Lou Berney - Gutshot Straight

C harles Samuel BouchonShake for short, ever since his first fall for grand theft auto when he was nineteentook another look at his hole cards.

He tended to fold with a bullet showing and his opponent betting big, but Shake was sitting on a pair of hearts, and he was pretty sure the beast across the table from him wouldnt recognize a flush if it jumped into his lap and kissed him on the mouth.

The beast was Vader Wallace, a mean young black con from Block C who was one long rope of muscle, braided around and around and around until it was a wonder he could walk. He was doing a dozen years behind a first-degree-manslaughter charge, aggravated. Extremely aggravated, according to the rumors.

Shake, on the other hand, was just a rangy white guy up on another GTA, forty-two years old and feeling every minute of it. But hed survived the last fifteen months here at Mule Creek and wasnt going to roll over just because some pumped-up, puffed-up con glared at him.

He called Vaders bet. Ill pay to see that last card, he said, and gave Vader a friendly smile.

Missouri Bob, the dealer, took his time with the river. Missouri Bobs hand was tooled with crude blue tattoosroses and rose stems and thorns.

Finally, dramatically, he showed them the last card.

Queen of hearts.

Tramp of hearts, Missouri Bob said. Lovely but dangerous. Beware.

Shake waited till he was sure Vader was watching him and then he frowned.

Vader saw the frown and smirked. Shake felt a little sad, how easy this was.

Bet it all, Vader said. He pushed his entire bankroll of Top Ramen noodles into the center of the table.

The bad-tempered brother wrongly convicted of manslaughter bets it all, Missouri Bob said.

I heard what the bad-tempered brother said, Shake said.

Small-change white bread stalls for time.

I dont know how wed manage without your commentary, Bob. Shake gave the queen of hearts another frown, just to see Vader smirk again. He noted that Vaders head was too small in relation to all the muscle it was perched atop. His mouth, by contrast, was too large in relation to the head.

The fourth person at the table, a tweaked-out kid with one eye focused, the other swimming, tried to get a peek at Shakes cards.

That right, Shake? he asked. Youre small change?

Walks outta here a free man in seventy-two hours, Missouri Bob said.

Sixty-eight, Shake said. Not that Im counting.

Call or fold, motherfucker, Vader said.

Shake pushed his call in. Show me yours, Ill show you mine.

Three aces.

Vader started to rake in the pot. Shake dropped his flush.

Missouri Bob clapped a hand to his bald head and woo-heed. Vader stared at the cards with affront and confusion, like a dog thatd just banged its head against a glass door it didnt know was there.

Say what?

Five hearts, Shake explained, tapping them one by one. Young and in love.

Vader turned to Missouri Bob. His expression was both plaintive and murderous. Dont beat three aces, do they?

Missouri Bob shook his head sympathetically. Like a rented mule.

Vader slammed his forearms against the table. The impact bounced the queen of hearts to the concrete floor. Motherfucker!

He stood up. His expression was just murderous now. Not plaintive. The tweaked-out kids good eye went wide, and Missouri Bob began edging discreetly away.

Motherfucker cheated, Vader said.

Shake gathered up his winnings. It wasnt smart to start a beef with sixty-eight hours left on your ticket. He hadnt cheated, though, and resented the accusation. Plus, he had a hunch, glancing up at Vader, that this beef had started without him; it was just a question, now, of how it ended.

There was a CO across the room, watching some cholos play checkers, but Shake knew that the guards werent paid enough to intervene in Vaders business, not until it had been safely resolved.

Said the motherfucker cheated!

No, Vader, Shake said, you just werent paying attention. Odds tell you Im playing hearts in the hole.

Fuck the odds, motherfucker.

Shake shrugged and bent to pick the queen of hearts off the floor. From beneath the table, he saw Vader shift his weight to his back leg, preparing to strike.

You can run, motherfucker, but

Shake kicked hard and drove his heel into Vaders kneecap. Vaders back leg snapped with a soft, damp crack, and he dropped like hed been chopped in half.

Woo-hee! Missouri Bob said, and then he beelined for the door as fast as his legs would carry him. Shake followed close behind, trying to think of a good parting shot, while Vader thrashed around with pain and rage.

You a dead man! Vader bellowed. You aint leaving here but in a motherfucking bag!

I think Ill just walk, Shake finally came up with, but not until he was already out of the room, halfway across the yard.

AT LUNCH, SHAKE CARRIED HIS TRAY across the room and found Tatum. Tatum was considered the best go-to guy in the California state system. Even the blacks and Mexicans, who had their own fixers, used him for important acquisitions. Tatum was wired top to bottom, inside and out, and could score just about anything, for a price that was generally fair.

I need something, Shake said, sliding in next to him. Chop-chop.

Like what? Tatum said. A coffin? He cracked himself up.

Shake waited patiently for him to finish laughing. Word travels fast, doesnt it?

You gonna need a bazooka take Vader out.

Shake passed him a piece of paper.

Tatum read it once, then twice. A say-what?

By tomorrow afternoon.

Why

Can you get it? That exact one?

Tatum shrugged. Course I can get it.

THE LINE FOR THE WORKING pay phone was long. Shake approached the guy at the head of the line, a Fresno Bulldog he knew from laundry detail. He slipped the Bulldog a pack of Crest White Strips hed won last week playing Omaha, and the Bulldog surrendered his place in line to Shake. Just in time, because a minute later Vader came limping along.

Shake picked up the phone and listened to the dial tone. When he could feel Vader right behind him, sour and sweaty, he shook his head.

No, I said Tuesday, Shake said into the phone. If you dont hear from me by Tuesday, I want you to do it. Understand?

He hung up before Vader heard the dial tone and realized there was no one on the other end of the line. Shake turned and pretended to notice him for the first time.

Vader! Whats happening?

Vader glared at him. The cords in his neck were as thick and rigid as rebar. Motherfucker.

The CO at the door sensed the sudden spike in electricity. He moved a thumb to the panic button on his radio.

Buddy of mine on the outside, Shake explained, tapping his knuckle against the phone. Nice to have friends, you know?

Aint no friend of yours gonna hear from you by Tuesday, Vader said. Guarantee that shit, motherfucker.

Vader let the threat sink in. Shake assumed an expression of appropriate gravity.

Is that right? he asked.

Thats right. Vader noddedonce up, slowly; once down, slowly. Then he pushed past, smacking Shake hard with his shoulder.

Shake watched Vader limp off, then checked the clock on the wall.

A QUIET SUNDAY, AFTER CHOW. A couple of boom boxes were dueling. 50 Cent on tier two, Metallica just above. Most of the cons were still in the yard, though, scheming and dreaming and dying slowly from boredom.

Shake stretched out on his bunk, hands behind his head, and worked on the menu for the restaurant he planned to open once he was a free man.

Pan-fried chicken, maybe, lightly floured and lots of spice. Mashed potatoes and cream gravy. A few gumbos, of course, with a roux like Shakes grandmother used to make.