Frank Zafiro - And Every Man Has to Die

As soon as the lights came on, the pair rabbited away in opposite directions. Carson reached for her radio mike.

“Adam-128, I’ve got two subjects running from me. We’re about a block south of the park.” B.J. Carson’s voice was slightly elevated.

Chisolm clenched his jaw but kept driving. There were three other units headed her way, all of which were closer than he was. He had to continue to his call. There was a robbery victim there and the bad guys were still supposed to be in the neighborhood.

Still, it went against his every instinct not to back up another cop when it was obvious his help was needed. The victim he was going to help was probably fine. And the suspects were likely long gone.

Probably this or probably that. You’ve got your mission, soldier.

He pushed his accelerator down just a little more.

Anthony Battaglia sat in the hard desk chair in the hotel room, shaking his head. What he had figured would be a shit detail was turning out to be just what he needed-a vacation from his problems.

Oleg Tretiak sat across from him, studying the two cards in his hands. He looked up at Battaglia inquisitively. “These cards only mine?”

“Yeah,” Battaglia said. “Just yours. And these”-he pointed to his own two hole cards-“are only mine.”

“Okay,” the Russian said, nodding. “ Ponimayu . I understand.”

Battaglia smiled. He didn’t think the Russian quite understood Texas hold ’em yet, but he seemed to be getting the bluffing part down. He doubted that whatever Tretiak was holding would beat his pocket aces.

He flicked out three cards into the center of the table. “These are cards we can both use,” he said. Then he flipped them over. An eight of spades, three of hearts, and jack of diamonds showed.

Tretiak nodded, his eyes studying the face-up cards. “Which one I use?” he asked.

“All of them,” Battaglia said. “Or any of them.”

Tretiak squinted. “Which ones you use?”

“Same. I can use any or all of them. So can you.”

“Who pick cards first?”

“No one,” Battaglia explained. “All three cards are for both of us to use. I’m going to put two more down, too. We share them all.”

“Share?”

“Yeah. They’re called community cards.” Battaglia chuckled. “Come on, you should understand this. It’s like communism. Everything in the middle belongs to all the people.”

Tretiak nodded, a smile spreading slowly across his face. “And these,” he said, holding up his own cards, “are for Communist Party members only.”

Battaglia laughed a little louder. “Exactly.”

“Okay. We bet?”

Battaglia took a deep breath and glanced at the bathroom door. Agent Leeb had been in there for twenty minutes. From the initial sounds that he could hear over the fan, the guy had a case of the runs. He’d probably be in there for a while yet.

“Sure,” he said. “Why not?” He pulled a money clip from his shirt pocket and peeled off five ones. He dropped one next to the flop. “Buck a turn?”

Tretiak removed something from his pocket and fiddled with it underneath the table, out of Battaglia’s view. Battaglia half expected him to come up with a handful of rubles or something, but he had a wad of George Washingtons in his hand. Tretiak dropped a crumpled dollar bill on top of Battaglia’s.

“Bet!” he exclaimed.

Battaglia shook his head. He wanted to say he was going to hate taking the Russian’s money, but that would have been lying.

“Here comes the turn,” he said, and burned a card. Then he flipped over a six of hearts.

Tretiak’s eyes narrowed. He picked up his hole cards, then threw out two ones. “Bet two.”

Battaglia almost told him what a buck a card meant, but it was his money, after all. He tossed in two bills.

“Call,” he said.

2209 hours

Carson let the suspect that ran through the apartment complex go. She tried to keep the other one in sight as he scampered back through the small park. She contemplated driving up onto the grass, but decided against it.

She depressed the PA button and shouted, “Police, stop!” Her voice sounded far too shrill to her. It was no surprise that it only made the dark shadow run faster.

She accelerated and cut into a parking lot next to a row of houses. She drove straight at the fleeing suspect, who stopped suddenly and stared at her. She dynamited the brakes at the last second and the front end of her cruiser skidded to a stop. The push bar nudged the suspect. The young man’s eyes flew open, then narrowed with rage.

“Jesus!” Carson yelled at him.

“ ?Puta!” he shouted back. Then he turned and sprinted for the nearby fence, vaulting over it into a back yard.

Carson sat in the driver’s seat, her heart pounding.

“Adam-128, I’ve lost both suspects,” Carson broadcasted.

Chisolm shrugged. He wasn’t surprised, but it didn’t matter much. There probably wasn’t a victim there, anyway. Just two guys duking it out. And now no officers were in danger, either.

“Baker-125,” Kahn transmitted. “I’m close to that strong-arm robbery. I’ll take the female victim.”

Chisolm snorted. Of course he would.

“Copy. Adam-112, you can disregard.”

Chisolm pressed the mike button. “Copy.”

He slowed down as he approached Monroe and turned off his overhead lights. Back to routine patrol.

Battaglia burned a card. “Ready for the river?” he asked.

Tretiak shrugged. “What is river?”

“The final card,” Battaglia said. “It’s called the river card.”

“Why river?”

“Fuck if I know. You ready?”

Tretiak nodded. “I ready.”

Battaglia flipped the card over. Eight of clubs. He tried not to smile. That gave him two pair, aces and eights.

“Three,” Tretiak announced, dropping the money into the center.

Battaglia considered. There were a number of hands that could still beat him. Any pocket pair that matched up, for instance. But that wasn’t the question. The question was could Tretiak be bluffing him?

He looked the wily Russian in the eye. Tretiak stared flatly, grinning at the same time. “Three,” he repeated.

The toilet flushed in the bathroom. Battaglia realized this might be the only betting hand they’d get if Leeb came out and kiboshed the whole thing. He was an FBI agent, after all. Battaglia had to decide. And there was no way he was going to back down. Not with top two pair.

He heard the water from the bathroom sink come on.

He reached for his own money.

A knock came at the door.

2210 hours

Carson shut off her overhead lights. After a moment’s thought she dumped her headlights, too. She pulled back onto the side street and rolled slowly along, watching for a shadowy figure moving in between houses.

She wanted to find this guy. She didn’t know what puta meant, but she doubted it was something good. But it was also a matter of proving herself. If people figured out what was going on with her and Battaglia, she knew they’d call her police abilities into question. It was a stupid thing, and a sexist thing, but she knew it was a very real thing.

Graveyard cops respected hard-edged police work. That meant catching bad guys. Sometimes it meant fighting them. Maybe she could get some of both on this call.

If she could find this son of a bitch.

Battaglia set his cards on the table face-down. He glanced away from the door to Tretiak.

“Did you order room service?”

The Russian shook his head.

“Pizza or something?”

“Nyet.”

Battaglia rose from his chair and walked cautiously toward the door.