A break in the deal

With my recent computer problems, limited writing time, and a new-found desire to finish a book I’m working on, I’m suspending the 52 Cards project.  I plan on finishing it eventually, and to that end I’ll list the remaining cards, as they appeared in the shuffled deck back in January (I haven’t looked ahead until tonight).  Some of them might get skipped to if I feel like writing something off my regularly scheduled beaten path.

Remaining cards:

Six of Hearts (I know that it was last week’s, but I don’t want to let it go)

King of Spades (this week’s)

King of Diamonds

Seven of Clubs

King of Hearts

Three of Spades

Six of Spades (part 2 of Inside-Outside Straight)

Eight of Diamonds

Eight of Spades (part 3 of Inside-Outside Straight)

Five of Clubs

Ten of Diamonds

Ten of Hearts

Seven of Hearts

Two of Spades (part 3 of  Two-Island Lake)

Two of Clubs (part 4 of Two-Island Lake)

Nine of Diamonds

Queen of Diamonds

Eight of Hearts

Nine of Spades (part 4 of Inside-Outside Straight)

Ten of Spades (conclusion of Inside-Outside Straight)

Queen of Hearts

Seven of Spades

Inside/Outside Straight, part 1 of 5

“I’m sorry sir, you’re not allowed to play with cards while in the restaurant.”  The woman was trying to look stern, but the man simply kept turning cards in his hand.  He sat the deck on the table, and his stern demeanor slowly morphed into a smirk.

“Company policy?” he asked without looking at the waitress.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“Are you the manager tonight?”

“Yes, I am.  I know our waitress told you once before to put them away.”

“Well, in that case…” the man looked up a the manager.  His eyes were barely visible behind the dark lenses of his glasses. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a roll of bills.  He sat a hundred dollar bill on the table.  “How about I call that a tip, and you let me keep flipping cards around?”

“Sir…I really…” she was looking at the hundred dollar bill and weighing her options, but before she could continue he sat another one on top of it.

“I could use a few more sugar packets.  I like my coffee sweet.”

“Right away” the woman said as she took the bills with a half-hearted smile.  The man looked towards the door, and saw a man walk in.  He was wearing a black leather jacket, and his slacks were perfectly pressed.  His hair was parted on the side, and it didn’t move an inch as he walked to the waitress waiting to seat him.  The man with the cards held up his hand, holding up the deck for everyone to see.  The man waved off the waitress and walked over to the booth.  He slowly took off his jacket and sat down.  His suit jacket was black with white pinstripes, and his white shirt was as rigid as his hair.  He sat across from the man with the cards, and the air of the bench seat cushion escaped rapidly.  “Is that a full deck” the man in the suit asked.

“Nope, I’m missing a card.”  The man with the cards lowered his arm and sat the deck face up.  The jack of diamonds was showing.

“This one?”  The man in the suit reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a six of clubs.

“Yes.  You must be Derek Winters.”  The man took the card and offered his hand to Derek.

“I know you.  You’re Keith Barnes.  I’ve seen  you on the World Poker Tour. You’re one of the up and coming players.”

“I didn’t know you were a poker fan Mr. Winters.”

“I watch it when I’m home.  I play a little, but not professionally.  It’s more a hobby.”

“Yes, well, we all need our hobbies Mr. Winters.”  Keith slowly sipped his coffee.

“I’m curious why you wanted to meet with me.”

“Oh” Keith said, putting down his coffee.  “Why is that?”

“I’m a museum security consultant, and I own an antique shop in Philadelphia.  So, unless you bought a museum, or want to buy some antiques, I don’t know how I can help you.  How did you even know I’d be in Minneapolis this weekend, much less what hotel I was staying in?”

“I…” Keith stopped as the waitress brought him a plate of chicken strips.  She looked at Derek and smiled.

“Can I get you anything?”

Derek smiled, but Keith cut him off as he started to speak.  “I’m buying.”

“Just coffee” Derek said.  The waitress walked away as Keith dipped a chicken strip into a small dish filled with honey mustard.

“You should really try the honey mustard.  It’s delish” Keith said.  Derek crinkled his nose a bit.

“I’m not really a Perkins kind of guy” he said.  “You haven’t told my yet how you knew I’d be in Minneapolis this weekend.”

“Alistair” Keith said, just before shoving the rest of the chicken strip in his mouth.  Derek’s casual smile gave way to a look of stern seriousness.

“Oh.  I see.  Do you think this is a good place to talk about this?”

“It’s before the bar rush, and the police don’t eat here until later.  That, and I was really craving the honey mustard.”  Keith kept eating as Derek nodded to the waitress who brought him some coffee.

“So, how did you find Alistair?”

“I may not have a WPT title, but I’ve made enough money to know a few things.  That, and I have…other ways.”

Derek frowned as he took a sip of coffee.  “Isn’t being a cliomancer kind of cheating?”

“Is a baseball player taking steroids cheating if the best players are doing it?”  Derek took a pause after Keith spoke, and then shook his head.

“Yes, but I’m not here to be a moral authority.  Why me?”

“I heard about your job with the Liberty Bell.”

“Then you probably know I’m semi-retired after a few less than stellar jobs Alistair hooked me up with.”

“That’s where we can help each other Derek.  You need your groove back, and I need to win a major WPT event.  We can help each other.  I have an easy job that should boost your confidence.  I get something that helps me win the WPT.  It’s a win-win.”

Derek drummed his fingers on the table.  Keith had barely looked at him since he’d walked in.  “All right.  What’s the job?”

“Ever heard of Black Jack McGrew?”

“Nope.”

“He was a famous poker player in the late 19th century.  At least, he was famous among poker players, and in St. Louis.  He was shot dead during a tournament on a riverboat, just as he’d drawn the winning hand.  A straight flush of spades, six through ten.”

“Why was he shot?”

“Does it matter?”

“No…just curious.”

“Well, no one knows.  What I know, is that they have his hand on display at the Missouri History Museum in St. Louis.  Some of his blood is still on the cards.”

“You want me to steal the cards?”

“That’s right” Keith said with a wicked smile.  He was looking right through Derek.  “Plus, since you’re semi-retired, and coming off a few bad hands at your game, I’m thinking your usual fee is a bit high.  After all, I haven’t won any major tournaments.”

“If you’re going to intimidate me, try harder” Derek said.  “I’ve worked for scarier characters than you, who made bigger threats.”

“No threats.  Just negotiating.”

“Tell you what…” Derek was suddenly grinning from ear to ear.  “I’ll take half up front, mine to keep whether I succeed or fail.  I get the rest, with interest, after you win your first major WPT tournament.”

“I see” Keith was no longer smiling, but he didn’t look displeased either.  “Well, I think that’s a deal I can live with.  I’ll wire you the money once you’re in St. Louis.”

“I think we have a deal” Derek said.  He finished his coffee and started pouring another.  Keith slid him a seven of spades.

“That has my cell on it, along with the number of the curator of the Missouri History Museum.  I know he’s not one of your clients, so I hope your schmoozing skills are up to par.”

“Mr. Barnes, you have nothing to worry about.  Those cards are as good as yours.”

[This five parter is based on an old, failed, Unknown Armies RPG character.  Derek Winters: occult thief never worked out with dice, but hopefully he works out in short story form.]

Ace of Spades

Back on Halloween 2005 I recieved a call from Kate.  She was doing laundry in Minneota at a friend’s brother’s place, and a stray cat had found her.  He was nuzzling her while she was hauling stuff out to the car, and the cat kept following her as she went door to door around the neighborhood to see if anyone was missing a grayish/brown tiger-striped cat.  The cat was very tame, and it wore the markings of a house-cat (declawed and fixed) and a stray (his ears were mostly frozen off and he was rail thin).  No one claimed him, and no one could remember him being around until a few weeks ago.  She begged to bring him home, and even though I said yes, she had already loaded him in the car and was on her way back.  When I arrived home to see the cat, he was hiding in the bathroom.  He was a lot bigger than I expected, and he looked very timid.  There was another cat living with us at the time named Gia, and she was no fan of the new cat.  The new cat had no name, and I took it upon myself to name him.  Something about his face reminded me of the character of Eli ‘Weevil’ Navarro from “Veronica Mars”, so Weevil became his name.  The name turned out to be oddly appropriate.

On TV, Eli Navarro had done some time.  Weevil the cat would be in lock up by the end of the night.  Kate’s cat Gia liked to play a bit rough, and she assumed Weevil would be the same.  Weevil didn’t care for rough play, and he voiced his displeasure before sinking his fangs right through Kate’s fingertip, including the nail.  Within minutes he was in a cat carrier, and Kate was on the phone with the hospital.  We agreed to take him to the animal impoundment center for observation, rather than subject him to an immediate rabies test.  We met the officer at the impound center, and while he filled out paperwork Kate took Weevil out of the cat carrier.  He started purring, and he put his arms around Kate’s neck and nuzzled her.  This made turning him over a bit more difficult, but the officer convinced us it was the right idea.  Once Weevil was securely in ‘kitty jail’, we got back in Kate’s car, and I lost it.  I felt so bad for Weevil, since his odds of adoption weren’t good, and his hope of finding a home was looking like a death sentence.  I also felt bad for a cat nobody wanted, since before meeting Kate I frequently felt like someone nobody wanted .  Kate and I talked about it, and it was decided that we’d take him in if nobody claimed him. 

We kept checking on Weevil’s status, and after a week he wasn’t showing any signs of rabies.  Kate took Gia back to her parent’s house, and they allowed us to adopt Weevil as our own.  Having a home changed him pretty quickly, as he began to eat veraciously.  Within a month, he went from skin and bones to almost Garfield territory.  He had some odd quirks that began emerging as well.  He hissed at my oscillating fan.  He was scared to death of vacuum cleaners.  The sound of a lawn mower had him cowering in a corner, or holding onto Kate like a frightened child.  He also began to nip at us on odd occasions.  He would chase us in the dark, nipping at our heels if we weren’t quick.  One night I was plopped on the sofa with Kate, and he got this crazy look in his eye.  He charged at us, let out a short growl, and bit my knee.  After the bite, he just turned and walked towards his food dish, completely calm and acting like nothing had happened.  As time went on, he grew to like me more and more, and Kate less and less (which is totally unfair, since she’s the one who rescued him).

A few months later, we decided to get a second cat, one Kate could call her own.  Logan came into our house as a tiny kitten, barely old enough to be adopted.  Weevi’s first reaction to Logan came at the food dish.  Weevil was chowing down, and Logan decided he wanted to eat as well.  Weevil was without claws, but not without a wicked right cross.  One swat sent Logan rolling across the room.  Luckily, Logan was perky and persistent enough to win Weevil over.  It’s odd to think about those days now, as Logan has grown up bigger than Weevil in any measurable sense.  Weevil eventually found himself facing Mac, and then Eileen.  Both times, he was hostile for about a week, and then he either came to terms or just “gave up” and accepted the increasing cat population.  His attitude about our son has been…odd.  While Kate was in the hospital, I brought one of Braeden’s blankets home so the cats would be used to the baby’s scent.  Weevil saw the blanket right away, sniffed it, and then he plopped on it like it was his own.  Now, he frequently sleeps outside Braeden’s door at night, almost like a guard dog.  He doesn’t have much patience for Braeden pulling his fur, but what cat does?

When I assigned aces to the cats, I knew right away Weevil would be the ace of spades.  He always acts like he’s the king of the cats (although so does Logan, especially since Logan became the largest cat in the house) and he came before the others.  He’s also not part of the other cat “family” so he’s a bit of an outsider.  Weevil also gets the fancy card because of how he loves to prove us wrong every single time we have company.  We warn people that he’s “grumpy” and “bites” and all that, then he’s the first cat to start rubbing on our guest’s legs, purring all the while.  Most of all, I gave him the ace of spades because he’s my favorite cat of all time, and it will be hard to find another cat I’ll care about as much.

Four of Spades

[continued from Six of Clubs]

Scooter didn’t open his eyes.  His mind was playing a loop of fast-forwarded images of Evan jumping out of the car, the tornado collapsing in his rear view mirror, and then reforming to his car’s left.  He could still feel the car lifting up from the road, and his arms still felt tired from grabbing the door and steering wheel, in a vain attempt to hold his car together.  It was starting again when Scooter slowly opened one eye.  He was looking out of the passenger window, which was either cleaner than he remembered, or broken.  He wiggled his fingers and toes, and after accounting for them all in his head, he slowly started to realize he was partially resting on the roof of his car.  He slowly moved his sore neck so he could see upward, and he spotted his legs hooked around the lap belt of his car.  The shoulder strap was dangling by the door, but Scooter couldn’t quite see if it had broken or had been cut.  He heard rain hitting the underside of his car, which was a sound he had never planned on hearing.  He went to undue the lap belt, but his left arm radiated pain as he moved it upward.  He heard the click, and felt the hold on his legs vanish.  His backside fell to the roof, and the reality of being prone on the roof of his car from the inside was sinking in.  He felt around for his laptop and video camera, but he didn’t find them.

rrrrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhhh

“Oh no…no no no…” Scooter said aloud.  The dull roar sounded like a freight train, and Scooter knew surviving a tornado in a car once was rare, but twice was altogether unlikely.  He squared himself on all fours, but his knees and shoulders felt like he’d been swimming for hours.  He slowly crawled towards the broken window.

rrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHH

“Dammit dammit” Scooter said as he placed his first hand outside the car.  The wet gravel squished between his fingers.  A road?  Great, I can get in the ditch Scooter thought.  He sighed with relief as he placed his other hand out to grasp the road.  Instead of feeling more gravel, he felt cold wet steel.  He closed his hand around what felt like a railroad track.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRHHHHHHHHHH

Scooter’s eyes were suddenly open more than they ever had been.  He was frantically looking for the other track, and he could the wet ground start to quake lightly as the train approached.  He looked quickly to his left and saw the lights from the locomotive coming right at him.  Scooter crawled backwards back into his car, just as the speeding train roared past his car, missing it by less than a foot.  Scooter covered his ears as the train blanketed the nearby landscape with a dull roar that his hands could barely keep out.  A few minutes later, the train had gone past, and Scooter took his hands off his ears.  He once again heard the sound of rain on the car’s undercarriage, but he also heard what sounded like footsteps.  Scooter once again crawled out of his car as the footsteps got closer.  “Scooter?”  Scooter pulled himself up, and he saw a familiar silhouette standing in front of some high-beam headlights.

“EVAN!  Holy crap…dude…I am beyond glad to see you.”  Scooter stumbled around the car, and found himself grasping Evan in a bear hug.  Evan struggled to hold them both up, as Scooter’s legs weren’t contributing much to that effort.

“Are you okay?  We need to get back to a town so we can call my Aunt Gert.”  Evan slowly helped Scooter to his feet, and Scooter looked at him very peculiarly. 

“Aunt Gert?”

“Yes…Aunt Gert.  This nice Nebraska State Patrolman is going to take us to town to make a call.  He’s relieved to know we weren’t out storm chasing or anything stupid like that.  We can make arrangements for your car as well.”

“Right, right…just let me grab a few things…”  Scooter turned and almost fell onto the car’s undercarriage, which was now the over-carriage. 

“You can grab your stuff later.  I need to get you two into town pronto” came a voice from behind the glow of the headlights.  Scooter looked at his car’s undercarriage, and saw something sticking out of his muffler.  He reached out and pulled at the object, which slid out.  It was a four of spades that had been jabbed into his muffler like some kind of paper dagger. 

“C’mon Scooter, we can come back later” Evan said as he tugged on Scooter’s sleeve.  Scooter slid the four into his back pocket and slowly walked to the patrol car with Evan’s help.

King of Spades

“Before  you sits one of our most prized exhibits.  This simple drawing is all we have to go on.  The back side is a simple geometric pattern that seems to be of no consequence.  The front of this piece is what is very telling.

“First off, there is an unseen line that dissects the work, which makes it suitable for viewing both ways.  These people were more than likely bipedal, with two appendages for movement and two for grasping things.  Some have theorized we should take the drawing more literally, and assume these people had two heads, and one of them was, in some way, used for locomotion.  While seemingly a ridiculous theory, it can’t be totally dismissed as we know very little about these people.

“The subject of the drawing seems to have smaller appendages on the facial area.  Some have theorized that these lines are merely decorative, and still others think it’s some kind of symbiotic relationship.  We have observed some bipedal species with something called ‘hair’, and that theory is the best one, as far as this museum is concerned.  The thicker lines on the head could be hair or this species had several orifices on what we believe is the face.

“At the top of what we believe to be the head is the subject of heated debate.  This yellow, decorated quadrilateral might be some form of head calcification.  It might be a simply decorative type of headband.  It could be a sign of fertility or a mating ritual.  The shape could also indicate a bowl structure.  More bizarre theories indicate that it is some kind of receiver, and this drawing is that of an automaton. 

“This long forgotten person is holding what appears to be a weapon of some kind.  This would indicate that this particular member of the species was some kind of authority figure, or possibly someone specialized in the field of warfare.  The weapon itself appears to pointed, and well suited to stabbing.  The strange pointed symbol with two rounded lumps on the bottom could indicate which part of the planet he came from, or which faction he fights for or leads.  His attire (skin, according to at least one researcher) is adorned with this symbol, and the symbol appears above his shoulder, and outside the border of the artwork.  The symbol that is made of seven lines could be his rank, age, or possibly his name. 

“We may never know the secrets that this piece of artwork holds.  As you know, it was found drifting in an uncharted star system.  The third planet of the system had apparently been destroyed by several comet or asteroid strikes over the course of several hundred years.  We found no artifacts or organic material among the rubble of the third planet, but we found this drifting in space, as if by accident, near the fifth planet.  The vacuum of space kept it preserved, and you are seeing it here and now, the first evidence that, at least at one point in time, we were not alone in the universe.”

The museum patron moved away from the framed artifact to the next exhibit.  His mind drifted to that far away star system as the movement sensors triggered the audio for another exhibit.

Jack of Spades

“Can I help you find something sir?”

Slowly, the man pushing the shopping cart turned around.  His hair was neatly combed, and his shirt was firmly pressed.  He had a big smile on his face as he shook his head.  “No, I’m just picking up a few supplies.  A little bit of everything.”

“I see.  I think you’re making a mistake.”  The worker in the blue polo shirt kept his hands behind his back.  The well dressed customer kept smiling, but the demeanor behind his eyes shifted.  He looked over the worker, and his eyes shifted to his name tag.

“I don’t follow…Jack.” The man had turned his body to the man, who kept smiling as he looked over his shoulder.

“That shovel.  It’s the cheap model, but you’ll regret buying it.  We take back so many of those in returns…can I show you something?”

“Uh…sure” the well dressed man said.  Jack walked to a nearby wall that had several shovels hanging up.  He picked out the one right next to the model the well dressed man had in his shopping cart.

“This model right here?  This is what you’ll want.  It has a tempered steel spade, and the d-top is always what you want when you’re digging something.  Also, it has a wider spade for increased shovel capacity.  It also has a limited five year warranty.”

“Sounds like one heck of a shovel.  I don’t do much digging, but thanks for the advice.”

“I really think you should reconsider.  You don’t want your shovel breaking in the middle of a big job.  Who has time to go get a new one?  I promise you, this one won’t break for years.  I’ve seen that model come back the same day, broke right in half.”

“Look, again…I don’t do much shoveling.”

“This one only costs five dollars more, and isn’t peace of mind worth five bucks?”  Jack held out the more expensive shovel, smiling all the while.  The man’s smile slowly receeded, and he walked over and took the shovel from Jack’s hands.  He balanced it and gripped it, and then put it in his cart.

“I think you might be right.  I’ll go with this one.”

“Sir, you won’t be disappointed.”

The well dressed man smiled and thanked Jack again.  He pushed his cart around the hardware store, eventually finding a few more items.  As he was checking out, he noticed a man whose nametag said “Wallace:manager” walking by.  “I just want to say, Jack over in tools is quite a salesman.  He probably saved me a big headache with this shovel.”  The well dressed man took his change and nodded as he walked out the door.  The manager walked over to the cashier with a perplexed look on his face.

“Vera…do we have a Jack working in tools today?”

“I didn’t know we had anyone named Jack working here, period.”

Wallace turned and started walking to the tool section.  Vera looked out the window into the parking lot, where she saw the well dressed man driving off in a sport utility vehicle.  A brown Impala from the early 1970s followed him out of the parking lot.

***

“So, what happened then Tina?”

“Oh Kelly, it was a nightmare.  First he started showing up at work.  Granted, there isn’t any policy that states he can’t come to the club, but he would just sit in the back and stare at me during my stage sets.  He’d stare at me when I was giving lap dances, and he’d even stare at me while he was getting lap dances from any of the other girls.  It was just too much.  The other girls claim he’s really nice and friendly, plus loaded.  I can’t get my boss to have the bouncers keep an eye on him.”

“Are you still thinking about moving?”

“I don’t know.  This town only has one strip club, and I really like my friends outside of the job.  The girls at the club are really great too.  I knew I shouldn’t have tried to date somebody while I was still working there.”

“Any luck on finding another job?”

“No.  Nobody is hiring, and anyone with the money to hire is blowing it at the club.  Our business is as strong as ever.”

“Did you apply to the college there?”

“I can’t go.  I don’t have the money.  I had to get a totally new car a few weeks ago.  I…hang on, somebody is at the door.”  Tina walked to the front door, keeping the cellphone by her hip.  She saw flashing lights outside before she could open the door.  “Kelly, I’ll need to call you back.”  Tina tossed the phone into a small tray filled with keys and change, and she opened the door.

“Tina Nix?” the officer asked.

“Yes…”

“Would you come with me please?  We need to ask you about something.”

“Okay.  Let me lock up my house.”

“Oh no ma’am.  We’re just going out to  your backyard.”

***

“Any word from the hosptial Ivan?”

Ivan shook his head as he glanced through the window.  A woman was having an animated conversation with one of the other on duty officers.  “Say, where do I know her from?”

“Imagine her with less clothing.  She works at the Western.”

“Good call Darrell.  So, the man with the knot on his head is her ex?”

“Yep.  She ID’d him in the alley behind her house.  He was out cold.  That’s not all.”  Darrell passed Ivan a picture of the man’s SUV.  It had rope, duct tape, a bag of quicklime, and lanterns.  “We also found two knives and a gun on his person.  In his truck we also found the oil pan plug for her old car.  He even kept a meticulous diary of how he was stalking her and planning to kill her.”

“What a sicko.  He has a lot to answer for when he wakes up.  What happened to him?”

“Blunt force trauma to the head.  Somebody tried to cave in the back of his head with a shovel.”  Darrell passed another picture to Ivan.

“That’s a good quality shovel.  Any prints besides his?”

“Nope, but…”  Darrell dangled a baggie containing a jack of spades. “…we did find this tucked into his collar, right under where the shovel impacted.  Any ideas?”

Five of Spades

The radio played another old song that I didn’t know.  I was still wondering what station 92.1 was, but no CD or cassette looked good.  I shuffled the cards one more time and started yet another game of solitaire.  Once the cards were dealt, stacked, and moved around I turned over the first three cards from the deck.  The top card was the five of spades, and there was a red six on the board.  The two cards under the five weren’t helpful at the present time, and I had the urge to go through the deck once before playing the five.  Then again, the chances of both fives coming up was slim.  I was locked up in thought, paralyzed by the decision I had to make.

Play the five or wait.

Wait for Biff to call or make other plans.

Plan for the future or let it come.

Come to my senses about my car or squeeze out another year or two.

Two jobs or just keep the one I have now.

Now is the time to look for a new job, or stick with the one?

One more soda, or just drink water?

Water down my hopes and dreams, or renew my sense of purpose in this life?

Life…was the cereal as bad as I remembered it was?

Was I going to die alone in this apartment, or was tonight the night to work on meeting someone?

Someone is out there, or did my someone already meet me and move on?

On this weekend or not?  I can’t remember.

Remember the times I had with her, or forget about that one night.

Night time was made for doing something…anything.

Anything on TV?  Maybe I could play a video game.

Gaming while trying to ask out Cindy was a bad idea.

Ideas are always around, but I never have time.

Time is scarce lately.  That’s a good paycheck.

Paycheck this month?  How much for bills?  How much have I already spent?

Spent some time at the bar a few months ago.  Nothing happened.

Happened to run into Chris from Norton though.  He’s nice.

Nice is what I’m always called, but it seems like women are into bad guys.

Guys from the station might be out.  I wonder if they’ll say something about yesterday.

Yesterday, or was that last week?

Weeks are flying by.  Why am I still here?

Here is pretty good, and there might not be better.  Yet I still want to go there.

There’s a strong wind tonight.  Jacket or a long sleeved shirt?

Shirt with the Cheat on it got attention from that one bartender.  I wonder if she’s working?

Working on a good opening line.  What’s the point?

Pointing out how bad it is…that’s what Biff will do.

Do I think tonight is like any other night?  Maybe I should just watch a movie.

Movies are for Sunday nights.  Friday nights are for…crap, I don’t  know.

Know thy own self, but I don’t see why I should.

Should I just call it a night already? It is close to 8:30 PM.  I could make a trip Saturday.  Sioux Falls sounds keen.

Keen?  Did I just think that?

That’s the phone.

I pick up the phone, and it’s Biff.  Soon, I’m on my way out the door to his apartment, and the cards have been scooped up and put away.  I’ll never know what the right call on the five of spades would have been, other than calling the whole thing an oddly appropriate microcosm of my mind and the many choices that I can’t seem to make on time or correctly.

That was a long time ago, but sometimes those chains of thought still lock me up in my tracks.

I wasn’t sure if I should use this entry, but sometimes you have to play the five.

Queen of Spades

Ms. Lee took one last breath of outside air as she hastily walked through the revolving door.  She was getting used to the smell of hotel lobbies and rooms, but she preferred the smell they had in Japan.  She slowly sipped more coffee as she reached for her back pocket, hoping she hadn’t lost her room key.  “Ms. Lee!” came a voice from the front desk.  She stopped for a moment and looked around, but she didn’t see anyone else in the lobby.

“Me?”

“Room 621?”

“Well, that is me then.  What is it?”  She mentally accounted for the money she had left, and the quickest way to draw her concealed gun.  The clerk looked all of twenty-two years old, with perfect hair and a nervous smile that had her wishing she wouldn’t have to make a scene to get out.

“This came for you a few hours ago.”  The young man slid an envelope across the counter towards her.  She sat her coffee down and looked at the envelope with a mix of confusion, concern, and curiosity.  “Is there something wrong Ms. Lee?”

“No…it’s…well…I didn’t think anyone knew I was staying here.  I just got into town a few days ago.”

“Are you enjoying New York so far?” His question was sincere, and she tried to find the appropriate response.

“It’s a nice place to visit.”  She slid the envelope towards her, and picked it up.  “Thanks” she said as she smiled and took her coffee.  She could feel his stare and smile all the way to the elevator.  She pressed the number six and examined the envelope.  It was addressed to one Brenda Lee at room 621.  The envelope didn’t feel heavy; it almost felt empty.  She stepped out of the elevator and started to shake the envelope.  There was something in it, but not a letter or money.  It sounded like a business card.  Once she was back in her room, she tossed her jacket onto the bed, along with her gun.  She tore open then envelope and reached inside.  She pulled out a card with a black, checker-board like back.  She glanced nervously out the window, then back at the card.  She turned it over, and there she found the queen of spades with some small writing along the white border:

ST LUKE’S CHURCH 1 PM WEAR BLACK

***

She nervously looked at her watch, which read 12:45 PM.  She had been up all night in the city, looking for the kind of work they don’t advertise in the papers.  The church didn’t look too busy, but there was a hearse out front.  She straightened her black jacket, and looked down at her boots.  The knee-high boots weren’t funeral appropriate, but she didn’t have time to go shopping for funeral attire.  She pushed open the main door, and wound her way to the sanctuary.  There weren’t more than thrity people in the pews, and the black casket at the front of the church didn’t have any viewers.  This is a waste of time, or a trap, or both she thought to herself as she started backing out of the church.

“Walk with me.”  The voice was calm and monotone, yet also very forceful.  She turned around, and blocking her exit was a man, who looked no more than six feet tall.  He was wearing a dark grey trench-coat, dark glasses, and what looked like a fake mustache.  His hair was straight out of the Austin Powers wig department, and in his black suit’s front pocket she spotted a playing card turned backwards, revealing the same checkerboard style pattern that was delivered to her earlier.

“Okay” she said, turning around as the man slowly walked with her up the aisle.

“You got my message” he said quietly.

“And yet, for some reason, I’m here.  How did you find me?”

“That’s what I do.  I find people.  I find information.  I find what those who seek are looking for.”

“Did the Shinjo family send you?  Are you some kind of weird bounty hunter?”

“Bounty hunter?  My dear no…nothing of the sort.  I don’t sully myself with that end of the transaction.  I have people for that work.”

“So you’re an information broker.  I probably can’t offer you more than the Shinjo family is offering.  I’ll be lucky if I can keep my hotel room another few days.”

“Maybe if you didn’t stay at expensive hotels all the time.  There were better options in Los Angeles, Dallas, Omaha, Cleveland, Charleston, Dover and New York.”

She glared at the man with the bad disguise with contempt.  “So, you’ve been following me across the country.”

“Yes, along with your weak attempts at finding work.  A lot of American organized crime doesn’t like to cause trouble with their Japanese counterparts, and most don’t seem to be lining up to hire someone with a price on her head.”

Desperate to change the subject, she took the opportunity of being at the front of the church.  “Who’s the funeral for?”

“Esra Palacios.  She was one of my best.  Sadly, she followed a bad hunch and fell in over her head.  I must give the funeral home credit, I didn’t think this would be an open casket.”  She looked at the body in the coffin.  The young woman looked quiet, peaceful, and almost fake.

“So why bring me here?  So you can brag about your network, and how the Shinjo Family is going to take me out once I walk out of this church?”  She was very aware of where her gun was, and she was mentally drawing a map of the street outside for cover and where shots might come from.

“The Shinjo family thought you’d be dead by now.  You’re alone, no friends, no job, no direction…”

“Yeah, well I’ve done alright so far.”  She turned away from the casket and took one step away.

“Have you now?  You should see this.”  She heard the man reaching into his trench-coat, and while her brain told her to leave and not look back, she looked back.  He was holding a blank envelope.  She took it away, and reached inside.  She pulled out a clipped newspaper story about a Japanese man who was found in the bay.  There was another story about a Japanese tourist who was found shot in his motel room in Dallas.  The envelope had at least four more clippings, and all had dates written on them, that were very close to the dates she had been in those cities.  “You see, I’ve had my eye on you since you thinned the Shinjo herd.  When I found out you were crossing the pond, I wanted to hire you.”

“So, you used your organization to protect me, then you offer me a job thinking I’ll be so grateful I’ll just hop right on board.”

“Cynical is no way to go through life.  I failed at my lifetime dream, but now I’m much better off for it.  If you take my offer, the pay will be more than enough, plus I include a luxury apartment for free.  I just ask your complete loyalty and the ability to get what I need, no qualms or questions.”

“What about the Shinjo family?”

“They hired me to find you and bring you in.  I’ll provide them with a reasonable facsimile.”  The man smiled and started walking down the aisle.  She walked behind him, looking at the wide variety of people in attendance.

“Who are these people?”

“Mostly my other employees.  Some are her friends and family.”  They were soon at the back of the church, and the man took a deep breath.  “I need to know now.  Are you in our out?”

She took a deep breath as she looked around the church.  “All right.  I’m in.”

“Good” the man said.  “You should really stop using the name Brenda Lee.  Maybe you can finally start using your real name?  The Shinjo family doesn’t know it.”

“Do you?” She asked, almost not wanting to know the answer.

“I know many things Mokoto Igawa.”  His smile started to look more sinister with every passing second.

[This wound up being a background story for one of the main characters at my last project, Cliffhanger Theater.  It wasn't what I had in mind, but it was the best idea I had this week.]