“And if I don’t?” Telly asked mutinously.
“Unlike you, I know where Gretchen is going. I will find her and take her little ass and—”
Telly launched himself off the bed to attack the ghost, who vanished with a maniacal laugh. “You talked a good game about choices, Telly. Too bad you don’t have any.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Telly changed his clothes, his heart heavy in his chest.
“You going to hold up your end of the bargain?” Clutch demanded.
“Like you said, what choice do I have?” Telly’s mood was dark.
“Well aren’t you a ray of sunshine. What happened to happy Telly?”
Telly walked out the door without answering. He made it to the convention center a half hour later, and while he knew Clutch was there, he was surprised that the ghost was strangely quiet.
The place was packed; the air tingled with excitement and gelled with anticipation. Clusters of people formed while they waited to be placed at tables. There were so many entrants that they couldn’t fit them all in one room. Telly was assigned to the second ballroom. Somehow he felt a change in the atmosphere, and he knew Clutch’s feathers had been ruffled.
“What is it?” he asked sullenly, looking at Clutch.
Clutch’s voice sounded strained. “Look what the cat dragged in,” he said.
“What?”
“My murderer. The pissant.”
“Him?” Telly asked, looking at last year’s winner. He was being escorted by an entourage of people. He still wore the same gray hoodie. “He looks much taller on TV,” Telly said as Adam “the Ant” Antonowski brushed past him.
The Ant paused to look at Telly, his eyes narrowing. He approached him. “What’s your name?” He stood too close to Telly, and even though his nose only came up to Telly’s chin, it was unnerving. His squinty eyes measured Telly, and then he smiled, his tiny teeth like mashed chicklets. Telly noticed that his face sported a light peach fuzz instead of a beard. He was young.
“Telly Martin.” Telly held out his hand, but the Ant ignored him contemptuously.
“Never heard of you.” The Ant’s eyes narrowed even more as the younger man dismissed Telly, deciding he was not a threat.
“Tell him that he will,” Clutch hissed. The Ant cocked his head, deep in thought, his face turning in Clutch’s direction as if he’d heard the ghost speak. Telly wondered if he could see Clutch or maybe sense his presence, but the kid’s face registered nothing; it was devoid of emotion.
Telly felt the tension between the two men. The room was thick with hatred and unfilled dreams. Suddenly, the anger drained from Telly, making him feel lighter. He knew Clutch was next to him, the ghost’s hurt and diminished confidence pooling around them like a deep puddle. Clutch was a bully—of that there was no doubt—but he had been forced into that life from the cold and calculated attacks against him. He understood Clutch and his need to win. He was minimized by this kid as much as Telly was by other people in his life. All he ever wanted was to succeed, to make people happy, but he was surrounded by negative people who tried to make him into a nothing, from the guy in 4A to Rob Couts. The Ant looked down his snub nose at Telly. He felt his body enveloped by Clutch, as though they were one person. A shield of unity formed between them. His skin prickled with awareness that Clutch was protecting him—he knew it was as new and raw a feeling for the ghost as it was for him. The breath escaped from his lips in a rush, but he felt empowered, strangely safe. A lifetime of disappointment, responsibility, and the need to please all contracted into a small, hard ball and lodged in Telly’s chest. We are all the same, he thought with astonishment. Everybody has an “Ant” in their lives. What gives anyone the right to make someone feel less of a person?
“You will,” Telly called after his opponent, knowing already that it would come down to the two of them in the end.
The Ant gave him a hard look and shook his head. “Don’t see it happening,” he said with a smirk and walked away.
“And there you have it, folks,” a heavyset bald man followed the Ant with a microphone. “The reigning champion is setting boundaries and letting everyone know he has no intention of letting a victory slip through his fingers.”
Telly felt strangely empty. He knew Clutch had separated from him. Tension sizzled like electricity in the space between them.
“I’m gonna take every one of those chips and shove ’em right where the sun don’t shine,” Clutch whispered evilly. Despite his heavy heart, Telly smiled. “I know you like me, Telly,” Clutch told him.
Telly shook his head. “Nope.” The moment was over. His mind had returned to Gretchen and his problems there.
“Yes, you do, and by the time we finish, you’re gonna admit I was the best thing that ever happened to you,” Clutch said confidently.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
“Thanks for letting me crash here,” Gretchen said sadly. She was dressed in a nightgown in Chrissy’s spare bedroom. “You’re sure Jack won’t mind?”
“Forget about him; he moved out yesterday. Want to talk about what happened with you and Telly?”
Gretchen shook her head and asked, “Did you two have a fight?”
“Nope.” Chrissy lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. “It was just time to move on.” Her face brightened with a snide smile. “Telly’s on television, you know.” Chrissy sat down on the bed.
“You saw him again?” Gretchen’s face lit up.
“Yeah, every time the camera pans the room, it catches him.”
“How did he look?”
“Nervous. You want to see?”
Gretchen’s cell rang. It was Harriet, Telly’s mother. She looked at her phone, not wanting to, but answered it anyway.
“Gretchen! I thought it was out of his system,” Harriet’s shrill voice said.
Gretchen shrugged. Harriet repeated her name with insistence. Gretchen began with a heartfelt sigh. “I don’t know what came over him. He was crazy.” Gretchen winced when she said that. “How did you find out?”
“He’s on the television. What’s wrong with him?” Harriet spoke so loudly that the people in the next house could probably hear her. Gretchen heard Frank’s muffled voice, asking questions. Harriet shushed him. “I asked that already!”
“I…I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”
“Where are you? Do you want us to come and get you?” Harriet asked, her voice worried.
“I’m all right. I have to think. Look, I’ll call you tomorrow.” She turned to Chrissy and said, “Turn it on. Let me see.”
Two men in light blue sport coats sat at a desk, a large monitor behind them. “A record two rooms again this year, Kevin. Almost twelve thousand players.”
“I know, Stu. New faces. New money. It’s anybody’s game this year.”
“The one person we won’t be seeing will be poker legend Clutch Henderson, who sadly passed away last year.”
“And now, the poker world will hold a sixty-second vigil for our beloved Clutch,” the announcer’s voice intoned. The newscasters bowed their heads respectfully.
The crowd lowered their heads. Gretchen stood, coming closer to the screen. She spotted Telly staring into space, his head cocked to one side. He was worried. She looked at him…really looked at him, concern mirrored in her own expression. His eyes were troubled, his lips firm. He spotted the camera zooming in on his face, his indigo eyes changing. It was as if he knew she was watching. It was something special between them, as if they could sense each other all the time. His eyes softened, and she knew without a doubt that he was aware that she was looking at him. He touched his lips, and she saw him mouth the word thick.
He needed her. She started getting dressed.
“Where are you going?” Chrissy asked.
“I’m going to Telly. To the tournament.” Gretchen
turned green, put her hand over her mouth, and ran to the bathroom, retching up everything she had eaten in the last twenty-four hours.
“You won’t get far like that,” Chrissy told her, her phone in her hand. “Let me call someone who can give you a ride.”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
“Bunch of two-faced phonies,” Clutch said as he walked around, looking at his former colleagues. “You think a sixty-second vigil is going to keep my memory alive? I’ll show each and every one of you money-hungry bastards what it’s like to lose, and there ain’t nothing you can do about it.”
He walked between the tight rows, tapping a head here, pinching a face there. Telly was the only witness to his commentary. “This here is Miguel the Mantis. He sits so quietly he blends in with the furniture, and you never see it coming when he gets you. Black Widow…” He bent over to kiss the cheek of Ramona Heart, the woman Telly had played with at the Mirage. “Tel, she’s a real black widow—six or seven guys she’s been married to. Lucky Leroy.” He pumped an imaginary handshake with another player and then knocked off his cap. “Only real hats should be allowed. Why do they wear these sissy head coverings?” He leaned close, making eye contact with the oblivious person. “This is not de rigueur in the Old West or even the New West. You city boys look like assholes.” He skipped through the narrow aisles, his acerbic commentary describing the personalities of the players hilarious. Telly laughed out loud at his ghostly antics.
* * *
Gretchen peered closely at the television set while she dressed. “What’s he laughing at?”
“He looks demented,” Chrissy said helpfully.
Gretchen shook her head. “No. He’s talking to someone. Look. His eyes are following someone. Who did you get to give me a lift?”
“You’re as nuts as he is. He’s laughing like an idiot!”
“He’s not an idiot!” Gretchen scanned the space where Telly was looking. No help there…she saw nothing. “I have to leave; Telly needs me.”
“Crazy is as crazy does. I wouldn’t give him the time of day.”
“I know Telly. Something is going on.”
The camera came in for an extreme close-up of his face. The announcer chuckled and said, “I wonder what he thinks is so funny. Strange guy—do you know his name?”
“Look, he’s saying something into the camera,” Kevin observed.
Telly blew a kiss, mouthing, “I’m sorry, Gretchen. I love you.” He touched his hand over his heart.
Gretchen’s insides turned liquid. Balling her fists, she punched the bed impotently. “I don’t know why I got so mad.” She watched, her eyes going wide when she saw his shirt being pulled by an invisible hand. “Look at that,” Gretchen said, moving closer. “There’s nobody behind him.”
Telly reached behind him, slapping the unseen hands. “He really thinks he’s being haunted.” Gretchen picked up her purse.
“Your ride is here,” Chrissy said as she looked out the window.
“You didn’t,” Gretchen accused her, seeing the Firebird.
“I did, and you better hurry. He’s playing and said he can’t be late.”
Gretchen worried her bottom lip. Outside, Rob Couts pressed the horn with a loud blast.
“If you’re going to rescue that loser, you better leave. Rob will get you in; he’s got a parking pass.” Chrissy pushed her out the door. “Go, already.”
“I don’t want to go with him,” Gretchen whimpered.
Chrissy held the door open; Gretchen stood frozen on the landing. “Stop being a baby. If you want to get to Telly, just go already. Oh, don’t worry about Rob. We started dating last night. You’re safe.”
Gretchen slid into the interior of Rob’s car silently. She nodded. “You’re playing in the Series?” she asked timidly.
Rob didn’t answer. He pulled away from the curb sharply, knowing his muscles bulged nicely under his short-sleeve T-shirt.
They jumped onto the highway. “The little guy playing?” he asked.
“He’s not little, and yes, he is.”
“He won’t last long,” Rob said confidently.
Gretchen bristled. The fact was, she also believed that Telly wouldn’t last long. He was too trusting, and he was not a good judge of character. Still, all of a sudden her anger and resentment simply vanished. You can’t penalize a guy for being good, she thought. Telly thought he was protecting them. Even if it wasn’t real, his intent was good. She felt shame steal over her face. “Telly will win. I feel it in my heart. He will play well today.”
Rob cupped his balls and said crudely, “Well, I feel right here you’re going to be with me by next week.”
Gretchen opened the door before they even stopped, getting out. She jumped out without a word. Rob was faster, running around to grip her arm. He pulled her into a tight embrace, one hand holding her head, the other her waist. He kissed her deeply, passionately. The crowd that stood outside the convention center roared with approval. Gretchen, half his size, was captive. A camera crew caught the kiss but not the resounding slap that followed.
* * *
Ruby and Jenny arrived at the convention center, showed their VIP passes, and headed to the exclusive party for guests. Ruby was greeted warmly, Jenny not as much. Old friends surrounded the young girl, exclaiming at how beautiful she was, how much she had changed and grown up…and wouldn’t Clutch be proud. Jenny hit the bar and picked at the seafood on display, craning her neck for someone, anyone, to talk to. Jenny was de trop; although she knew most of the guests and had partied with them while she was married, even vacationed with them in exotic locales for the poker tourneys, they virtually ignored her. It was as if they’d divorced her when the marriage had ended. Hey, she wanted to shout, I’m still married to the bastard. The more she drank, the angrier she got. Soon the room moved as if she were on a rocky ship, and somehow her speech didn’t seem clear, her words confused. They avoided her like she had a communicable disease. “I’m rich now, you stupid bastards,” she grumbled. “I got it all, and don’t think I don’t know how to use it. I’m not going to gamble it away.” A commotion by the entrance drew her attention. She spied a happy cluster around Ginny, Clutch’s girlfriend. She was hugged and ushered to a table, where they treated her like the grieving widow, getting her drinks and food for comfort. Some held her hand, and others put their arms around her shoulders, tears in their eyes. Her stupid kid moved close to the fat pig, linking arms like a mother and daughter. Hey, that’s my kid; get your own. She must have said it out loud because a space cleared around her, and a hush came over the room. Jenny glared at her former friends, and her rage intensified—fueled by jealousy and nurtured with hatred—finally boiling over when Ginny wiped lipstick tenderly from Ruby’s cheek.
Jenny stalked over, her eyes dark slivers of heat, her fists balled. “You have your nerve showing up here!” Conversations stopped completely, and the room grew quiet.
“I had an invitation.” Ginny told her.
“Who’d you sleep with to get it?” Jenny spat.
“Mom!” Ruby wailed.
Ginny shook her head and with quiet dignity said, “Clutch.”
Jenny threw her cocktail at Ginny. Casino cameras dispatched security to escort Jenny from the room. “Are you coming with me?” she demanded from her daughter.
Ruby wiped Ginny’s arm with a napkin; she wouldn’t look at her mother. She shook her head. “I’m staying.”
“I’ll be at the crap tables.” She shook off the guards. “I can play at the crap tables, right?” she asked contemptuously. The guard looked at the host, who assented. Jenny took one last look at her daughter and said, “Don’t forget who you came with, and don’t forget who holds the key to all your money.”
She walked out, and Ruby looked up at Ginny. “I don’t care about the money. I miss my dad.”
Ginny cupped her cheek. “We al
l do, honey. Let’s go eat some cake.”
* * *
“What do you mean we can’t get in?” Harriet demanded, her face beet red. She stamped her feet like a spoiled child.
The guard wearily shook his head. “Sorry, ma’am. You need tickets.”
“How do we get them?” Frank calmly asked after putting a hand on his wife’s arm.
“Give him something, Frank. Maybe he’ll let us in. Give him five dollars.” She spoke as if he wasn’t there listening to them.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t take any money. You are allowed, however, to go into the casino and watch on the big screens.”
Harriet steamed up like a hot teapot, but Frank grabbed her hand and headed to the entrance. “It’ll have to do.”
* * *
A film crew moved through the casino with determination. Georgia Oaken walked with a smile, stopping players to tell them she was a medium and would do a spot reading. Stan waited for her outside the designated spot for his prearranged session. A small group of people stood in line. The producer came over and explained how the reading would proceed. Stan was first.
A young girl wearing a headset attached to her ear, no older than his granddaughter, led him inside to a table on a dais. The room had been decorated with candles circling an intimate black-draped table in the center of the room. Taking out her sage, Georgia lit it, laughing. “Wow, I never expected to see so many spirits here.”
Stan was nervous. He placed his hat on a chair behind him. He liked Ginny. How would Irma take it? Could you love two women at the same time?
Scribbling on a pad, Georgia looked up, her startling black eyes merry. “She’s a pip, this person. What does the number forty-two mean to you?”
Stan swallowed and then cleared his throat. “We were married forty-two years.”
“Hummm. It was a happy marriage. She said she rolled the dice on you and won. I’ve never had a craps reference; does that have significance?”
Stan nodded, his mouth dry. He had to admit he’d entered this reading as a skeptic. Two for two were good odds, he calculated. This Georgia might just be the real deal.
Pokergeist Page 15
