The Big Gamble in Paradise; Episode 5

This is the fifth episode of the novel I'm currently writing. The title is The Big Gamble in Paradise. I'm about halfway through my first rewrite, and I think it will be completed in six or eight weeks. I hope you enjoy this episode, and more will follow. 

Episode 5

They returned to the casino. He walked passively by many of the gambling tables and distracted for a moment, feigning aloof interest.

At the bar, Parker tossed down a twenty-dollar bill and asked the bartender for a Scotch and soda. He told the bartender to keep the change. He feigned nervousness as he downed the drink in three gulps. He headed toward a hallway where the poker rooms and the bathrooms were. At the end of the hallway was a door. Parker opened it. It was a parking lot. He made a dash between the parked cars into the night.

Trace returned to the motel. He quickly walked to the elevator and rode it to the third floor. He got off and found his room. Inside his room, he stashed the money into a backpack and slung it on. He grabbed his bag and opened the door of the room. He looked both ways down the hallway, dashed to the fire escape door, and down three flights of stairs. He exited on the ground floor, looking to his left and right as he peered out. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he dashed to a grove of palms and fought his way through about fifty yards of thick growth. He came upon a lane. It led to the street that led to the harbor.

‘Why is it?” He thought, ‘When you try to look inconspicuous, you stand out like a sore thumb? Come to think of it, I’ve never in my life picked out anybody who had a sore thumb. And I know they exist. I had one once, and nobody knew it. Nobody said, It looks like you have a sore thumb. Maybe we should be saying he sticks out like a man with a bag full of money trying to act nonchalant.’

At the end of the lane, a lone two-masted schooner floated tethered to the dock. A dim light shone through the porthole of the main deck’s housing. The hull was black, and the housing and pilot house were white. Trace swung his legs over the boat’s rail. He turned around to see if anyone had followed.

Trace cupped his hands. “Ahoy?” He waited. “Ahoy!”

Two men opened a door in the main deck housing.

“Who goes there?” One said.

They came to full view in the light provided by dim, distant harbor lights.

“My name is Trace Troy. I just won this boat.”

The men stepped closer. They flashed a flashlight on Trace’s face.

The shorter of the two men had coarse, wavy black hair and appeared not to be pure native. His skin shone lighter than native Fijian’s. The other man had blond, curly hair. He had strong Scandinavian features.

“How do we know you own this boat?” The Fijian said.

Trace reached into the backpack. He pulled out the title and handed it to the men. They both looked at it.

“That’s Spence’s signature. Did he lose it in a poker game?” the Scandinavian said.

“Sounds like you know him well,” Trace said.

“He was pretty deep in debt. He owes everybody,” the Scandinavian said, handing the title back to Trace.

“Can we step below?” Trace said. “I need to know some things.”

The two crewmen motioned with their heads to follow them. They walked aft to the pilothouse and through its door. The Fijian flipped on a small light. The pilothouse was cozy and functional. A high chair, secured to the deck, stood behind the helm. A chart table and radio were behind the chair. On the opposite side, a bench with plenty of length for a good-sized man to stretch out. It extended the length of the pilothouse. 

They climbed below.

“These are the crew’s quarters,” the Scandinavian pointed to four small doors. “This is the captain’s quarters,” he tapped on a fifth door. “The next two doors are the head and shower. And on the left is the galley. And this is the saloon,” he said, stepping into a room that stretched the entire width of the hull and was about seven feet long.”

“I’ll get us some coffee,” a paunchy Fijian man said. He disappeared into the galley and returned with three cups. “I made fresh before you came. We were waiting for Spence.” He sat the cups of coffee on the table and slid a sugar jar and a small container of powdered creamer to the middle of the table.

They sipped the coffee without adding anything.

“Good coffee,” Trace said. He extended his hand to the Fijian. “My name is Adam Troy, Adam Troy The Third. They call me Trace—Spanish for three.”

The Polynesian grasped Trace’s hand. “My name is Chuck Hicks. My family’s last name used to be Hikialani. When they settled in California, they didn’t want people looking at them funny, so they changed it to something that you wouldn’t have to repeat.”

The Scandinavian-looking man, blonde hair and a faint scar on his left cheek, reached across the table. “Sean Murphy. Used to be McMurphy, but my great-grandfather changed it to just Murphy. He said they’d be calling’ ya mick enough without givin' ‘em another opportunity.”

“Wow,” Trace said, “all we need to know about each other is revealed in our names.”

“So how did you win the Paurova?” Chuck said.

“Pair, six high,” Trace said. “The absolute worst hand I had all night. I had the luckiest night of my life. I won big at the dice table. I won at roulette and blackjack. A guy invites me to a poker game in the backroom. I said to myself, I’m only going to lose what I’ve won. That’s what the house wants. They want their money back. Two of the guys at the table were house players. I had somebody with me. I owe him a lot. He may have saved my life and at least a night or two in the hospital. And then there was Jasper Spence. The two guys said they were businessmen just looking to toss their money around. After I won the boat, I grabbed my winnings and took off. By the way, has anybody been looking for me yet?

“No,” they said.

“How long have you two been with Spence?” Trace said.

Sean cleared his throat. “I was with Spence for two years when he had the Ellie. It belonged to a shipping outfit. They decided it was getting too expensive to keep in service, so they had it scrapped. They had the Paurova. It was too small for them, so Spence got it for next to nothing. At first, he put his heart and soul into it. He’s always had a problem with women, booze, and cards. He was good at two and bad at one.”

“I can guess which,” Trace said.

“If I was smart, I’d have signed up with some other crew.” Chuck said, “But I knew the Paurova like the back of my hand. I didn’t want to learn things all over again and become part of a bigger crew. I liked where I was.”

“What about you, Chuck?” Trace asked.

“I came back to the islands wanting to reconnect with my culture,” Chuck said. “I looked like them, but I didn’t think or speak like them. I saw the Paurova at a dock and talked to Captain Spence. He hired me. I worked on a loading dock in LA. That was my experience. Spence gave me a chance. There were plenty of times I could have left and with good reason, but I’m loyal; I stayed.”

Sean sat his coffee down after a sip. “Other than winning a white elephant in a backroom poker game…”

Trace grinned and sipped his coffee. “I worked on a couple cargos on the west coast. I had a friend who worked on cargo in the Aleutians. He told me they were short a man. He told me in a year they’d be going to the South Seas. I took on with them and worked a year in the Aleutians. That turned into two years. You save your money up there. There’s not much to spend it on. So I decided to take a vacation and come down here. I figured that was the only way I was going to see these parts. Now I own a white elephant.”

“Do you have a pilot’s license?” Sean asked.

“Yeah,” Trace said. “I went to school, and the ship I piloted was twice this and in seas that make you crap your drawers.”

“Why don’t you just pick up where Spence left off?” Chuck said.

“I don’t think it’s that easy,” Trace said. “I don’t have a broker or contacts. It’s a part of the business I know nothing about.”

“When Spence ran out of money, he made a few calls,” Sean said.

“Those are probably relationships he had,” Trace said. “It takes years to establish relationships.”

“He has a little black book in the drawer of the chart table,” Sean said. “He makes calls from that book.”

“Spence and The Paurova was the last choice for a lot of shipments,” Sean said. “There was no one else. Spence and The Paurova had a reputation—not a good one.”

They talked for another hour.

“Which door did you say was the captain’s quarter’s?” Trace yawned.

“Third on the left as you go back,” Chuck said.

“I’m going to turn in. We’ll talk more in the morning,” Trace said.

The Big Gamble in Paradise; Episode 4

This is the second episode of the novel I'm currently writing. The title is The Big Gamble in Paradise. I'm about halfway through my first rewrite, and I think it will be completed in six or eight weeks. I hope you enjoy this episode, and more will follow.

Episode #4

Trace was as skilled as anyone handling cards. He played many hours while passing time on the Bering Sea. But on the ship, it was a distraction, and gambling was not permitted, not even penny-ante—chips only. And if the captain caught a whiff of gambling, there were no second chances. The men at the table now were there for money or ego, and one is just as much an incentive as the other.

Trace sat at the table, knowing he had to lose. Parker impressed upon him that the house did not want him to leave with 35 thousand dollars. The question in his mind was, How much did the house want back? He was determined not to take chances—lose it all—walk out with what he walked in.

He mused if Parker might be the one he had to lose to. After all, it did seem like more than a chance meeting. Parked played well, but cautious. Ted always bluffed. To Trace, that marked him as a little more than an amateur. Baxter appeared very slick and comfortable at the table. Trace surmised this might be his life—a professional. Jasper Spencer appeared the most curious. He looked as though he just crawled out of a bunk and just worked on his automobile in order to get to the casino.

Something seemed to overtake Trace after a few hands. The game completely consumed his thinking. He played to win, forgetting he wanted to walk away from the table with only the money he walked into the casino with.

Parker saw what was going on and tried to make eye contact with him to break him from the mindset that had overcome him. In a high-stakes poker game, it is near impossible because everyone is suspicious of any movement or prolonged stare.

The game ebbed and flowed. Everyone had their time as a winner, but shortly at eleven thirty, Parker ran out of money. Two hands later, Ted and Baxter pulled away from the table. This left Spence and Trace.

Trace looked across the table at Spence and grinned. “So you’re the one.”

“The one, what?” Spence said.

“You know,” Trace said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spence said.

“One more hand for everything?” Trace said.

Spencer rubbed the forefingers and thumbs together on each hand. “It’s your turn to deal. Don’t take this personal, but one last hand and the guy in the bowtie deals.”

“How can I take that personal?” Trace said. “I was about to make the same suggestion.”

“Five cards; whoever has the best hand of those five cards,” Spence said.

“I think that’s a good way to end the evening.” Trace looked at his watch. “I have an unfair advantage. Today is my birthday. I’m not in the least superstitious. But I’ve never had a day like this in my entire life. So to give you an even chance, we play the hand after midnight.”

“Sounds like you want to lose,” Spence said.

“I walked in here tonight with a hundred dollars,” Trace said. “If I leave with that, how do I lose?”

“In order to do that, you better sweeten the pot,” Spence said. “You only have half your chips out there.”

“In order for me to put the rest of my chips on the final hand, you’re going to have to help me out.”

Spence grinned smugly. “I’m tapped out; here’s the title to my boat.”

“Your boat?” Trace said.

“One hundred and five foot schooner,” Spence said. “It’s an island trader, worth a lot more than your final bid.”

“What am I going to do with a one hundred and five foot schooner, shit coconuts?” Trace said.

“You won’t have to worry about that,” Spence said. “You’re luck has run out.”

“Let’s do it,” Trace said.

“New deck,” Spence said.

The man in the bowtie grabbed a new deck from a display on a table next to the wall.

He started to unwrap the deck. Trace placed his hands on the deck. “Stop, I’ll pick the deck.”

The man in the bow tie shrugged. “Which one?”

Trace stretched to look at the decks. “Top row, second from the right.”

The man in the bowtie grabbed the deck. He unwrapped it, and shuffled. He slid the deck to Trace. Trace cut the deck. He let the deck lay. The man in the bowtie picked up the deck and dealt five cards to Spence and Trace.

Trace pressed a smile. He held his arm up and glanced at his watch. “Three past midnight,” he said. “My birthday luck has ran out.” He clicked his cheek. “My weakest hand.” He laid his cards down face up. “Pair, of sixes, nine high. Good game.”

He looked across the table at Spence. He scratched his grizzled beard. Trace started to rise from his chair.

Parker said, “Don’t ya wanna see what Spence is holding?”

Trace finished standing and smirked. “Let’s see your hand, Lucky.”

Spence swallowed hard. He tossed his cards on the table, face up. “Pair of fours, six high. I guess you’re the lucky one. Ya got a pot of forty thousand and a boat.”

Baxter and Ted let out a sigh and congratulated Trace.

Trace shook his head in disbelief. “Two crap hands, and it ain’t even my birthday. What am I going to do with a boat?”

“It’s worth three times what I bet,” Spence said. He signed the title and tossed it across the table.

Trace scraped the pile of money into his bag, and what didn’t fit, he stuffed in his shirt. He picked up the boat title and read it. “Poerava, what does it mean?”

“Black pearl,” Spence said.

“That’s a good name,” Trace said, stashing the title inside his shirt. He glanced at Spence and reached back into his bag and tossed a bundle of ten-dollar bills across the table.

“What’s this for?” Spence said.

“My daddy played some poker. I don’t know how good he was, but he said, If you ever clean a man out, at least leave him with something.”

Spence picked up the bundle and ran his thumb over the edge. “Thanks; this ought to get me back to Brisbane. Maybe I’ll find a game of poker and get lucky.”

“Where’s the boat?”

“It’s docked in the harbor,” Spence said. “It’s the only one there.”

“How big did you say it is?” Trace said.

“One hundred five feet,” Spence said. “A cargo island hopper.”

“A white elephant is more like it,” Trace said sarcastically.

Trace gripped the bag in his fist and walked out of the room. Parker followed.

“Let’s slip in here,” Parker said, opening the door to a men’s room.

Parker locked the door.

“You’re never going to make it back to your motel,” Parker said. “That guy, Spence, was supposed to sucker you into losing all your money. You were smart enough to have the decks switched. The one you were supposed to use was probably marked. There was just one flaw in your plan—remember, you were supposed to lose.”

“I didn’t think it was possible with the hand I had,” Trace said.

Parker stood back and looked at Trace up and down. “We’re pretty much the same size,” Parker started to undress. “Undress,” Parker ordered.

“Why?” Trace said.

“I will be you, and you will be me,” Parker said.

They exchanged clothes.

“I should be so good-looking,” Parker said.

“You must have something in mind,” Trace said.

“We are going to walk out into the casino. I will go to the lounge as you and you will mosey around,” Parker said. “That’s right, isn’t it? Cowboys do a lot of moseying. And slip out the front door, and get back to your motel as fast as you can.”

“What about you?”

'Don’t worry about me,” Parker said, stuffing the money inside Trace’s pockets and inside his shirt.

“Now, let’s go,” Parker said, “and remember...”

Trace interrupted, “Mosey, right.”

“Exactly,” Parker said.

“And you go out there and schlep around,” Trace said.

Parker smiled.

The Big Gamble in Paradise; Episode 3

This is the second episode of the novel I'm currently writing. The title is The Big Gamble in Paradise. I'm about halfway through my first rewrite, and I think it will be completed in six or eight weeks. 

I hope you enjoy this episode, and more will follow.

Episode 3

The bartender returned. He placed two business cards in front of Trace and Parker. “As you leave the lounge at the right side of the casino’s main room is a hallway. A man stands in the hallway. Show him these cards and a thousand in cash. If you want to get into a private poker game, he will escort you to one of the rooms where one is held.”

“Why…” Trace started to say.

The bartender interrupted, “Please, no questions.” He smiled and walked away.

“I’m in uncharted waters,” Trace picked up the card and saw a signature scribbled on the other side of the casino’s business card.

“I’m guessing the casino wants some of their money back,” Parker said. “They don’t mind losing it out front but they want it returned in the back room.”

“I think I need something in that seltzer,” Trace said.

“This one time you don’t want it,” Parker said. 

“If what you are saying is so, I either lose it in the back room or on my way back to the motel,” Trace said.

“A lot can happen in a block,” Parker said.

“So much for R and R,” Trace sipped.

“Given a choice between two beatings, I’d take the least,” Parker said.

“Robert Frost?” Trace joked. 

“Nah, another Robert, Robby Rossi, from the old neighborhood,” Parker said. “He’s got a flat nose but he still eats with a fork and not from a straw.”

“Walk over to the chip booth with me?” Trace asked.

“I’m a lousy bodyguard,” Parker said.

“But you do know Robby Rossi,” Trace said. “That has to mean something.”

“Let’s go,” Parker said and downed his final swallow of seltzer and stood. 

Trace walked to the chip booth and cashed in all his chips. 

He counted out a thousand dollars and handed it to Parker. “Let’s go play some poker.”

“You’re kidding me!” Parker said.

“Take the thousand and have a good time someplace else, I don’t care,” Trace shrugged, “but being a part of a high-stakes poker game, how often does that happen.”

“The biggest game I’d ever been in was a ten-dollar pot,” Parker said.

“Welcome to the big time,” Trace flipped Parker’s chest with the back of his hand. “And besides, it’s my birthday.”

“Okay, birthday boy,” Parker smiled. “Let’s see how good I am and see if your luck holds.”

Trace and Parker made their way through the casino gambling floor. They approached the man standing in the hallway. They showed him the business cards. He examined the signatures on the back.

“Second door on the left has three players waiting for a fourth and fifth player. Just walk in,” the man said.

Trace and Parker walked into the room. It was already full of cigarette and cigar smoke. 

A short round man with thin slicked back hair introduced himself, “Ted.”

A shot-thin man wearing a brightly flowered shirt. “My name is Baxter.”

A grizzled bearded man wearing a soiled seaman’s clothing and captain’s hat gave a half smile. “Jasper Spence.”

Trace and Parker introduced themselves.

The men sat without saying a word. It was as if they had done this many times over. Another man in the room dressed in a dealer's uniform; black slacks, a white shirt, a black vest, and a black bowtie. 

He removed the wrapper from a fresh deck of cards. He shuffled and cut them. He dealt one card to each man. “High card deals first.”

Ted had a queen of spades, the high card.

And so the game began. 

The Big Gamble in Paradise; Episode 2

This is the second episode of the novel I'm currently
writing. The title is The Big Gamble in Paradise. I'm about halfway through my first rewrite, and I think it will be completed in six or eight weeks. 

I hope you enjoy this episode, and more will follow.

Episode 2

He looked at the lounge in the mirror. Half of the eyes rested on him. ‘How many drinks does it take for the staring to go unnoticed,’ he thought and gave a simple grin. ‘What do I do next? What do people do who win large sums of money at a casino. I hardly know how to play blackjack. I’ll cash in the chips and run like hell to the hotel.’ He smiled to himself.

At the time his seltzer and lemon arrived, a man sat next to Trace. He wore a wrinkled white tropical suit. His hair was dark blond and unruly. Trace glanced at him and nodded. He looked as if about ten years older than Trace. He may have last shaved five days ago.

“My name is Parker Ellis.” He offered his hand.

Trace grasped his hand. “Trace Troy.”

“You’re the big winner, right,” Parker said, “and I don’t want you to buy me a drink.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Trace said. “I have too many other things to think about.”

The bartender returned and asked Parker, “Can I get you something, sir?”

“I’ll have what he’s having,” Parker said.

“Seltzer and a slice of lemon, on its way, sir,” the bartender said.

“You must be respected,” Trace said.

“What makes you say that?” Parker said.

“I didn’t even get a 'sir’ out of him.”

Parker grinned. “Take it off his tip.”

“Didn’t even think about a tip,” Trace said.

“I know,” Parker said, “your mind is full of too many other things.”

“So what’s your story,” Parker said, “tourist, you work here, visiting friends, you wash up on shore, a fugitive from justice?”

“None of the above,” Trace said. “I’m here for R and R, and I don’t like the term tourist.”

“Sounds like you’re from Texas,” Parker said.

“Southwest,” Trace said. “East coast?”

“Queens,” Parker said.

“So what are you resting and relaxing from, brandin’ the herd,” Parker feigned a Texas accent.

“Where I come from, that accent will get ya beat and hog tied.”

“And where I come from, that accent will get you laughed at.”

Trace grinned. “So, when do I come to visit you?”

The bartender set the seltzer and lemon in front of Parker.

“You’re not much of a drinker?” Parker sipped.

“I drink plenty,” Trace sipped. “I just choose wisely. What about you?”

“I’ve been known to tie a few on,” Parker said, “very few. I’m not real keen on the morning after and the photos that get passed around a week later.”

“I just won big, as you know, and apparently everyone else knows too,” Trace said, tossing his head to the occupied tables behind him. “Alcohol clouds your thinking. I want to be rational.”

“Advice?” Parker said.

“Plastics, right?” Trace said.

“That comes later,” Parker said.

“Okay, I’m all ears,” Trace said.

“Where are you staying?” Parker said.

“The hotel around the corner,” Trace said.

“Perfect,” Parker said. “Cash in your chips and take the cash to the motel and have them put it in the hotel’s safe. Make sure you get a receipt. In the morning, take the cash to a bank. Take out what you think you will need and wire the rest to the first national bank of Tumbleweed, Texas, or you can just send it to my account. I’d highly recommend the latter.”

“So,” Trace smiled, “what is a sweet innocent kid from Queens doing in a casino lounge half way around the world?”

“Sweet and innocent!” Parker said.

“I could look beyond those eyes to deep inside you and tell what kind of person you are,” Trace joked.

“I’m a free lance journalist,” Parker said. “I had a wild idea about covering the coup—the coup that sort of fizzled. It had great promise. But somewhere in Suva, some guys got together and managed to find a way they could all line their pockets without distraction and bloodshed. It’s good for humanity, but for guys like me, a dog crossing the street is not news. The dog caused a six car pile up, backing up traffic for ten miles; now that’s a story.”

“How long have you been doing it?” Trace said.

“Let’s see, I got fired from the Tribune five years ago—five years,” Parker sipped.

“How do you like freelancing?” Trace said.

"Well, considering the Tribune was the third paper that fired me, it’s been steady employment,” Parker said. “I just see stuff and report it. I don’t report to anyone, There’s no insubordination issues; I have no boss. I don’t have to worry about a messy desk; I have no desk. I don’t have to slant what I write; I have no agenda—except to report what I see and hear.”

“It sounds like you have a carefree life,” Trace sipped.

“I suppose I do,” Parker said, “if you consider living out of a suitcase, staying in fleabag hotels, and sleeping in airport terminals. Plus, I had to give up a white shirt, two pairs of underwear, and a change of socks to have room enough for a typewriter.”

“So you must have something to spend and lose,” Trace said. “Why else would you be here?”

Parker paused. “I like the nightlife.”

“Remember, I said something about looking beyond your eyes?” Trace said. “I think you’re here for something, maybe a story. Maybe you want to catch somebody where they shouldn’t be or with somebody they shouldn’t be with.”

Parker sipped.

“I hope that nerve isn’t sensitive to cold,” Trace said.

"I'm working on some things,” Parker said. That’s why I’m here. And when I see a guy as lucky as you, it grabs my attention. How does that happen?”

“Are you sure that’s it?” Trace sipped.

“I’ve been watching Cooper’s house,” Parker said. “Why are government agents visiting a sweet and innocent man?”

“Because of me,” Trace said.

“Whoa,” Parker said, “I didn’t expect that one. That’s an admission of something.”

“You can write and have printed anything you wish,” Trace said, “but it will have to come from somebody other than me. I won’t answer any questions about anything concerning the last few weeks. I hate to disappoint you. I thought we were getting along, but it seems as if I am only a story to you.”

“Believe me when I say this,” Parker said. “It was a coincidence that you and I showed up at this place at the same time. The thing with you and Cooper and the coup is all resolved in my mind. It’s a non story. If you are involved, I suspect you were coerced. A lot of people were coerced; you were only one of them. I don’t do stories that harm innocent people, I just don’t. My father was destroyed by the press. He was at the wrong place at the wrong time. I know what my family went through, and I’ll never do anything like that.”

“A journalist with scruples,” Trace said sarcastically.

“Your sarcasm doesn’t bother me,” Parker said. “I’m here on something having nothing to do with you—at least I hope. And if it does, I may be your best friend. So to start from the beginning, I here on something not related to you. But you started winning. Why you? Do you know?”

“It’s how I caught my keys,” Trace said.

“What?”

“When I checked in at the motel, I walked away from the desk. The clerk called out that I forgot to take my keys. I held up my hand for him to toss them. It was a bad throw, and I had to catch them behind my back. We agreed that was a lucky catch, and he told me to get to the casino before my luck ran out. And today, I’m twenty-five. That’s where I place my bet.”

Parker chuckled and began to laugh out loud.