Stories From a Bar With No Doorknobs

by Joaquin Emiliano

  Eddie ducked below the counter.

  Aces ran a little recon. Said hello to a few of the rounders.

  Eddie returned with his chips: “There you go, Aces… Two thousand in tournament chips.”

  “Thanks.”

  Aces stepped into the tournament room.

  The rest of the players were lined against the wall, chips cradled in their arms like newborns.

  Awaiting seat assignments. An initial condition that could change everything before a single card was even dealt.

  Butterfly effect.

  Aces caught Tarquin’s eye across the room.

  Made his way over.

  “See any heavies tonight?” Aces asked.

  “ Just the regulars far as I can tell… and the cancer woman.”

  “Sally?”

  “Yeah. She’s got these gauze bandages around her hands.” Tarquin shook his head. “I suppose her hands have cancer now. Unbelievable, really. Really makes you wonder…”

  “Wonder what?”

  “Nothing.”

  And sure enough, Sally walked into the room.

  Same outfit as earlier.

  Same scarf, same crippled hands.

  She caught him staring. Gave him a pathetic smile.

  Sort of.

  Aces averted his eyes. Double counted his chips. Just to be sure.

  Seating schedule announced.

  Dealers popped the seals on newborn decks.

  The tournament was on.

  Bet, raise, pass, fold, call; fast action. Blinds going up every half hour. Aces played tight. Picked his fights, moderated his moments. Feeling out the competition. Seeing what was what, and who had really shown up that night to play.

  His first big win was courtesy of a house against a smaller boat. Tens full good enough to knock another one out of the running.

  Aces helped himself to the other tables, caught Tarquin’s face indulging in a wicked grin. Eyes sparkling, raking it in.

  Didn’t matter.

  Tarquin was no favorite to make it to the final round.

  Aces survived the first table.

  As did Tarquin.

  As did Sally.

  All of them assigned separate seconds.

  The tournament continued on its slow grind.

  Men and women with dark sunglasses, baseball caps, headphones.

  Chips went flying, back and forth.

  Nails were bitten.

  Coffee consumed by the gallon, ulcers intensified.

  Aces kept a close watch on his opponents. Studied their every move.

  This one unknown, some NYU prick, moved all in on a bluff. Happily plowed his whole stack to the center on a whim.

  Against Aces.

  Aces asked for time.

  A few seconds to ponder.

  He glanced over to a nearby table.

  Happened to catch Sally pushing her chips into the pot with a sad look on her face.

  Aces returned to the moment to lock eyes with his opponent.

  Caught him drinking from the rim instead of his straw.

  “I call.”

  The prick cursed, turned his cards over.

  Nothing. King high.

  Aces turned his cards over to reveal a pair of twos.

  For the benefit of all who might even dream of pulling that kind of kindergarten bullshit on him.

  The prick rushed him. Didn’t understand just how far from home he was. A few of the other players stopped him. Aces just sat, watched that square foam at the mouth, screaming mad accusations of a rigged game.

  Well, nobody believed him and he was thrown on his face, out into the night.

  Aces was in the lead, and he made it to the next table.

  As did Tarquin.

  As did Sally.

  ***

  The line up for the final table didn’t make a rich man of anyone.

  Confounding all side bets, it was Tarquin, Aces, Sally: final table.

  One of them called for a break thirty minutes into the action.

  Tarquin went into the hallway to smoke a cigarette.

  Aces joined him, had a glass of water.

  Sally had gone to the bathroom.

  Tarquin and Aces stood side by side.

  But ally was just a word used between games.

  There were no friends at the tables.

  Couldn’t be.

  Aces kept drinking his water.

  Tarquin smoked his cigarette, reveled in embellished tales. Some amazing bluff he’d pulled off at some earlier juncture.

  Aces pretended to listen.

  Kept focused, kept breathing.

  Sally emerged from the bathroom, gave Aces a fragile smile.

  Aces took the favor. Didn’t return it.

  Tarquin muttered something, put out his cigarette.

  Aces finished his water.

  The three remaining players settled in to finish each other off.

  ***

  Green felt gazed up at them. The rest of the once-contenders kept watch.

  A mighty thick audience.

  It was between Tarquin and Aces.

  Sally had folded early in the hand

  The last card had been dealt.

  Aces had a pair of threes.

  He wasn’t sure what Tarquin had.

  Whatever it was, Tarquin had moved all in with his chips.

  Not a life or death decision for Aces. He had Tarquin out-stacked by at least a third. Calling to lose wouldn’t take Aces out of the equation, but it would certainly hobble him for some time. Perhaps fatally.

  Aces knew this.

  Tarquin knew this.

  Aces knew Tarquin knew this and Tarquin knew Aces knew this.

  Aces knew Tarquin knew Aces knew this, and the deception was never ending.

  Aces narrowed his eyes

  The air surrounding them grew fat with expectations. A few whispers from the onlookers. The demonic hum of overhead lights. Sounds of a fresh kill.

  Aces stared Tarquin down.

  Tarquin returned the favor with little to no fanfare.

  They kept this up for a minute or so.

  Then Aces recalled Tarquin’s pre-flop raise, followed by a bet, check on the turn and finally…

  “I call.”

  Tarquin didn’t even bother to flip his cards.

  Mucked his hand, admitted to the bluff.

  The audience let the air out from their lungs.

  Aces took note of who had bet against him.

  Tarquin tried to shake it off.

  Met his best friend in an rushed, amicable handshake.

  Joined the rest of the losers in the crowd.

  Aces took a sip of his water.

  Set his sights on Sally.

  Strange look on her face.

  She tore herself away from her chips, and gazed across the table.

  Locked in.

  Brown eyes versus blue, and the hand hadn’t even been dealt.

  “Looks like it’s you and me, Aces.”

  “Yeah, looks like.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Likewise.”

  The conversation turned cold.

  The crowd settled in.

  It wouldn’t be long now.

  ***

  And it finally came down to this. Aces was looking at their river, and a full bet from Sally.

  Put to a decision for all his chips. A possible death knell.

  Aces had a pair of tens, but he wasn’t sure if they were any good.

  Sally laid back in her chair, staring him down.

  Sad crystal, the eyes of a dead person.

  He wanted to destroy her, and the raw desire corroded the lining of his stomach. No prize for coming in second. Just a plastic trophy everyone pretended was gold, and Aces had gambled his job on the promise of that final hand.

  No wilds in the deck. Just Sally.

  Aces replayed every step of the hand.

  Brilliant, untouchable mind stretching back to ev
ery previous hand.

  Going back even further.

  Alien features, those crying moments of self hypnosis, and she had gone out of her way to sit with Aces that morning. Running a play before the game had even started. Planting thoughts that didn’t need to be there. Expecting him to remember.

  Then again, maybe she was just a polite kind of person.

  Or even worse, just some kind of human being.

  There was nobody left to believe…

  Aces let the silence drag on for another thirty seconds.

  Then, “Call it…”

  Sally turned over her cards.

  Two pair.

  Tens over fours.

  ***

  Aces didn’t even want to look at her.

  Calculated his reputation against it, and shook her hand.

  A couple of newcomers followed suit, but most of the regulars stayed away.

  They bitched and moaned under their breaths.

  Aces couldn’t understand how it happened.

  Couldn’t understand a world in which Sally had won.

  Numb for the few seconds it took to recognize his lunch.

  He went to the bathroom, threw up.

  Vomit caked the toilet, and with the slow passage of time, he managed to flush it down.

  Walked back into the club.

  The crowd had thinned.

  Aces didn’t see Tarquin anywhere.

  Had he left already?

  Gone on without him to grab an early breakfast, gone to another game to see if he couldn’t rebuild his bankroll?

  Or maybe Tarquin didn’t worry about that shit. Steely son of a bitch, just as happy splitting the winnings –

  Aces recognized the thought before it had even managed to land.

  Never sure how it came to him, but now never more certain of anything.

  And now, Aces really did want to give Sally a second look.

  He walked up to the counter.

  “Aces…” Eddie greeted him with a smirk. “Sorry you got busted out. I had my money riding on you.”

  “Eddie, where’s Sally?”

  “No, I really am sorry for you, Aces.”

  “Eddie. could you tell me where Sally is?”

  “Little Miss Cancer? Took the money and ran. Just a minute ago.”

  Aces didn’t bother saying goodbye to that sack of shit. He bolted up the stairs, out into the street. It was cold outside. Cold, even for the new year. Cold and somehow humid, mist swirling along the curbs and storm drains.

  No Sally.

  Not even a ghost left to lead the way.

  So Aces took that left, copped a long walk over to Fifth Avenue. Sidewalks empty, deserted. Quiet manholes and dismal streetlights. He scanned the stoops and storefronts, glimpsed at the rudimentary outlines of a shadow, just one block away.

  She was walking out of a corner bodega. Oblivious to her surroundings.

  He kept his distance.

  Counted backwards from ten, running the numbers.

  Got his payoff just shy of eleven.

  There was Tarquin. Staging his own casual exit.

  Slapping a pack of Camels against his palm.

  Exchanged a few words with her, traded smiles.

  Aces couldn’t remember the last time he saw that kid smile.

  Laughter maybe, set off by the fuse of a dirty joke, anecdote, but nothing close to the lupine grin, so wide it crawled into the shadows where Aces stood.

  Tarquin lit up.

  Aces checked his pocket.

  Fiddled with Tarquin’s Motorola, unable to get the hang of it, until he happened upon the message. Delivered at four-fifteen a.m. that previous night, right in the middle of their felt-tipped rehearsal.

  Digital grey spelling out his reply STARTING NOW.

  By the time Aces looked up, Tarquin was gone.

  Only Sally, shoulders lifting, cresting in a satisfied sigh.

  Aces started to walk over, then noticed something. Stopped. Out of her pocket came a pack of cigarettes. She pulled out a smoke, brought a zippo close to her face, lit up. Lit that cigarette and let the smoke trickle from her lips. Aces was half a block away, but he could see a change. Her eyes had turned to steel. Brimming with venom. Triumphant.

  Sally took another drag, smiled.

  Nothing sad or slight about it.

  So casual in her conquest, that Aces was seized with a sudden urge to rape Sally.

  Those base desires best left to others.

  Rape Sally, rape anything human.

  He stayed put.

  Sally turned and walked away, due east.

  Aces watched her, that trail of smoke clutched between middle and index fingers.

  Sally took a left, disappeared.

  Aces stood for a while longer. Made a right, headed for the subway. He was four or five hairs away from penniless. Had some change in his pocket. It jingled with flat reminders. He punched in some fresh calculus, turning coins into dollars. Aces stopped at a phone booth. Slipped his lucky quarter into the slot, thankful for a second chance to be rid of it. Picked up the receiver and dialed a mnemonic device. The phone rang a few times.

  Greeted with a familiar voice, hoarse and painfully alert. “Yeah, what is it…?”

  “Lucky?”

  “Yeah, who’s this?”

  “Aces.”

  “Hey, Aces.”

  “How are you?”

  “Drunk. What are you doing?”

  “Nothing much…”

  “Hey, let me ask you something.” Lucky coughed on the other end. “I’m staring at this sentence and wondering…”

  Aces kept quiet. Watched a homeless man root through garbage for recyclable goods.

  “Never mind,” Lucky said. “I got it. Thanks, though.”

  “So, Lucky,” Aces said, ignoring his name in the closing credits. “I was wondering if you wanted to play some cards tomorrow. Heads up, possibly no-limit. Thought you might like to get another taste of the game.”

  He heard Lucky sigh. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

  “Sure?”

  “I’m no poker player. I thought I might be, but I think I’m beginning to realize certain things.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Like what?”

  “Nothing you’d be interested in.”

  Aces let the disembodied conversation lag.

  Thought he heard the pop of a wine cork on the other end.

  “Hey, Lucky?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “You know that woman who plays at the Mayflower? Sally?”

  “Who?”

  Aces hesitated. “She has cancer.”

  “The bald woman?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She has cancer?”

  Aces covered his left ear as a garbage truck rolled by. He waited for its roar to settle before saying: “Well, that’s what I heard…”

  “That stinks. It really does…” A cough at the other end. “What about her?”

  “Nothing… You sure you don’t want to have a game tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  “Well, all right,” Aces said. “Have a good night, Lucky.”

  “Always. You too.”

  Aces hung up. The phone puked his quarter back out. Sure, why not? Aces left it behind, didn’t give it a second thought. He continued his trek towards transportation. The sun would be rising soon, somewhere in the east, and at least that was something to rely on. Aces made it to the ACE. Refused to descend. Waited, hands cold and sore.

  There was one bright side to be had.

  Tarquin didn’t know Aces knew.

  And there would come a day, one single night, huddled over the felt, surrounded by the silent stare of players, rags and royalty, when Tarquin would be wondering what to do next.

  And depending on what Aces was holding, that would be the moment to let slip this little secret.

  Aces thought about Sally. Aces thought about Tarquin’s que
stion, the deserted island. He thought about the possibility of devouring another human.

  He tossed the pager into a nearby garbage can.

  As dawn drew close, Aces slowly realized how this next hand would have to play out.

  Inevitably.

  Chaos Kitten.

  After Steffi went on maternity leave, then left Castlebar for maternity life, Brigid promptly stepped into mine. An Amazon blonde with a full body of hairpin turns. Round face. Barberry cheeks. Large, powder blue eyes.

  God introduced us on a Sunday afternoon. A platoon of regulars dotting the bar, drunken polka dots. Jukebox on break. Oasis playing on the company iPod. Back room a nest of empty tables, naked stage awaiting the call to open mic night.

  She tossed a coaster on the counter. Irish brogue dancing lightly off her tongue. “What’s good for you, then?”

  I set my notebook down. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “Take your time, dear.”

  She coasted down the bar, threw a look over her shoulder.

  Pair of lengthy braids going along for the ride.

  I lit a cigarette, and thought about my options.

  She returned with a wine-stained take-out menu in her hands. “Any decisions, stranger?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I was going to order some food from the deli on the corner. You know it?”

  “I do.”

  “You want anything?”

  “I’m ok.”

  “That mean you know what you’re drinking, then?”

  “No. You keep giving me things to think about.”

  “Wouldn’t want to do that. Not on a Sunday.”

  “Tell you what, though…” I took a drag. “You trust me to do as much, I’ll pick your lunch up for you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Eventually, it’s going to be a yes or no question.”

  She grinned. Crossed her arms as she leaned over the bar. Gave her breasts some heft, and for a moment I was petrified she was already scrounging for a tip. “Then how about an arrangement?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m new here.”

  “Hello.”

  “Hi. And I’m guessing you’re a regular.”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what? Your usual pleasure, I’m also guessing, is something along the lines of a bottled domestic? Or maybe a pour of whiskey, vodka, something on the rocks?”

  “Sometimes. Occasionally, always.”

  “Ho-hum…” She put her hand to her mouth in a contrite yawn. “Ho-hum-de-hum.”

  “Probably, yes.”

  “I want to cut my teeth. Expand my horizons.”

  “You remind me of me when I was you.”

  “That was a long time ago,” she said. “I’ll allow you to fetch my food, if you’ll allow me to make you my lab rat.”

  “Grease the squeaky wheel.”

  “I need practice and you need a drink. Perhaps many drinks. No charge. Long as you’re willing to swallow whatever I’m serving…” She tilted her head, mimicking a keen observation. “And my guess is you’ll say yes.”

  “Yes.”

  “You must be Lucky.”

  “You must be psychic?”