“Kid at the bar. Black rimmed specs with the Huey Freeman afro.”
“Ex-boyfriend.”
“Ah….” Eli threw a thankful nod at the fleet of doormen and baggage handlers. “I’m going to assume that’s not how he planned it.”
“Boy cheated on me.”
“Ouch.”
They stepped out into the rainy evening. Beyond the cul-de-sac lay a vast parking lot, surrounded by a lush forest of thankful trees. A white, ethereal glow reflected off raindrops, collecting in scattered puddles, drumming against the Hotel’s overhang.
“Was it anyone you know?” Eli asked, unsheathing a cigarette.
“Was who the what now?”
“Your boyfriend’s little fling…” He lit up, tossed the match into a sandy, upright ashtray. “Was it with anyone you know?”
“He was doing the pre-frosh thing up at Wesleyan. Met some girl. Slept with her. Not a complicated story. Then again, I suppose most aren’t.”
“How’d you find out?”
“Malik’s got sticky fingers. Total klepto. And I know where he hides his little prizes. The kind of secret spot where you might find a journal, if you were willing to look.”
Eli grinned. “You boosted his journal, you little sneak.”
“Dinah’s idea. But… that ain’t my style.”
“I’m all about style. Do continue.”
“The girl was leaving posts on his Facebook page not two days after he got back. When I asked him about his new friend, he was all sideways glances and what have you. So I took a look at her profile picture and saw she was wearing a shirt for the local AIDS hotline. I called the number, over and over, until I got her on the phone –”
“Hold up… Props for getting this far, but don’t those hotline employees use assumed names?”
“In this case, yeah.”
“So how the hell did you figure out when you got her on the –”
Jessica shrugged, secretly pleased with herself. “Her limited profile included links to three fan pages. One of them was the Twilight Fan Club, which I might add is unbelievably lame –”
“Don’t like vampires?”
“Never met one. People who’d like to? Lame, lame, lame.”
“Noted. Go on.”
“So when I finally got someone on the phone answering to the name of Isabella Swan, I kind of figured I’d found my girl.”
“Nice.”
“I went ahead and told her my desperate story. About a boy I’d slept with six months ago, my first and only. One Mr. Malik Council –”
“Who you believe gave you a case of the HIV.”
“Her reaction pretty much gave the whole thing away.”
“So you let him have it.”
“Damn straight,” Jessica said. “He was throwing a party at his place. On Valentine’s Day, no less. I served it up in front of everyone. Dinah was there that night, and you should’ve seen her laughing.”
“Broke up with her man on Valentine’s Day.” Eli threw his head back, sent a thin trail of smoke sailing. “You are a dangerous girl, Jessica Kincaid. You know that?”
“And you know my last name, how?”
“The cops…” Eli tilted sideways, lightly rocked his shoulder against Jessica’s. “Remember?”
“Oh, right…” She returned the gesture with a swift punch to his arm. “For a moment, I guess I’d forgotten what we were doing here.”
“What are we doing here?”
Jessica glanced up. Locked eyes with his.
The unmistakable wail of tortured brake pads cut into their moment.
Dinah’s Paleolithic mustang pulled up, box frame rattling on sagging axles.
The valet didn’t feel particularly obliged to move from his station.
Dinah rolled down the window in starts and fits. Removed a cigarette from her lips, pointed towards Jessica’s escort. “I know you.”
Eli nodded. “ ‘Sup, Dinah.”
“ ‘Sup yourself,” she retorted, killing the motor. “Jessica, I’m going to cover Alicia’s shift for a few hours. You want to take my car, pick me up around eight?”
Eli stepped forward. “If you want, I can give her a ride…” He turned to Jessica. “Have you had dinner?”
“Dude!” Dinah took a drag of her cigarette. “She’s seventeen!”
“That’s odd… She doesn’t act black.”
Jessica shoved him aside. She stepped up to the Mustang window, bent down. “It’s cool, Blondie. We’ll grab a bite, slide on down to The Rail. We’ll see you there when you’re done.”
“Are you actually suggesting we have some fun tonight?”
“You didn’t hear it from me.”
“Well, this weirdo can’t be all bad, then…” Dinah tilted her head back out the window. “Hey, scarecrow!”
Eli held out his arms, taking stock of his own body.
“Yeah, you. I want her back in one piece, you got that? If I see so much as a scratch, I’ll blowtorch your ass. You got that?”
“One piece, blowtorch… noted.”
Dina stretched her neck, planted a kiss on Jessica’s cheek. “Later, baby.”
“Don’t kill nobody.” Jessica stepped back and let the Mustang sputter out of the driveway and around the back of the hotel.
“That lady’s nuts about you.” Eli flicked his cigarette, perfect arc into the ashtray.
“Time’s I feel she’s the only friend I’ve ever had.”
“What’s the story with you two, anyway?”
“Are we grabbing a bite to eat or not?”
Eli pulled out a set of keys, motioned with his head. “My treat, I’m guessing, right?”
“Damn straight,” Jessica replied, walking alongside him beneath the overhang. “And another thing; no more talking about me. I don’t even know what you’re doing in town.”
“What makes you think I’m from out of town?”
“Sunshine state driver’s license… Though I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”
“And what makes you say –”
“Earlier, at the bar… you said people were real friendly down here. I ain’t exactly a seasoned cartographer, but I imagine anybody from Florida would consider us to be real friendly up here.”
“Damn, Jessica…” Eli pointed his remote lock out into the parking lot. “You really are dangerous.”
“Beats the shit out of friendly.”
“On three…”
Eli counted them down, mashed the button on his remote.
From somewhere among the rows of metal tortoise shells, headlights flashed.
Jessica and Eli went barreling into the storm.
Chapter 10: First Date.
Eli was a card player, so the story went.
Born and raised in Tampa. Well-to-do family, or so Eli had always thought. At seventeen years old, both his parents died in a car accident. Much to his surprise, the family fortune turned out to be smoke and mirrors. Or, in legalese, debt and assets. Bad investments with nothing to show for it but the things they owned. It all canceled out nicely, and Eli was left with nothing. Shuttled off to live with relatives in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.
“This was back before that whole gentrification,” Eli explained through bites of a steak burrito. “Just before the hipsters started laying their eggs there. Mostly Jews and Italians up in that place. One year of high school left. One lousy year, and I almost didn’t make it. Straight D’s, all the way. See, I wasn’t always a bad student, but… Losing my parents, stuck with relatives I didn’t know. In a city of strangers… Not that I couldn’t have staked my claim somewhere… I just didn’t give a fuck, you know? I was lost. Both hands and a flashlight, that old saying.”
Jessica could relate.
Eli’s lost years were drawn straight from the bottle. After graduating, he forewent college to pursue a series of dead-end jobs. Most of them ended in swift termination, courtesy of booze and an overall bad attitude.
“Then one night, back in ninety-eight
… my eighteenth birthday. I’m about to go out and get wrecked, when a guy I know asks me to come with him to the Diamond Club. I didn’t know what the hell the Diamond Club was. Thought maybe he was taking me to a strip joint, some place where an underage drinker can get past the bouncer, long as he knows who’s who. What do I find instead, but a building up on thirty-fifth and set of steps leading up to an unassuming room with five or so card tables… Guy hands me a hundred bucks, explains the game, then sits me down at a four-eight, seven-stud table… Happy birthday.”
Eli raked in three hundred dollars that evening.
“Beginner’s luck is no myth, let’s get that out of the way right now… And granted, as amazing as that first haul felt, I had my share of ups and downs after the fact. But I learned, real quick. Got to know the game, real quick. No lie, it was as though I’d found something to counteract that one act of misfortune that had turned my life upside down.”
When Eli sat down at the table, and placed his chips in front of him... Fingers resting on the felt, fresh deck of cards sending out diamonds and clubs, aces and rags to meet their destiny. For the first time, he was in control of the elements. There was bad luck, there was good luck. All that mattered was what a man did with it.
And bit by bit, Eli managed to grind out a living. From the underground card clubs, to home games throughout the five boroughs, to the dismal lights of Atlantic City; there wasn’t one night of the week where he couldn’t be found sitting behind a hand. Waiting for that one perfect moment to go taekwondo against anyone daring to overreach.
“It’s not quite the most legal way to make ends meet, unless you go pro… So for years, I crashed with friends, gave them cash for the rent. Had my bankroll spread out and stashed in more places than a venture capitalist. Never bothered to get a New York license… always better for a guy like me to cover his tracks. No paper trail.”
And what was he doing in Verona, North Carolina, of all places?
“Sometimes things can get hot… can’t be the best at something without somebody, at some point, some game, thinking you’re a cheat. Let’s just say, I had one particular card game that went bad. Tough customers. Had a friend down here who was going to be gone for the summer, needed someone to look after his place. Help with the rent, look after his car. And let me tell you something about micro-cities like Verona: when it comes to cards…”
The poker craze of the previous decade had every Tom, Dick, and Nobody thinking they had it in them to be authentic players. ESPN, FSN, even non-sporting networks like Bravo had gone crazy with the drama of no-limit Texas Hold ‘Em. While the major metropolitan cities were flush with players – California had even legalized poker rooms – every other nook and cranny in the United States was teeming with newcomers who relied on the misshapen analysis of sports commentators to guide them.
“The real money’s down here. In Verona. Granted, hunting season’s got to be at its peak when the Pantheon brats are in session. But for the most part, I’ve found some lean cuts of meat. Medium rare, a virtual banquet. Got my bankroll up to thirty-K, cash. I’m right at the point where I can head on out to Vegas and start doing this above board with the rest of the pros.”
Jessica washed down the last of her garden burrito, ice cubes rattling against her teeth. She crumpled the plastic cup. Leaned back and regarded Eli with as much admiration as she was able to muster.
Eli took one last tug at his Corona, raised an eyebrow. “What?”
Jessica tapped her fingers on the small, wooden table. From the open air kitchen to her right, cooks and cashiers scrambled to put together orders for a line of clients leading out the front door of Caliente Cantina.
“Two questions…” Her words were almost lost beneath the blare of mariachi music blasting from the speakers. “First is: how did you manage to tell me your life’s story while eating an entire steak burrito, and not gross me out in the process?”
Eli shrugged. “Everyone else finds me repulsive to the touch, so let me ask you… how is that I managed to tell my life’s story while eating a steak burrito, and not gross you out in the process?”
“Uh, uh…” Jessica stood, collecting their trash. “Nothing about me until we’re out the door, that’s the deal.”
“Tried to slip one by you, there.”
“No sale, scarecrow.”
The two of them cut through the chain of hungry customers. Jessica placed their baskets in the bus bins by the entrance. Eli tossed his bottle into the recycling, and turned to her.
“So what’s your second question?”
Jessica crossed her arms. “You ever bet on pool?”
Eli mirrored her pose, skinny shoulders hunched under his sport coat. “Sounds like your money’s not too happy where it is.”
“Just a little lonely… maybe some of yours can come out to play.”
“I should warn you, Jessica, I’m pretty good with a stick.”
“Fine,” Jessica shrugged. “Time being, how about we just shoot some pool?”
Eli smiled. “Jessica, you are just plain danger –”
The door swung open unexpectedly and clocked Eli squarely in the forehead.
His hand shot up to his face, as a set of abashed teenagers wandered in.
“Dangerous, yeah,” Jessica said, grabbing hold of his available arm and leading him out. “Get some new material there.”
And even after the long walk back to Eli’s car, he was still laughing.
Chapter 11: Incident at On The Rail.
On The Rail was alive and kicking.
A packed house of pool hall heavies, couples shooting darts, and rambunctious shuffleboard fanatics fighting over vague technicalities. Tables teeming with empty bottles. Michael Jackson on the jukebox. Good chance it wouldn’t be the last time Billy Jean would be making the rounds that evening.
Jessica and Eli stepped into a full on, cigarette sauna.
Casper Noel was regaling a barfly with yet another tale from the land of legal woes.
“And whenever they bring in drug cases, the arresting officers basically act like they just brought in Osama Bin Laden…” He pointed at Jessica, went to go nab an orange soda. Talking all the while. “At this time, the cops feel as though they just presented a slam dunk for an individual who's about to go to jail with a sky high bond... But not so fast. I ask the kid where he works. He says he’s a cook at the Templeton. Strike one for cops. They know that real, hardened drug dealers don’t have full time jobs. I ask the kid, does he realize that he has to be in court tomorrow for a felony first appearance? He says no, but that if he has to miss work tomorrow for it, that he will. Strike two for cops; kid’s not a flight risk. I ask the kid, why’d you tell the cops you were growing weed? He says he doesn’t know. I ask the cops, would they have known he had weed at his house if he hadn’t told them? Of course, not. Would they have known he had weed in the van if he hadn’t told them? Hell no. So then I say, in light of the evidence and police actions I’ve seen here today, I find that the bond will be twenty-five hundred dollars... unsecured. The kid don’t realize yet that he’s walking out of there, but the cops are just plain disgusted. I inform them that were it not for this kid's statements against his self-interest, they probably wouldn’t have had a damn reason to even write him up for a traffic violation. And then I straight ordered them to take those cuffs off!”
The regulars erupted in rowdy cheers, let justice be done.
Without a pause, Casper popped open Jessica’s drink, placed it at the bar. “Hey, girl.”
“Good lookin’ out, Casper.”
Casper turned to Eli. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll just have a Bud Light.”
“Can I see some ID?”
Directly to Jessica’s left, Chaucer spun around in his barstool. Verona Observer open to the metro section. “Well, ain’t that nice,” he proclaimed, sending a wink Jessica’s way before turning on the barkeep. “Don’t believe you’ve ever once asked me for proof o
f age, Mr. Noel.”
“Well, all right then!” Casper picked up Chaucer’s empty and tossed it into the bin. “Cough it up, mister! I got five to one says this guy ain’t a day over a hundred!”
Chaucer gave Eli a friendly nod as he dug his license out.
Eli returned the gesture, and the pair of them handed over their IDs.
“How you doing, Jessica?” Chaucer asked.
“Wondering why I haven’t seen you around the hotel,” she replied.
“Oh, damn!” Casper laughed, examining both DOB’s, side by side. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Chaucer.”
Chaucer groaned. “Well, this was a mistake.”
“Can’t say black folks don’t age beautifully,” Casper concluded, handing them back their proof of age. “Bud Light and a Heineken, coming up.”
Chaucer glanced at the license in his hand… “Hey, Eli.”
“Yeah?”
“Last I checked, I wasn’t white.”
Eli nodded. “Last I checked, I wasn’t six-one.”
“Trade you?”
The two of them switched up, identities relinquished.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Braswell,” Eli said, extending his arm.
Chaucer met his hand, cigarette clamped between his lips. “You talk to the cops already?”
“Last week. Seems I’m in the clear, anyway.”
“Yeah,” Jessica said. “Good to see you, too, Chaucer.”
Chaucer smiled, picked his drink off the bar.
“What’s that smile for?” she asked.
“You called me Chaucer.”
Jessica took a sip of her soda. “So why haven’t I seen you around the hotel?”
“Been busy.”
“I’ll bet.”
Eli stepped into the conversation, holding his beer and a full rack. “You ready for this, Jessica?”
“Better know it.”
“You want to join us, Mr. Braswell?” Eli offered.
“Mr. Braswell,” Chaucer muttered, shaking his head. “Kids these days are too damn polite.”
“Maybe it’s that you’re old enough to be my grandfather,” Jessica assured him.
“Glass half full says I’m young enough to be your father.”
“And now I’m going to have to kick your ass, too…” Jessica took the rack from Eli and motioned for them to follow her. “Try to keep up.”
The three of them made their home at table eight, which lay perpendicular to a row of chairs bolted atop a red-painted riser. Each one with seats flipped up like wooden under-bites. Chaucer and Eli settled in. Jessica set up the first rack. She glanced over, saw Chaucer offer Eli a Dunhill. Neither one fazed by this chance encounter.