Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Chapter 3 - When It All Works Just Right

He dressed in his nicest outfit that his mother had not had a hand in picking out.  A navy blue shirt with long sleeves, grey slacks with a matching grey sports coat.  He wore no tie but only because he thought it would be more pretentious to not wear one.  He carried his money in a small brief case that was much older than his suit.  His mother had not had a hand in putting the money together either.

He rapped on the door the way he had heard so many others do it.  It sounded different on this side of the door.  He saw the small window in the door open and just as he expected, it closed almost immediately.  He did not bother to knock again.  He could imagine even now how the sight of him had sent someone scurrying.  He had picked this moment carefully.  His mother was not in town.

She had trained all her people well.  They knew what to do with an unruly client or a dishonest employee or the unexpected interest of law enforcement.  They were good and smart and able to think for themselves or they would not have worked for Ms.Wetta.  But he was gambling that they did not have a plan for what to do when the boss's 15 year old son came knocking at the door.  And for the most part, for most of them, he was right.  But then, there was Ginger.

Even today in rural Texas it is not a common occurrence to run across someone who speaks with a British accent.  Even more unusual to find a black man with such an accent.  Travel back 30 years in time and your odds of meeting Gerald Hawthorne dwindle even more.  But if you were a poker player, and if you played high stakes, and if you were not particular about certain legalities, then there was almost 100% chance that you met Gerald "Ginger"  Hawthorne.

The little window opened again and a black face filled the little square.  "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Why do we even have this little window in the door anyway?  Cops who know enough to knock on this door will just knock it down the second the little window closes.  It is useless.  An affectation."

Ginger smiled.  He could tell Ginger was smiling even without being able to see his lips or his teeth.  His eyes had changed in a way that told him that Ginger was smiling.

Ginger smiled.  The boy had taken his best growl and swatted it away as if it was nothing.  And had done it in a way that was not threatening or antagonistic.  Fearless and smooth.  He was almost as good as his mother hoped he would be.

"People who come here have certain expectations.  They will play their part of high roller if we play our part of purveyor of forbidden fruit.  Now, boy, why are you here?"

"I know, Ginger.  I know and I have proof.  And not to be too childish, 'I will tell Momma on you' if you don't let me in."

Ginger wasn't smiling.  Neither was the boy.  The boy was sweating.  Sweating was too strong a word.  The boy glistened.  It was a tell.  But of what?  Ginger could only imagine.  The boy stood there and went through all the numbers he had memorized for this moment.  He knew he was sweating and hated that the moment had over whelmed him, but he was watching all of Ginger's face that he could see.

Ginger's face changed.  It lost all evidence of humor and sufferance.  The boy blurted out, " The drink's at the whore houses are free but we still have to buy the liquor."

Ginger's look changed again.  The boy suspected but would not know until years later that Ginger was genuinely impressed.  There was silence until the little window closed and the door opened and he was in.

The young boy had found out about Ginger months ago.  He was not looking for anything on Ginger, but was going over all the books of all the family's less than reputable enterprises.  It was not that the numbers did not make sense that had clued him in to Ginger's enterprise.  Indeed, if they had not made sense, his mother and father would have tumbled to that fast enough.  He was looking for ways to make money.  He was looking for ways to steal from his mother.  Three obvious ways made themselves readily apparent. Skim from the whores at the whorehouse.  Risky, in that any of the girls could talk, but doable.  Skimming off the poker tables.  Again risky, with all the dealers having a cut of the house profits and could talk.  Skimming from the dope trade. Riskiest of all because it would not just be Mother but the Aryan Nation or the Mexican Cartel who would have a problem with such an enterprise.

But the liquor at the whore houses.  All of it was bought in bulk and distributed to each house.  Drinks were free to each customer and even so, they were strictly metered out.  But if there was a discount to be had for buying in such bulk?  And if one paid for the expensive stuff on one set of books and got the cheap stuff in reality? There was a hard to trace profit margin for an enterprising thief.  Imagine the boy's surprise to find that someone had beaten him to it.

He smiled at Ginger - his biggest, most innocent smile he could manage.  Ginger smiled back.  That was the wordless exchange.  The boy had said,"I know you could kill me and make sure my body was never found."  And Ginger had said, "I know you are smart enough to have arranged for everything to be delivered to your mother if you go missing. "

"So good to have you here, young sir.   May I take your case?" asked Ginger.  The case was handed over and the boy asked if he could have his full $5000.00 in chips delivered to the high roller no limit hold 'em table.  Ginger led him to the table and just before the boy sat down, Ginger squeezed the collection of nerves between the neck and the shoulder.  The pain was excruciating but brief and Ginger had used the force to guide him into his chair.  There was another message delivered and very clearly received - Ginger was nobody's bitch.

The table held several of the wealthiest people in Houston.  Some of those folks made their money honestly and some had not.  There were some there who had played poker for 30 years and some that could barely shuffle cards.  But this was one of those special nights.  This was in the days before the internet and before poker was on television and before an air of respectability had glossed over the games less noble origins.  Major players from Atlantic City and Las Vegas would slum it every once and a while to reel in big fish who thought they knew cards by playing one of the bigger illegal games.  The best were found  in Houston, Macon, GA or Phoenix, Ar.

Ms. Wetta's tables were a favorite.  There was always big money in the room.  Politeness was violently enforced.  And a damn judge presided over the whole thing.  It was perfect.  Especially for an artist like Clay Diamond.

Clay was a legend.  One of the very most famous godfathers of the game had called Clay the best poker player he had ever beaten.  Clay told that story often.  Never told about the three tourney's after that where he had busted the Godfather of Hold 'Em.  But the boy knew about those games and those outcomes.  He was impressed that Clay had never felt the need to brag about beating a legend.

He took his place at the table with Clay Diamond and seven others and exhaled slowly as he saw that all of them had much larger stacks of chips than his $5000.00.  Except for Diamond who only had $4000.00  in front of him.  The boy attempted to shed his anxiety - to transfer it by saying to Diamond,"Tough table to be the small stack."

"I didn't bring these to lose boy."  And that set a tone for the table.  People were polite but not friendly and certainly not conversational.

The rest of the table was easy - poker players that had rarely entered a game where they did not have a huge advantage in chips.  They counted on being able to over whelm their opponents at key moments in the game to take chips.  Slow play would trim away their chips slowly but surely.  Diamond was the only threat - real threat - at this table.  But they would be in a race to land as many of the other fish at the table as possible.

He had 5 grand in chips and a professional poker player sitting across from him and a table full of innocent by-standers.  He and Clay were never in the same pot together for long.  Each took turns bowing out to let the other alone with the fish.  One would bet double the blind and the other would quickly fold or else raise it three times the blind as if clearing his throat and saying, "I think me and my Aces will take this one."

It took hours and the fish kept having the pleasing habit of buying back in for more and more chips as their drinks got stronger and their good sense got weaker.  The boy had more than tripled his money and Diamond had was up over $20 grand in chips.  "Kid, it looks to be time to stop dancing."

That was far more overt than the young man had thought would happen.  It was a courtesy that was appreciated.  From that moment on they played their cards as they were dealt regardless of which of them seemed to have the better cards.  The boy had been careful to not always stay in when he was strong earlier in the game.  He was counting on that to have covered any tells he had about his cards.  He finally got what he wanted.  A game with a huge pile of chips in front of him and his mother no where to be found.

He took the whole table once with 2/6 of clubs when he flopped a straight flush.  He was embarrassed at how much he had smiled at that.  He wasn't too happy - he just looked as happy as we really was.  And that is dangerous in life as well as poker.  He shook his head as he realized just how much of his mothers' lessons he had learned.

He hit a straight again and folded out when Diamond bet heavy on an obvious flush.  Once everybody folded out of the hand, Diamond did something he never did before.  He showed the table that he only had a 7 / J off suit - no flush.  He went hard after Diamond an hour later with his own flush only to find him holding four deuces that he had slow played from the start.

It went like that for hour after hour.  He called when Diamond wanted him to and he folded when Diamond wanted him to and could never pull off a bluff again to save his life. His stack of chips got smaller and smaller as shoulders tensed into cords like steel.

Ginger watched as the boys brow formed a scowl.  Frustration was obvious on the boy's face.  It was not easy to look at.  Part of the boy's charm had been that he was always so cool under pressure.  People liked him like that.   They liked him as the cool, calm young man who had all the answers beyond his years.  Because people liked the image of him as strong and assured, they filled in the holes when he wasn't quite so confident or a little less than assured.

Diamond did not find him charming at all.  Ginger saw it as it was happening.  The boy was betting too heavy when he had it and the desperation in his eyes confirmed it.  When the flop went against him his shoulder fell - telegraphing it to the whole room.  Well, maybe not to the rubes, but to Diamond for sure.

 If Diamond felt any affection or connection to him, it did not show.  It did not manifest itself in a hesitation before grasping his chips.  It was not in his voice when he raised the bet nor in his eyes when he stared over his cards.  The boy's eyes glistened as his chips slowly made their way across the table to Diamond.

That was when it happened.  That's when the boy showed how small he could be - how petty.  His chips, the last of his chips, were in the center of the table.   "Do you know who I am, Diamond?  How welcome do you think you will be at these tables if you bust me here at my own Mother's game?"

The others at the table looked down at their own folded cards or into the amber liquid in their glasses - anything to look at to avoid his shame.  Diamond looked up at him and shook his head.  "Kid, the one sure way to piss your mother off is for me to not take every dime you brought to this table.  Call."

And with that the last of his chips found their way to Diamond and he noticed that Ginger had appeared at his shoulder. .  He rose up from the table and did not seem to notice that Ginger was not leading him to the door but to the bar.  He was sitting there with a Scotch already in front of him without ever seeing the bartender move.

"I never saw it coming.  I never saw it coming."

Ginger did him the courtesy of not smiling at him.  "Drink your Scotch kid.  Slowly.  Its the good stuff.  There is a lesson you need to learn here.  What is it?"

He sipped his Scotch and found comfort in the carmel and vanilla and burn. "It was too easy.  Diamond in town and Mom out of town.  It was too easy."

Ginger still did not smile.  "Son, Its bigger than that.  Your mama out of town, Diamond in town, you finding a way past me to in here, you having all those back room games that nobody told your mama about, a table full of fish with only one other shark at that table, you having access to your mama's books.  Son, the lesson is that it never all works out just right.  Never.  Unless it is for your mama.  When it all works out just right, that's your mama playing god."

End Chapter 3