Mr. Lucky

Tex smirked. “Fat chance.”

“You don’t think you could be cheated at cards?”

Tex gave him a look. “No. Ever hear the joke about the four Texans playing poker? One turns to the other and says, ‘I just saw Billy Bob deal off the bottom.’ And the other says, ‘Well, it’s his deal.’ Everyone cheats where I’m from, son. I’ve seen every scam and greasy hustle that’s ever been invented. I would’ve known if Ricky Smith was cheating me.”

Gerry leaned forward in his chair. “My old man has an expression.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a paddle for everyone’s ass.”

Tex drew back in his chair. He picked up his bottle and took a long swig of beer. Then he put the bottle back on the ring it had left on the table, and pointed at the door.

“Get out,” he said.

Gerry went to the door. His father had told him to charm Tex. He wondered what his father had expected him to do. Tickle his ass with a feather? He turned to look at the older man. “Was she any good?”

The beer bottle froze an inch from Tex’s lips. “Who’s that?”

“The hooker you had before I came up. I made her in the lobby.”

“I don’t know what—”

“She was beautiful. Like a-thousand-dollars-an-hour beautiful. Nobody else in this dumpy hotel can afford her.”

“You’re grabbing at straws, boy.”

Gerry took a step back into the room. Tex hadn’t denied it, and Gerry said, “Hookers that work hotels make their johns meet them in the lobby and escort them out. That way, they can’t get arrested for pandering. This hooker didn’t have an escort. You didn’t want to risk being seen with her. Mr. Celebrity.”

Tex lowered his beer bottle. He shot Gerry a school-yard look, as if sizing him up. He pointed at the chair Gerry’d just vacated. “Sit down,” he said.

“Why should I?”

The older man broke into a smile. “Because I think I like you, boy.”

Tex went into the bedroom and came back with a leather bag that he dropped on Gerry’s lap. It was heavy, and the leather was old and cracked. Gerry peeked inside. Stacks of brand-new hundreds stared back at him.

“How would you like to make a quick fifty grand?” Tex said, returning to the couch.

The little voice inside of Gerry’s head told him to get the hell out of there. Only, he could not stop staring at the money. Fifty grand would put him and Yolanda out of debt. He told the little voice to shut up and dropped the bag onto the floor. “Doing what?”

“You know what a money farm is?”

Gerry shook his head.

“It’s a sucker who’s got more cash than common sense. There’s one playing in this cockamamie poker tournament. Guy named Kingman. Made his fortune building trailer parks. I’m playing him this afternoon in a private game. There’s an empty seat.”

“So?”

“I want you to be my partner,” Tex said.

“Is the game rigged?”

Tex smiled like he’d just said the funniest thing in the world.

“Now don’t disappoint me by talking stupid,” he said.

Tex drained his beer and let out a prolonged belch. The gambling world was replete with stories of well-oiled suckers who’d lost millions to world-famous poker players. The suckers were often cheated—usually by simple scams like marked cards, or professional dealers who were in fact mechanics. The suckers were allowed to win a few hands, then led to the slaughter. They were always square when it came to paying up. The money meant nothing, and later they could tell their friends that they’d played head-to-head with one of the greats.

Gerry stared at the bag lying on the floor. Half of the stacks had tumbled out. The money was singing its siren song, drowning out every single promise he’d made to his wife and to his father and to his priest in the past month.

Tex went to the minibar and stuck his hand into the bucket. This time, he pulled out two beer bottles. He came over and handed Gerry one. He clinked his bottle against the one he’d given Gerry.

“Partners?” he asked.

Gerry stared at his reflection in the bottle. The face he saw was the old him, Gerry the mover. Just one quick score, he thought, that’s all this was. Just one.

“Okay,” he said.

16

As Ricky drove one-handed down the highway while adjusting the volume on the Stevie Ray acoustic set coming out of the radio’s multiple speakers, Valentine stared at the winning racing slip lying on the seat between them. In his hurry to throw Ricky out, the clerk at the OTB parlor had mistakenly given the slip back to Ricky, along with his winnings.

Valentine picked up the slip and stared at it. The slip was telling him something. Namely that he was beaten. He had no idea how Ricky had picked the winners. And he was sure Ricky hadn’t cheated.

He knew this because of the amount of money Ricky had won. Eight hundred thirty-six dollars and eighty- seven cents. If Ricky had somehow fixed the race, it would have meant bribing all three jockeys, plus other jockeys, stewards, and handlers. It would have taken a lot of money, and as a result, the payoff would have had to be huge. Eight hundred and change was small potatoes. He glanced across the seat at the younger man.

“You know, I might be willing to go along with this if you didn’t act like such a world-class jerk,” Valentine said.

Ricky’s eyes remained glued on the road. “Is that what’s got you ticked off?”

“Yeah. Those guys in the OTB parlor wanted to kill you. You acted like a real asshole to them.”

“Everyone around here’s an asshole. Why should I be any different?”

“Set an example. Show some class.”

“Whether you know it or not, I did those guys a favor.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Do you know why people gamble? I’m not talking about your weekend schmo who bets in an office pool. I mean your die-hard guy who bets the rent on a roll of the dice, or bets the ponies every day. Know why he does it?”

Valentine had heard plenty of reasons as to why people gambled. For the entertainment, the thrill, and the adrenaline rush were three at the top of the list. But he sensed Ricky was going down a different path, and shook his head.

“They do it to punish themselves.”

That was a new one. Valentine smiled, saying nothing.

“Think about it. They bet their money, and most of the time, they lose. Everybody loses in the end. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Which means that they go into it knowing they’re going to lose. They know the house has an edge that they can’t overcome. But they still gamble away their money.”

“Maybe they think—”

“That this time will be different?” Ricky said. “Fat chance, brother. Deep down, they know they’re going to get beat.”

“How can you know that? Everybody has dreams.”

Ricky snorted derisively. “Did you look at those guys in the OTB parlor? They were wearing the same clothes they had on yesterday. They wear the look of losers because they are losers.”