Smith's Monthly #6

by Smith, Dean Wesley

  Copyright Information

  Smith’s Monthly Issue #6

  All Contents copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith

  Published by WMG Publishing

  Cover and interior design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing

  Cover art copyright © by Evenaners/Dreamstime.com

  “Introduction: The Origin of a Novel” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith

  “You Forgive the Night’s Scream” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover illustration by Mulahhara/Dreamstime.com

  “Remember Me to Your Children” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover art by Rebecca Campbell/Dreamstime.com

  The Life and Times of Buffalo Jimmy copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover art by Designwest/Dreamstime.com

  “Remember” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover art by Pavel Aleynikov/Dreamstime.com

  The Adventures of Hawk copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover photo by Wisconsinart/Dreamstime.com

  “Neighborhoods” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover art by Ericus/Dreamstime.com

  Kill Game: A Cold Poker Gang novel copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, cover design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, cover art by Evenaners/Dreamstime.com

  Poems: “Wondering Through Time,” and “She Looked Like a Storm” copyright © 2014 Dean Wesley Smith, header design copyright © 2014 WMG Publishing, header illustration by Mariagrazia Orlandini/Dreamstime.com

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in the fiction in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Introduction: The Origin of a Novel

  You Forgive the Night’s Scream: A Poker Boy Story

  Remember Me to Your Children

  The Life and Times of Buffalo Jimmy: Chapters 16-18

  Wondering Through Time

  Remember

  The Adventures of Hawk: Chapters 16-18

  Neighborhoods

  Kill Game: A Cold Poker Gang Novel

  She Looked Like a Storm

  Full Table of Contents

  Smith’s Monthly

  About the Author

  Copyright Information

  Introduction:

  THE ORIGIN OF A NOVEL

  IN A LAND LONG AGO and far, far away (actually right here in this house, but about ten years ago), I wrote a novel.

  If I stop and think about it, in the twenty years I have lived in this house, I wrote a lot of novels here. Maybe over a hundred. More than likely over a hundred, now that I really stop and think about it.

  I think I need a nap.

  So back to the one novel I wrote ten years ago. After I finished it, the novel took on a sort of mythology all its own. The title of the novel was Dead Money.

  I had gotten tired of writing media books (Star Trek, Men in Black, Spider-Man, you know… all those tough jobs) and I wanted to get back to writing more of my own work. So I had written a few fun books just for me, such as The Slots of Saturn: A Poker Boy Novel. (I never published that either, and just went over it and then wrote a sequel, so The Slots of Saturn will be in next month’s issue.)

  But back then I had an agent and I told her about the Poker Boy novel and she ignored me and asked me why I didn’t just write a major poker thriller. (She didn’t want to market a poker puzzle mystery novel it seemed. I should have fired her right there in hindsight.)

  So I wrote the political poker thriller she suggested. Through a lot of painful lessons, and after a full year and three agents who thought they could sell Dead Money for a lot of money, the book was sent out to publishing houses by agent #3, a top thriller agent.

  A quick lesson in traditional publishing: In a major publishing house, the editors are the low person in the corporate ladder. But since it is a corporate structure, all vice-presidents and publishers had worked up from editors through the corporate ranks. They all still bought books and approved what the editors wanted to buy.

  They could write big checks.

  So Dead Money went directly to eight top vice-presidents of companies that published thrillers.

  And to a person, they loved the book. Glowing letters. Two of them saying the book kept them up all night reading.

  And to a person they declined to publish it because, as they all said in one way or another, poker didn’t sell. At least at the numbers we were asking for in money.

  So disgusted at the stupidity of the entire publishing industry, I tossed the book into a file cabinet and went and played poker.

  Slowly, over the next year or so, I came back to writing, but mostly I was done with novels. I was writing short stories until the indie publishing movement came about.

  Then one fine day, Kris and the publisher of WMG Publishing decided that the mythological Dead Money needed to finally see print. They asked me and I wanted nothing to do with it, but said I didn’t care. The next thing I knew, Dead Money came out in a beautiful trade paper and electronic edition last fall. (You can buy copies at any of your favorite bookstores and booksellers.)

  I’m very happy it’s finally out and readers are getting a chance to prove those vice-presidents wrong.

  So why am I saying all this? Well, back when I wrote Dead Money, at one point in the book I had this nifty group of retired Las Vegas detectives. They solved cold cases and played poker together. I called them the Cold Poker Gang.

  It became clear that for a thriller, the Cold Poker Gang was going to slow things down, so I cut them out. After all, they are retired detectives who don’t move at a thriller pace.

  But one of the detectives had a daughter who became a major character in Dead Money.

  For a decade, I kept thinking about the Cold Poker Gang sitting down there in Las Vegas playing cards and solving cold cases. So finally, in January of this year, I sat down and wrote their first novel, one of many to come I hope.

  The full novel is in this issue and it’s called Kill Game: A Cold Poker Gang novel. I’m really happy with how it turned out and you meet the main character of Dead Money in passing at one point. So the books are tied together with more than just Las Vegas.

  But Dead Money is a political thriller.

  Kill Game is a twisted puzzle mystery.

  I hope you enjoy the puzzle and the read.

  And thanks once again for supporting this crazy project. I’m having a blast.

  Dean Wesley Smith

  February 6th, 2014,

  Lincoln City, Oregon

  USA Today bestselling writer, Dean Wesley Smith, returns once again to his most popular series, Poker Boy.

  This time Poker Boy awakes to a blood-curdling scream that only he hears. Some of his team think the scream a sign he faces death.

  But Poker Boy plays professional poker. He faced worse over a no-limit poker game numbers of times.

  A funny and touching story of redemption and cold feet.

  YOU FORGIVE THE NIGHT’S SCREAM

  A Poker Boy story

  ONE

  I WOKE WITH THE SOUND of a woman’s scream echoing in my head.

  High-pitched.

  Full of terror.

  I sat bolt upright in bed.

  My heart pounded like it wanted to get out of my chest and run for the closet and every Poker Boy superpower sense I had was amped up to full power
.

  Beside me, my girlfriend and sidekick, Patty Ledgerwood, aka Front Desk Girl, lay sleeping soundly, her wonderful long brown hair like a shadow over her pillow in the dim light coming from cracks around the side of the drapes.

  Outside, the city of Las Vegas never slept and certainly never turned off its lights. The strip was only a few blocks from Patty’s apartment building and my invisible office floated just to the west of her apartment and directly over the MGM Grand Hotel and Casino complex.

  I held my breath, waiting for another scream, trying to listen over the pounding of my heart.

  Nothing.

  A little noise from a truck on the street below Patty’s apartment. Then a couple quick beeps as it backed up.

  Nothing else.

  Yet every danger Poker Boy sense I had was shouting, making me want to get out of there.

  That scream had been close, as if it was inside this very apartment. Yet Patty was still sound asleep.

  Something was very wrong.

  Very wrong.

  I’ve had bad dreams before, but when that scream let go, I have no memory of actually being in a dream.

  The scream was real. Outside of my possible dream.

  At least real in one fashion or another.

  I gently touched Patty’s shoulder.

  She stirred and rolled to look up at me. “What—”

  I put my finger to my lips and shook my head. Then I eased out of bed. I was wearing sweat pants and nothing else. I slipped on my thin brown slippers.

  Patty came awake at once, saying nothing and moving silently out of the other side of the bed, slipping on her white bathrobe over her nightgown and her slippers as well.

  I stood near the door to the bedroom that led out into the living room, listening for any noise coming from either the living room or kitchen area.

  Silently, Patty came over and touched my arm, using her powers to calm me down some. The pounding of my racing heart subsided and I mouthed the word, “Thanks.” One of her superpowers was the ability to keep people calm and focused. I loved it in stressful situations when we worked together. We had discovered that as a team we were far stronger together than apart.

  Plus I was head-over-my-slippers in love with her.

  She pointed to her ear and shook her head, meaning she was hearing nothing.

  I wasn’t either, so silently I went out into the living room.

  And as I walked ten steps, the temperature of the room dropped a good thirty degrees until suddenly I could see my breath in the dim light.

  Patty grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the bedroom, a panicked look on her face.

  I’m glad she did. I would need a lot more clothes to go back into that living room.

  “Out of time,” she whispered and I did, slipping us between instants of time. It felt like I stopped time when I did that, but in reality, time never stopped. I just moved me and Patty inside an instant of time.

  Normally, in a busy casino or outside, I could tell instantly when I did that, but in the silent and dark apartment, nothing seemed to change.

  “You know what caused that chill?” I asked, shivering as I tried to warm up a little. All my senses were still screaming that there was danger close by and the memory of that scream seemed to echo in my mind.

  I moved over and grabbed a sweatshirt that said “The Golden Nugget Poker Room” and pulled it over my head, easing the chill some.

  “Did you hear something?” Patty asked.

  I nodded. “A woman’s scream. That’s what woke me up.”

  “Oh, no,” she said.

  Even in the dim light I could tell her face went white.

  I glanced up at the ceiling. “Stan. Help!”

  Patty nodded and a moment later Stan appeared.

  The God of Poker had on what he always seemed to have on. Tan slacks, button down sweater, and loafers. In all the years I had worked for him, I had seldom caught him out of that outfit, day or night.

  “Wow,” he said, instantly spinning around, looking for the danger. I could feel him strengthen the time bubble and put a shield around us, which helped my screaming warning senses some.

  “What is causing that?” he asked.

  I shrugged, since I honestly had no idea.

  “He heard a scream,” Patty said. “In his sleep.”

  “Oh, shit!” Stan said and instantly vanished, leaving the screen and the stronger time bubble.

  I looked at Patty who clearly wasn’t in the mood for any of my one-line jokes, so I wisely said nothing. Not a skill I often had, but at the moment with every warning sense I had still going off, it seemed prudent.

  Besides, the way they were acting was starting to scare me to death.

  The longest five seconds later, Laverne, Lady Luck herself, appeared in our bedroom with Stan and Ben beside her.

  Lady Luck didn’t have on her normal power business suit, but instead wore a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt. She looked downright normal for one of the most powerful beings in all the universe.

  Ben was a god in the book world that was a member of our team. He looked like a little old librarian and had a perfect memory of everything he had ever read and the history of all the gods.

  Lady Luck instantly strengthened the shields around them even more and the sense of warning and fear again decreased but didn’t vanish by any means.

  “Who heard the scream?” Lady Luck asked.

  I sort of half raised my hand.

  “Damn it,” she said.

  Now when Lady Luck swears, you know things can’t be good. And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know just how bad things actually were, since all the bad seemed to be focused at me.

  TWO

  PATTY HELD ONTO MY ARM, keeping me as calm as her superpower could manage. But I was feeling anything but calm.

  “So what’s out there in that cold?” I asked.

  “A banshee,” Lady Luck said.

  Ben nodded, confirming what Lady Luck said but not adding to it.

  I almost said that I thought those were myths, but then realized who I was and who was standing around me. I just hadn’t been in this superhero business long enough to know what was a myth and what actually had some reality attached to it.

  “So tell me exactly what you are worried about,” I said.

  “The banshee is a fairy that is known to mourn the coming loss of a life,” Ben said.

  “By screaming?” I asked. “More like it would scare a person to death.”

  “By screaming,” Stan said, nodding. “And the person who hears them is supposed to be the one who will die very shortly. It’s both a warning and a sad cry that the person is dying.”

  Well, I had to admit, I didn’t much like the sound of that.

  I took a deep breath and could feel Patty’s calming influence flow through me. Honestly, over the last few years, I had faced death and the end of the world a few times. And a lot of really tough players in no-limit poker games. So if some being was giving me a warning, I needed to thank her and just flat ask her what was going to happen.

  And when.

  Never hurt to know when a fella was going to die, I figured.

  Seemed so simple. I’m sure there were a dozen reasons it was a stupid idea, but my friends around me just seemed determined to stand next to me when I died and do nothing, so I needed to do something.

  And my terrified mind couldn’t come up with one other idea. I knew death could follow me anywhere, since I had met two gods of death so far, and sort of liked them both, honestly. So running was out of the question.

  I moved over to the closet and pulled out my heaviest Oregon coat. Since I was originally from Oregon and my home casino was in the mountains of Oregon, I at least had a few heavy coats, one of which I had brought to Vegas and stashed in Patty’s apartment because at times I had been damned cold here as well.

  “What are you doing?” Patty asked, again taking my arm as I came back to her zipping up my parka.

&nbs
p; “Going out to talk with the banshee,” I said, giving her a quick kiss and heading for the door into the dark living room.

  “Not a great idea,” Lady Luck said.

  I stopped and looked at her. “Has a banshee killed anyone?”

  “No, she just warns people,” Lady Luck said, her voice sounding sad and tired.

  “Then it seems I’ll be fine. When was the last time anyone just talked with the banshee?”

  Ben shook his head. “There are no records of anyone doing such a thing.”

  “Five hundred years,” Lady Luck said softly.

  Ben glanced at her and said nothing. He knew something he wasn’t saying.

  “Well, if this kills me,” I said, doing my best to screw up every ounce of courage I had, “someone tell the next person to not try it.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Patty said.

  “No, I heard the scream, I’m the one the banshee is trying to warn.”

  I glanced at Lady Luck and nodded. I almost said, “Wish me luck” and then stopped as I realized how stupid that really would have sounded to Lady Luck.

  Her expression didn’t change from extreme seriousness combined with sadness, something I had never seen on her face.

  “While I’m gone,” I said, standing near the door of the living room, “someone might want to check with Death, see if I really am on a list at the moment. We did save his ass and help his daughter.”

  Lady Luck nodded. “I’ll do it,” she said, and vanished.

  I took a deep breath and turned and went into the living room.

  The intense cold slapped me and I staggered, but managed to move forward.

  “My name is Poker Boy,” I said to the cold air, my breath freezing in front of my face. “I heard your scream and came to see if I could help.”

  Being brash seemed to be the most logical thing I could do.

  And that’s what people who rescue other people do, after all, go toward the sound of a scream.