Corner Bar - 3:30 P.M.
My life to this point has been an exercise in futility. Missed opportunity and bad decisions haunt my past. Beat down after beat down, the hits just keep on coming. Though in essence I’m paying for her company, there’s one person who always makes me feel like I'm worthwhile. It’s been a long time since anyone's made me feel like that. I guess she’s why I keep coming back to this bar......day after day. No, I’m not talking about an escort, she’s a barmaid. You see, I’m the kind of guy that you watch going into bars in the middle of the day and think to yourself, “What happened to that poor bastard to drive him to drink this early? It’s still daylight outside.” I can’t answer that question for all of us, but I know what happened to this sorry son of a bitch. I’ve been a fixture in this place for years, through two ownerships, three remodels and the gorgeous, ever optimistic D’Arcy.
She tells me often that I'm a good man. A good man…. what does that even mean anymore? I used to think I was a good man because I did no-one harm, at least not intentionally. Then I considered myself a good man because I did no-one harm, at least not directly. I have no such illusions anymore. It's funny how circumstances and necessity dictate what we can do to our fellow man and still sleep at night. Today is a day like any other. I’m anchoring my corner of the bar, a glass in one hand and a hand rolled Dominican maduro in the other. One of the other regulars, Jim, is a couple of stools down, droning on about something or other and he thinks I’m paying attention to him. Across the bar from us is the highlight of my day. She’s 5’-4”, dark copper hair with emerald eyes that show you every ounce of her soul. She’s a true Irishman’s dream. I snap out of my trance as the angel speaks to me, “Another glass of Buffalo Trace, Murph?” Looking down at my glass, I find I’m down to a half melted ice cube floating in a thimbleful of bourbon. “Yeah, it’s a short walk home. I think I can handle another.” With a bit of surprise in her voice, she asks, “Home? Not playing this evening?” She’d make a horrible player, she’s never been good at hiding her emotion. She does look really cute trying to mask the corners of her lips before they form that famous smile. She mixes a mean drink and makes sure the glasses in this place never go empty before she has the next round ready, but the smile is her real moneymaker. I’m a professional poker player. Basically, I steal for a living. In theory I'm not much different than any other professional poker player in the world. Sure, everyone knows what they've seen on TV. The flashy guys and girls who make and lose millions on the turn of a card, have the catchy nicknames and have taken a game that was once looked down upon and pushed to the backrooms and have made it a mainstream event. Now it’s kind of like professional wrestling, some would say. But those dimly lit, seedy backrooms still exist. Hell, they're my office. For every Pro that you know from the televised tournaments, there are thousands of us making our living playing cards that you've never heard of. We don't make millions, but we make enough to eat and keep a roof over our heads.... most of the time. The life is a roller coaster ride that can soar pretty high at times. The rest of the time it's a total shell game to keep the rent paid, food in the fridge, and whiskey in my glass. Lately it’s been pretty profitable, but I've had plenty of times when a decent cigar is a much anticipated weekly treat. April 7th, this is always a bad day for me. “Nah, I’m just going home tonight. Speaking of, I need a shot. Tequila, it’s a special occasion.” With that, Jim decides to chime in. “I didn’t know it’s your birthday. Lemme buy you one.” In an instant, her beaming smile turns downward as she mumbles, “Not his birthday. Isn’t it about time to let her go?” She adds as she walks away to get the bottle of top shelf. He slides over next to me, speaking in a hushed tone so she doesn’t hear. “Do you really think that tramp is sitting around thinking about you?” It’s a fair question, one that I ask myself every day. I know the answer, though, no matter how unforgettable I’d like to believe that I am. “Doesn’t matter,” I reply as I lay my stogie on the rim of the ashtray, gently rolling it and letting the ash fall. He persists, and motions to D’Arcy. “You’d have to be blind not to see how she’s throwin’ it at you. What’s wrong with her?” “Nothing at all, D’Arce is a fantastic girl. She’s just not ……..her.” “You’ve gotta get over that. We all know that song well enough to sing along.” “I’m gettin’ there, Easy.” It really couldn’t be farther from the truth. She lives close by. I still drive by her house every now and then to try to catch a glimpse. She moved on a long time ago, has a new man and a couple of kids. She’s put on some weight and aged, of course, but who doesn‘t in eighteen years? To me, she’s still as beautiful as the day we met. That’s the shitty thing about the past, sometimes we over romanticize it. We remember all the good and somehow push the bad out of our minds. Knowing this, however, doesn’t keep me from doing it. I know that it wasn‘t all rosy, but somehow I don‘t think about all of the ugliness…..most of the time. Ever determined, D’Arcy returns after clearing her head a bit. “How ‘bout instead of these drinks, we just pick up some Mongolian and a movie and head back to my place. My shift is over in thirty.” “Don’t think it isn’t a tempting offer, I’m just not any good for anyone.” That didn’t do much to improve her mood. She’s getting a little tired of chasing. It’s not like I’ve asked her to, though. “How can you be so positive about everyone else yet so negative about yourself? You’re the best man I’ve ever known.” My associate at the bar takes offence and retorts, “The hell am I? Chopped liver?” In rapid fire sequence, she nods to affirm yes to his question before turning to fire at me. She holds up a napkin with “Omnia mutamur, nos et mutantur in ellis. Sine amor, nihil est vita” written on it in pen. Seriously guys, if you’re looking for a fresh approach in a bar, try scrawling something profound in Latin on a napkin and slide it over to your prey. If she gives you a smile while you’re translating, you’re in. “Remember this, Murph? You gave me this when I was just giving up after my divorce.” With that she balls it up and throws it at me, “Maybe you should take your own damn advice!” With that, my phone starts ringing. Talk about timing. “Ahh, saved by the bell. I’ve gotta take this.” “Way to avoid the subject, ass. One of these days, you’re gonna have to let someone in.” There are, however, many people I’d rather talk to than him. Anthony Monaco. He runs things around here. I’m in his debt, and if there’s one place you don’t want to find yourself in this town, it’s owing to this guy. “Murph here. Whatd‘ya need ‘Naco?” “Need you to set a game up. We’re checking out a new guy and need you to keep him busy.” I hate this prick. I can literally feel the bile coming up into my throat. “When do you need it set for?” “Tonight.” “Tonight? Hell, it’s almost four now. I can probably get something together around 9 o’clock.” “9, huh? Yeah, that works. I can get you players. We just need to find out more about this kid.” “Do we have any background on him?” “Name’s Hoek, plays a lot online and thinks he’s pretty good. Young guy….25-26, I told him that we’re introducing him to the family. We’re gonna check some things out while you‘re keeping him busy.” “Where’d you recruit this one?” “Lynch found him bouncing at that strip club down in Printer’s Alley and thought we could use him in collections.” “Ok, I’ll use our setup at the warehouse. Give me an hour to call around and get some guys together. Give the kid directions and tell him 9 o‘clock. Let Chris know that we’re coming. I‘ll call you if I need some players.” “Call me back either way. Y’never know, I may sit.” “Really? You know that you can just hand me your money and save yourself some time.” “Funny. I thought I might like to play in your last game for the family. After this one, you’re out. I have a souvenir sitting here that I‘m sure you‘ll be happy to dispose of.” As I hang up the phone, I can’t help but think of the ramifications of his closing statement. Out from in under his thumb. It’s almost too good to think about. Almost. I can’t help but smile as I hang up the phone. I can’t help but smile wider when I look across the table. I love that it pleases her so to see me happy. “So, playing tonight after all?” She knows before she asks. “I guess so, D’arce. No rest for the wicked.” I had nearly forgotten that we had company when my friend to my right speaks up. “Can I get in on this one?” he asks. “No offence, Jim, but this is going to be a pretty damn expensive game. Couple that with the fact that you‘re a piss poor gambler, and I’m saving you some cash.” Not exactly what he wants to hear, but it’s not news to him that he’s not a rounder. “Bite me.” he replies, “What’re you doing now?” Being the smartass that I am, I can’t resist throwing another jab. “Mass text, brotha, welcome to the 21st century.” With that I go about sending my message out to some of the heavy hitters, and I include a few sheep who can afford to donate some cash to line my pockets. After my thumbs finish their work, I check the screen for spelling before hitting send. “$10/$20 game tonight. 8 or 9 somewhere downtown. Reply for a seat.” If this is really my retirement game, there are a couple of guys I’ve been setting up, and tonight will be the night to take ‘em down. With a wink thrown to the sweetheart behind the bar, I ask “Hey D, can I get an ice water over here?” “Sure thing, Murph.” she replies as the sweet music of ice hitting the glass finds my ears. At this, Jim decides to make his exit. “Well, I’m out. See you when I see you.” With the wave of a single finger, I nod to him and say “Later Easy.” Maybe I was a little blunt. But I don’t want Jim to know about my involvement with this crowd. They would chew him up and spit him out. “I need to get some food in me to soak up the whiskey. Want to go next door for a slice when you get off? My treat.” I think I may have taken her a little off guard with that. I haven’t invited her out since our failed attempt at getting together a few years back. She brushes it off well and replies “Sounds like a winner. Maybe we can talk about getting to something a little more formal.” I’m a little surprised that she’s pushing me farther, but I’m never at a loss for words. “D’arcy, I just got some news that calls for some celebration. You’re off tomorrow night, right? How about Kobe? 7’ish?” She gives me a little shrug as she looks down at the rocks glass she’s wiping. “Who knows my schedule better than you?” And there it is.... That smile, the way she tilts her head as she looks at me and gives me that wink..... That fuckin' wink. She's the girl next door and walking Viagara at the same time. “So is this a date?” I allow myself a little chuckle. “Yeah, it’s a date. I still don‘t know what an intelligent young vixen like you want with an old washed up gambler like me, though.” And then she gives me some of my own medicine. “I’m not sure either, but after a couple years of hinting around, I guess you’ll find out.” |
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