Extreme Justice: A Ben Kincaid Novel of Suspense bk-7

by William Bernhardt

  “Have a seat, Benji,” Gordo said, pulling out a chair.

  Ben slid into position and pulled out his wallet.

  “So, Ben, this is a surprise.” Diane spoke through the teeth clenching her cigar. “I didn’t think you played.”

  “Normally I don’t,” Ben said. “But since this is a memorial game …”

  She nodded toward the spinner rack holding the chips. Apparently she served as banker, which didn’t particularly surprise him. “So, did you bring any money?”

  “Oh, right. What’s traditional?”

  “Each of us puts in fifty bucks,” Diane explains. “And that’s all you get. You can’t bring in new money. Once you’re out, you’re out. We play until someone has all the chips.”

  Ben gulped. “How long does that take?”

  “Sometimes all night.”

  Scat laughed. “Ten bucks says Kincaid doesn’t last till sandwiches.”

  Gordo laughed. “I’ll go fifteen.”

  Ben tried to smile jovially. “Hey, I might surprise you.”

  Scat and Gordo did not respond, but Ben had the distinct impression they thought this an unlikely possibility.

  Gordo sniffed the air. “I think I smell a fish.”

  Denny did the same. “Yeah. Tuna. Major quantities.”

  They both laughed. Ben knew he was missing something.

  “A fish is a sure loser, in poker parlance,” Diane explained. “A tuna is a big fish.”

  “Watch out for Diane,” Gordo advised. “She used to be a professional.”

  “A—wha—you mean—”

  “Not that kind of professional.” Gordo laughed. “Well, only in my dreams.”

  Diane blew smoke in his face. “Grow up, Gordo.”

  Scat explained. “She used to play poker professionally.”

  Diane nodded. “Back when I lived in Vegas. Came in second at the World Series of Poker freeze-out at Binion’s in 1992. ’Course, I had a little more money to work with back then.”

  “I had no idea you guys were so … serious about this.” Swallowing hard, Ben pulled fifty dollars out of his wallet and plopped it down on the table.

  “Easy come, easy go, right, Ben?” Diane said, snatching the money up.

  “Nice of you to come out tonight, Ben,” Earl said quietly. Against all odds, it appeared he was taking this memorial game stuff seriously. “You honor Lily’s memory.”

  Ben collected his chips. “Well, it was the least I could do.”

  “Ever been to a memorial game like this?”

  “Can’t say that I have. Have you?”

  “We had one for George—Professor Hoodoo—after he was gone. Very next night, in fact. Good thing, too. After that, I woulda been … unavailable.”

  As in incarcerated, Ben surmised.

  “Now that was a night,” Earl continued. “You boys can’t imagine what it was like back then. George Armstrong was the best of us and we all knew it. He knew everythin’ there was to know about music. That’s why we called him the Professor. We loved that man. Most of the time, anyway. There must’ve been thirty, forty people showed up to play that night. Everyone wanted to pay their last respects to the Professor.”

  “So they came to a poker game?”

  “Why not? Beats gettin’ drunk and wailin’ at some wake, or standin’ like cake decorations around a new-dug grave.”

  Ben nodded. He supposed it did at that.

  “I’m glad to see you here tonight, too, Scat,” Earl continued. “I didn’t ’spect that. ’S good of ya.”

  Scat nodded, but made no reply.

  What did that mean? Ben wondered. “You knew Lily, didn’t you?” Ben asked Scat.

  “Yeah,” he said, eyes still hidden behind the shades. “I knew Lily.”

  Earl cut in. “Hell, son, Scat here knew Lily and Professor Hoodoo and everyone else on the circuit. He used to hang with Huey Smith. Played sax with Red Tyler. Traded licks in OKC with Bob Gilkenson. Went to Paris with Lightnin’ Hopkins and T-Bone Walker.”

  Scat dipped his head slightly.

  “Oh, old Scat’s known most everybody in the biz at one time or ’nother. He’s been around almost as long as I have!” Earl laughed, then slapped Scat heartily on the back.

  “Did any of the rest of you know Lily?” Ben asked casually.

  No one indicated that they did, although Ben knew that probably didn’t mean much.

  “I think it’s really bizarre, this mysterious man with the rug showing up just before the corpse does. You guys were all around then, too. Did any of you see him?”

  “What about you, Scat?” Gordo said. “I remember you said you had to run an errand before the show started. Did you bump into this creep?”

  Scat turned his shaded eyes away. “I didn’t see a damn thing.”

  “So, like, are we going to play cards here or what?” Diane interjected.

  “Straighten up, boys,” Denny said. “Diane’s gettin’ serious.”

  Gordo grinned. “Diane, honey, you can get serious with me anytime.”

  Diane ignored him. “All right, you peckerwoods, listen up. The game is Texas Hold ’Em. Two cards down, five in the middle of the table we all share, the first three at the same time, then the fourth, then the fifth. Got it?”

  Ben nodded, since he assumed the detailed game description was mostly for his benefit.

  “All right. Here we go.” Diane dealt out two cards face down to each player.

  Ben checked his draw. Two of clubs and six of hearts. Remembering Loving’s first rule, he folded.

  After everyone else made their bets, Diane dealt three cards to the center of the table. An eight and two jacks. Obviously, if anyone held a jack as a hole card, they were in clover.

  Another round of betting was followed by another card to the middle, this time a nine. By the time the betting was finished, only Diane and Gordo remained.

  “So,” Diane said, chomping down on her cigar. “Now it’s just you and me.”

  Gordo snickered. “I’ve dreamt of this moment.”

  “I’ll try to make it something you’ll remember for a good long time.” She reached for her chips. “Five bucks says you don’t have a jack under there.”

  Gordo matched the wager. “Five bucks says I do.” He reached back for another chip and raised her another five. “Or maybe even two.”

  “I doubt it.” She called. “Let’s see what’s coming.” She flipped a fifth card onto the table. It was another jack.

  Eyes widened around the table. Following Loving’s second rule to live by, Ben watched the faces. Diane didn’t appear too delighted with this development.

  All eyes were glued to their hands, still face down on the table. Ben suddenly realized his heart was beating faster—and he wasn’t even playing. Maybe there was more to this game than he realized.

  Gordo pushed at least ten dollars’ worth of chips into the center. “Lily must’ve been some lady,” he clucked. “Tonight is my night.”

  A somber expression cloaked Diane’s face. She was obviously thinking, calculating. Ben didn’t see how she had any choice. Sure, she had a lot of chips on the table, but Gordo obviously had a jack. She couldn’t possibly beat him.

  Diane’s hands dipped back into her chips. “I’ll call,” she said.

  Gordo’s eyes flew open. “Are you crazy, woman?”

  “I called,” Diane said calmly. “Let’s see your cards.”

  All the elation drained out of Gordo’s face. With lips tightly pursed, he reached down and flipped over his cards.

  A four and a seven. Barely better than the hand Ben had folded. Gordo didn’t have the jack at all. He’d been bluffing!

  Diane turned over her own cards: a pair of tens.

  Gordo was flabbergasted. “How did you know I didn’t have the goods?”

  “Call it a hunch.” Diane scraped the chips into her pile. “Was this special time we had together all you dreamed it would be, Gordo?”

  Gordo grinned—awful
ly gracious, Ben thought, for someone who’d just had his clock cleaned. “It was. But now I have nothing to live for.”

  “Well, don’t kill yourself. It’s only a game.”

  “Life is a game,” Gordo replied. “And death is the sweet reward.”

  That was the second time in as many days that Ben had heard Gordo make a weird remark about death. Note to self, he thought: pay Gordo a private visit to follow up on this.

  Diane shuffled the cards a few times, then leaned across the table like a piranha closing in on its prey. “All right,” she said. “Who wants to be devoured next?

  It was almost two A.M. when they played the final hand. The match was down to two players: Diane, as everyone expected, and Ben, as no one expected—including Ben. Ben had in fact lasted well past sandwiches, to the surprise of all, and the disgust of some, like Scat and Gordo, who had to make good on their side bets.

  Basically, he had just followed Loving’s suggestions. He had folded more than anyone else in the game, but as a result, he had conserved his resources. He hadn’t dared a bluff, but by sitting out the bad hands and playing the sure winners, he had slowly put together some winnings. Plus, he’d had the good fortune to take out two players, inheriting all their remaining chips. He’d taken Gordo with a pair of queens, then managed to do the same to Earl only two hands later with two sevens and two fives.

  And now it was just him and Diane. Diane, unfortunately, had just won several high-dollar hands in a row. Ben could see the handwriting on the wall. She’d keep whittling away at him until he was gone. If he was to have any hope of winning, he had to try a different approach. And fast.

  “Would you guys hurry up already?” Denny said. “I’ve been wearing these clothes for days. They’re getting uncomfortable.”

  Ben glanced up. “Why? Are they scratchy?”

  Gordo laughed. “Denny thinks all clothes are uncomfortable.”

  “He does?”

  “All right, let’s do it,” Diane said. The antes were laid and she dealt out the cards.

  Ben lifted up the corners and peered at his cards.

  Two tens! Hardly invincible, but a start. His heartbeat accelerated. Maybe this was the time to go for broke. It made sense, but…

  He couldn’t bring himself to take the risk. He made a modest bet: one dollar.

  “I’ll call,” Diane replied.

  After the bets were in, she flopped three cards into the center of the table: the ace of diamonds, the nine of clubs, and the seven of clubs. No help for Ben.

  Diane, however, had a more positive reaction. “I’m betting it all,” she said.

  “What?” Ben looked up at his companions. “Can she do that?”

  “She certainly can. Are you in?”

  Ben glanced at his cards. It was a good hand. But she must have a good hand, too. Probably a pair. If it was a pair of nines, fine, he could beat her. But if it was a pair of aces …

  “All right,” he said, pushing out all his chips. “I’m in.”

  “The betting is over,” Gordo announced. “Let’s play out the cards.”

  Since it didn’t matter at this point who knew, Diane complied. She flipped over her hand. She had an ace and a nine in the hole. And now, with the cards in the center, she had both a pair of nines and a pair of aces. Two pair! More than enough to trounce Ben’s puny tens.

  “And you?”

  Ben exposed his hand to the world.

  Diane smiled, pleased and, Ben thought, a bit relieved. Her go-for-broke paid off. Still, there were two more cards to be dealt.

  “Play the table,” Gordo said, grinning. He seemed to be enjoying himself a good deal more now than he had when he was still in the game.

  Diane turned the next card: a three. No help to anyone.

  Everyone in the room huddled around the table—Gordo and Denny and Scat and Earl. They were like vultures, anxious to see what happened next.

  Ben held his breath. What was it about this game anyway? It wasn’t as if his life depended on winning. So why were his hands shaking and beads of sweat dripping down his forehead? C’mon, he thought, I need a ten. Luck be a lady tonight …

  She turned over another card. Ben’s heart sunk.

  It was an ace. As if she needed more help.

  Diane leaned back in her chair, blowing smoke rings into the air. She had a full house, a killer hand in this game. And much better than Ben’s now very stupid-looking pair of tens.

  She treated herself to a new cigar. “It’s been a pleasure, Kincaid.”

  Ben threw down his cards in disgust.

  “And so,” Gordo said, “once again, Diane proves that she is, in fact, mistress of the universe.”

  Earl patted Ben on the back. “Tough break, kid. You played well. You just didn’t get the cards.”

  Nice sentiment, but Ben knew it wasn’t true. If he had been the one to put all his chips on the table, or even a big chunk of them, back when he got the pair of tens, she probably would’ve backed off. She would’ve folded, or at any rate wouldn’t have bet everything, and Ben would’ve survived the hand and lived to play another.

  It was a matter of strategy, and he had blown it. He lost because he couldn’t bluff, because he wasn’t willing to take a risk.

  “Congratulations,” Ben told Diane. “You deserved to win.”

  “Darn tootin’,” Diane replied.

  “So,” Earl asked, “what you gonna do with all the loot?”

  “Gee,” Diane said, glancing at Ben, “maybe I’ll make a donation to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelly to Animals.”

  Gordo made a snorting noise.

  “Or we could all just get drunk.”

  That brought a raucous round of cheers.

  Diane stepped out of her chair and began pulling on her leather jacket. “See you next time, Kincaid.”

  Ben shuffled away from the table. “Yeah.”

  Gordo gave Ben a nudge. “Hey, don’t take it so hard, Benji. At least you still have your health.”

  Yes, that’s true, Ben thought, pressing his lips tightly together. But if you call me Benji one more time, yours may be in serious danger.

  Chapter 24

  TYRONE CROSSED THE gravel parking lot of Uncle Earl’s Jazz Emporium, admiring the vivid sunrise. The iridescent rays were just beginning to seep over the skyline, illuminating the Bank of Oklahoma Tower and other downtown skyscrapers, the refineries on the far side of the river, and the miles and miles of woodland beyond. Someday, he thought, once he’d mastered that sax, he was going to come out here and write a song about a sunrise like this.

  That was his ultimate goal—not just to play but to write. He wanted to take everything he saw and did and knew and to transform it into music. Think of all he could bring to the music table—life in the gangs, life on the streets, life on the con. Sure, he was young, but he had experiences like no one else in the world. Think what Gershwin did—and what did he know about the blues anyway? Tyrone had lived it. He knew he could compose something special, something that would live forever—if he could just learn how to play.

  He heard a scraping noise, a crunching of gravel. He turned, but didn’t see anything.

  That was odd. He turned back toward the sunrise. Probably nothing. Still …

  He heard the crunching sound again.

  “T-Dog!”

  A wave of relief swept over him. Earl was standing near the entrance to the club, waving. He waited patiently as Earl waddled out to the parking lot.

  “You gonna be around for a while?” Earl asked.

  “Nah. Sorry to blow and run, but I got work to do.”

  Earl jammed his big fleshy hands into his pockets. “Look, we need to talk.”

  “ ’Bout what?”

  Earl eyed him carefully. “I think you know.”

  Tyrone suspected he did. And it was a conversation he didn’t care to have. “Look, Earl, I have things to do. Places to be.”

  “Like what?”

  Like the O
karche bus came in at 9:02, but he wasn’t going to tell Earl that. “Just takin’ care of business.”

  “Then when will we talk?”

  “I don’t know, Earl.” Tyrone started toward his car and opened the door. “Maybe at the next lesson.”

  “That’s too long.”

  “Well, I can’t do it now.” He slid into the seat.

  Earl clamped a solid hand down on the steering wheel. “You’re not goin’ anywhere till you tell me when we’re gonna talk.”

  “Earl—”

  “How ’bout tonight?”

  Tyrone shook his head. “Can’t. Got major plans.”

  “You ain’t puttin’ me off, Tyrone.”

  “I got plans—”

  Earl laid his hand firmly on Tyrone’s chest. “Tomorrow night then. No later.”

  “Fine. Tomorrow night. Ten P.M. Right here.”

  Earl eased off. Tyrone gave him a tiny push, then closed the car door. He shoved the stick into reverse and backed out.

  Tomorrow night, he thought, as he zoomed onto Brady. Great. That gave him about forty hours to figure out what the hell he was going to say.

  He waited until Earl had disappeared inside the club, then slid the knife back into its sheath.

  That had been a close one. He’d been lurking behind the club next to the Dumpsters when the kid came out. He’d started to make his move, but his foot slipped on the gravel and the kid whirled around. He’d have gone for it anyway, but who should stumble by but good ol’ Uncle Earl himself.

  He’d had to take cover. Earl could’ve made him, even with the new disguise. He would’ve had to kill them both, and he didn’t want that. The kid, yes—that was necessary. But he was much happier letting Earl boil in the brine. He wanted Earl to suffer. Earl deserved to suffer.

  Just as he had suffered.

  Well, there would be another time, and sooner than he had expected. Tomorrow night, ten o’clock. That’s what the kid had said. He didn’t know what Earl was so anxious to talk about, and frankly he didn’t care. What they planned to discuss was irrelevant.

  Death would be the main topic for conversation.

  Chapter 25