Texas Hold 'Em

by George R. R. Martin

  Rusty slowly shook his head. “Cripes, once they get going it’s hard to stop them. I gotta break it up, though, or the hotel folks will complain. You might have some better luck later on.” He paused for a second. “I never do, though.” He ducked his head and entered the room.

  Jerry walked quickly away and heard the music slowly fade as he moved down the hallway. That had been a bust, for the most part. Still, Sean had given him a little bit of info to go on. Might as well check it out.

  Jerry sat on the edge of his bed, trying to make the pieces of the case fit together in a way that made sense. The problem was he didn’t have enough pieces to work with. He needed to find some, and soon.

  He had the TV on in the background, tuned to the local cable news channel. There was a blue bar at the bottom of the screen showing upcoming stories. The next up was titled Snakes Alive. Jerry turned up the volume.

  The picture cut away to a young woman reporter. “As if the situation with the jazz band competition wasn’t already tense enough, reports this morning indicate that instruments were stolen from the Jokertown Mob band, and in their place were left a pair of baby rattlesnakes. We are informed that the Amazing Bubbles herself disposed of the dangerous reptiles. In her own inimitable fashion, I would imagine.”

  Jerry clicked the TV off and used his tablet to find the contact number for the San Antonio Zoo. Moments later he had a telephone receptionist on the line.

  Jerry mimicked the reporter’s voice. “This is Ms. Garcia. I’m researching a story for our station on what happened this morning with the snakes at the band competition. Do you have a herpetologist on staff?”

  “Yes. I’ll connect you.”

  After a long wait, a woman answered. “This is Dr. Shelton. I’ve been told you’re a reporter. How may I help you?”

  “Thank you for your time, Dr. Shelton,” Jerry said. “Regarding the incident with the snakes earlier, is there a special permit required to handle rattlesnakes? If so, who would issue such a permit?”

  Dr. Shelton cleared her throat. “My understanding is that those snakes were diamondbacks. There’s no permitting process for the handling or housing of indigenous snakes, regardless of how dangerous they might be. Only if it were a non-indigenous species would a permit be required. Texas Parks and Wildlife would handle that.”

  Another swing-and-a-miss. Jerry sighed. “I see. Thank you for the clarification.” He was about to hang up when Dr. Shelton spoke again.

  “Most of the people who handle rattlesnakes and such are … well, they do it for religious reasons. They don’t really show the animals the proper respect and many of them wind up getting injured. Sometimes the Lord works in mysterious ways, but other times he just smacks you upside the head.”

  “Indeed. Thanks so much for your time, Dr. Shelton. You have a nice day.” Luckily, Jerry knew exactly where to find a group of people who were both religiously inclined and hostile to the Mob.

  He was hungry as hell, but Jerry was determined to make some headway before letting himself eat. The gnawing in his gut was motivation after the debacle with the kids. As Tess, he’d established a bit of a relationship with Sean, but there was no guarantee that would pay off in a meaningful way.

  After changing back into his Creighton clothes and body, Jerry headed downstairs. He moved quickly through the lobby and stepped outside. The weather was still pleasant, if a little more sunny. He scanned the crowd, spotted a face he liked on a man walking by, and bent down to pick up nothing in particular. When Jerry stood, he was wearing his new face. With all the cameras around, there was no point in running the risk of being identified as Creighton. It had been easier when he started out in this business. Now almost everything wound up on video. He worked his way through the bystanders toward the stage, where a woman representing the Purity Baptist Church was speaking.

  “We have been brought here by the will of our Savior.” Her voice was brittle and her face was stern, like Agnes Moorehead’s less fun sister. Her most distinguishing feature, other than her bigotry, was a shock of pink hair on her head. “I know that none of you have hatred in your heart for these creatures. I pity them, but they have been marked by God as abominations. It is he who has cast them out for their sins, and we cannot question his judgment. We must not allow them to bring their twisted bodies and tainted blood to our city unchallenged. It is God’s will that we drive them out, and we will do so.” She raised a black book adorned with a single silver cross above her head.

  Jerry tuned her out. When he was growing up, which was admittedly a long time ago, Christians hadn’t been like this. Not the ones he’d known, anyway. They were decent people who’d help you out if you needed it, because that was what you were supposed to do. He hoped that this was just the lunatic fringe. Every group had one these days.

  He gave the small group of people behind the speaker a long once-over. There were a couple of men who looked like they might be bodyguards or some other kind of hired muscle. The larger of the two was dressed in a dark navy suit and had a bored look on his face. Jerry didn’t give him a second glance. The other was staring at the speaker with a look of rapt intensity. Jerry figured him to be a true believer and therefore more potentially useful. It would be nice if something would go his way on this case.

  The larger man leaned in next to Jerry’s mark and said something. His companion made an unhappy face and walked away slowly. Jerry figured maybe the big guy wanted a burger or some tacos. He tried to stop thinking about food and kept the man in his sight line as he walked away from the crowd and into the hotel lobby. Jerry tailed him, a half dozen or so paces behind. The man walked over to the elevator and pushed the up button.

  Jerry held back. He didn’t want to be in an elevator alone with his quarry; then again, maybe he could make it work to his advantage. That’s why he got paid the big bucks. Two young girls, both focused on their cell phones, entered the elevator. Jerry moved in behind them, figuring the man would pay attention to the girls and not him. One of the girls pushed the button for the second floor. The third-floor button was also illuminated—no doubt the man’s destination.

  He let the man take a few steps down the hallway before ducking out as the elevator doors closed. Jerry had an idea how to deal with him that was either brilliant or idiotic. It wouldn’t take long to find out which. The man stopped in front of a door and slid his keycard into the lock. Jerry changed his face as the man was stepping inside the room.

  “What hast thou done in my name?” Jerry walked in behind the man and closed the door. He was wearing the Jesus Christ face he’d grown up seeing—long brown hair, beard, soft caring eyes, and perfect skin.

  The man turned and opened his mouth in complete disbelief. “I …” He shook his head. “Why are you wearing a suit?”

  Jerry raised his palms. “If I didst appear in my celestial raiment, your eyes would surely see nothing else for all eternity.”

  The man reached toward Jerry, then pulled his hand back, falling to his knees and pressing his fists into his eye sockets. He began to sob. “Please don’t punish me, O Lord. I’m your servant.”

  “I know your every sin from the moment you came onto this earth until this very instant, but there is one misdeed you must confess to me now, or be forever damned.” Jerry set his right hand gently on top of the man’s head. This was going better than he’d hoped.

  “Ask me,” he said, whimpering. “I will confess.”

  “The joker children art my children, just as others are, and thou hast raised a hand against them.” Jerry was having a hard time trying to talk like Jesus. His voice was fine but he wasn’t at all confident of his word choices. Luckily, it didn’t seem to matter to the man on the floor.

  “All I did was locate keys. I didn’t know what was going to happen after.”

  Keys. So that was why it didn’t look like a break-in. Jerry would have to take the man at his word, since he was supposedly all-seeing and all-knowing. “Good, my son. Thou were wise to unburden your
self of this. Rise now.”

  The man stood, but avoided meeting Jerry’s gaze. “Thank you, Lord Jesus.”

  “Your Savior has a task for you to perform as penance for your sin.”

  “Anything.”

  Jerry wanted him out of the way for the next few days at least, so getting the man out of town was his best bet. “You know Carlsbad Caverns, my son?”

  “Yes, but I’ve never been there.”

  “You wilst go there now, my child. There is a sacred object contained within its vastness. Only you will be able to see it, guided by my divine sight.” New Mexico seemed far enough to Jerry, and the caverns were huge.

  “What will I be looking for?”

  “Thou wilst know it the moment your eyes do behold it. You must then take it to Lourdes, France. It will complete a miracle long prophesied.”

  “France? But my passport is expired.”

  “The Lord will make provision for your journey, if you but trust in him. You must leave immediately, and tell no one, lest your tongue cleave to your palate.” Jerry was probably enjoying this more than he should. Around the office he had a hard time getting his way.

  The man looked around the room, then took a few slow steps toward the door. “This sounds kind of fishy. Can you do a miracle, or something, just so I know I’m doing the right thing?”

  Jerry changed his face again. He’d dressed as Satan for Halloween one year. That was one childhood memory that had never dimmed. “Behold the visage of him who thou wilst serve for all eternity if you should fail in your appointed task.”

  The man took one look at Jerry’s devil face and fell to the floor again. “No, not that, never that.”

  Jerry slapped on his Jesus face again and lifted the man up. He was heavier than he looked. “Thou wilst not fail, my child, not if your heart is true. Come, embrace your Savior before you depart.” Jerry hugged the man and reached into his pants pocket with a pair of elongated fingers, pulling out a cell phone. Jerry tucked it out of sight and guided the man to the door. “Go now, and do the service your Lord commands.” The words sounded more like something Don Corleone would say than Jesus, but the man left the room without speaking another word.

  Now that he was alone, he actually got to be a detective. Jerry had searched a lot of rooms in his time. There was an art to learning where to look and what to look for. First things first, though; he pulled out the phone to see if it was locked. Jerry tapped its face and was rewarded by rows of apps.

  “No security,” he said, smiling. “Praise the Lord.”

  That was a break, but he’d check out the phone later. There was a Bible open on the bed. Jerry sat down and picked it up, scanning the open pages for anything that looked noteworthy. Three-quarters of the way down the page he saw a piece of scripture that was more than a little interesting. He accessed the camera function on his phone and took a picture of the pertinent language. The rest of the page and the one opposite had nothing of apparent relevance.

  Jerry went through the dresser drawers and found nothing out of the ordinary. The bathroom was equally dull, a toothbrush, shaving gear, and a really strong cologne. He moved on to the closet and checked the clothing to see if there was anything of note in the pockets. Other than a pair of Spurs tickets and some change in a pair of gray suit pants, it was a washout. Jerry decided to take the suit with him. It might come in handy later.

  A generic confession about keys and a Bible quote didn’t exactly crack the case, but it was a step. Jerry decided at the very least he’d earned lunch.

  The hotel restaurant was noisy and crowded, but Jerry managed to snag a table in the corner. There were several high school–aged kids inside. He figured they were members of the competing bands, or friends and family. He’d texted Michelle Pond, asking her to join him. Might as well update her on what information he’d turned up, and talking to her could shake something useful loose. Not that he figured she was holding out on him, but she had a lot on her plate right now and riding herd on teenagers couldn’t leave much mental energy for anything else.

  Jerry had ordered the brisket sandwich; might as well get a taste of Texas BBQ while he was down here. He was sipping at a cup of coffee, waiting for his employer to show up. In the meantime, he decided to investigate the cell phone he’d stolen. The recent e-mails appeared to be almost entirely church business related; there was nothing of interest that stood out in the subject lines.

  “Hello, Mr. Creighton.” Michelle didn’t look happy. She was likely to stay unhappy until Jerry found out what she wanted found out.

  “Have a seat.” He indicated the chair opposite him. “The company is buying if you’re hungry.”

  “Thank you,” Michelle said, taking a seat. “I understand your reporter was something of a bust.”

  Jerry was hoping to lead with the good news, but she’d jumped straight to the bad. Might as well deal with it. “True, I didn’t have much luck there.”

  Michelle looked up over her menu and gave him an appraising stare.

  Shit, he thought, pronoun trouble. Time to move on quickly.

  “I did get some potentially useful information from your friends with the Purity Baptist Church.” Jerry paused as the waiter came over with pad in hand.

  “What can I get for you today, Ms. Pond?” He was young, freckled, and visibly excited.

  “I’ll have the Cobb salad and a water with no ice.” Michelle handed him the menu with a practiced smile.

  “If it’s not an imposition, would you mind giving me an autograph?” the starstruck waiter asked. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I’m sure people ask all the time and it gets to be a pain.”

  Michelle raised her hand to keep him from nervously rattling on. “If you get us our food in a hurry, I’ll sign something for you on the way out. I promise.”

  “Celebrity can be useful at times,” Jerry said. The gods of genetics had been kind to her. Not only did she have striking good looks, but her wild card ability was one of the most powerful on the planet.

  “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I wouldn’t mind trying anonymity now and then.”

  Jerry nodded. She had a point. Other than his stint as a movie star back in the twenties courtesy of Croyd Crenson, his entire life was built on anonymity and the secrecy it provided. He was only recognizable if he chose to be, and could shed any physical persona in an instant. Still, it might be nice to be able to blow people to giblets with bubbles.

  “You said you had something about the Purity Baptist Church.”

  “I had a chat with one of the church members. Although he didn’t admit direct responsibility for anything, I got the impression at least some of them were involved in the actions against your band. And then there’s this.” He pulled out his phone and brought up the photo he’d taken of the Bible. “There was a Bible open on his bed and on that page was an interesting entry. I took a picture of it.” He handed his phone to Michelle. “It’s Matthew 23:33.”

  She read the passage aloud. “You serpents. You brood of vipers, how will you escape the sentence of hell?”

  “It might be a coincidence, but I very much doubt it.”

  The waiter trotted over with their food. Jerry gave him a thumbs-up and took a bite out of his sandwich, which was tangy, warm, and delicious. He’d give the kid a generous tip.

  “So, your money is on the church being behind all this.” Michelle went to work on her salad, but maintained eye contact with Jerry.

  “Well, signs point to them being responsible for the snakes. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other players. Your band has generated a lot of hostility. I understand a Bambi Coldwater filed a lawsuit.”

  Michelle nodded. “Yes. The suit isn’t going anywhere but it’s still a dick move. Her daughter Kimmie is the flautist for the Plano Originals, one of the other bands here.”

  “Okay, that makes sense.” Jerry took another bite and gave it a few extra chews while he was thinking. “So the Plano bunch doesn’t like the Mob e
ither.”

  “Apparently some do and some don’t. One of the kids told me that Jax, their drummer, really has a hate-on for us.” Michelle turned her head at the sound of piano music.

  Jerry looked over Michelle’s shoulder to see who was playing. It was a young couple who looked like they were making music together in more ways than one. He’d heard the tune before, but couldn’t place it. In any case, they were very good. “I assume they’re with the bands.”

  Michelle took a bite of salad and then raised a finger. “She’s Marissa Simpson from our band and he’s Cesar Chao of the Seattle Wailers, who had the dubious pleasure of a date with Jade Blossom.”

  “Jade Blossom from American Hero?”

  Michelle gave a distinctly unsmilely smile. “That’s the one. Thankfully, she’s out of our hair for good.”

  Jerry imagined there was an interesting story behind Michelle’s reaction, but he doubted he’d ever find out what it was. “Is there anyone else—” He stopped at the sound of an angry, high-pitched voice. A middle-aged woman was standing by the piano, looking down at Marissa and Cesar. Her face was red and her eyes bulged uncomfortably in their sockets.

  “How dare you, you inhuman … whatever you are. Stay away from my son.” She grabbed Cesar’s shoulder. The kids looked angry and embarrassed. Marissa was more of the former, Cesar the latter.

  “Mom, leave us alone,” Cesar said. “Just let us play. We were really getting into it.”

  “You’ll do as I tell you, when I tell you. I’m your mother.” She put her hand under his armpit and lifted him from the piano bench.

  A tall man, probably the restaurant manager, rushed with quick steps to intervene. He whispered something to Cesar’s mother and gestured to the exit.

  “You stay away from my son.” She wagged a finger at Marissa. “You’re not nearly good enough for him and you never will be.”

  She stormed out with Cesar in tow. Marissa paused a second or two, straightened her shoulders, and began playing “Clair de Lune.” After a few bars of Debussy, spirited conversation and the clatter of silverware brought the restaurant back to normalcy.