Plugged (Daniel McEvoy 1)

My former boss leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers, a cross between Al Pacino, P. Diddy and Elmer Fudd. ‘So, what can I do for you, doorman? Before I bar you for life?’

Barred for life. Not much of a threat.

‘You can pay me. It’s the end of the month.’

Vic is delighted; he pokes the table with a finger. ‘Yesterday was the end of the month. You didn’t work the full month, McEvoy.’

Typical. ‘Listen, Vic . . . Mister Jones. I had an emergency so I missed a day. And okay, I didn’t call. So dock me for the time I missed and pay me the rest.’

It’s not really the money. I have fifty grand plus on my person, but this piece of slime owes me and he is going to pay. One way or the other.

Vic affects a pout. ‘I would love to pay you. Sincerely. But I got all my disposable cash tied up in this game with these lovely ladies.’

One of the lovely ladies simpers, like Vic’s doing them a favour taking her money. The other one knows how much trouble they’re in. She is pale and her fingers grip the table’s edge like it’s the railing of the Titanic.

‘Open the safe, then.’

‘What safe? I don’t have a safe, doorman. Anybody know anything about a safe?’

I pinch my nose and breathe heavily. After everything that’s happened, I am not about to be messed around by a smalltime big-time wannabe like Victor Jones.

‘Look, you can hang around until I finish the game. I do good, then maybe you get paid.’ Vic snaps a finger at Brandi, who takes his glass, making sure to squeak her boobs around the boss’s arm while she’s doing it. ‘Or you can keep dropping in for a few weeks until you catch me with a couple of bucks in my pocket.’

‘More than a couple. A couple of thousand more like.’

Vic shrugs like this makes zero difference. ‘Whatever. Less than fifty grand, I could give a shit.’

Fifty grand. You could buy the lease on this entire club for half that.

He picks a fresh pack of cards from the table and rips off the plastic. ‘Now, if you would kindly get out of my face, I got a game to play.’

Like I said, I’m not much for flashbacks, but for a second the sound of that plastic tearing has me back in a camo tent on the southern Lebanese border with Israel. There’s death at our door and blast tremors rattling the tent poles, and I’m saying, One more hand. Come on, guys, one more hand.

Victor does a few wedge shuffles and my eyes follow the snap of the cards. One of the girls starts to cry, her bony shoulders hitching, her fake boobs bobbing like buoys in the tide.

I like that one. Buoys in the tide. Sounds like an Eagles number.

Vic’s little con is as simple as it is low-down. Any time new girls come in looking to make a little money hostessing, Vic softens them up with tequila and then charms them into a few hands of poker. With Brandi looking over their shoulders and dropping her boss the wink, the girls quickly lose their first month’s wages, and before they know what’s happening they’re toting trays for tips. Modern-day slavery is what it is.

‘You rolling these little girls, Vic? Is this how your mother raised you?’

Vic does not bite on that hook. ‘My mother was wasted by two thirty every afternoon. I raised myself. I built everything I have.’

‘Let the girls go, Vic. Wipe their slate. Tell you what. You let those two out of here all square and you can keep my salary.’

I find it hard to believe that I’m saying this. Simon Moriarty would be writing I told you so in that little notebook of his. All capitals.

‘Hey, you hear that, AJ? Big noble McEvoy, giving it up for the ladies. They only owe me a couple of weeks wages; maybe they’ll win it back.’

‘And maybe hell will freeze over. What do you say, Vic? It would save me having to get angry.’

Vic has an answer to that. ‘Don’t worry, McEvoy. You get angry and I will fucking shoot you, make no mistake. Obviously I hope it doesn’t come to that.’

He’s not lying. Vic shot a drunk about eighteen months ago. He didn’t enjoy the intense police scrutiny and swears often and loudly that the next person he shoots is going to absolutely deserve it.

‘Come on, Vic. Keep my money, let them go. They’re too skinny to work here.’

‘Hey!’ says one of the girls.

The other pinches her friend’s bare arm. ‘Shut up, Valerie. The old bald guy is trying to help.’

This gets a big laugh from Vic and AJ. Even Brandi has a titter.

‘Make you a deal, doorman,’ grins Vic, in a good mood now. ‘You wanna save these two? You wanna free them from my evil clutches? I’ll give you chips for your wages and you try to win the ladies’ money back.’

I should have seen this coming. This is Vic’s answer to everything. He once suggested it to an IRS guy.

‘Not happening. I haven’t played cards since the army.’

Vic flaps his lips. ‘Everything is since the army with you. I haven’t played cards since the army, I haven’t defused a mine since the army, I haven’t killed anyone since the army.’ He winks at Brandi, going for the big laugh. ‘I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you’ve been one boring motherfucker since you quit that army.’

AJ cracks up. Brandi actually gives Vic a round of applause.

‘I’m not playing, Victor.’

‘Then stop breathing my air, doorman, and let me get on with my game.’

The smarter of the girls shoots me a look of skeletal desperation. She has caught a glimpse of her future and is beyond terrified.

I grind my teeth. Another situation I do not want.

‘Shit, Christ, bollocks. Okay, Vic. A couple of hands to get the girls clear. How far down are they?’

Vic’s grin is like a smear of butter. ‘Twelve hundred. Plus the vig.’

I pull out a chair violently. ‘Fuck your interest. They’ve been here half an hour.’

‘Touchy.’

‘Screw you, Jones,’ I say, settling into the chair. ‘You’re not my boss any more, so you don’t get the respect you never deserved. And put out that cigar. Smoke gets in my eyes and I can’t tell diamonds from hearts.’

Vic screws the fat stogie into an ashtray. ‘What’s the matter? You quit smoking when you left the army?’

AJ almost hacks up a lung.

‘You tell your cousin to stop laughing. He might crap a statue.’

A single squeak of laughter shoots from between Brandi’s ruby lips and flies around the room like a canary.

‘Are we playing or talking?’ says Vic, putting on his game face.

I snap my fingers at AJ. ‘Gimme some chips. Two grand mixed.’

Vic clears the order with a slow blink, and soon four towers of chips list before me. I straighten them with forefinger and thumb while Vic takes a slug out of his refreshed cocktail.

‘What’s the game?’ he asks.

‘Straight poker,’ I shoot back. ‘Nothing wild, no wrinkles. All face down. Five and three, that’s it.’

Vic nods. He’s giving me some latitude because he’s a player and I’m an amateur.

‘Straight poker it is. Brandi, honey, get McEvoy something from the bar. What do you need? Shit, all this time and I don’t even know what you drink.’

I shake my head. ‘You stay right where you are, Brandi honey. I don’t need you behind me feeding the boss my figures. In fact, I want to see you in front of me at all times.’

Brandi pouts, cocking her hip, boosting her breasts high with crossed forearms.

‘Shit, Dan. That hurts.’

‘Sure. Whatever. Also, keep that compact in your bag. You know, the one with the mirror.’

Vic chuckles, not in the least offended that I have more or less accused him of being a lifelong cheat. ‘I guess you better stay where you are, honey. AJ, you in?’

‘No, he is not in,’ I say before AJ can answer. ‘Poker is not supposed to be a team sport. One on one.’

Vic is getting a little pissed now. ‘Okay, doorman. Is

that it? Any more rules? Just tell me, because I don’t want you bitching when I clean you out.’

‘We play for the girls first,’ I say. ‘The smart one deals.’

‘Which is the smart one?’

I nod at the terrified girl, a skinny brunette whose blotted mascara makes her look like a skull. She doesn’t have the hope in her to smile.

‘The one who knows how much trouble she’s in. After I dig the girls out, we play for my salary.’

Vic shrugs, the magnanimous monarch. ‘Green is green, doorman. The order it comes in doesn’t matter to me.’

The girl deals. She’s so nervous that she flips a couple of cards and has to start again. Finally Vic and I have five apiece. Too late to back out now.

I check my cards, fanning them inside the clam shells of my hands.

Two kings, not a bad start.

I suppose, Ghost Zeb grudgingly agrees. Maybe you know what you’re doing.

Half an hour later I’m down to my last hundred bucks in chips.

Moron, says Ghost Zeb.