, she received sporadic messages about his deepening losses. She could do little but sit in her room and stare at her phone. She was starting to feel about her phone the way she did about Atlantic City.

  Lenore hated Atlantic City, and not just for its tacky veneer, squalor, and stench of losing. A decade earlier, when she was a career-obsessed lawyer with a large DC law firm, she was in an emotional relationship with a man she met for weekends in Atlantic City.

  He was older, a former Congressman, and then a lobbyist and DC power player. He was also a client of the firm. She knew this was an ethical violation and a firing offence. She faked naivety but ended up fooling only herself. Too late to save either her career or her feelings, she discovered he was married.

  V.

  DOWN 390 OZ-SUGGESTIONS?????? (Friday, 11.28 p.m.)

  That text riveted her attention, based both on the amount (indicating a loss of nearly half a million dollars) and the six question marks at the end, which could be interpreted as an invitation to reply. Before she could consider how to respond, she was startled by her ringtone.

  ‘I’ve only got ten pounds left. I told him my friend has another five hundred ounces.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘If we have to, do you know where we can get more gold?’

  Before she could inquire further, he made the point moot by hanging up.

  It took Lenore three hours to fall asleep after that. During that time, she had gotten subsequent texts that Jonah had started a comeback (FINELY WINNING POTZ-180 OZ, Saturday, 1.18 a.m.) and the Beast had raised the stakes. (HES RAZING STAKES TO 4-8 OZ-OK, Saturday, 2.11 a.m.)

  Good news for Jonah, though it did nothing to quell her growing sense of dread.

  Once again, she was miserable in Atlantic City. Again, she was here with a client. Again, it was complicated. And she still hated the place.

  VI.

  She slept late on Saturday, waking up
to the sound of another text message.

  BIG TURNAROUD +30 OZ!!!!!! (Saturday, 12.13 p.m.)

  ‘Congrats!’ she typed back. ‘Ahead almost $40,000. Impressive!’

  For the first time in their relationship, Jonah immediately responded to a text from Lenore.

  ?????? HOW MANY LBS PUR OZ

  She quickly texted, ‘That’s ounces per pound. Sixteen.’

  I MEANT LBS . . . +30 LBS

  Lenore could fake only so much insouciance. Scrolling through the texts, she realised that meant he had turned around a half-million-dollar loss into over a million-dollar win in just twelve hours.

  VII.

  At exactly 8 p.m. on Saturday, Lenore found Jonah waiting at the entrance of Le Gautier. His hair was still damp from a recent shower. He wore a fresh shirt and a sheepish smile. He looked like a schoolboy on Picture Day. It was also the only time she could remember him appearing when and where he had promised.

  When she looked closer, she momentarily forgot how exhausting the last few days had been for her. Jonah was unshaven, his eyes unfocused. As he leant forward to greet her with a hug, she felt his unsteadiness. She noticed the casino gift shop tag dangling from a sleeve of the shirt. He had not slept since she last saw him on Thursday.

  The maître d’ led them through the darkened restaurant, along a path formed by two rows of tea candles. The path led to their table. They were the only diners in the room.

  The meal was unbelievable. Lenore had travelled throughout the world, often with people who took pride in introducing her to amazing restaurants. Le Gautier could compete with any dining experience. That such a place existed in Atlantic City amazed her most of all. Le Gautier’s full staff attended to them. Each course was paired with a superb wine.

  The absence of their host, along with the opulence, aroused Lenore’s curiosity. Jonah ate and drank everything the waiters put in front of him, including several glasses each from four bottles of wine.

  ‘You better watch out,’ Lenore warned. ‘This could be his strategy: Get you drunk so he has a better chance of winning his money back.’

  Jonah took a deep drink from his wine glass. ‘Hey, it might work. Probably has a better chance than anything he’s tried so far.’

  When waiters wheeled a pair of dessert-laden trolleys behind the sommelier, Lenore somehow knew the Beast had arrived.

  ‘I hope you’re enjoying dinner at Le Gutter.’ The Beast had a short, broad face, a wide gap-toothed grin, and coarse, curly hair covering his head and face.

  He pulled up an adjacent chair. ‘You like that?’ he asked Jonah, who had just tasted the dessert wine.

  ‘Yes, very sweet. Reminds me of what they served on Passover at my grandparents’.’

  ‘Manischewitz?’ Lenore giggled.

  The Beast roared. ‘I hope you’ll like it a little more than that. This is Château d’Yquem, the only Premier Cru Superior Sauterne. This is my favourite vintage,’ he said, blithely drinking from the bottle. ‘It’s from 1990. I’ve been buying it up all over the world.’

  ‘Well, tastes as good as new,’ Jonah said, lifting his glass before draining it.

  Then the Beast was gone, and he took Jonah with him. He found Jonah a willing participant when he suggested that they ‘test the dice’ before going back upstairs to play poker.

  The Beast’s last words were, ‘Stay and finish dessert, sweetie. I ordered it all so have as much as you want. You could stand to put on a couple pounds.’

  A half-hour later, Lenore walked along the edge of the packed casino. Across the floor, she could see Jonah and the Beast playing craps. A lively, noisy crowd surrounded them. The Beast cackled, throwing around chips, shouting out his bets, and guzzling the last of the Château d’Yquem.

  She kept walking towards the elevator. She was nervous about returning to Washington and making sure she and Jonah resolved his tax problems with the IRS. Although she was happy to be slipping out of Atlantic City without incident, she could admit that, from this perspective, the town wasn’t quite the undisguised hellhole of her memories. In fact, the casino seemed like a pretty nice place to be on a Saturday night.

  VIII.

  On Sunday morning, Lenore sent Jonah several texts outlining their plans for leaving town and staying overnight in Washington. When he failed to respond, she tried without success to get some exercise. The resort’s ‘Spa Elegance’ was closed. Running on the Boardwalk was out of the question. The sky, which she had not seen since Thursday, appeared angry and grey. It was cold outside and the hard rain looked ready to turn to snow.

  At least she would get some sort of exercise walking the edges of the casino while looking for a decent cup of coffee. When Lenore walked past the poker room, she snapped out of her torpor. There was Jonah sitting in a game.

  He was not in a hotel suite.

  He was not playing the Beast.

  He was not answering her texts.

  He was not on his way to Washington, DC for a vitally important meeting with the IRS, a meeting Lenore had succeeded in orchestrating after six months of expert work on his tax problems.

  Instead, Jonah was playing a hand of poker with a table full of people who looked like shipwreck survivors. Lenore walked into the poker room, which was mostly empty. Jonah noticed her approach as he threw away his cards. He stood up.

  ‘Lenore,’ he said, waving casually, ‘how’s it going?’

  Her perturbed expression was not difficult to read.

  ‘I’ve got good news and more good news.’ Without waiting for Lenore to reply, he added, ‘You don’t have to worry about the game with the Beast getting in the way of our tax meeting tomorrow. We can leave for DC any time you want.’

  ‘What’s the other good news?’

  ‘I got a tip on another great game. Michael Jordan’s game is going again in North Carolina. It’s a very reliable tip and I can lock up a seat. But only if I can get to Charlotte. But we gotta go to DC, right? Take care of taxes and such.’

  ‘What’s going on here, Jonah? Where’s the Beast?’

  A few of the formerly comatose players at the table lifted their heads. Jonah ducked under the rail, grabbed Lenore by the arm, and walked her towards the entrance of the poker room.

  ‘Don’t refer to him out loud! There was an incident while we were playing craps, and he got arrested. They finally let me go at about five. It was too early to wake you so I sat down in the game here. It’s not even a very good game.’

  ‘What did he get arrested for?’

  ‘He gave a cocktail waitress the finger. The bad part is that he’s not allowed in Atlantic City any more. I heard his host tell him he’s banned from this property for life. That was before the police even showed up.’

  ‘That seems pretty extreme for giving somebody the finger.’

  Jonah leant close and whispered. ‘He gave it to her in the vagina.’

  IX.

  They agreed to meet in fifteen minutes in the lobby. Lenore did not want to let Jonah out of her sight, but she had to get her bag and clear her head. She had too many questions to think straight, and so far none of Jonah’s answers added up. Other than his acknowledgement that they would proceed to their meeting in Washington, none of it made sense.

  That was at noon. It had taken them five miserable hours to get to Philadelphia International Airport. During that time, they had been harassed by a succession of hotel employees, security guards, and people offering them rides who – most likely for good reason – were not authorised to provide such services. This included the Beast himself. In addition to carpet-bombing Lenore with text messages, she thought she saw him ride slowly by while they were being chased from the property as Jonah dragged a broken suitcase loaded with sixty pounds of gold through the snow. At least she thought it was the Beast. Who else would be riding in a gold limousine with vanity ‘9999’ plates, painted with images of nude women, covered only by strategically billowing scarves?

  Even though Jonah wore no coat in a snowstor
m and was burdened by a load of over $1,000,000 in gold bullion, he seemed unaffected by the inconveniences. If anything, that bothered Lenore more.

  When they were finally on the way to the airport, Jonah’s only concern seemed to be with staring at his cell phone and sharing trivia about the Michael Jordan game developing in Charlotte. ‘The group wants to play a lot of triple-draw games: Badugi, Badacy, Badeucy, Deuce-to-Seven. Triple-draw: the favourite form of poker for players in the mood to gamble.’

  ‘How are you getting text messages about the game on your phone? You told me last night you lost your phone.’ That was how the Beast had gotten Lenore’s phone number.

  ‘I lost that one,’ Jonah emphasised. ‘I still have the one where I get tips on good games.’ He held up a phone, which had a piece of masking tape on the back, on which was scrawled ‘TIPS’. Indeed, the drawstring sack between them in the back seat, which Lenore had earlier noticed swinging from the handle of Jonah’s suitcase, had several phones inside. She glanced at the bag, and saw similar pieces of tape on the collection of decrepit cell phones. ‘POKER ROOM’. ‘J’. ‘LA MIKE’. ‘LEIF’. And one that said ‘LIZZ’.

  Jonah saw that phone at the same moment. He chuckled. ‘Some of these are pretty old.’

  X.

  The weather had delayed flights out of Philadelphia International Airport. Even though the airport was packed with angry, miserable people, Jonah seemed oblivious to the chaos around him. He certainly didn’t comprehend the issues arising from carrying sixty pounds of gold through an airport security X-ray machine. An hour earlier, while Jonah dozed in the car, Lenore had called the TSA.

  It was a calculated risk. She thought if they wanted to make it out of town any time soon, it would be better to alert the authorities, offer no other information, and make sure Jonah paid the IRS their share. They were, after all, on the way to settle his taxes. She didn’t spend all this effort so he could commit a fresh set of offences.

  A group of TSA agents, along with some other state and federal law enforcement personnel, escorted them to a private screening room and peppered them with questions. She had told Jonah to say nothing and, on this occasion, he deferred to her. Everyone was polite and, after a few minutes, there was nothing left to do but to get their identification and let them proceed to their flight.