Free Pokergeist by Michael Phillip Cash Page B

“I’m out of money. No stake.”
    “Minor issues.”
    “Maybe to you,” Telly said hotly as he left the bathroom. “The fact is, I’m no good at it. I’m a loser!” he shouted.
    Someone pounded on the thin walls and yelled, “Quiet, loser!”
    “See?” Telly gestured to the wall. “The guy in 4A agrees.”
    “Pah. That don’t mean anything, kid. I can coach you. I can teach you the playbook.”
    “Right,” Telly said. “Well, thank you for coming.”
    “You’re going to throw it all away,” Clutch said with disgust. “You have the greatest player in the history of the game begging to teach you, and you want to toss me out like yesterday’s trash.”
    “May I remind you, Clutch: you didn’t win.”
    “Broke my heart.” Clutch touched his chest, his grim face sincere. “No, really, caused a massive heart attack.”
    “Why? Why are you doing this? What could you do with the money?”
    Clutch walked over to the dusty dresser. His slender fingers drew circles in the grime. Motes lifted to fly around him, and he seemed to glow softly.
    “Some things are not about money. I’ve made millions in my lifetime. I spent part on booze, part on broads.” He paused with a smile. “As Buster used to say, ‘The rest I spent foolishly.’”
    He waited for Telly to laugh. The younger man stared blankly at him.
    Clutch sighed. Boy, was this one dumb. “All right, I’ll tell ya. I want the bracelet. It’s always been about the bracelet.”
    “Jewelry? This is about jewelry?”
    “You looked at that expensive ring for Gretchen today. Ain’t nothing more than carbonized rock. It’s the symbol of what it represents. For you, the diamond is a token of your success—your love for her, what Gretchen means to you. That bracelet represents my achievement.”
    “But I’ll be the one wearing it if I win,” Telly said flatly.
    Clutch shrugged and then replied, “ When you win.”
    Telly considered the faded apparition before him. His eyes rested on the avocado green carpet that clashed with the raspberry polyester bedspread. Gretchen had bought it at the Home Store in an effort to make the place look more…well, homey. She placed oversized pillows on the hard orange couch. In the corner, a hanging light fixture swayed drunkenly, even though there was no breeze in the room. Telly shivered. He hated this place. He missed his old life—missed having Gretchen cooking in the neat little kitchen with rich, dark espresso-colored cabinets he had purchased to match the quartz countertops that were lit up from below. Everything was controlled by a remote—he had wired the entire house. He could turn on anything from the alarm to his colored mood lights in his pool. It was sexy in a nerdy kind of way. Now the only thing he controlled was a twenty-inch television that turned off every time the manager forgot to pay the cable bill.
    “Come on, Telly,” Clutch urged. “You’re gonna lose Gretchen. I showed you. You really will,” he wheedled.
    “That would never happen. Gretchen’s true blue; she’s fearless,” Telly said earnestly. “Besides, I don’t have a dime to buy into a game. That is, even if I believed all of this was really happening.”
    Clutch laughed, coming closer, so that Telly could feel the cold shivers of his breath dancing down his cheek.
    “It’s two in the morning.”
    “We got hours ahead of us.”
    “I don’t have any money. I’m broke.”
    “Ask your friend.”
    “Friend? What friend?” Telly found himself propelled outside his unit to the one next door. “Wait, I don’t have a jacket.”
    “Pussy.” Clutch pushed him along the narrow walkway and pointed to his neighbor’s door.
    “I get cold in the casinos…Quick Daddy!” Telly squeaked as he knocked on the door. He whispered to Clutch, “You want me to ask…”
    The door suddenly opened. “Telly, what up, man? You pissed off the dude in 4A with all your noise.” Quick Daddy stood in the doorway, his brown eyes heavy