Wild fire

We played a few hands, and I was doing better at cards than I’d done at pool. I may have lost my hand-eye coordination, but I could play poker in my sleep.

Kate glanced at her cell phone and said, “I have one bar-”

“That”-I cocked my thumb toward the mahogany bar-“is the only bar I’m interested in tonight.”

“I think we need to call Tom. Really.”

“Whoever loses this hand calls him.”

She lost the hand, and twenty-two bucks, but won the right to call Tom Walsh.

She dialed his cell phone, he answered, and she said, “Returning your call.” She put it on speaker, then set the cell phone on the table as she gathered up the cards.

I heard him ask, “Where are you?”

Kate said, “At The Point. Where are you?”

He replied, “At the office,” which I thought was interesting and unusual at this hour. “Can you talk?”

She giggled. “Not very well. I’ve had four Stolis.”

She fan-shuffled the deck near the phone, and Walsh said, “I’m getting static.”

“I’m shuffling.”

He seemed impatient with her. “Where’s John?”

“He’s here.”

I said, “Ante up.”

“What-?”

She threw a dollar chip in and said to me, “Cut.”

Walsh asked, “What are you doing?”

Kate replied, “Playing poker.”

“Are you playing alone?”

She dealt five-card draw and replied, “No, that’s solitaire.”

“I mean,” he said with affected patience, “is anyone there aside from John?”

“No. Are you opening?”

I threw a blue chip in the pot. “Open for five.”

She threw two blues in. “Raise you five.”

Walsh asked, “Do you have it on speaker?”

“Yes. How many cards do you want?”

“Two.”

She hit me with two cards and said, “You better have something better than three of a kind, mister. Dealer stands pat.”

“You’re bluffing.”

Walsh said, “Excuse me-would you mind holding up your game for a minute of business?”

Kate put her hand facedown on the table and whispered to me, “To you.”

“You raised my open. It’s to you.”

“Are you sure?”

Walsh said, “It’s to you, Kate. But before you bet, perhaps John can tell me how it went with Major Schaeffer.”

I put my hand facedown, sipped my scotch, and said, “Since you know we’re at The Point, I assume you’ve spoken to him-so what did he tell you?”

“He said Kate was not present at the meeting.”

“Correct. I did a cop-to-cop with him.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. And?”

“What did he tell you?” I asked.

“He told me that you told him about our bet. I guess you’re in a betting mood today.”

That was about as witty as Tom Walsh got, and I wanted to encourage him in that direction, so I laughed.

He asked, “Have you been drinking?”

“No, sir. We’re still drinking.”

“I see… well-”

“Weren’t you supposed to call Schaeffer before we got there to tell him that Kate and I are the designated investigators?”

“Apparently, even drunk, you don’t forget an oversight on my part.”

“Tom, even if I was dead, I wouldn’t forget you screwing me around.”

Mr. Walsh advised me, “You need to learn to manage your anger.”

“Why? It’s the only thing that motivates me to come to work.”

Walsh ignored that. “Was Schaeffer helpful? Did you learn anything?”

“Tom, whatever Schaeffer told me, he’ll tell you. He loves the FBI.”

He suggested, “I think we need to continue this discussion when you’re less fatigued.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay,” he said. “Just FYI, Harry’s body is being flown by helicopter back to New York for autopsy.” He added, “I understand there were signs of physical abuse on the body.”

I didn’t reply.

Walsh continued, “This is obviously not a hunting accident, and the Bureau is treating it as a homicide.”

“What was your first clue?” I added, “Fax me the full autopsy report, care of Schaeffer.”

He ignored that. “A team of agents have arrived from New York and Washington, and they’d like to speak to both of you tomorrow.”

“As long as they’re not here to arrest us, we’ll talk to them.”

“Don’t be paranoid. They just want a full briefing from you both.”

“Right. Meanwhile, you need to get a Federal judge to issue a search warrant for the Custer Hill Club property and lodge ASAP.”

“That’s being discussed.”

Kate cut in. “Tom, John and I think that Bain Madox is conspiring to do something that goes beyond oil-price fixing.”

There was a silence, then Walsh asked, “Like what?”

“We don’t know.” She looked at me and mouthed the words “MAD,” “NUKE,” “ELF.”

I shook my head.

“Like what?”

She replied, “I don’t know.”

“Then why do you think that?”

“We-”

I said, “Let’s discuss this when you’re sober, Tom.”

“Call me in the morning. I know that place doesn’t have room phones, and that cell service is not good, but don’t fuck with me.” He added, “And don’t even think about submitting a bill for that place.” He hung up.

I said to Kate, “It’s to you.”

She threw three blues in the pot. “Don’t even think about raising. In fact, don’t even call.”

“Fifteen, and another fifteen.”

She threw in three more blue chips and said, “I’ll let you off easy.” She fanned out a Jack-high straight flush in hearts, and swept the pot toward her. “What did you have?”

“None of your business.”

She gathered the cards and shuffled the deck. “You’re a bad loser.”

“Good losers are losers.”

“Macho, macho.”

“You love it.”

We played a few more hands, and I was ahead a little on the poker, though still down on the pool. I suggested, “Let’s do darts. A buck a point.”