Chapter 6

“Check,” Said Mac, a heavyset bouncer-type sporting a skinhead scalp. He finished his bourbon old fashioned as if it was water. It was his fifth that night, making him off to a slow start compared to usual.

Paul, a tall, stoic man wearing silver hair and a plain grey sports jacket burned a card and turned out the river. A couple of the players reacted to the face card. Timothy coughed harshly, and Henry shifted in his seat, touching his neck with his index and middle fingers. Both or neither could have been a calculated gesture. It was a shark’s table, and they would play until only one man remained. The game was Texas Hold ‘Em, high stakes poker with a $16,000 buy in and no limit. The venue was the usual place, O’Neil’s spot, a lofty high rise condo in the heart of uptown New York. Cigar smoke hung in the air, illuminated by the soft light that emanated from above the green felted circular table.

O’Neil, a fat, bald real estate developer with four thick rolls on the back of his Irish neck, raised $500. John, an average looking man with curly brown hair and thin rimmed glasses called the bet.

Timothy, a slim man who wore his Southern heritage on his sleeve saw the bet and raised $1,100. He was on the ropes. That bet constituted more than half of his remaining chips. Luke and Harry folded, but Leroy decided to call and raise and additional $200. He smelled blood, and his killer instincts were activated.

Henry eyed his brother Harry suspiciously and laid his two cards down. “Seems like you guys know something I don’t.”

The buck passed around a second time, and soon, the only players left were Paul, Timothy, and Leroy. The tension was hot and palpable, but ever face was as cool and unresponsive as a statue. “I’m fixing myself a drink,” Announced Mac, breaking the silence. For a moment, the .44 magnum he carried was visible on his hip. John wondered if it was the same one he carried on his beat. Probably not. The force issues their own pieces, and he hadn’t seen many cops carrying such a high caliber weapon. They would be just as likely to hit an innocent bystander through a brick wall or multiple layers of drywall and wood as their intended target. John subconsciously touched his own hip.

The hand was a bust. John won with a pair of kings. Leroy, however, learned something valuable. His suspicions were confirmed: Timothy had a dumb willingness to bluff and an easy tell. The touch of his neck had been no fake.

Hand after hand was dealt as the midnight hours trickled into the early morning. One by one, players went bankrupt and were eliminated from the game until only four player remained. First Harry, then Mac, then Timothy, and then both O’Neil and Henry were eliminated. The brothers and the southern took off for the night, while Mac drank himself into an alcoholic stupor. O’Neil watched silently, chain smoking cigars.

Leroy was a big man. A gangster and notorious criminal, he sported gold chains, rings, a gold watch, and an open face shirt exposing a dense carpet of chest hair. What Leroy carried with him wasn’t just jewelry and fine clothes, with him came a heavy reputation of being a hardened, fear-inspiring kingpin. Luke, a young handsome Italian, was one of his main lackeys. A subtle animosity hung in the air between Paul and Leroy, a long standing rivalry curtailed by a fragile mutual respect. Paul kept John near him as his own protection policy.

John and Luke’s holdings were substantial- Nearly thirty grand each, but Leroy’s stack amounted to nearly fifty. He was making small, consistent plays, and after a succession of called bluffs, Paul grew hesitant to call him. Leroy dealt the players hands, two cards each, and each player throw their ante in.

Then, the bets began, starting with Paul.

“Check,” he said in a curt baritone. John knocked on the table twice. Luke raised. All the players called.

Now we all have skin in the game.

Next, the flop. Leroy burned a card and dealt three cards face up on the table, the six of hearts, the eight of hearts, and the jack of spades. John pecked his hand, as if it would possibly have changed since the last time he had looked. The jack of clubs and the eight of clubs, right off the rip, triples. He smiled inwardly, careful not to let his satisfaction show through his poker face. Paul raised substantially, and John aggressively re-raised. Now there was an impressive sum of money on the table for such an early stage in the hand. John and Paul had earlier agreed to split the winnings sixty/forty if either of them won. The deal was mutually beneficial in the high stakes game like no-limits Texas. That way they would have twice the chance of earning a big payout. Both were crack poker players on their own, but together they were an unbeatable team. Many a table’s coffers had been drained of their revenues by the enigmatic duo. No doubt that Leroy and Luke had a similar deal worked out, but one that benefitted Leroy steeply, as he was likely the chief financer of their combined exploit.

Leroy quietly called, tossing the sum into the pot, and the buck passed to Luke. He sat pensively for a moment, quietly weighing his odds. Just as John had begun to become sure of whether or not he was aware it was his turn, the streetwise Italian laid his hand face down on the table and folded. Paul called John’s bet, and the next card was laid out.

The Jack of diamonds made a four of a kind of John’s hand. Paul checked, and John in turn raised again. Now the pot held over half of his entire purse. Leroy paused for what seemed like an eternity. The older man studied John like a lion studying his prey. John raised his eyes and matched his piercing gaze. The two men were locked together in a proverbial game of chicken. Who would fold first?

He thinks I’m bluffing.

Leroy sat back in his seat, keeping his eyes leveled on the youthful opponent across the table.

Neither of them broke gaze. Finally, he leaned forward and tossed some chips into the center of the table.

“Re-raise. $7,000,” He boomed.

The silence was palpable, like someone had sucked the air right out of the room. Even Mac seemed suddenly sober, focusing on the ensuing betting war with unwavering interest. Behind Paul, the Irishman’s cigar ashed itself onto his expensive hardwood floors. He didn’t notice. Paul swallowed hard and glanced at his cards again. The weight of the world was on him, and he held nothing but the promise of a chance. He called. John called in turn. Tension hung thick in the room like a subtropical Floridian moss. John found himself sweaty, his hands clammy. The air was like a sauna. The gangster’s face was as stoic and aloof as always. If he had felt the pressure, he didn’t show it. Mac took a long drink and Leroy dealt out the last card, the seven of hearts.

Tectonic plates silently shifted under the surface, though no one made the slightest inclination that a card had even been laid down. To the outside observer, it was as if the three men were watching a TV show that none of them were particularly interested in, but there was a mutual unspoken agreement not to change the channel. Now, all the cards were on the table, and a great sense of finality hung over the table.

Not bothering to wait long, Paul’s demeanor suddenly shifted to a cheery positivity.

“Well, I’m all in, boys,” He said, pushing his entire purse to the center. He suddenly looked twenty years younger, like a cocky, confident boy who knew he would win.

“All in,” John repeated. They split the side pot. Now the attention in the room turned towards the big man.

Leroy grinned like a hyena and said, “I believe it is my lucky day, gentlemen,” He called the bet.

O’Neil stepped in from the side of the table, aware of the pending elevation of at least one of the players. “All right now. Bets are up. Let’s see ‘em.”

Paul laid down his two cards, the four and five of hearts. He pulled forward the six, seven, and eight of hearts on the table.

“A straight flush,” O’Neil announced. He nodded his head and made a face in recognition of the high hand. John’s heart skipped a beat unsure whether to be elated or disappointed. His poker jacks was no good against the rare hand, but this would significantly slant the tables against Leroy and Luke, and decidedly in favor of Paul and John.

“Four of a kind. Straight Flush still high hand,” O’Neil dictated as John laid out his cards in resignation. All eyes turned towards Leroy, the last man standing. He laid out the only two cards in the deck that could serve his purposes, with an odds of over two thousand to one, the nine and ten of hearts.

“Higher straight flush. Pot goes to Leroy,” O’Neil announced. Paul’s face became scarlet with rage. He burst from his seat, knocking the chair back onto the floor, drew his pistol, a heavy Winchester .45, and cocked the hammer back all the way. At that distance, the round would turn the top of Leroy’s head into fruit salad and penetrate through the high rise condo’s walls. It would likely enter an apartment across the street and cause untold damage. The four other men sprung to the balls of their feet, ready for action. Everyone except Leroy was on full tilt, but the winner stared down the barrel in a way that a more common man would stare down the handshake of a man they distrusted.

”You cheating bastard! I saw you stack the deck,” Paul screamed furiously, “I’ll put one in you right now, I swear in front of God, you no-good rat. Someone should have done you in a long time ago.”

“Calm down Paul. Put the gun down,” O’Neil reasoned. He set his left hand on Paul’s shoulder while his right unstrapped the holster hidden under his long button up shirt.

“Get off of me, you prick,” Paul retorted, brushing him off his shoulder and turning the gun on the balding Irishman.

Luke didn’t hesitate. An all American wrestler, the one hundred and ninety pound Italian frame still held all of the speed and agility that brought him to compete at a national level. He drove his shoulder into Paul’s waistline fast and low, pile driving him like a linebacker into the wall, knocking over a set of commemorative shot glasses. In an instant, O’Neil was on him, wrestling the gun from him.

O’Neil took the gun, dropped the magazine, and cocked back the slide to eject the round in the chamber.

Then, with Paul stripped of his weapon, and his back pinned against the wall by the stronger man, did Leroy rise from his seat.

O’Neil spoke first, “Don’t ever come back here, ya’ understand? I don’t wanna see your mug on this side of town no more at all. You wanna go grocery shopping, you go to the godamn Greek grocery store down by Lewis or so help me God if I find you around here again I’ll have a dozen motherfuckers in the Rooster with Molotov cocktails and Tommy guns within the hour,” He said. Paul just gritted his teeth, anger in his eyes like a wolf caught in a snare.

”You’re not getting off that easy,” Said Leroy, circling the table. John’s fists clenched, sensing what was about to happen. Mac stepped forward from behind John and put his hand on John’s shoulder to steady him.

“The man dug his own grave. Doesn’t have to be for two,” Mac said quietly. John abstained from action as Leroy laid a heavy right hand into Paul’s left eye. He followed it with a left and a right, and another right, splitting Paul’s lip. Now, Luke was restraining him, folding Paul’s arms behind his back.

“You tell me what it’s gonna be,” Leroy said. He drove an uppercut into Paul’s midsection, “You tell me what the price is,” Another uppercut. This time Paul’s body folded, his legs failing him. Luke hoisted him up by his arms and held him up until he found his footing once again. “Is it gonna be your right hand or your left? Or how about your wife? She’s a real piece of ass. How’d you score a young girl like that?” Leroy held up a blade to Paul’s cheek, lightly pressing the steel against his captive.

“I can pay, I’ll pay,” Sputtered Paul through the blood pooling in his mouth. He gasped to catch his breath and continued, “Just give me a few months; I can pay,” He pleaded.

”Damn right you’ll pay. Three grand a month for the next year. And keep your ass clean until then. You’re on papers. My papers,” He motioned, and Luke allowed Paul to collapse down onto his knees. Leroy turned to John, “I’m going to be making some visits to your establishment soon. I’ll see you there.”

John swallowed hard. The prospect of Leroy becoming a regular at The Rooster didn’t thrill him.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

He gathered his wounded employer and called for a taxi instead of an ambulance.