Pokergeist (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

T
he screen settled on the two announcers again. “OK, folks, let’s wheel them and deal them.”

The camera zoomed in on a dealer’s hands as he started dealing out the cards. There was a feeling of anticipation in the room, a great hum building in volume that sounded like the roar of a revving engine. Hands were eager, bets were made, and the games began.

The afternoon went on, evening turned to night, and slowly the crowded tables thinned and were condensed into new tables. The group morphed, and tension built, the sounds ebbing and flowing as the atmosphere changed. Screams of triumph mixed with moans of defeat as people were eliminated. It was clear who the victors were by the increasing mountain of chips accumulated. Occasionally, someone had to be led away, his or her curses echoing in the exit corridor. The movement of losers leaving was a constant stream, their shoulders hunched with dejection, their faces lined with defeat. The steady thrum and murmur of the game was occasionally interrupted by a random outburst of applause as chip leaders were identified. The camera constantly made guesswork of who would be left, and more times than not landed on Telly’s rapt face. Telly never looked at his opponents; he didn’t want to get to know them. He didn’t realize that Rob Couts was playing around him—his goal was to end up at Telly’s table.

“Who is that guy?” Kevin asked.

“Never seen him before.” Stu held the mike. “Ramona ‘Black Widow’ Heart is here. How’d you do, Ramona?”

The woman who’d played in the Mirage with Telly earlier that week leaned forward to speak into the proffered mike. “Not as good as I hoped. Got taken out by a flush early in the game.” She shook her head, her dark mole prominent on her cheek. “Kinda snuck up on me.”

“The flush?”

“No, Telly ‘No Tells.’” She pointed vaguely to the vast room filled with hundreds of games.

“Who?” Kevin searched the floor.

“That guy over there. Came onto the scene like a ghost. Never seen anything like him.”

“Really? Tell us about him,” Kevin said.

“That’s the point—you can’t. He gives nothing away. No facial expressions, no tics. I never saw that flush coming.”

“Went all in?”

“You bet. I had a straight. Everybody’s got something. I plan on keeping my eye on that guy.”

“Well, thanks for the heads up, Ramona. So what’s next in your life?”

“I’m going to try my luck on the European circuit for a while. Change of scenery, change of luck,” she said with a smile.

“Good luck with Europe, and we’ll see you back here for the start of the new season at the Reno Invitational. Now let’s take a little look at Telly ‘No Tells.’” The camera zoomed in to watch Telly, who sat impassively, his face neutral.

“Raise him!” Clutch slapped Telly on the top of his head. At this point, Telly was running on no sleep and felt like an automaton. Nothing Clutch did fazed him. “He’s got jack shit.” Clutch pranced around to a fellow with long braids and a Native American scout hat. He was known as Simon the Prophet. “You think you’re gonna raise me with a chasing flush and get away with it? Telly, reraise this dumbass now!”

Telly stared bleakly at his hold cards, which confirmed he had trip queens. He liked this player and hated to see him forced out. The Prophet was one of the good guys—always playing for charity. Telly didn’t want to be the cause of his losing. He cut out five million dollars from his enormous pile but hesitated, his fingers fiddling with the top chip.

“What are you waiting for? Move in for the kill,” Clutch ordered.

Telly licked his lips with indecision. It didn’t feel right. He sunk low, his head dipping between his shoulder blades. He looked at all the other players who were staring at him as if he were going to pounce at any minute. The fear he saw in their eyes shocked him. They were afraid of him.
How odd,
he thought. As if he wanted to or even could hurt anybody. So this was what it was like being one of the cool guys. The novelty of gambling and the quest for that elusive win wore off with the impact of a freight train. The breadth of that realization left Telly in a rush. He smiled tentatively to all the players who were sitting in mute agony over his next move. This didn’t feel good.

“You’re not thinking of doing what I think you’re thinking!” Clutch jumped onto the table. “You bleeding, stupid-ass heart! He cheats on his wife! He’s not a goody-two-shoes,” Clutch screamed.

Telly calmly threw in his cards, folding.

“What? You idiot. You had it all. The Prophet should be walking the walk of shame right now. He played dumb! What’s the matter with you?” Light dawned on Clutch’s face when he realized Telly’s plan. “You’re going to let it all go, aren’t you?”

Telly nodded imperceptibly, a vague smile on his face.

“You think I’m gonna let you walk out of here when we are so close?” Clutch was leaning down, sending blasts of freezing air down Telly’s back. He shivered. “Yeah, you better shiver. It’s not just me staring daggers at you, loser. That guy can’t wait to take you down.” Clutch was pointing to another player two tables away. Telly wouldn’t look. Clutch grabbed his face with icy fingers, forcing him to look in the opposite direction. Telly gave in gracelessly, his eyes focusing on a bald head with black, bullet eyes staring with hatred at him.

“Rob Couts,” Telly whispered under his breath.

Rob caught his eye, pointing his finger as if it were a gun at Telly. He made a soft noise as though he were shooting. Telly felt the impact of his intent. He squirmed in his seat, Clutch’s mouth hovering near his ear. “He wants to take you out, Tel. He’s dying to show everybody you’re a nothing. You gonna let that happen?”

Telly anted up for the next game. He was back in.

* * *

Gretchen pushed her way inside the convention center. Sitting in the rear, she was sandwiched between poker geeks, guys with MacBooks, and avid fans. Of Telly there was no sign. The fact that she’d made it in there at all was a miracle in itself. The smell of food hit her nostrils, making her mouth water. The nausea was sudden; her knees went weak. Gretchen staggered to the ladies’ room and, instead of watching Telly, she watched the water circle clockwise in the toilet bowl.
Some help I turned out to be,
she thought miserably.

* * *

A tall, angular man sat down at Telly’s table. “I’m going to skin you alive…” he said. The voice was so familiar. Telly tried to place him, but he couldn’t until he finished with, “…loser.”

“Do I know you?” Telly asked.

“It’s the thief from 4A.” Clutch came up from behind him. “You better take this bastard down.”

“In a blaze of glory.” Telly felt adrenaline course through his body. He bounced his leg with anticipation.

“Who you talking to, loser?”

“You.” Telly looked up, his eyes lit with determination. He looked off to the side and winked.

“There he goes again,” a woman wearing a tight shirt, her boobs exposed for all and sundry, said to the table. But what did it all mean? No one knew.

After playing just three hands, 4A found himself being walked out of the games, making room for another to slide into his place. Telly began to feel like he was playing against anyone who had insulted or made fun of him this week. The revolving door of contestants went up against him, boasting that they would be the ones to take out the rookie, only to leave with their tail between their legs. They underestimated him with cocky confidence, feral leers, and finally outright shock when he eliminated them one by one.

The room had gotten quiet. It was nearing two in the morning. Twenty-eight players were waiting to bag what was left of their chips for the last three tables tomorrow. Only twenty-seven players would move on. Of the 12,000 original contestants, 11,973 had bitten the dust. The big day would start with three tables, reduce to two, and end with the final competitors, who would play for the International Championship. Telly was alternately called the Terminator and No Tells as he knocked out players like a Sherman tank. Everyone was exhausted. Players folded, leaving Telly, Rob Couts, and George “The Gospel” Cantlee, who Clutch was now calling George “Can’t See Shit.”

“Hi, Radio.” Telly recognized the insult in Rob’s voice and looked up, bleary-eyed, to find the shiny bald head and bullet eyes of Gretchen’s boss filling a seat at his table.

“You know this asshole?” Clutch asked. “He’s been watching you all night.”

Under his breath Telly grunted, “Rob Couts.”

“Cooty Man,” Clutch said, his finger deep inside the man’s nose. Telly smiled for the first time that evening. He looked at his suited connectors, a ten of spades, and a jack of spades and heard Clutch mutter, “A lot of possibilities.”

No shit,
Telly thought. He wanted to beat Rob—show him he could play. The flop revealed nine of clubs, queen of spades, and two of spades.

“You have a possible open-ended straight or a flush. Not bad.”

Clutch moved behind Rob. He shrugged, his eyes opening wide, when he raised two million dollars. “He’s got nothing. Seven-deuce. What the fuck is this guy in for?”

Telly shrugged with one shoulder, met the bet, and watched as the next card pretty much sealed his fate as the winner. He looked up at Rob’s evil grin, feeling his face tighten with shame. Cheating was no way to beat someone. It was wrong.

“Put him outta his misery, Telly. Go all in.” Clutch was leaning over the table.

Telly hesitated. His eyes felt heavy. He shuffled his chips and put them down.

“What the…what are you waiting for? Take him out, and you are in the finals room. Do it, moron!”

Telly had had just about enough. He was playing like a marionette, with Clutch at the strings. This wasn’t poker; this wasn’t sportsmanship—it was a disgrace. All Telly could think about was Gretchen and how he was going to get her back. He half rose. He was sick of Clutch and his abuse. “Don’t call me a moron.”

“Say what?” Couts looked up from his hand.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“You’re crazy. Everybody knows it. You’ve played at the big-boy tables long enough. I’m going to annihilate you,” Rob spat.

“You gonna let him talk to you like you’re shit?” Clutch came so close, Telly could feel the cold air that surrounded him. “You’re finally acting like a man. You know what they’re calling you? Do you?” Clutch screamed. “They’re calling you Telly ‘No Tells.’ You
earned
that. You don’t give nothing away. You got here from your stone face.”

That was apathy,
Telly thought,
not a poker face.

Clutch responded, even though he hadn’t spoken out loud. “Nothing matters but the game. Sit down and, for the first time in your life, finish something. Hey, where you going?” Clutch followed Telly as he abruptly got up and stalked from the table. “Telly, get back in here now!”

“See that?” Rob shouted, pointing to Telly’s retreating back. “I faked him out. I did it. Remember my name: Rob Couts. I’m the next champ.”

The remaining players all looked at each other with a shrug. “Bathroom?” one of them suggested.

“Who knows. He probably pisses ice water.” An older man sat back with relief.

“Ice cubes,” a woman said with a smirk.

“Ouch,” said the dealer.

“All I know is that I took him out,” Rob said triumphantly.

“It’s just one game, sonny. He’s still chip leader.”

Telly stormed into the bathroom, and Clutch followed him into the stall. “What’s the matter with you?” Clutch hit him on the forehead. “We’re having a good day. A really good day.”

“No
we
are not. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Why?”

“You are burning a hole into my brain,” Telly whispered furiously. “I can’t listen to you anymore.”

“But I’m winning,” Clutch whined. “
We’re
winning,” he corrected.

“I just want you out of my life. I don’t want to ever see another card again.”

“Stop talking shit, Telly. This is what you wanted.”

“But at what cost?”Telly sat down on the toilet seat with defeat.

“Give me your phone,” Clutch demanded, holding out his hand.

Telly handed over his iPhone without comment, his head leaning against the cold wall. He was exhausted. All he wanted was to go home and find Gretchen, sit in bed, and eat ice cream.

“You had your chance to take out that two-bit loser. You held the card. You think I’m doing everything?
You’re
making the moves;
you’re
placing the bets.”

“But
you’re
telling me what to do!” Telly finished for him.

“So? I’m just evening the playing field. What have scruples done for you?” he demanded, his cold finger poking Telly in the chest. “Watch and learn, grasshopper.”

Clutch found what he was looking for on Telly’s phone. “This was all over the news this morning.”

Telly saw the outside of the convention center earlier that day. The newscaster was doing a story on good-luck charms. Telly watched the parade of feathers, rabbits’ feet, lucky socks, hats, and rings.

Then the announcer chuckled and said, “All of that is trumped by the best good-luck charm of them all: the good-luck kiss.” Telly felt both his stomach and jaw drop when the camera zoomed in, showing Gretchen lip-locked with Rob Couts. He threw the phone against the wall and watched it shatter against the tile.

“It’s just you and me, kid. Just you and me. Let’s go out and kick Rob Couts back to the sewer where he belongs.”

Telly mechanically washed his face, knowing he was done with feeling, any feeling, and ready to do battle for all the little guys.

* * *

“Tell me something, Mr. Telly ‘No Tells.’ Tell me I’m the one who finally kicked your skinny ass out of here,” Couts taunted.

There was one thing Telly hated more than Clutch, and that was a bully. “I’m all in,” Telly said, back in the game once more as the cards came his way. He looked at the three of hearts, five of clubs, and six of clubs, wondering if he’d just kissed the championship away. He heard Clutch speaking but tuned him out. Anger filled his head until all he felt was a driving need to outplay his nemesis, by himself. His face set, Telly looked up at Couts, knowing somehow that the atmosphere had changed between the two of them. Clutch stood nervously, putting his hands on the back of the chair. He was shuffling his feet and stretching his huge arms over his head. Telly watched with steely resolve.