Herbert Burkholz - Brain Damage

REMEMBER when you were a kid in school, and after the summer vacation your first assignment in class was to tell all the other kids what you did on your summer vacation? Well, here is what I did not do during my fun-filled eight-day cruise aboard the S.S. Carnival Queen . I did not lie beside the pool with a drink in my hand, and watch the girls go by. I did not play deck tennis or shuffleboard, I did not try my hand at skeetshooting, and I did not drive a bucket of golf balls into the Caribbean. I did not dance all night with the lovely ladies, nor did I see the inside of any of their cabins. I did not take a carriage ride through the winding streets of Nassau, I did not visit the tomb of Ponce de Leon in San Juan, I did not go snorkeling in St. Thomas, and I did not shop the sophisticated boutiques of St. Maarten. All I did, aside from eat too much, was keep a constant watch on Calvin Weiss, and play high-stakes poker with him every night. Even there, I didn't have the pleasure of winning, because I still was throwing him hands every time I could. I would not have minded any of this if, during all that time, I had pulled even a single lead on Madrigal, but after six days at sea and in ports I knew nothing more than when I had started. By then it was Friday and we were homeward bound, cruising off the coast of Hispaniola. We had one more day at sea, arriving back in Port St. James early Sunday morning.

"It's impossible," I reported to Sammy by telephone.

"Your favorite word."

"Look, you try it. I go around all day tapping heads, and all I get is Let's kill Calvin, let's kill Calvin. There are more than two hundred people into the game so far, and that's all they think about."

"And Madrigal has to be one of them."

"Maybe."

"Nothing maybe about it. If he-assuming it's a he-hasn't hit so far, then he's going to try it the night of that game, tomorrow night. It's his best shot."

I had to agree, but I didn't see what good it did me. "All I can do is continue to stay close to Calvin."

"What about Saturday night when he drops out of sight for the game?"

"I'll have to take my chances. Nobody knows where he goes."

"Not good enough. You'll have to be with him every minute that night."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

"Think about it. How much does the winner take out of that pool?"

"About twenty grand."

"And how much of the company money have you lost to Calvin so far?"

"A little under ten."

"Then don't you think it's about time that you started winning?"

"Oh."

"And don't tell me that you would have thought of it yourself."

"I would have."

He hung up.

That night, Calvin greeted me with an exuberant whoop as I sat down at the poker table. I was his buddy, but I was also his pigeon. "This is my boy," he explained to the table. "My boy Ben is better than MasterCard and he's better than American Express. He is my personal cash machine, I just push the right button and he throws money at me."

There were grins around the table. They had seen how often I had locked horns with Calvin, and had come out second best. I told them, "Not tonight. Tonight the worm turns, the empire strikes back, and the meek inherit the earth." I said to Calvin, "Let's make it easy on ourselves tonight. I'll cut cards with you now, one time and one time only, for fifty grand. Then we can have a couple of drinks, and relax."

His eyes narrowed. "You serious?"

"Sure. Look at all the time we'll save."

I wasn't serious at all. There is no way that I can control a cut, but I knew he wouldn't go for it, and I wanted to shake him right from the start.

"No," he said slowly, "let's do it the hard way."

"Suit yourself. Whose deal is it?"

That was about one-thirty in the morning. Four hours later a sweating, shaken Calvin Weiss asked me if I would take his personal check. He had been playing on markers for the past hour, and I had his IOU's for a total of forty-three thousand stacked in front of me. Three of the other players were also holding his paper, and he was in for over fifty large. He didn't have that kind of money in the bank, I knew that from tapping his head, but he wanted us to take the check. He was broken, and I was the one who had done the breaking, but I couldn't feel too sorry for him. Even with my particular advantage, I can't completely break a player, wipe him out and put him in debt, unless he insists on playing bad poker. There is no rule in the book that says that you have to play every hand and meet every raise. But that was his game, and it got worse when I started to turn the screws. After an hour of it he should have had the sense to cash it in and call it a night, but he went on chasing dreams until the sun was up and the coffee was cold. And now he wanted us to take his check.

The other people who were holding his paper weren't happy about it. They hadn't minded taking markers in the middle of the game, but they had figured on a settlement. Now they were being offered a piece of paper that was worthless in the middle of the ocean, and might be worthless on land as well. Trouble was, it was Calvin Weiss, a fixture in their lives, and none of them wanted to offend him. They looked at each other, unsure. I made it easy for them.

"I'll buy your paper," I told them, "and I'll take Calvin's check for the total."

They were so relieved they practically threw the paper across the table at me. I paid them with chips, and put their markers with mine. The total came to fifty-three thousand and change. I showed the figure to Calvin, and he nodded. He whipped out his checkbook, and made out the check with all the aplomb in the world. He slid it across the table.

"Thanks, Ben. Appreciate the courtesy."

That finished the game, and the others drifted away, some still looking for action, some to bed, and some to the casino's hash-brown breakfast, which was the best food served on board.

"Have a drink with me," I said to Calvin.

He shook his head, grinning. "Gotta see a lady about a pussycat."

"Not this morning. We have something to talk about."

"Some other time."

"Now," I said firmly.

The grin was gone. He didn't like the tone of voice, but he went to the bar while I cashed in my chips. When I joined him, I didn't waste any time on it. I said, "Your check is no good. You know it, and I know it. What are we going to do about it?"

"Ben, baby, what are you talking about? You put the check in and it clears, no sweat."

"Bullshit."

"Bullshit, your ass. I'm telling you it's good."

"And I'm telling you it isn't." I went into his troubled mind, and plucked out a figure. "You've got maybe three thousand bucks in that account, give or take a little. Your house and your cars are hocked to the hilt, and all you've got is your salary."

"How do you know what I've got?"

"What difference does it make? It's true, isn't it?"

He stared at me, suddenly deflated.

"So let's get one thing straight. The check is n.g., right?"

He shrugged, and looked away.

"So I deposit the check when I get home, and it bounces."

He wouldn't look at me.

"Then I write a nice little letter to the Carnival Lines with a photocopy of your bum check enclosed, and you're out of a job."

"It never gets to that," he mumbled. "I figure to cover the check."

"With what? Calvin, please stop snowing me. You're talking now the same way you play poker. You're dreaming. There's no way in the world that you can cover that check."

"If you're so sure of that, why did you take it?"

"To save you the embarrassment. Why the hell did you write it if you knew you couldn't cover it?"

He sighed. "I figured… I'd figure something out."

"Like what?"

"I know some people who could maybe cover it."