Pokergeist (6 page)

“He’s a loser, just like every other loser in this city. Listen, Gretchen, I’ll ditch Jack. He’s deadweight too.”

Telly winced at the description. He wondered if Gretchen thought of him as deadweight.

“He’s working as a teller! In a bank! Sheesh, what an asshole,” Chrissy finished. “Minimum wage.”

“He’s trying to use his education to get him a career; you have to give him credit.”

“He’d be better off being an electrician, but noooo. He had to waste all that money on that online college.”

“Well, I admire Jack for trying,” Gretchen told her.

“By spending thirty thousand dollars to work for a shitty wage? No thank you. It’ll take forever to pay back those school loans. Listen.” Chrissy leaned closer. “Let’s get a place together. We can pool everything and move into a better neighborhood. We don’t need these creeps.”

“You don’t mean that, Chrissy. Jack’s sweet, like Telly. Besides, I love Telly and…and…” She paused as if she had something to share and then shook her head. “Anyway, tomorrow he’s going to George and taking the cab driver job.”

Chrissy pulled her lips downward in a grimace, then shook her head. She glanced around the room, her eyes falling on the boss. “You don’t have to put up with cab driver’s pay, anyway. Rob can’t keep his eyes off you.”

Telly observed Gretchen looking at the manager. He was sitting at a table in the rear, his laser eyes watching her intently. He raised a glass slowly, nodding for her to come closer. “Ugh, I have to ask for more hours, and I hate when he does this,” Gretchen complained.

“He wants to take you out, and he won’t stop until you give him what he wants.”

“There are laws that say he can’t do that!” Gretchen hissed.

Telly smiled as he watched. “Good girl, Gretch.”

Chrissy laughed bitterly. “Yeah, sure, honey. I got a good bridge to sell you too. That’s why we women outnumber them two to one in management,” she finished sarcastically. “Look, either Telly has to make enough to get you out of this shitbox, or you better get ready to make that bonehead happy. I read the book, and it don’t look like a happy ending for you.”

“Gretchen!” Rob jiggled his glass at her. “Get me a shot.”

Telly saw Gretchen sigh, take a deep breath, and walk over with a bottle of tequila. She reached over to take the glass from his hands, but he caught her fingers, turning her hand palm up. Rob walked his fingers over her sensitive skin, and Gretchen impatiently made to grab for his glass. He held it out of her way, his face inches from her breast.

“I got customers waiting; do you want a refill or not?”

Rob handed her the glass, a smirk on his face. A faint shadow of dark hair outlined a horseshoe shape on his head. Telly saw Gretchen observing Rob’s wide forehead, wondering if she realized that if he let it grow in, he’d be bald. He smiled when he saw her smirk at her boss’s bald head.

“What’s so funny?” Rob demanded.

“I’m tired, Rob. It’s been a long night. Is it possible for me to get extra hours next week?”

“I’d like an extra night.” Rob smiled wolfishly. “How about Tuesday?”

Gretchen shook her head. “No, that would cut into Sylvie’s hours. Besides, everybody’s consumed with the Series. Tips will be slow.”

“I’m not talking about
here,
Gretchen. I’m having a party.”

“Oh. I don’t usually do the private stuff. Aren’t you having Chrissy and her girlfriend work that?”

“I wasn’t talking about you
working
for me there. I figured you could come as my guest.”

Telly watched Rob’s eyes strip her as he downed the shot, slamming the glass on the table.

“Telly—”

“I didn’t invite Telly,” he told her, reaching out to lay his hand on her hip.

Gretchen sidestepped away, shaking her head.

“You refusing work?” Rob said with a menacing growl.

“You said it wasn’t work.”

“Did I say that? I don’t recall. I said I’m having a party, and I asked you to come,” he said with a wide smile that bordered on unfriendly.

Telly turned to Clutch. “I’ve seen enough; you don’t have to leave this on. Gretchen would never cheat.” The screen went dark.

***

Gretchen grabbed a wet rag and wiped the stained surface of the bar, angry at Rob and the position he was putting her in. There were no jobs around town. She was on the northern side of thirty, competing with twentysomethings who could juggle bottles like a circus act. Those were the ones who got hired. Gretchen couldn’t sing, barely danced, and just yesterday she’d spied a gray hair at her temple. Thank goodness she was blond at least. At this point, she couldn’t even afford to go to a beauty parlor to hide it with color. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to cry, and remembered her new complication. Any way she looked at this thing, it didn’t look promising. What was she thinking?—she knew how Rob had been eyeing her the last few weeks. If Telly had gotten the taxi job then, she’d be out of here and have the luxury to find something at a reasonable pace, even pick and choose. It wasn’t his fault; she hadn’t complained. Hadn’t wanted to worry him. Telly was such a sweet guy who had fallen in love with her even though she wasn’t as educated as he was. He was solid middle class, came from a nice family, and had gone to college. Gretchen had spent a lifetime living in foster care. Never completing tenth grade, she’d fled her last home when her foster father had tried to rape her. She worked hard, never giving in to the temptation for the easy money Vegas offered in the streets. Gretchen had cleaned offices and worked at dead-end retail jobs, finally taking the bartending job in the evenings to supplement her income. It ended up paying her better than all the other jobs put together. Only Rob had bought the little bar, and things started going downhill after that. It didn’t take a genius to know what Rob wanted from her. Gretchen bit her lower lip, sound receding so that she felt trapped in a bubble. Telly
had to
get that job tomorrow. He had to, because there was no way she could put up with this. Thick and thin, and it was fast becoming so thin you could see through it. She sighed.

“I’ll see you Tuesday. Wear something nice,” Rob said to her, retreating back. She heard the echoes of his laughter all the way from the other side of the bar.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“W
hat am I going to do?” Telly walked in a circle, not knowing where to go. “Gretchen…” he sighed.

“Stop doing that; you’re making me dizzy,” Clutch ordered. “I’m gonna tell you what we’re going to do.”

“
We’re
not doing anything. You’re not real.”

“I thought we established exactly what I am. I am here to help you.”

“I don’t know you,” Telly said forlornly. He ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t know who you are.”

“You’ve read at least one of my books. Believe me, you know me pretty well.”

“I read…I read all your books.”

“Then there’s no issue. We’re practically family.”

“But you’re dead. You can’t help me. It’s probably the wings. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten the wings.”

“Wings had nothing to do with this, Telly.” Clutch paused and thought of the white-haired angel with the huge feathered wings. “Well, maybe they do, but not the way you think.”

“I don’t know what to think. This is crazy.” Telly sprinted to the bathroom, slammed the door, and leaned up against it, hyperventilating.

“Now listen here, kid. If I could walk through the motel door, I can sure as hell walk through a flimsy bathroom door. Calm down before you ruin everything. Can’t have two dead poker players.”

“Dead!” Telly exploded. He glanced up to look at his white face in the mirror. A cool breeze ruffled the hair at his neck. Telly knew Clutch was right next to him, but only his face stared back from the mirror.

“You know I’m there. You can feel me, and if you look to your left you’ll see me. Look, Telly, I have all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere until we work this thing out.”

Telly turned to face the older man. “What do you want from me?” he whispered frantically.

“That’s better. We’re going to play poker together.”

“Where? How?” Telly shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I retired tonight.”

“You lost tonight. Tomorrow you are going to win.”

“I’m not good at it. I give up. I’m going for a job in…”—he looked at his wristwatch and sighed—“…seven hours.”

“In four hours, I promise you that you are going to be sitting with a pile of chips that will bring you halfway to your seat at the Series.”

Telly shook his head. “No way. I’m not that good.” He gestured at his pocket. “I’m out of money. No stake.”

“Minor issues.”

“Maybe to you,” Telly said hotly as he left the bathroom. “The fact is, I’m no good at it. I’m a loser!” he shouted.

Someone pounded on the thin walls and yelled, “Quiet, loser!”

“See?” Telly gestured to the wall. “The guy in 4A agrees.”

“Pah. That don’t mean anything, kid. I can coach you. I can teach you the playbook.”

“Right,” Telly said. “Well, thank you for coming.”

“You’re going to throw it all away,” Clutch said with disgust. “You have the greatest player in the history of the game begging to teach you, and you want to toss me out like yesterday’s trash.”

“May I remind you, Clutch: you didn’t win.”

“Broke my heart.” Clutch touched his chest, his grim face sincere. “No, really, caused a massive heart attack.”

“Why? Why are you doing this? What could you do with the money?”

Clutch walked over to the dusty dresser. His slender fingers drew circles in the grime. Motes lifted to fly around him, and he seemed to glow softly.

“Some things are not about money. I’ve made millions in my lifetime. I spent part on booze, part on broads.” He paused with a smile. “As Buster used to say, ‘The rest I spent foolishly.’”

He waited for Telly to laugh. The younger man stared blankly at him.

Clutch sighed. Boy, was this one dumb. “All right, I’ll tell ya. I want the bracelet. It’s always been about the bracelet.”

“Jewelry? This is about jewelry?”

“You looked at that expensive ring for Gretchen today. Ain’t nothing more than carbonized rock. It’s the symbol of what it represents. For you, the diamond is a token of your success—your love for her, what Gretchen means to you. That bracelet represents my achievement.”

“But I’ll be the one wearing it if I win,” Telly said flatly.

Clutch shrugged and then replied, “
When
you win.”

Telly considered the faded apparition before him. His eyes rested on the avocado green carpet that clashed with the raspberry polyester bedspread. Gretchen had bought it at the Home Store in an effort to make the place look more…well, homey. She placed oversized pillows on the hard orange couch. In the corner, a hanging light fixture swayed drunkenly, even though there was no breeze in the room. Telly shivered. He hated this place. He missed his old life—missed having Gretchen cooking in the neat little kitchen with rich, dark espresso-colored cabinets he had purchased to match the quartz countertops that were lit up from below. Everything was controlled by a remote—he had wired the entire house. He could turn on anything from the alarm to his colored mood lights in his pool. It was sexy in a nerdy kind of way. Now the only thing he controlled was a twenty-inch television that turned off every time the manager forgot to pay the cable bill.

“Come on, Telly,” Clutch urged. “You’re gonna lose Gretchen. I showed you. You really will,” he wheedled.

“That would never happen. Gretchen’s true blue; she’s fearless,” Telly said earnestly. “Besides, I don’t have a dime to buy into a game. That is, even if I believed all of this was really happening.”

Clutch laughed, coming closer, so that Telly could feel the cold shivers of his breath dancing down his cheek.

“It’s two in the morning.”

“We got hours ahead of us.”

“I don’t have any money. I’m broke.”

“Ask your friend.”

“Friend? What friend?” Telly found himself propelled outside his unit to the one next door. “Wait, I don’t have a jacket.”

“Pussy.” Clutch pushed him along the narrow walkway and pointed to his neighbor’s door.

“I get cold in the casinos…Quick Daddy!” Telly squeaked as he knocked on the door. He whispered to Clutch, “You want me to ask…”

The door suddenly opened. “Telly, what up, man? You pissed off the dude in 4A with all your noise.” Quick Daddy stood in the doorway, his brown eyes heavy with sleep. “You gonna be wakin’ the dead with all that banging around. What you need, lil’ brother?”

“Ask him! Go ahead, ask.” Clutch poked his shoulder.

“Stop that,” Telly said impatiently.

Quick Daddy pushed his scrawny upper body through the opening. “You got someone there?”

“No. Ow!” Telly felt the long hairs at the back of his head being pulled.

“Who’s there?” Cheryl’s disembodied voice drifted out.

Telly’s pinky twisted backward into a death-defying arc of gravity not unlike a Cirque du Soleil dancer.

Daddy watched and then commented, “Better eat some bananas, man. You need potassium.”

“What?” Telly struggled with his defiant hand.

“For cramps. You need something, Tel?”

“Just do it!” Clutch shouted.

Telly winced, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“Say it. ‘I need five hundred dollars.’
Say it!”

“I don’t want…”

“Don’t want what, Telly? It’s late.”

Daddy was interrupted by Cheryl’s shrill voice. “It’s freakin’ hot—you’re letting out all the air conditioning. Close the freakin’ door!”

“Aw, baby, I hate when you talk like that.” Daddy turned to face inward.

“Just say it.” Clutch grabbed Telly’s earlobe, tweaking it.

“I need five hundred dollars!” Telly exploded. Everything stopped at once; the landing was so quiet that only the distant police sirens could be heard.

“What, Telly? You need money?”

“No, no…I’m sorry.” Telly backed away from the door to bump into a cold, solid wall that prevented further retreat.

Daddy pulled a wad of folded bills from his pocket. “Why didn’t you say earlier? Forget it, man.” He brushed off Telly’s embarrassment. “You know I always offered it to you.”

“You see what I mean?” a voice sneered into his ear.

“That was unnecessary,” Telly whispered back.

“No, no it’s necessary.” Daddy smiled. “You found that doctor for me when I busted my toe. I’ll never forget that, Telly.” He peeled off five hundred-dollar bills, looked at Telly, and continued talking. “I’m so glad you finally let me help you. What’s it for?”

Telly gaped at Daddy, words failing him.

“You know what? I don’t want to know. Here you go, man.” He placed the money in Telly’s slack hand. “You don’t have to pay me back. You got that, Tel? I’m happy to help. Nothing, not even interest. Happy to help you, man.”

“Wow! Lucky money.” Clutch slapped his back, sending shivers up and down his spine. “Come on, son. We got a game to play. As Buster used to say, ‘We got fish to fry and grease in your pocket!’”

“I’m beginning to really dislike this Buster,” Telly grumbled.