Hot Rocks (17 page)

forty

I scanned the room,
hoping to encourage someone to speak up. Instead, everyone looked pensive, refusing to meet my gaze. Some scratched their chins while others pulled at their ears. Everyone except Dot, who shoved her way to the front. “Shucks, deary, that ain’t no problem. How fast you want it?”

“You have an idea?”

“Ain’t no idea. It’s a ironclad guarantee. He’ll be singing like one of them opera folks before daylight. That’s without even hurtin’ him none. Now, if you want it faster, maybe in the next half-hour, all I gotta do is appeal to his manhood, if you git what I mean. Ain’t met no man yet wouldn’t do anything to protect—”

“No,” I interjected. “That won’t work. Like I said, I don’t want him bruised. Add to that, I don’t want him missing any body parts.”

Dot cackled again. “Hell, deary, you took all the fun out of it. Don’t matter, though. I can git him talkin’. Course, I need a few supplies—not much, mind you, just a couple dollars worth.”

“Tell me.”

She appeared to think for a moment. “Naw, I druther show you. Give me a ten spot, and me and Bridge will get what we need. Then maybe we can play some poker while he cooks. Ain’t played in a long time.”

Cooks? I hoped she didn’t mean that literally. I ran my hands through my hair as my mind raced. Really though, a no-brainer. What did I have to lose? I’d be right there to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. I turned to David. “Is it worth ten to watch the show?”

He smiled. “My curiosity is boundless.” He took out his wallet and handed me a bill. “Here. This is for a twenty-dollar ticket.”

I gave Dot the money.

She shoved it in the front pocket of her pants, saying, “Maybe after you git what you want, I’ll have him all to myself for a while.” She cackled again, took Bridge by the arm, and they disappeared through the door.

“If y’all don’t mind, I got other things I could be doing,” Rose said, walking toward the exit. “Don’t seem like you need my help. Everything looks under control here.”

“Sure,” Bob said. “If you need us, you know where we are. And if we need you, make sure you have the cell with you.”

Rose opened the door and called, “Dot. Bridge. Wait up. I’ll walk a bit with you.”

I watched her leave, then my mind snapped back to Dot. An ironclad guarantee Bruce would talk—without breaking any of his bones or scarring him. Could I trust her? What kind of woman was she? “Bob, do you know what Dot has in mind?”

“Nope. But I have a hunch we can believe what she said. Your Bruce in there will be singing like a lovebird.” He rubbed his hand across his mouth. “I don’t know a lot about her, but I suspect there is much sadness in her past. I do know she did time for killing a man. From what I heard, she got ten years when she cut his heart out.”

“His heart?” I said. “Only ten? There must have been some strong extenuating circumstances.”

“Apparently, when the police arrested her, she carried the evidence of his long-term mistreatment all over her body. Anyway, when she got out of prison, she took to the streets. That’s where she met Bridge, and they’ve been together since.”

“How sad,” I said.

“Yes. And almost every one of these people has a story just as heartrending. They’re not homeless because they chose to be. Circumstances put them here. As for Dot, well, I feel like she’s never been able to catch a break.” He looked toward the door she’d gone through. “But whatever happened in her past, I’d much rather have her for a friend than an enemy.”

“Good enough for me,” I said. “What about you, David?”

“I’m only here for the education,” he said. “This makes my classes on brain surgery seem mundane.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Okay, we wait until Dot and Bridge get back,” I said. “She mentioned she wanted to play poker. Can we set up a table in one of the dorms?”

Bob smiled as he surveyed his group. “You might have to bankroll the game.”

I turned toward David, whose look said he knew what came next. “Well?” I said. “I’m a bit short.”

“It’ll speed things up and give me an excuse to sit out. Maybe I can keep an eye on our guest. I owe him one.” He held up his bandaged hand. “Besides, my lab partner in med school always said don’t play against your own money.” He chuckled. “He financed his education at a friendly poker table. Is there an ATM in the area?”

“One in the bar,” Bob said.

David grinned at me as he headed toward the front. “This could be fun. I suspect someone is in for a fleecing, and her initials are BB.”

“Yeah? Back home, they call me Mississippi Beth, the riverboat gambler.”

_____

Bob, Blister, and Street disappeared into the bar and returned to the dorm carrying a round table capable of seating six with space to spare. After moving a couple of beds, things were perfect for poker. Another absence and six cushioned chairs waited for players. Poker chips and two new decks of cards made their appearances. All we needed were Dot and Bridge.

David took a position in the doorway where he could see Bruce held captive in his chair in the storage room. I sat directly across from David so he could tip me if Bruce cracked. If it happened, I wanted to be the second to know.

Dot and Bridge blew into the room carrying a small bag from Office Depot. Its size caught my eye. Don’t know what I expected, but the bag couldn’t hold a rubber hose or a battery charger. That made me feel better. I still had my scruples about Bruce. Pain was fine, but marks on his body were not.

“Here, deary,” Dot said, putting the bag in front of me. “The secret to learning whatever’s locked away in that bum’s head. I promise we’ll know soon.”

I dumped the bag. Two boxes of thumbtacks—normal bulletin board standard thumbtacks with flat heads. Not even the fancy ones they call map pins. Only one use of them came to mind. “Now, Dot, I told you we can’t mark him. You’re not stabbing him in any key parts with these.”

She giggled. “Don’t mean to, deary. If they’s any stickin’, he’ll be doing it. Is it okay if we git started?”

Even more mystified, I said, “Get on with it.”

“Gonna need some help with his legs. Bob, would you take one and, Street, maybe you could grab the other. He looks like the kind that would kick a lady. Bridge, get me a blanket roll from one of them beds.”

forty-one

“Masks up,” I said.

While I pondered what she was up to, Dot approached Bruce, sitting in his hard-bottomed chair. “He’s a big’un, ain’t he? This ain’t gonna work. Need something for him to set on, something that’ll lift him up. Any old phone books ’round here? ’Bout the only thing they’s good for is a booster seat.”

“I’ll check the bar,” Bob said. “There are usually a couple under the counter. Seems like they drop them at the front door at least once a month.” He walked out of the room.

I studied the situation. So far, I had no clue what Dot had in mind. Street stood on one side of Bruce, ready to follow orders, I guessed, to keep Bruce from kicking. Bob had been on the other side, but was now rounding up something for Bruce to sit on. I looked at David and shrugged. He returned the motion, letting me know he was as lost as I.

Bob returned to the room. “How about these?” He carried two phone books, each about three inches thick.

“Yeah,” Dot said. “They ought to do it. Here comes the tricky part. If you still got that shotgun, better break it out. We gonna have to loose him from the chair. Beth, same for that pea shooter of yours.”

I nodded and walked to where I dropped my purse and rummaged inside. My .32 felt good as I assumed a guard position. “Give me an excuse, Bruce. Please, just give me an excuse.”

Bruce’s head turned toward me. I wondered what was in his mind while wishing I could see his eyes. I had to give him credit, though. He might be defenseless and helpless, but he didn’t flinch. He just sat there with excellent posture.

Bob went into the men’s sleeping area, then returned with the shotgun, and leveled it at Bruce.

I noticed it was a pump-action. “How many shells does it hold? Is it choked?”

He racked the slide, probably for Bruce’s benefit. “Nope. Holds eight and has eight. I used to shoot clay pigeons. It would be a pleasure to drop this pigeon.”

“Can we let him see?” Dot asked. “Ain’t nothing he ain’t seen before. I want him to know what’s comin’.”

I figured that between Bob and me, Bruce would get the idea that making a play was not a smart move. “Sure. Do it.”

Bridge gave Street a hand in freeing Bruce, including removing the blindfold. As soon as they lifted him to his feet, Dot shoved the phone books under him, then they dropped him back onto the chair. His feet now sat flat on the floor, but not with much to spare.

“Re-tape his arms and chest,” Dot said. “I think we’re there.”

At first, Bruce glared at everyone in turn, but soon, his expression became more puzzled as if he was lost, too. He might have had some worthy questions, but asking was not in the equation because of the tape over his mouth.

“Good,” Dot said and turned toward me. “Now, deary, I’m gonna show you a trick that always produces results. I seen some mighty tough characters break on this one. Hold his legs, guys, while I slip this bed roll under his thighs.” A moment later, she added, “Oh yeah. That’s perfect.”

Perfect? What I saw were Bruce’s shoes dangling above the floor, his upper thighs resting on the rolled up blanket. He’d have to strain to settle his feet.

“Keep him from kicking,” Dot said, “while I spread the tacks.” She emptied the boxes in front of the chair, then knelt and began to turn the points up.

I crouched beside her and helped. Seemed the normal thing to do.

When we finished, she said, “Thank you, deary. Soon you’ll hear him sing. Hope it’s not too fast though. I got some poker to play.” She stood, her joints cracking as she did.

Mine didn’t feel much better as I rose.

“Okay, now we take off his shoes and socks.” She reached over and pinched Bruce’s cheek. “Now, listen good ’cause here are the rules. We’re going to remove the bedroll and leave your legs free. You’ll have the choice to hold them up or rest them on the tacks. While I don’t really care what you do, I can tell you those tacks are sharp. Look, I bloodied myself on one.” She sucked on a fingertip. “When you get tired of the game, let Miss Beth know, and she’ll have some questions for you. Understand?”

Bruce’s eyes were so large, I was sure he heard. Whether he understood, I couldn’t say. I wasn’t sure I did.

“Turn his legs loose,” Dot said. “We’ll see how long he keeps his feet above those sharp points. He looks like he’s in pretty good shape, so I give him a couple of hours. Cover his eyes again and let’s play poker.”

As Bridge put the blindfold in place, David took a chair near the door. “I’ll stay and watch our guest,” David said.

“Good.” Dot spun and walked into the dorm to the poker table. “Here, Miss Beth. You set beside me where I can keep an eye on you. Oops, forgot something. Y’all just settle on in while I git it.”

Bob shrugged and took a seat across from where I’d been directed to sit. “I do believe we’ve met the real Dot tonight,” he said. “When I retire, I might let her manage my bar and the dormitory.” His smile radiated admiration.

Dot re-entered the room carrying a round stick, maybe a broom or mop handle, and placed it on the floor beside her chair. Then she sat.

I didn’t ask. Neither did anyone else.

“Y’all mind if I loosen them cards a bit? They’s always so stiff straight out of the box,” she said as if going after the stick were an everyday occurrence.

Bob slid a deck to her. She popped the seal and slipped the cards out of the case. From that point forward, I watched in fascination. She fanned the cards on the table, then rolled them up and back, doing everything but forming them into dancing pairs. If she’d done that, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Her shuffles, she named them as she went through them—Hindu shuffle, overhand shuffle, riffle shuffle, and others I’d never seen before—were a blur as the cards hopped in her hands. Before placing them on the table in front of me, she executed a string of one-handed cuts with the cards never stopping. Yeah, I was impressed.

“Cut’m, deary.” She nodded toward Bob. “You be the bank. You the only person here we all trust.” She looked at me. “Sorry ‘bout that, deary, but I ain’t knowed you long enough. Now, everybody git their money out. Let’s git the chips flippin’.”

During the next hour, the pile of chips in front of Dot grew. Luckily, we were playing dealer’s choice with a rotating deal. Dot’s call each time was five-card stud. She won every hand and picked up enough of the other choices around the table to insure her stack never shrank. I won’t say she cheated, but when I hit four tens in five-card stud and lost to her four queens, I became a bit suspicious.

An hour in, David stuck his head in the door. “You might want to see what Bruce is up to.”

Before I could say anything, Dot was out of her chair, the broomstick in her hand.

I heard two sharp cracks, close together, and Dot saying, “We’ll have none of that. Don’t mess with my tacks. You’ll either play by the rules, or the rules will play you. Hold up your feet.”

There was a moment of silence before Dot said, “Don’t make me come back over here.” That was followed by another sharp sound.

She stormed back into the dorm. “Damn fool messin’ with my tacks. Don’t worry, dearie, he might limp a little, but knees don’t bruise. Is it my deal?”

forty-two

Bridge answered Dot and
probably saved at least my ante by uttering his first non-betting words of the game, “Miss Beth’s.”

I scooped up the cards and shuffled. Dot watched me like she thought I might stack the deck. Not to say I wouldn’t if I had known how. Her quantity of chips and mine weren’t even in the same hemisphere.

I dealt seven-card stud and found a pair of aces in the hole. Exciting enough to make me take a second peek. Yeah, I know it’s a no-no, but I needed a winning hand—I wanted a winning hand. My up card was a king, giving me dealer control.

Checking around the table, I saw nothing that bothered me. But with Dot’s run of luck, who could tell? She showed a ten of diamonds. I made a moderate bet, and everyone stayed in.

When the pot was right, I ran another round of cards. Caught a trey to go with my king and pair of aces. Whoopee. Gave Dot a nine of diamonds, Bridge a queen of clubs that didn’t help his eight of hearts, doubled Street on Jacks, and didn’t do much for anyone else. Things looked fine.

“Your bet, Street,” I said. “How much are those jacks worth?”

He scratched his jaw. “Not much, the way my night’s gone.” He bet the minimum, taking himself out of my wave of concern.

Bob took his time eyeing his hole cards, then folded. “It’d take a miracle to make something out of this mess.”

“One more round, but you better be kind,” Blister said. “Adding a face might help.”

Dot studied everyone’s cards, then raised a moderate amount. “Since everybody’s bettin’ on the come, might as well make it worthwhile. Dang pot’s too skinny.” Her witch’s cackle sounded again.

When everyone had called, I laid out the next cards. Eight of diamonds to Dot. Now, her hand appeared dangerous. Straight flush building, or a straight, or a flush. Whatever, not in my best interest.

Didn’t improve anyone else until I got to my hand. Ace of clubs. Three aces with two cards to go. I felt good.

Street’s pair of jacks were still high. “Check to the power,” he said, staring at Dot.

She cackled some more. “The timid never win.” She tossed in the maximum bid.

Bridge never hesitated. His cards landed on the pot with Blister’s right behind.

Street shook his head and said, “I gotta be nuts.” He called the bet.

I stared at Dot’s hole cards, trying to see through the backs of them. No matter which of her threatened hands she hit, I was in trouble unless I improved. I needed a pair to ride my aces into a full house. I called her bet.

One more up card. Street didn’t improve again and groaned, frustration evident.

The six of diamonds landed at Dot’s place, and I joined Street in groaning. She was doing it again.

Me? Damn jack of hearts. I’d have happily given it to Street if I could. Didn’t help me any.

Street checked, and Dot bet the max.

One card to go and Dot and me left. Without much enthusiasm, I met her bet, then before anyone could say anything, raised the max. I might lose my bra, but she wasn’t chasing me out.

Street folded. Dot grinned and met it.

“Last one down and dirty,” I said. “And papa, you better treat mama right.”

Dot giggled. “If you want, you can have mine, too. I don’t need it.”

I slid her last card across, laid mine on my cards, then tossed the remainder of the deck onto the pot.

Dot stared into my face. “Deary, your ace controls the table. Can you bet without looking?”

“No problem,” I said, and slid the maximum bet out. “Don’t ever doubt me, Dot.”

She didn’t hesitate. She simply grinned, met me, then raised.

Time to check my last card. I peeked and felt as if my eyes bugged out like the yolks of two jumbo eggs, sunny side up—ace of spades. Four aces. That beat everything except a straight flush, but Dot showed four to hers with the inside open. I repeated my vow not to let her bluff me. “Nuts to bet into a big winner, but I have to do it. Want to raise the cap?”

Dot studied my cards, my small pile of chips, then her stash. “Table stakes?”

“Suits me.” I slid everything I had into the middle. Dot gave me a toothy smile and matched it. The room was silent. Even the breathing was quiet if anyone was doing any. I’m sure I wasn’t.

David tapped me on the shoulder. “I think the show is ready to start.”