Actually, it wasn’t, but I didn’t argue with him. I wanted the stakes higher because I was not only about to take his truck, I was going to take his reputation—and consequently, his power.
I also had a feeling that he’d paid off the dealer. Too many hands had gone his way. That meant that the flop, turn, and river would “tell” me what hand they’d predetermined to play.
When the dealer set to deal, I waved a hand and said, “No.” Then I turned to the owner and said, “You deal?”
I knew he wasn’t happy with me, but he wasn’t happy with the foreman either so his deal would be as fair as any. A vein popped out on the foreman’s temple, throbbing like a balloon, but wanting to save face, he backed off.
Because the bets were already made, there was no reason to check, push, or raise. We knew what was at risk. Everyone around the table knew. The owner dealt us two cards apiece. Then he laid down the flop, a king of diamonds, followed by a pause. Then the turn, a four of spades, followed by an even longer pause. Finally, he laid down the river—an ace of hearts. Sweat was dripping off the foreman’s dark eyebrows. Seeing the third card, the foreman smiled, showing stained teeth and bloodshot eyes. It had been a long night and it was about to get longer. Breathing easier, he sat back and lit a cigar, drawing deeply and filling the air around us in a haze of smoke. As there was no need to bluff, I knew he had to be sitting, at least, on a pair of aces.
Lucky.
The dealer asked to see our hands, and the foreman slowly laid down a seven of hearts and an ace—giving my ugly friend a pair of aces.
Very lucky. Also predictable.
I kept my eyes on the foreman because I wanted to see his reaction. Even on a rigged Tuesday night game.
When I laid down my cards—king, ace—he turned ashen and began spitting venom at me because two pair beats one every day. I couldn’t understand the curse words coming out of his mouth, but I had a feeling he was cursing not only me, but the five or six generations behind me.
I hefted the keys in my hand—giving him one last look—and then slid them into my pocket. Spittle had gathered in the corner of his mouth. I had not taken time to count it, but having started with eight people at $5,000 each meant I had $40,000 cash in my pocket. Wanting to add insult to injury, I removed the fat wad from my pocket and counted out $10,000—my $5,000 and the foreman’s $5,000. This got everyone’s attention in the room, but what really got their attention was when I handed $30,000 to the restaurant owner and told him to “give it back to everyone but him.” Interestingly, everyone’s English improved miraculously, and they understood me well enough to know exactly what I’d said.
The foreman stood, slammed his drink glass against the wall, and stormed out—without any of the girls. I think his good thing had just come to an end and he knew it. I wasn’t naive enough to think I’d just made a roomful of friends but they certainly weren’t my enemies, and I’ll bet if I’d wanted dinner right then, the owner of the restaurant would have cooked it for me.
* * *
When I pulled in behind the house with the bike tied down in the truck bed and parked next to the chicken coop, I stepped out and a weary shadow appeared from next to the mango tree. It was Paulina. She’d been sitting in a plastic chair, leaning against the tree. She pushed the hair out of her eyes and flipped it a couple of times, tying it in a knot. “I guess you won.”
“Yes.”
She ran her fingers along the sides of the truck. “The foreman was there?”
I nodded.
“Did you shame him?”
I paused. “Yes.”
She stepped closer. “Badly?”
I tilted my head side to side. “That’s one way to put it.”
“That may not bode well for the people that work for him.” One of the things I’d grown to appreciate about Paulina in the short time that I’d known her was her fierce protection of those she loved. “Were others there?”
“The owner of the restaurant where we played, the chief of police, and the mayor, to name a few.”
She shook her head. “Charlie, people know you’re here.” She looked exasperated. “You stick out. People like the foreman will take out on us what you inflict on him. There are ripple effects. You can’t take like that from people around here.”
“Then they shouldn’t risk it.”
“You’re preying on them.”
I didn’t answer.
“Did you cheat?”
“No, I got lucky with the cards. But you should know that I would have. I wouldn’t hesitate.”
“Learn anything about Zaul?”
“No.”
She shook her head and walked toward the house. “Sun’ll be up in a few hours.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Unlike most of the women I’d known, Paulina did not own many articles of clothing, and what she did have she wore several days in a row. As best I could tell, she had three pairs of shoes: running shoes that looked several years old, flip-flops that had been taped back together, and a pair of sandals, which doubled as her “dress shoes.”
She woke me yet again with coffee and a smile. Flip-flops and yesterday’s dress. She set the coffee down and pulled a chair up next to the bed. “You want to walk me back through that poker game last night?”
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Based on our last conversation, I wasn’t sure where this was going, so I wanted to offer as little as possible.
She continued, “You left out a few details.”
“Such as?”
She crossed her legs. “How you won all the money and then gave it all back to the losers—save one.”
I sipped, trying not to make eye contact.
She stood. “Word is that you’re crazy.”
“What do you think?”
“I think you have your reasons that reason doesn’t understand.”
“Paulina, I’m not trying to prey on these people. I’m trying to find Zaul.”
She nodded. “We might be closer than you think.” She walked out, talking over her shoulder. She was chuckling. “Breakfast was delivered this morning.”
I splashed my face and walked into the kitchen, where Paulo was beaming over a cup of coffee. He pointed to two bags on the floor and a cage outside that was clucking. One bag was full of mangoes. The other was full of coffee. The cage contained twelve chickens.
Paulina pointed. She was giddy. “Laying hens.” Her face lit. “Do you know how long it’s been since we owned chickens? Chickens mean eggs! Every morning.”
I rubbed my eyes. “Where’d they come from?”
“Your friends at the coffee plantation.”
“What?”
Paulina stepped toward me—into my personal space—put her hand on my shoulder, and kissed me tenderly on the cheek. Paulo was nodding and smiling larger.
“What’s that for?”
She explained, “The foreman did not come to work this morning. Seems someone exposed him as a first-class cheat. Given that he took a lot of money from several high-ranking officials, chances are likely that he won’t ever return.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“Conditions in the plantation mirror the foreman. If he sneezes, the entire plantation gets a cold. If he smiles, everyone laughs. If he’s gone, they take a deep breath and throw a party.”
* * *
We dropped Isabella at school, and the three of us took Colin’s truck to the coast. I let Paulo drive. Paulina leaned forward from the backseat and whispered in my ear, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him so happy.” I handed him my Costas, which he accepted and wore proudly.
We returned due west to the coast to an inlet on the beach where several companies ferried surfers to offshore reefs to surf waves often reaching twenty feet in prime conditions.
Like yesterday. Palm trees dotted the dunes and a frayed hammock rocked between two. An American guy was sitting in an old Ford van topped with eight surfboards of varying lengths. He was reading a paperback novel. Led Zeppelin spilling from the speakers. Long bleached hair. Bronzed skin. Skin and bones. Bare feet propped on the dash. Life was good, but currently slow.