The Wild Card (22 page)

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Authors: Mark Joseph

BOOK: The Wild Card
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“I've been watching you, old buddy,” Bobby said across the table to Nelson. “You puff on those sexy thin cheroots, but you don't drink and you don't smoke Dean's killer weed, and if I were a betting man I'd wager you've never taken a bribe on the job. You're clean as a whistle, Nelson, which is a little peculiar because most cops I know aren't Goody-two shoes, no way. You're different. You must be afraid of yourself when you get loaded. Is that it? Are you afraid you might turn into Crazy Nelson?”
“I left Crazy Nelson behind on the Feather River, Bobby. You must have figured that out by now.”
“Nelson has bad genes, that's all,” Dean said. “The wrong chromosomes, defective DNA.”
Bobby rolled his eyes, his desire to crush them like bugs chafing against his patience. “You became a cop because of Shanghai Bend, yes?” he asked with a grin.
“I don't talk to my shrink about it, but, yeah. That's it.”
“What are you really afraid of, Nelson? Losing your pension?”
“Losing face,” the policeman answered honestly. “It's a cop thing. If they found out I took all those records, I'd have my ass in a sling. What I did as a kid, well, I was a kid; but what I did as a member of the department, that's different.”
“You took the biggest risks to protect everyone by swiping those documents. Did you get anything special for that?”
“Like what?”
“Money. More of the dope profits.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Never occurred to me.”
“Invest your money wisely?”
“Oh, sure. Real estate. I live in a little apartment in a building I own, and I don't spend much, except on my cars.”
“The Corvette?”
“I have five Corvettes—the '62, a '58, a '65, a '71, all cherried out, and a '91 ZR1 King of the Hill that's my daily driver.”
“Holy shit.”
“The Plastic Fantastic,” Nelson said proudly.
“That's a pretty nice collection, very fancy.”
“I like 'em. I have fun.”
“C'mon, Charlie,” Alex demanded. “To hell with Nelson and his cars. Deal.”
“Okay, five stud. Cut the cards, Bobby. There we go. Rolling a seven to Nelson, a queen to Alex, a four to Dean, a three to Bobby, and a six to me. Alex?”
“Check the queen.”
“Check the four.”
“We gotta have a little action,” Bobby said. “A thousand on the three.”
“I'm out,” Charlie said.
“Let's make it five thousand,” Nelson said.
“Good-bye,” Alex said.
“Not feeling so lucky?”
“Not this time.”
Dean turned over his cards, and Bobby matched Nelson's raise. “Five it is.”
“A nine to Nelson and another three to Bobby. Threes bet.”
“Ten thousand on a nice little pair of threes.”
“See your ten and raise ten,” Nelson said, and Bobby knew Nelson had a seven in the hole, giving him a pair.
“Okay, another ten.”
Charlie dealt Nelson a second nine and gave Bobby a queen.
“Nines bet.”
Nelson looked at his hole card, thrummed his fingers on the felt, twisted his mouth around, and counted his chips.
“Fifty grand,” he said.
“It's your turn to feel lucky, hey, Nelson? See your fifty and up a hundred.”
Nelson took a deep breath and looked at his hole card. His instincts were screaming, “You're up against Bobby McCorkle and you should get out of this hand, get out of this game, get out of Dodge before you get smashed like Charlie,” but he really liked his hole card and felt this was the hand that would allow him to make a decent showing in the game.
He took a deep breath, exhaled loudly, pushed a large stack of chips into the pot, and said, “See your hundred and up a hundred more.”
“Way to go, Nelson,” Bobby said with genuine enthusiasm. “I always like to see a man who shows confidence. I'll see your hundred and I'll raise whatever the value of the Corvette you drove up here.”
“The car?” Nelson said. “Dean tried to get the car last night. You want the car?”
“Yeah, and we have one more card to come. What's the car worth?”
“Maybe thirty-five.”
“Okay. Thirty-five it is. You in?”
“Shit. Damn. You're playin' with my head, but okay.”
“Can't lose, hey Nelson? You don't really want to lose that car, so you must have a good hand.”
“Deal the cards, Charlie,” Nelson demanded.
“A four to Nelson, no help, and a jack to Bobby, no help. Nines still bet.”
“One hundred grand again,” Nelson bet, and dropped his chips into the pot.
“Crazy Nelson,” Bobby said. “You sure you left Crazy Nelson behind on the Feather River? Wanna get crazy all over again? Is that why you came here, to find Crazy Nelson again, to be Crazy Nelson one more time, reckless and wild and eighteen without a care in the world? Only Crazy Nelson would bet a hundred thousand dollars, right? Lt. Lee of the LAPD wouldn't do that, would he? How much do you have left there, Tonto?”
When they were sidekicks, Bobby had never used the name of
the Lone Ranger's companion. Like the superb poker player he was, he wanted to push that button only once.
He saw the consternation in Nelson's face. Confusion, indecision and weakness made the policeman's voice waver as he said, “I have a hundred and seventy-five thousand in chips.”
“Okay,” Bobby said. “I see your hundred and raise a hundred seventy-five. And just for fun I'll put up the Hooper Fish Company against the rest of the cars and the apartment building.” He clucked his tongue, folded his arms, and sat back.
“You can't do that!” Charlie protested.
“Yes, he can,” Alex declared. “It's his, it's on the table and he can do whatever he damned well pleases with it.”
“That's my life; it isn't a commodity.”
“Can it, Charlie,” Alex snapped. “You made it a commodity when you tossed it in the pot. You never gave a damn about the business, anyway. All you ever wanted to do was run around town and spend the money like a big-shot.”
“Fuck!”
“I knew it was coming,” Nelson said, shaking his head.
“Check it out,” Dean said. “If Nelson has two pair, the only way Bobby can win is with three threes, but wait! Nelson might have three nines, or Bobby may have two pair with threes and queens, or—”
“Shut up, Dean,” Alex snarled. “We can all see the cards.”
“What's it gonna be, Nelson?” Bobby demanded. “You can fold and still be in the game, you can bet the one seventy-five, or you can put it all in. You might win. Wanna be in the fish business?”
Nelson looked at his hole card again and shook his head.
“I fold,” he said. “I can't do it.”
“Excellent,” Bobby said. “Smart move.” He flipped over his hole card, a third three that would have won a showdown. “You're still in the game, but I got the car, right?”
“Yeah, you got the car.”
“Tell you what, Nelson. I'll trade you the car for the revolver.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your big pistola there. I think I fancy that more than a car right now. How about it? Car's worth more, I believe, a lot more. Not a bad deal for you.”
“You're crazy.”
“Is that an issue?”
“Why do you want the piece?”
“Afraid I'm gonna shoot you? Bang!”
“I dunno, Bobby.”
“Don't you want the car back? I'm feeling generous.”
Nelson reached under his seat and brought up the Smith & Wesson Model 29 and set it in front of Bobby who let it remain where it lay next to his chips.
“Just like the Wild West, hey, boys? This game is getting serious. I do believe that Paladin and Wyatt Earp would approve. Whose deal? Don't worry, Nelson. You'll get another chance.”
Bobby won several pots in a row, intimidating Nelson, Dean, and Charlie with large bets irrespective of the cards. Showing the three of clubs on the first card in seven stud, he bet twenty thousand and everyone dropped.
Psyched, tormented, his threshold of pain raised to a nearly intolerable level, Nelson exclaimed, “Why don't we just give everything to you and not bother with the cards?”
“That wouldn't be much fun. Aren't you having fun, Nelson?”
“Shit.”
“This is your game, fellas. We can quit right now.”
No one spoke. No one said: When the game is over, we have to tell Bobby what happened at Shanghai Bend, and we're going to put that off as long as possible, if not forever.
Finally Alex said, “We have to play.”
“Why?” Bobby demanded. “It's a hell of a game, but after all, it's only poker.”
“We've been planning this game for a long time, and we agreed we needed to do this. It's who we are. The lives we live outside this game just aren't that important.”
“Speak for yourself, Alex.” Charlie said.
“That sounds like existential Kleenex to me,” Bobby said. “Last night you guys made a lot of noise about doing the right thing, but I think you're in this game because you don't have a fucking clue what the right thing is. Nelson, in the laundromat you made a big deal out of the right thing, the right thing. Okay, copper, what is it?”
“Beyond playing the game, I don't know. I don't want to go to prison, the answer is: nothing. Doing nothing is the right thing.”
“That's great, that's terrific, that's a comment on our times. You don't know. The great moral dilemma of your life and you don't know what to do except nothing. How about you, Charlie? Do you know? What's the right thing?”
“The right thing would be to call the Yuba County Sheriff and tell him who Sally is,” Charlie said nervously. “If it wasn't for Nelson, that's what I'd do. It's what we should've done when it happened, so it's the right thing to do now.”
“So, you want to fess up and suffer the consequences. Just what exactly do you think the consequences would be?”
“The case would land in the lap of the Yuba County District Attorney who might not press charges. If he did, he'd probably negotiate a plea. The problem is the records that Nelson took.”
“You're afraid Nelson's little peccadilloes might be found out, and you want to protect your friend who protected you.”
“Yeah. If all the different authorities and agencies put their heads together, they'll figure it out and Nelson's in the slammer.”
“That's truly noble, Charlie. You can say, ‘Let's call the cops,' and in the next breath say, ‘Well, not really.' You can't have it both ways, pal. You don't know any more than Nelson. Dean, how about you?”
“I agree with Charlie. Call the police.”
“Really? Your little wifey will learn how naughty you were.”
“Sure, but it's the right thing to do.”
“What about Nelson?” Bobby asked.
“I think we'll all go to jail, not just Nelson,” Dean answered.
“You must be suicidal or a masochist or some damned thing, Studley. Who do you think you are, Dostoyevski? What is this,
Crime and Punishment
or some crap like that?”
“That's about the size of it, Bobby. I want to clear the air, but I'm afraid I don't have the balls. That's why we're going to leave it up to you.”
“Alex?”
“Charlie and Dean think we should call the sheriff, but obviously neither has picked up the phone. Nelson almost agrees, but he has more to lose than they do. They might suffer, but they can walk away from it. Without a doubt Nelson goes to jail, so he's conflicted.
As for me, I would prefer we not call the police. I have selfish interests, of course. I don't want to be publicly vilified, and I'd like to spare our families the pain of our shame. My folks are long dead, but there's Nelson's mom, Charlie's mom, and Dean's dad, the old drunk. Then there are kids and wives. They're innocent, but they'll pay if we turn ourselves in.”
“What would you do if everyone except you agreed to call the sheriff?”
“I can't stop anyone from doing that short of murder, and that's absurd.”
“Is that what it is, Alex, absurd? Ridiculous? Wouldn't it be another murder to cover up the first?”
Embarrassed silence. Finally, Nelson said, “Look, Bobby, it's up to you to decide,” Nelson said. “If you want to call the sheriff, so be it.”
“What good would it do me to call the sheriff? How would it help Sally? I have a better idea.” Bobby picked up the revolver and pulled back the hammer with a loud click. “Frontier justice. Which one of you killed Sally? Or was it all of you?”
Blanched faces, naked fear. Bobby gently released the hammer, cracked open the gun, and removed the cartridges, weighing them in his hand.
“Shit,” he said. “You guys are a bunch of nervous girls. Come on, act like men. Live up to your heroes. Let's play cards.”

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