Макс Коллинз - Spree

Caroline was one of three grandchildren — some money was left to the two surviving children, too, but that didn’t include Caroline’s father, who died of the Asian flu back in the fifties; the grandchildren pooled together and sold the farmland they’d inherited; so she ended up with a chunk of money. One thing in Caroline’s favor was she had never considered Andy a loser, as some people did; she believed he could make a go of it.

They had bought the Leathery, as the shop was then called, for a song — Andy had heard through his real estate buddies that there was a good chance the Brady Street Shopping Center would be bought up, by a Chicago firm, and refurbished into an enclosed mall. Andy knew they’d have to honor his lease or buy him out of it, which was his initial plan; but, doing some checking with his real estate contacts, he finally decided to stay a part of what would become Brady Eighty. Which had become the hottest mall in the Cities, overnight, and his Haus of Leather one of the most profitable shops in the mall.

Just don’t tell his wife or the IRS that.

Anyway, tonight Andy was tooling his year-old dark blue Corvette (Caroline never rode in it — she couldn’t; it was the station wagon for her) across the bridge at Moline, on his way to Nolan’s house. There was a poker game tonight. They usually got together once a month on a Sunday night, early in the month, but for once, last minute, Nolan set it up for a Monday. Unusual, but the other guys were making it, so he better, too.

He had left the store a little after 8:00 P.M., shrugging and looking glumly frustrated as he turned the till over to Heather. No time even for a quick blowjob in back of the store. If Nolan hadn’t got a bug up his butt to have their poker game tonight, he and Heather would’ve had at the very least a rendezvous on the couch in his office. Maybe even a run to her apartment, in Rock Island.

But he never missed poker with the guys, and he didn’t want anyone — including them — to suspect his secret life, so here he was, pulling into Nolan’s driveway, behind DeReuss’ Lincoln Continental, that lucky Dutch bastard. Where did his money come from?

Harris’ Toyota was in the drive as well, and Levine’s Caddy. He wondered if the game had started without him; he wondered if Nolan had won all the money yet.

Nolan didn’t always win; he just usually won. The hell of it was, he played so conservatively. Took so few risks. Played the odds, and embraced winning streaks, and backed off losing streaks. Nolan was a winner, sure, but he lacked imagination. Whereas Andy liked to win big, and he didn’t mind losing big nine out of ten times to win big once. Playing it conservative was dull.

Like Nolan himself. Nice enough guy, but really dull.

He rang the bell, and Nolan answered, sleeves of his pale blue shirt rolled up. The game was already on.

“Any money left for me?” Andy asked him.

“Some,” Nolan said. “Come on in.”

Andy stepped inside. “Where’s your lovely lady?”

“Away,” Nolan said, as if that explained it.

“Well, I’ll miss her charming presence. She has so much more personality than you, Nolan.” But then so did a doghouse.

“Figured with her away,” Nolan said, taking Andy’s leather bomber jacket, hanging it in the closet, “it’d be a good time for us to get together for some cards.”

“You know me,” Andy said. “Always ready for a friendly game.” He followed his host into the spacious living room, where a round table was set up over by the wall of picture windows looking out on the backyard and trees, a view reflections obscured; the living room walls were devoid of pictures or decoration of any kind — a room with no personality, Andy felt, like Nolan himself.

DeReuss, Levine and Harris were sitting at the table playing, Nolan having folded when he went to answer the door. They were playing dealer’s choice, and the game — Levine’s choice — was seven-card stud. The chips were fairly evenly distributed, except Nolan’s piles were a little higher. Stakes were quarter for whites, fifty cents for reds, buck for blues.

Andy sat to the right of DeReuss and, when the hand was over, bought in.

DeReuss was a solemn man of about fifty-five with lots of lines in his face, especially around his pinched mouth, and thinning dark blond hair, combed back severely. His eyes were china blue behind designer wire-rim glasses. He kept his narrow dark tie snugged up to his collar, but his sharkskin suit coat was slung over his chair, as he studied the cards (five-card draw, his deal) like a blueprint. He looked German. Maybe that was where the money came from for his jewelry store, Andy thought; Nazi parents.

To DeReuss’ left was Levine, the Toys ’R’ Us guy, a small dark man with a ready smile and a good sense of humor; he wore a gray turtleneck sweater and looked a little like a turtle, in fact. Like Andy, he took risks playing, but only at first; as he started to win, or lose, Levine got almost as conservative as Nolan.

To Levine’s left was Harris, the owner/manager of the Dunkin’ Donuts near the mall, a heavyset guy with dark hair and a mustache and a doughy complexion; he wore a University of Iowa sweatshirt. Nice guy, but quiet. Not as quiet as Nolan, but quiet.

Andy was the most gregarious of the lot, but Levine was no wallflower, and enough beers into the evening and Harris would turn talkative, and even DeReuss would open up. Not Nolan, though. Andy never ever saw him drink enough to get really loose.

What made a guy like that tick? As Nolan dealt a hand of Black Maria — seven-card stud with high spade down splitting the pot with the poker-hand winner — Andy studied the man, wondering how anybody could be so goddamn straight. It was all business with this guy. He didn’t smoke. He barely drank. The only kink at all was this dish he lived with, Sherry, who wasn’t that much older than Heather, really; so the guy at least liked to get his ashes hauled. But if the subject turned to women, Nolan never had much to say; Andy kidded him now and then, called him pussy whipped and Nolan would just smile, barely, and that would be the end of it.

“So where’s Sherry?” Andy said, dealing five-card draw, jacks or better to open, progressive.

“Visiting a friend.” Nolan never looked at his cards till they’d all been dealt. That drove Andy a little crazy, too.

“She’s a pretty lady.”

“Yes she is,” Nolan said.

“You going to marry her, or what?”

DeReuss glanced up from his cards, sharply; evidently he found Andy’s question to Nolan rude. Tough shit.

“Maybe,” Nolan said, then turned to DeReuss. “Know where I can get a diamond?”

“I think so,” DeReuss said, with a faint dry smile. “Fifteen percent discount.”

“When the time comes, I know where you can get your toys at a twenty percent discount,” Levine grinned, adding, “I can open — bet a blue one.”

An hour later, while he was shuffling the cards, Nolan said, “I talked to our mall manager today.”

“That pinhead,” Andy said.

“He’s not so bad,” Levine said.

“He’s a child,” said DeReuss.

“I got on him about mall security again,” Nolan said. “I don’t suppose I could get any of you guys to line up with me.”

“You think it’s that big a problem?” DeReuss asked. His accent was faint, but there.

“Yeah. Our security sucks. We should do something about it. One unarmed inexperienced kid who goes home at ten.”

Harris said, “This cold weather, you’re not even getting the cops patrolling much.”

“How do you know?” Andy asked, somewhat irritably. This line of conversation bored him. “You’re not even in the mall.”

Nolan began dealing Black Maria.