Crabtree looked interested now. “I could just have easily had the other jack, or another king, or another eight.”
“No, you couldn’t have. There are two jokers in the deck, which meant instead of having to have one card, you only had to have one of three. You didn’t have to have a jack and a king or a jack and an 8. You had the card which would finish almost anything for you. The turn didn’t matter, and neither did the river. You could use the joker to finish anything. It changed everything. So, yes. It mattered I didn’t know the card was in the fucking deck.”
Crabtree turned to Randy, pleased. “Well, well, my boy. He is an ace, and better still, he’s not stuck on the bottom of the deck.”
Randy peeled off another hundred and tossed it at Crabtree before reaching for the canister of chips. “Yes. So will you please be nicer to him?”
Sam leaned forward, his eyes running around the table. “Okay, I know Crabtree is a cannibal, and so is Mitch. And apparently Ethan is an ace.” He smiled shyly at Ethan, then turned, curious, to Randy. “But what are you?”
Randy rolled his eyes, reached for one of the cards in front of Crabtree, and tossed it at Sam.
Crabtree looked proudly at him. “Randy is wild. He’s the joker—he’s every card at once, but unlike the ace, he doesn’t feel the structure of the deck. In fact, he defies it, which is why he isn’t allowed in formal games—or if he is, he must be clever how he hides.”
“Cool.” Sam grinned.
But Ethan only studied his lover, and it wasn’t until Randy dealt that Ethan was able to fully form the thought brewing in the back of his mind.
Jokers might be wild, but Ethan bet they were even lonelier than the aces.
SLICK LOOKED SO fucking good in his suit it was almost criminal, and watching him move around in it drove Randy crazy.
He also looked good when he was pissed off, and Crabtree had seen to it Ethan remained in a constant state of frustration the entire evening. He gunned for Slick, making sure he always lost or only won small pots, and only then just enough to keep him in the game. Sam, as always, despite the significant lead Mitch had given him, ran out of chips first, and Mitch, who had only been marginally interested in the game anyway, quickly spent himself out. They watched for a few hands, and then Mitch excused himself and Sam so they could retire to their bedroom. But Crabtree held up a hand as they rose, reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card, which he passed to Mitch.
“Dr. Laura Halstrom. You won’t find better in the city, and you’ll only find a few superior elsewhere. I suggest you both go for the first visit because you’ll feel easier about leaving, Mitch, if you meet her.”
Mitch’s voice was gruff when he spoke. “Thank you.”
“Be sure to look me up before you leave for Los Angeles. It turns out I have some business for you myself in Kentucky.”
Mitch winced but said nothing, only nodded. He glared at Randy, though, before putting a hand on Sam’s back and leading him down the hall toward the bedrooms.
Then the game really got interesting.
Randy tried to protect Slick, but it was hard enough to keep his own head above water with Crabtree, and at best he could sometimes deflect some of the attacks. He knew what Crabtree was doing, and he knew why, but he didn’t like it. He’d only known Ethan a day, but he’d played poker with him for a good chunk of that time, and he knew when Slick was starting to wear down. He was pretty much a frayed nerve by this point. Randy wanted to end the game, and soon, because he wanted to have some intense sex with the man, and it’d be a lot less fun with Ethan smarting from Crabtree wiping the floor with him.
Ethan tried to adapt his strategy, and he did well, all things considered. For someone playing just one day, he was a fucking savant. But with Crabtree, even this wasn’t enough. You couldn’t miss a beat when you played him, and he always made sure he stayed several steps ahead of you. Most pros wouldn’t play with him because he was so erratic, and he was in full form tonight. Randy had to find a way to end this, but it wouldn’t be easy.
The only real weakness Crabtree had at cards was he was no good at what Randy was best at—manipulating the game from the belly. Crabtree couldn’t because he’d never throw a game, and it was the easiest way to manipulate one. It didn’t bother Randy at all. If he wanted money, he could find some live ones and clean up. In this town you couldn’t walk into a poker room without tripping over four of those games. But manipulating a game was fun, and for him the fun was usually payment enough. Winning or losing money was a highly negotiable detail.
What Randy wanted right now was to have Slick to himself. He wanted to make sure he was okay. He wanted to fuck him. He wanted to ask him what he thought of Crabtree. He wanted to find out what the tic in his jaw was about—what was he so pissed about when he did that? Was he right, and it was jealousy? Or was it something else? Was he hoping too hard it was jealousy? Whatever it was, he wouldn’t know until the game was over.
So he ended it.
Randy stopped trying to save Slick and began to amass chips slowly, putting himself first even with Crabtree then moving himself slightly ahead. He went out as far as he dared to go without forcing Crabtree to try to bring him back in line to save face. Then he bided his time, never putting himself at risk, waiting for the right hand.
Then it came. Oh, sweet Jesus, did it come.
He lured them both in, and he was fucking proud of himself, because he played his tells so Ethan folded but Crabtree stayed in, and then he kept building up more and more, until Crabtree had put half his stack in.
“Really think you have something, Jansen?” Crabtree asked.
Randy kept his eyes on the pot. “You calling or raising, Crabtree?”
Crabtree stared at him awhile, but Randy didn’t budge. Finally Crabtree grunted and tossed in a raise.
Randy hadn’t believed he could actually do this on one hand, but he’d underestimated himself. Crabtree thought Randy had overplayed, and it was too pleasing to think of nearly cleaning him out, then eliminating him on the next hand so he could focus on Ethan. It had to be this, because it was the only reason Randy could think of for Crabtree to put himself all-in, especially with such a smug grin. “Call.”
They were already at the river, so Randy laid down his cards—both jokers.
“Four of a kind or full house. However you’d care to read it.”
Crabtree laid down his 9 and 2, with all the hearts on the board making his hand a high pair with an ace kicker. He gave Randy a glare, but Randy didn’t let it get to him. It was Crabtree’s own fault for telling him he was a joker who had found an ace.
Mine, he said with his return stare, then let his eyes slide to Ethan before he reached for the pot, just so Crabtree understood what he was claiming.
Crabtree rose, reaching for his jacket on the chair behind him. “Thank you for the dinner, Jansen, and the unexceptional dessert. I will not thank you, however, for that play.”
“Good night, Crabtree.” Randy made sure his reply was laconic, but his heart beat faster. Yes, leave, so I can be with Ethan.
Crabtree turned to Ethan. “I want to see you in my office tomorrow at noon.”
Randy’s head whipped around, and for the first time in his life he didn’t care what Crabtree had or hadn’t done, he wasn’t going to stand for this, not with Ethan—and then he got a good look at Crabtree’s face, and he relaxed.
Crabtree smiled briefly in reassurance. “I have need of some advice on investments. I understand you’re the man to ask about such things.”
Ethan, bless him, didn’t so much as glance at Randy, just stared boldly at the gangster. “I’m a fair hand, but I’m not the best.”
“If our meeting goes as well as I suspect it will, I may have more work for you. And of course, I’ll give you some proper instruction in poker.” He nodded again at Randy and reached for his hat. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”
Randy rose, and Ethan followed suit. They took turns shaking
Crabtree’s hand, and they walked him to the door together. They watched at the window as Crabtree went to the shining black car which had waited all evening for him at the curb. The gangster climbed inside, and the car crawled off into the night.
Randy ran a hand down Ethan’s shoulder, skimming the silky fabric of his coat and catching the cool tips of his long fingers before leading him back to the table.
Ethan balked. “No. I can’t take anymore.”
Randy captured his hand more firmly. “I know. That’s why I’m making you keep playing. You’re too good to let the old bastard ruin you. Now sit down and listen.”
Ethan did, reluctantly. Randy poured him another drink, hesitated over his own, then put away the alcohol and made himself a plain Pepsi. Then he sat down and began to teach his lover the next level of poker.
“You can take or leave Crabtree’s Parable of Cards, but here’s something to keep hold of regardless—there’s a lot to be learned from a man who will confess to you his own philosophy of life. Crabtree works to make sure everyone knows he’s a king, which is the biggest flag you get that he’s actually at best a jack. He tells his story, then beats your pants off, and you think, ‘Shit, I’ll never beat this guy.’”
Ethan grunted and drank deeply.
Randy rubbed his arm affectionately. “Mitch hates playing with him. Mitch hates him, period, but I think it’s more because he sees too much of himself in the man, too much of what he could become if he crossed mental lines in his head. And to be honest, it’s a valid worry. Mitch and Crabtree are both dominant men up against one hurricane of a handicap: no matter how masculine they are, the world around them—particularly the one they grew up in—has declared because of who they want to sleep with they can never be full men, can never be kings.”
Ethan’s gaze softened, but he still stared into his glass. “I’ve felt this too.”
“I think Sam’s generation may see things differently, maybe. Hopefully. But it’s over for Mitch, and it’s especially over for Crabtree. Even if the whole world changes around them, in their own minds, they’ll never be able to fully be kings. Mitch deals with this by making his own rules, but until Sam came along, the cost was he was lonely. He doesn’t like Crabtree calling his husband a parasite, because to Mitch, Sam isn’t even in the deck of cards. He’s a brilliant, perfect sun. I’m pretty sure he’d kill for him.”
Ethan now had his drink cradled against his chest as he lounged in his chair. “So—what, I’m supposed to feel better because Crabtree has a bad self-image?”
“No. You’re supposed to quit feeling wounded and start unpacking his strategy.” Randy nodded to where the gangster had been sitting. “Crabtree plays erratically. It’s his only way to assure dominance. He also only plays with people he can beat—another sign of a jack. He likes to manipulate and control—but he actually wants to help, not punish. Which is why he told you to come see him tomorrow. He wants to take you under his wing.”
Ethan tensed. “I don’t want—”
“Hear me out. I know he grates sometimes, but stop being wounded for a minute and think this through. You already know you’re a better person than he is. You’re smarter, but you think your weakness is you aren’t as manipulative. Well, watch and learn from him, Slick. A manipulation skill set will take you far in life.” He gathered the cards and discarded the jokers before shuffling. “He’s right about you being an ace. You can be ruthless when you want to be, but you also see too much. I don’t know all about your past, how you viewed yourself before Nick did a number on you, but I can guess. At any rate, I know where you’re at right now, and it’s not on the top. So go learn from him. In the meantime, sit here for a few minutes and make some of your money back.”
He dealt a hand.
“Here’s the lesson the pros will teach you, what Crabtree won’t—if you want to make money, play tight. Don’t bluff. Fold liberally. Play hands you have nuts on or ones you’re reasonably sure you can win. Play like you’re playing video poker. Bet small, bet quietly, and play to win. It takes patience, which is why Crabtree can’t do it. But an investment broker ought to do all right playing tight. Seems to me that’s all you do. Use whatever mental mindset you use to invest other people’s money to play your own. Crabtree got you because he played you. You were trying to show him you were as big a dog as he was. You were drawing dead no matter what hand you drew.”
Ethan ran a hand through his hair. He slouched, but it was a move he still managed to make elegant. “I don’t have a whole lot right now. I wanted some pride in front of the guy you let tie you up.”
Randy bit back his grin. So he was jealous. “You get pride from yourself, Ethan. I know it sounds like an after-school special, but it’s true. Smartest, kindest, proudest man I ever knew told me that, and nothing I’ve ever seen in life has proven him wrong.”
Ethan looked up sharply. “Who was that?”
Randy could read the tight, Another goddamn lover? query in his eyes.
Oh, Slick, I could love you.
Randy had to stare down at the table for a moment, he was so shaken.
“My uncle.” Randy made a show of looking at his cards, even though he already had. “Call, raise, or fold?”
Ethan lifted the corners of his own cards and pushed them forward. “Fold.” Then he paused. “Wait, shouldn’t I have to ante?”
Randy waved a hand. “Yes, but not now. This is instruction, not play. You’re under me for two hundred already—let’s not make it any worse, shall we?”
Ethan picked up the cards to shuffle them. “I’m going to have to wash a lot of your dishes to pay you back.”
“If you’re working off money from me, it’s not going to be by washing dishes, Slick.”
They put in an hour at it, and Ethan decimated another tall G&T as well. Randy explained which hands were better statistically, and he taught him which spreads were most ideal. Slick was all about odds, he quickly learned, and he made a mental note to dig out his David Sklansky books for him, because he had a feeling Ethan and the math-minded poker genius were a natural match. Ethan was also going to have to work on his bluffs, but Crabtree would be the best man for him in that regard.
“There’s sort of an unspoken code in poker,” he told Ethan after they put down the last hand and started counting out their winnings. “There are rules the professionals expect you to play by, and when you break them, they get upset. Poker is people. Remember that. Cards are just props. When you learn poker from Crabtree, it’s going to be how to play dirty. Really dirty. Not how to cheat. But he will teach you how to cheat on the code. That’s why people won’t play with him, because he makes it too hard to figure him out.”
“But you figured him out.”
Randy shrugged. “He would never have let me beat him if he hadn’t been so focused on you. You weren’t the only one in the pissing contest, Slick.”
“But you ended it. By playing a pair of jokers.”
Randy smiled. “Yeah, that was pretty sweet. It’s those moments I could almost believe in Lady Luck after all.” He rose and picked up a handful of twenties. He tossed two to Ethan.
“You mean fate?” Ethan glanced down at the twenties. “I can’t. I already owe you.”
“Fate is for pussies. But as a heads up, Crabtree believes in it. He’d bet on black with you, and he’s probably going to take you down to the floor to play craps first thing tomorrow.” He nodded to the money. “I’ll pay you forty, then, to go and take a ride with me right now.”
“Ride?” Ethan echoed.
Randy jerked his head toward the garage. “On my bike. I’ll take you to see the Las Vegas sign.”
Ethan frowned at Randy. “You don’t have to pay me to get me to take a ride with you.”
God, he looked so good when he was tousled. How the hell did I end up with a guy who makes H&M look a little bit shabby? Randy covered the vulnerable moment with a leer. “How about I pay you forty to feel me up while we ride?”
Eth
an didn’t miss a beat. “You don’t have to pay me for that, either.”
Oh, sweet Jesus, he should go fuck him right now. But he wanted a ride first. He reached over and took the twenties.
“All right, then. But so you know, you’re developing a habit of throwing money away over me.” He didn’t watch to see how Ethan reacted, just grabbed his belt loop and tugged him toward the door to the garage. “Come on, Slick. You need some wind in your hair.”
Chapter Nine
RANDY HAD ALWAYS thought there wasn’t anything he loved more than driving too fast on his motorcycle down the streets of Las Vegas in the middle of the night. But Slick’s long, lean body pressed up against him, his half-aroused cock nestled tight against Randy’s ass through thin, expensive trousers, his strong fingers gripping Randy’s waist as the bike purred beneath them both? This was heaven.
He took Ethan down the 592 over to I-515 before turning down toward Sunset Road, and from there he took them all the way over to Las Vegas Boulevard. They went north until they got to the 5100 block, and from there Randy drove right up underneath the Welcome To Fabulous Las Vegas sign. He slowed the bike and pulled over to the curb.
“It’s still here?” Ethan’s voice had a note of wonder in it that got to Randy, and he took his helmet off and turned around so he could get a better look at him. Through the visor, Ethan’s face was lit up, not just by the electric neon of the sign but by his own sense of wonder.
“They’ve moved it around a lot, and it went dark completely for a while, but yeah, it’s still here. It’s on the register of historic places now, I think, so it ought to be here to stay. Well, if not here, then it will stay in some form or another.” He drank in Ethan’s rapt expression, letting it do crazy things to his insides. “Didn’t peg you for one who would go mushy at the Vegas sign, Slick.”
Ethan’s smile stayed soft and sweet. “Me, either.”
If Ethan had taken his helmet off, or if Randy thought he could manipulate his way inside the visor without bungling the moment, he’d have kissed Slick then. But the helmet stayed on, and there was time enough for that later. He reached over and slapped Ethan’s thigh instead. “Want to head up the Strip, baby?”
Double Blind Page 12
