Poker Reads

I think there should be a whole sub-genre of books that contain poker... maybe there is, I recently read an article listing 114 different genres of novels, including crime-fiction for dogs. Ok, I might have made that one up, but I could see it.

I digress.

I've always enjoyed books and movies that have a great poker scene in them. Cinncinatti Kid with its downer ending, or Clint dealing out cards before he blows away the bad guy in For a Few Dollars More. It makes for great cinema (ohhh, cinema, putting on my fancy-pants film scholar, um, pants.)

I'm currently taking a film studies course, actually, and coming up is one of my all-time fave poker films, Robert Altman's California Split. I love this movie to bits, starring my hero Elliot Gould and the late great George Segal. As a teen I scored the novelization of this movie, and read it repeatedly.

In novels, poker playing takes on a different vibe, but it still works for me. Last Call by Tim Powers is a fave, and has that added magical realism and general weirdness that Powers is known for. There are a few more books that I read as a teen, one in particular that I've been scratching my head to remember, that created this love of the good poker scene.

As good as Malkovitch and Damon in Rounders... well, is anything that good?

In my new novel Manistique (out this summer), Luke Fischer finds himself in the middle of one of those back-room poker games. Here's a snippet of that game:

I rushed through the curtain in time to see a man in a suit being dragged out a back door. The other two suits were being ushered out the same door by a square-shouldered guy in a black bomber jacket. Right away I recognized the one Franko called the Heavy. He stood in the middle of the room, his arm tight around a woman's waist. From Franko's description, it had to be her.

"Who the fuck are you?" A man with a red face started taking steps toward me.

"This is my friend. He is here only for my well-being," Franko said.

I couldn't tell if the man I saw dragged out was still amongst the breathing. The Heavy gave a nod to another thick man at the back wall who held a long pool cue, though there was no pool table in sight. He came over, took the two women, and led them out the back door.

"What about her?"

"She stays," said the Heavy.

The sunburned man stood inches from me. "Spread 'em or I will lay you out."

I turned and faced the wall as he frisked me.

"As I said, this is my friend. Also a card player," Franko said.

A broken chair lay on the floor next to Franko, so my hearing was on point.

"It's a closed game, asshole." Old red face deepened a shade.

"Relax, Fido." 

The Heavy gestured, and a different goon slid a chair in next to Franko. My detective pal stood with open hands in a gesture of Spanish friendliness.

"Fido like the dog?" I asked.

Red face drove his fist into my stomach before I had time to tighten. I almost let loose my mugs of bad beer.

"You sit down." The Heavy pointed at Franko. "Fido, get your ass back in a chair. And you either sit down and play cards or get the hell out."

It took me a second to realize he meant me because I was busy trying to get air back into my lungs. I hobbled over, easing into the chair next to Franko. Fido joined us while the Heavy pulled the woman over with him.

"Sit."

"She gonna play, too?"

"Shut your face, Fido. We're about to find out who's who here."

"What do you—"

"Shut it."

The Heavy gathered the cards on the table. He started dealing singles face up. Franko got a Jack.

"Let's see, that makes sense. You're some jackoff Mexican guy, though your accent says somewhere else."

"Toledo. In Spain."

"Well, you sure the fuck aren't from Ohio. You come into my place as a card player, but I don't think that's why you're here, because you suck at it. And you had a good long chat with this one at the break. It didn't look like you two were talking romance." The Heavy pointed a thick finger at the woman. "Fido, you get a seven, cuz you're lucky I don't rap you one in the head. And Astrid, my fine flowery girl, I expect a Queen, but nope, a lowly four. The unlucky number to the Chinese. Did you know that, Fido?"

"Who the fuck cares? Just deal 'em."

"Knowledge is never a bad thing. You should take that to heart." He flipped the Ace of Diamonds in front of me. "And here we have Mr. Mystery man himself. So, Ace, what brings you here? And don't tell me it's the fine atmosphere."

"Just hoping for a game," I said.

"I'm sure you are." The Heavy dealt himself a nine.

"What's the game?" Fido asked.

"Something I just made up. Three-card fuck-up. I'll deal two more rounds and lowest hand gets a bullet in the head."

"Christ on a cracker." Fido pulled his card in close.

"I assure you, Mr.—sorry, you didn't give your name," Franko said.

"No, I didn't."

"As I have said," Franko continued, "we only came here for a quiet game for some good money. I was only making small chat with that lovely woman. If we, like that last fellow, have offended, we will gladly leave. But not the way he did."

The Heavy turned to Astrid. "So was it you that called them here? The dynamic duo going take me down?"

"I don't know what you mean," she said.

It was the first time she spoke, her voice flat, hiding something.

"What did you talk about with Mr. Spanish?"

"He only asked where I was from."

"What did you tell him?"

"You know where I'm from."

I couldn't tell if she was answering the Heavy or repeating what she told Franko.

"So what happened to the suits? One too many straight flushes?" I asked.

"Never cheat a cheater. Write that down for future reference, Ace," the Heavy said.

The Heavy resumed dealing. Franko scored a second Jack, Fido got another seven, Astrid a five, and to me the eight of diamonds. He dealt himself a seven.

"Things are looking up for you, Fido, but our new friend looks like he might be the one to beat. Now, where were we?" The Heavy reached into his jacket and pulled out a 9mm, one of those Italian jobs. He racked the slide, thumbed off the safety, and set it on the table. "No need to bet, folks. I can explain the hands.” 

The Heavy jerked a thumb at Astrid. “This one here has been asking all sorts of questions. Never directly to me, but word gets around, you know. We check our servers pretty close, but she came with one we did trust. I figured the slick boy that Barney dragged out the door was connected—could be he was only looking to make some money off the wrong people. How am I doing?" The Heavy rotated the gun to point at Astrid.

"This is a slow damn game," I said.

Fido started to get out of his chair.

"Oh, relax, Fido. Sit down and guard those sevens. And don't worry Ace, things are going to speed up." The Heavy rotated the 9mm again, this time toward me. "I think these last cards are going to explain everything."

>>>

Thanks for reading - stay tuned for more Manistique news (and a cover reveal!). And if you'd like to read the first book in the series, Surf City Acid Drop, then I invite you to get clicking!

Ante up? Check the bet? Or fold?