A four and a seven. Barely better than the hand Ben had folded. Gordo didn’t have the jack at all. He’d been bluffing!
Diane turned over her own cards: a pair of tens.
Gordo was flabbergasted. “How did you know I didn’t have the goods?”
“Call it a hunch.” Diane scraped the chips into her pile. “Was this special time we had together all you dreamed it would be, Gordo?”
Gordo grinned—awfully gracious, Ben thought, for someone who’d just had his clock cleaned. “It was. But now I have nothing to live for.”
“Well, don’t kill yourself. It’s only a game.”
“Life is a game,” Gordo replied. “And death is the sweet reward.”
That was the second time in as many days that Ben had heard Gordo make a weird remark about death. Note to self, he thought: pay Gordo a private visit to follow up on this.
Diane shuffled the cards a few times, then leaned across the table like a piranha closing in on its prey. “All right,” she said. “Who wants to be devoured next?
It was almost two A.M. when they played the final hand. The match was down to two players: Diane, as everyone expected, and Ben, as no one expected—including Ben. Ben had in fact lasted well past sandwiches, to the surprise of all, and the disgust of some, like Scat and Gordo, who had to make good on their side bets.
Basically, he had just followed Loving’s suggestions. He had folded more than anyone else in the game, but as a result, he had conserved his resources. He hadn’t dared a bluff, but by sitting out the bad hands and playing the sure winners, he had slowly put together some winnings. Plus, he’d had the good fortune to take out two players, inheriting all their remaining chips. He’d taken Gordo with a pair of queens, then managed to do the same to Earl only two hands later with two sevens and two fives.
And now it was just him and Diane. Diane, unfortunately, had just won several high-dollar hands in a row. Ben could see the handwriting on the wall. She’d keep whittling away at him until he was gone. If he was to have any hope of winning, he had to try a different approach. And fast.
“Would you guys hurry up already?” Denny said. “I’ve been wearing these clothes for days. They’re getting uncomfortable.”
Ben glanced up. “Why? Are they scratchy?”
Gordo laughed. “Denny thinks all clothes are uncomfortable.”
“He does?”
“All right, let’s do it,” Diane said. The antes were laid and she dealt out the cards.
Ben lifted up the corners and peered at his cards.
Two tens! Hardly invincible, but a start. His heartbeat accelerated. Maybe this was the time to go for broke. It made sense, but…
He couldn’t bring himself to take the risk. He made a modest bet: one dollar.
“I’ll call,” Diane replied.
After the bets were in, she flopped three cards into the center of the table: the ace of diamonds, the nine of clubs, and the seven of clubs. No help for Ben.
Diane, however, had a more positive reaction. “I’m betting it all,” she said.
“What?” Ben looked up at his companions. “Can she do that?”
“She certainly can. Are you in?”
Ben glanced at his cards. It was a good hand. But she must have a good hand, too. Probably a pair. If it was a pair of nines, fine, he could beat her. But if it was a pair of aces …
“All right,” he said, pushing out all his chips. “I’m in.”
“The betting is over,” Gordo announced. “Let’s play out the cards.”
Since it didn’t matter at this point who knew, Diane complied. She flipped over her hand. She had an ace and a nine in the hole. And now, with the cards in the center, she had both a pair of nines and a pair of aces. Two pair! More than enough to trounce Ben’s puny tens.
“And you?”
Ben exposed his hand to the world.
Diane smiled, pleased and, Ben thought, a bit relieved. Her go-for-broke paid off. Still, there were two more cards to be dealt.
“Play the table,” Gordo said, grinning. He seemed to be enjoying himself a good deal more now than he had when he was still in the game.
Diane turned the next card: a three. No help to anyone.
Everyone in the room huddled around the table—Gordo and Denny and Scat and Earl. They were like vultures, anxious to see what happened next.
Ben held his breath. What was it about this game anyway? It wasn’t as if his life depended on winning. So why were his hands shaking and beads of sweat dripping down his forehead? C’mon, he thought, I need a ten. Luck be a lady tonight …
She turned over another card. Ben’s heart sunk.
It was an ace. As if she needed more help.
Diane leaned back in her chair, blowing smoke rings into the air. She had a full house, a killer hand in this game. And much better than Ben’s now very stupid-looking pair of tens.
She treated herself to a new cigar. “It’s been a pleasure, Kincaid.”
Ben threw down his cards in disgust.
“And so,” Gordo said, “once again, Diane proves that she is, in fact, mistress of the universe.”
Earl patted Ben on the back. “Tough break, kid. You played well. You just didn’t get the cards.”
Nice sentiment, but Ben knew it wasn’t true. If he had been the one to put all his chips on the table, or even a big chunk of them, back when he got the pair of tens, she probably would’ve backed off. She would’ve folded, or at any rate wouldn’t have bet everything, and Ben would’ve survived the hand and lived to play another.
It was a matter of strategy, and he had blown it. He lost because he couldn’t bluff, because he wasn’t willing to take a risk.
“Congratulations,” Ben told Diane. “You deserved to win.”
“Darn tootin’,” Diane replied.
“So,” Earl asked, “what you gonna do with all the loot?”
“Gee,” Diane said, glancing at Ben, “maybe I’ll make a donation to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelly to Animals.”
Gordo made a snorting noise.
“Or we could all just get drunk.”
That brought a raucous round of cheers.
Diane stepped out of her chair and began pulling on her leather jacket. “See you next time, Kincaid.”
Ben shuffled away from the table. “Yeah.”
Gordo gave Ben a nudge. “Hey, don’t take it so hard, Benji. At least you still have your health.”
Yes, that’s true, Ben thought, pressing his lips tightly together. But if you call me Benji one more time, yours may be in serious danger.
Chapter 24
TYRONE CROSSED THE gravel parking lot of Uncle Earl’s Jazz Emporium, admiring the vivid sunrise. The iridescent rays were just beginning to seep over the skyline, illuminating the Bank of Oklahoma Tower and other downtown skyscrapers, the refineries on the far side of the river, and the miles and miles of woodland beyond. Someday, he thought, once he’d mastered that sax, he was going to come out here and write a song about a sunrise like this.
That was his ultimate goal—not just to play but to write. He wanted to take everything he saw and did and knew and to transform it into music. Think of all he could bring to the music table—life in the gangs, life on the streets, life on the con. Sure, he was young, but he had experiences like no one else in the world. Think what Gershwin did—and what did he know about the blues anyway? Tyrone had lived it. He knew he could compose something special, something that would live forever—if he could just learn how to play.
He heard a scraping noise, a crunching of gravel. He turned, but didn’t see anything.
That was odd. He turned back toward the sunrise. Probably nothing. Still …
He heard the crunching sound again.
“T-Dog!”
A wave of relief swept over him. Earl was standing near the entrance to the club, waving. He waited patiently as Earl waddled out to the parking lot.