Eight Ball Boogie - Declan Burke [25]
We’d been close for brothers, close enough to want to kill one another and too close to actually follow through, although he’d tried it on one night, out back of Dutchie’s place. Late enough to be getting early, a lock-in in full swing, the doors bolted. A couple of jays doing the rounds, a game of cards on the pool table, stud poker, two cards down, a three-card flop showing. I was sitting on a pair of tens, a king showing in the flop. We were the only two left in the pot, and it was all paper but not so much you could have dressed a skinny stripper. Gonzo wasn’t too flush, and he needed the pot to stay in touch. He dug in the watch pocket of his jeans, dropped a wrap of silver foil into the pile.
“That’s an eighth,” he said. “I’ll make it fifteen. Seeing as how I know you.”
“You’re a sweetheart.” He could have been bluffing, or he could have pulled a second king. It wasn’t likely, I’d pulled one myself, but I didn’t have anything to back up the tens. And he could have just been having a laugh, knowing we’d end up smoking the dope anyway. It was hard to tell what he was thinking from the wrong side of his shades. He was sitting back, relaxed, like he was waiting to thumb a lift on the next glacier passing through.
“He’s spoofing, Harry.” Celine, head on my shoulder, eyes closed. Not needing to look to guess that Gonzo was on a bluff.
“No speech play,” Gonzo intoned, mechanical. He grinned at me. “Fifteen to you, Harry – time for steel balls.”
“Let Celine have her say.” The pot wasn’t worth throwing fifteen quid away, but I wanted him to think I was tempted, make him sweat for it. Besides, I liked to hear Celine talk, liked it so much I’d asked her if she was interested in talking at the top of an aisle. She said she’d talk about if we talked about getting a place together. Once we moved in we talked about everything except getting married, but we were getting around to it, and sooner rather than later.
“Sting the fucker,” she murmured.
Dutchie and Chizzer took a bet on whether Gonzo was bluffing. Michelle started shuffling the cards, impatient.
“C’mon, Harry,” Gonzo said. “Call it, or I’ll be showing Celine my balls of steel.”
That she didn’t like, and edge in her voice.
“Take him to the cleaners, Harry. Teach him some manners.”
He just laughed at that. Michelle pppffffed, threw the cards on the table, climbed down off her barstool.
“Anybody for a fresh one?”
“I’ll have a cider,” I said, throwing the cards on the table. “All yours, Gonz. Take it home.”
Gonzo flipped the shades up, cackled harsh, turned over his cards, no king. Celine shook her head, disgusted. Chizzer took Dutchie’s fiver. I watched Gonzo’s eyes, dead and shiny, a double eclipse.
“Play the player, Harry, not the cards.” He raked in the cash, jabbed a forefinger in my direction. “Lesson number one.”
“Send me the bill.” He was about to kick off, you could always tell with Gonzo. I needed to get away from the table. “Deal me out, I’m giving Michelle a hand with the beers.”
“Work away.” He nodded at Celine. “I’ll show blondie some real stud while you’re gone.”
“Asshole.”
She sounded tense.
“Change the record, Gonz,” I said, but he left the needle in the groove. I took off to the bar, he followed, one thing led to another and from nowhere Gonzo swung his bottle. It broke my arm, but only because I had my arm up to protect my face. When I fell back against the bar he freaked, coming at me with the broken neck of the bottle. I grabbed for his wrist and he battered me with his free fist until Dutchie and Chizzer jumped him.
It took both of them to hold him down. Michelle and Celine bundled me into the car, drove to Casualty.