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Writer's pictureKL Forslund

Poker Face

It’s Turkey Week, nobody’s happy about the election of Remington Quill for president, my position is up for a vote, and today we’re playing Wizard Poker. Everybody’s here except Harridas and Kagogo, but we’re not talking about that. Also, the thermostat is wonky on our oven so I have to watch it cook the pizza before it burns. That’s a lot to unpack, but I’ve got nothing else to do but stare through the sooty glass of my oven door at a pepperoni pizza and listen to the griping about the election that I couldn’t vote in.


Moderatus, Rain, Trigoth, and Cadeusa argued around the poker table I built about the president-elect. The table’s great, it doesn’t even wobble. Quill, not so much. “He’s going to defund the BIA and award more land grants to pipelines.”


Cadeusa brushed her hand past the outer rim of drink and plate holding to the recessed felt surface, testing its card slidiness. “BIA?”


“Bureau of Indian Affairs.”


Moddy asked, “You like those guys? They still say Indian, I thought we can’t say that.”


“It’s what we have. With the right administration, it helps.”


“Can Alex say it?”


Rain frowned. “Ask him. We’re at the talking about politics table. The kitchen is the talking about Alex room.” For the record, if it’s just me and Rain, I might say Indian if she’s been saying it a lot, but most of the time it’s Native American or indigenous people because other folks wouldn’t know our understanding of each other.


Cadeusa said, “I guess I don’t know much about Native American concerns, sorry. In my day job, I’m worried about funding for infectious disease research, and healthcare. There’s too many idiots in his orbit that I bet are going to get cabinet positions.”


Moddy tilted his curly orange haired head at her. “You think it’ll go that far?”


“He’s got a podcaster on stage with him who says vaccines are fake. So yeah. It’ll get worse once they come after women’s healthcare, and you know that’s coming.”


Moderatus shouted toward me in the kitchen. “Alex, how the hell did a Vegas stage magician slash TV show host win an election?”


The lights flickered. Moddy and I have already butted heads a few months ago about meddling in public matters. And I’m alone in the talking about Alex room. The kitchen, separated by a half bar from the breakfast nook area now dedicated to the custom poker table that definitely does not have secret tricks built into it. We don’t talk about politics in this room. Because then the pizza will burn.


Meanwhile, Yasunori and Artura sat in our living room watching one of the Babylon 5 movies. Yasu’s from Japan, and Artura’s from Brazil. Maybe they sat over there because it’s not their countries’ concern, or the speed of the ranting is too much bother to keep up with as their second language. Either way, the pizzas are starting to bubble and maybe brown, but It’s hard to tell because the oven light is yellowish. Or not, because the flickering kitchen light is messing me up.


On the plus side, Moddy isn’t harping about replacing me as Council leader, which he’s done since everybody got here for the week. I’m sure he’ll get to that. He has some points. Including the fact that instead of joining us, Kagogo is visiting Harridas in Arizona because of what happened last August. Perhaps the final straw will be whether I manage to not blacken these pies.


“Alex,” Rain called out from the table. “Your face is brooding again. How’s the pizza?”


“I’m not brooding, I’m just narrating the situation for myself.”


She rolled her eyes, and returned to schooling Moddy on where the new prick in chief would hurt women’s concerns. It just occurred to me that we were the only men here this year. I cracked the over door open to take a peek.


Trigoth shouted, “You lose twenty-five degrees every time you do that.”


I guess. If I had a working oven thermometer, I’d know for sure, and not have to stand here and watch the food. The cheese looked close to ready, but if I don’t push it closer, Moddy will complain. That’s what he does. I read a novel that said wizards know things. Judging by today, we also complain.


Where was I? Pizza. Winning the poker game by cheating. Knowing stuff. Convincing the Council that I am still the white guy to lead us to the future. That sounded funnier before I thought it, but we almost got a Native American president and Rain’s frustration simmered for weeks now. Like the cheese which started to bubble and darken.


“Now.” The raspy metallic voice of Yasunori came from behind me.


Startled, I fumbled for the oven mitts and rushed to get our lunch out and onto the stove surface. The pizza screens scraped along the ceramic surface with two yellow brown capped pizzas dotted by happy pepperonis I bought from the deli section and added to four-cheese pizzas. I went all out on these five-dollar frozen pizzas. Nothing’s too good for my friends. Or at least good enough for Moddy.


Yasu held up a pizza cutter in their hand with floppy robe cuff hanging down. “You go. I cut.”

I left the kitchen to stand behind Rain while she listened to Trigoth talk about things in her state. My hands found Rain’s shoulders, and so I gave her a squeeze. She leaned back, and relaxed a little, so I massaged what I could. As a result, I hadn’t paid enough attention to what they had been talking about when Trigoth concluded with “, and that’s why I think we should have disrupted his campaign.”


Once again, Yasunori appeared behind me, their voice translator rasping, “It is too late for the pepperonis to vote. The pizza is already cooked.” They held a plate with a couple slices of pizza out to Caduesa.


She took it and said, “Thanks. Did you wait all this time to drop that Bab5 reference in?”


“Yes.” Then they returned to plate up and serve more slices. With the food ready, I left for the garage to fetch the poker chips I made. Artura followed me as I passed through the living room. She either wanted to talk to me alone, or keep an eye on me Probably both.


I left the door to the garage open and patted Sleipnir’s rump so he knew I was there. Technically, he had cameras everywhere, but old farm habits die hard. He shuffled on his eight legs to get a better angle to crane his neck to look at me.


“Hey boy. Maybe we can go riding tonight when it’s cooler.” The metal beast bobbed his head, rippling the oily patinaed platelets and his corded mane.


“Cooler?” asked Artura as she entered the garage. She wore thin, blue robes that matched her hair. “It’s so cold here.”


“Cold? It finally got down to sixty this week.”


“What is that in metric?”


My third eye flashed the answer, so I responded. “About fifteen Celsius.”


She leaned against the doorframe. Watching me make my way to the bench table along the wall beside Sleipnir. “You will lose today.”


The silver painted plastic coins lay spread out on the sheet of cardboard where I left them to dry yesterday. I picked one up and rolled it over the back of my fingers. “Oh?”


“You have your wife’s vote. And I suspect Trigoth. She wants to do something, and you break the rules and do some things.”


I started scooping up the coins into the box where the gold and copper ones lay. “What about you?”


“You have never lost. You’ve experienced nothing like what we feel. Even in my country.”


I mulled that over as I checked the sanded edge on the coin in my hand. The alignment between the two halves felt off from when I glued them together. But I can’t fix that now.


“Losses are just setbacks from a certain perspective.”


“Well, today, you will lose. They will not leave you alone with the cards. Even now, I’m supposed to watch you. But you taught us the card tricks. I have a better plan.”


“Okay.”


“If you want my vote, you will lose the game.”


“I’ve seen that movie. Heath Ledger. Fun. Painful.”


“Yes. He was handsome. But we’ve also seen you. You are not what you seem.”


I kept my face stone. By that, she meant the incident last August in Houston, and the light doxing I got showing what I looked like when I escaped Helheim. I picked up my box of coins and stepped over to Sleipnir to straighten out the cords making up his mane. Then I turned my head to fix her with my one good eye. Brilliant blueness stared, paired with leather and metal eyepatch on my left. “I don’t think anyone here is exactly what they seem.”


“Well, if you want to win the vote, it seems you will have to lose the game.” She turned and left, trusting me with the poker chips I 3D printed to make look like metal coins. I gave the metal horse another pat and headed back to the group.


By the time I returned, everybody had pizza and chosen spots around the table, which also meant I couldn’t control where I sat. Not that it mattered, but they figured I built the table and had something up my sleeve. Everyone else wore their ceremonial wizard robes, but I remained in shorts and a gray t-shirt. No sleeves or means to stash tricks.


Wizard poker played like normal Texas Hold’Em except we allowed and expected cheating. Just don’t get caught. I sat down at the empty spot on the round table. The green felted main surface sat two inches lower than the wide outer ring. I built that wide enough to hold a plate and cup holder. Thus, signaling that nobody should put food or drink on the felt.


Yasunori made a show of waving their hand over the table and a sealed deck of cards appeared on the felt. Nice reveal, showing the practice they put in. I dumped the box of coins onto the table before tucking it into the corner behind me. I felt the rough edge on the under corner where my sanding wasn’t as thorough. So far things were going as planned.


Moddy sorted the chips and handed out stacks of coins. Twenty copper, ten silver, five gold to each of us. Totals appeared in my third eye for each player. If a chip left this table, I would know when and where it came from. While Moddy passed chips, Yasu unboxed the cards. All eyes watched the cards. A brand-new deck meant the cards started in a known order. Now would be the time to substitute or mark any cards before the shuffling.


Since none of us were Vegas professionals, Yasu employed a sure-fire, but messy randomizing technique. Splaying the cards across the table, they swirled them around until satisfied. After that, they scooped up the scrambled pile and did a proper riffle shuffle. Ten years ago, Yasu didn’t know how to shuffle, so they’ve improved a lot.


I should have noted table positioning earlier, but my conversation with Artura left me thinking. Throw the game to gain a vote to keep my leadership role, or win the game to prove I’m still the top wizard and worthy of the role. While that plinked through the pachinko machine of my mind, I focused on who’s where. Moderatus sat to my left. His black robes with flame embroidered sleeves looked sharp with his orange red hair. He favored chemistry, and not the explosive kind. Cadeusa followed, wearing a green satin robe with a teal belt. She kept her day job in the CDC, but delivered vaccinational magic every year. Yasunori sat opposite me in a shimmery, purple Japanese silk outfit. They specialized in engineering small unfoldable contraptions. Rain sat left of Yasu, wearing her turquoise cloak she bought at Ren Fair many years back. She created the daemons that assist us. To my right, Trigoth wore her spikey brown hair short, and her velvet red robes long. Trigoth still owned a classic car restoration business, and for us provided large scale fabrication, like Sleipnir. Between her and Rain sat Artura in her blueness. Most of the colors of the rainbow. As a graphic artist, she provided the look and feel of our systems. We’d have yellow and orange if Harridas and Kagogo were here.


Since Yasu took up dealing, that made Rain the small blind, and Artura big. They put one and two copper in front of themselves on the table, respectively. Yasu flung cards out with flair and they spun and slid to a crisp stop in front of each player. I didn’t think they had time to practice on my table and I used cheap craft store felt. Nice.


Two cards lay face down in front of each of us. I made a show of pulling my cards close together and then shrouding the edge nearest me as I raised them high enough up to look. The other players did variations of the same and data scrolled into my third eye. Almost everybody got middling hands, except Artura who got the stinker, seven-two, spade and club. She would fold if anybody raised. Trigoth pushed two copper to call. She liked her queen-nine of hearts, I guess. I folded because a jack high wouldn’t hold up with Moddy’s jack-eight in play. He raised to six copper. Cadeusa, Yasu and Rain folded because they didn’t have royalty.


As predicted Artura folded, leaving the flop to Trigoth and Moderatus. One might have expected a ton of chatter, but we’d all talked and gossiped since folks arrived last night, and we needed to be watching out for when to call out “Wizardry!” if you spotted a cheat. I did say cheating was allowed, but you have to pull it off. With practiced style, Yasunori lay out three cards in the center of the table. Ten of hearts, seven of hearts, and two of diamonds. So, at the moment, Trigoth still has best hand with queen high, but also a chance for a flush. Moddy has nothing but a straight chance if he chases.


Because it’s the first hand, I doubted any cheating will happen as players get their bearings on the feel of the game and perhaps mark their better cards so they can track them or pull them when they deal. Also, the deck is brand new and pulled at random from a pile of odd decks.


This one has rubber duckies for the card back art. Nobody will be palming cards yet.

Yasunori’s hand reached for a card from the deck, sliding the top off the deck and discarding it as a burn. They drew another and brought it over to the end of the line of three cards. Flip and the turn revealed a king of hearts. Moddy’s lower lip pushed up for a twitch as he frowned. Trigoth didn’t move. She made her hand. The question was, how would she bet?


She tapped the table to check. Moddy raised four copper. A snort escaped Trigoth and she shoved eight copper out. Moddy plucked four more copper and tossed them into the pot like he had the hand. He didn’t.


The dealer repeated their prior actions to reveal the river. A two of clubs. Useless to the players left in the hand. Trigoth grabbed a silver and slapped it down in front of her cards. Moderatus paused and thought it through. He had nothing. Maybe Trigoth did. Would he want to find out at the cost of even more money?


He pushed his cards forward. Fold. The next question would be whether Trigoth would muck her cards or show them. This would also be her chance to palm her queen when she discarded.


She picked up her cards and set them onto the discard pile, her fingers squaring up the edges. If somebody caught her palming a card, they’d shout “Wizardry!” and bring on the accusation.

I glimpsed an edge of a card, but calling her out wouldn’t help me yet. Plus, she took Moddy down a few coins. Not a bad start. The next hand felt bland as I sat out again and I suspected more card palming went down to keep high cards for later. When the big blind hit me, the fix came in. Seven-two spade and club. Artura’s first hand. Which she could give me because she was the dealer. I can’t call her on it without revealing that I knew she had those cards.


While betting went around Artura asked, “So Alex, what do you think we should do about the new President?” Raises, calls, and folds rippled around the table. I pushed my cards to the center of the table.


Moderatus said, “So you’d roll over? Instead of violating the non-interference rules like you did in August?”


“Someone asked for help. Are you asking for help, Moderatus?”


Silence. More cards and bets. Coins shifted around in modest amount to Rain. Trigoth took over dealing. I lifted my cards enough for my third eye to get a read.


Hello, seven-two my old friend. Fokk. They’re going to do this to me all game. You can’t win on a crappy hand everybody knows you have. There’s no way Trigoth gave me the same cards without colluding with Artura. While I waited for my turn to fold, Moddy made his bet for his pocket jacks.


Cadeusa broke his swagger with a question. “What would you have the Council do, Moddy? You’re quick to criticize Alex.” She also called him with her pocket queens.

Folds circled the table. While Trigoth laid out the flop face down, Moderatus answered. “We’re not here to draw attention.” Pointing at me, he continued, “He’s already got a cop hovering around, and pissed off a Fed. It’s a wonder this city likes him.”


Trigoth flipped over the three cards in quick succession. Ace and another pair of jacks. Moddy slow rolled his consideration before pushing out a silver.


“Again, what would you do?” replied Cadeusa as she called. She didn’t know Moddy had her beat.


Moddy scratched his nose while Trigoth laid out the next card. His mouth opened, and instead of a weaselly response, he shouted, “Wizardry!”


Trigoth froze, her hand stuck in retreat from revealing the queen she had at the beginning of the game. Did anybody else see her slip the card from her sleeve to the top of the deck before she dealt it? If nobody seconded it, Cadeusa had Moddy beat and might draw some more money out of him. Otherwise, Trigoth was out, and the hand scrapped.


“You see, Alex? If you cheat, you are held accountable.” Moddy leaned back, smug in his accusation, and picked up a slice of pizza from the plate. Crumbs fell onto my table.

Rain pointed her chin at the encrumbed table. “Please do not make a mess on the table, Moderatus.”


“Huh” More crumbs fell as he took a bite.


“You are spilling on the felt. Clean it up.”

Silence. Eyes flitted across the table as everyone calculated what happened. Was Trigoth about to forfeit her stake or something about to happen while Moddy cleaned up?


“You’re right Moddy. I saw her palm that card from the first hand, and slip it in now,” I said as I turned my head to look at him straight in the eye.


Trigoth pushed back from the table. “What are you doing?”


“I’m losing.”


“Funny way of doing it.”


Trigoth rose and took her plate of unfinished pizza with. Her chips would start in the pot on the next hand. This hand didn’t count anymore, so Cadeusa pushed her hand forward. I scooped up cards like a hungry hippo, keeping them in subtle order. Moddy waited until the last to turn in his cards. I grabbed them with my left while fancy shuffling with my right. A quick peek confirmed they were not jacks. I’d get him out next.


With two hands, I could palm and juggle shuffle the cards to keep control of the ones I wanted and space them out. While setting that up, I glanced back at Moddy and said, “Would you please get those crumbs off my fokking table like my wife asked?” Lights flickered.


While I finished, Cadeusa and Artura pushed the original bets into the center, along with Trigoth’s stake. Artura slipped a few coins off the pile. Risky, but no one caught it. Not counting me, of course. Moddy returned with a damp paper towel and removed the crumbs. I waited for him to return before dealing.


Then came the chaos. Moddy got my seven-two. Cadeusa, her pocket queens. Controlling seven cards, spaced out correctly, took effort. Everything else was random, even mine. Rain picked up an AK. Yasu pocket rockets. Cadeusa found an eight-five. I didn’t bother looking at my cards. There’s a giant pile of coins in the center and the blinds are still low.


Yasunori took a chance and went all in. Not a bad move if we played normal Hold’em. If there were only three copper on the table, I’d predict the outcome. Rain called. Artura folded. Moddy called. Cadeusa called. Rain had more money, so all the calls were covered. I felt a monologue coming on, but stifled it.


Instead, I slid the burn card off. Then drew and flipped a jack of spades. Then a queen of hearts. Followed by a jack of hearts. Moddy reached over to peek at his cards, slipping his hidden pair of jacks from his sleeves. Artura pointed and shouted “Wizardry!”


I turned and held my eye on Artura before I said, “Yes. He should have swapped his cards during the dealing when folks weren’t watching him. Also, how come Artura has six gold and eleven silver?”


Yasunori called out “Wizardry.”


Artura sniffed, and then spoke. “Is this what you call losing Alex?”

 

“I haven’t played a single hand, and thus, have not won.”


“Yet here you sit with all the money on the table and nobody else able to take it.”


Moderatus got up from the table with his plate. “You let him control the deck. This is the same hand as last time. He gave me his seven-two. He’s playing four dimensional chess.”


Trigoth called out from the living room, “Moddy, you weren’t supposed to admit we all colluded to give him bad cards.”


“Et tu, Rain?” I looked at her and she shrugged.


“Moderatus, he sucks at chess. We’re never going to catch you cheating with the cards. So we colluded a bit. But I don’t know what Artura is talking about losing.”


“I told him I’d vote for him if he lost the game.”


“My house is too small and South America is hot this time of year.” Another wise truth from Yasunori.


“Is that why you guys vote for him every year? The straight white guy candidate?” Moddy set his plate down while Rain kept an eye out for crumbs.


“Jibbers crepes, Moddy!” Trigoth called out from the couch. “Yes. None of us want to host this shindig every year. And nothing Alex gets into actually hurts us. So what are you worried about Moddy?”


“I don’t want to get caught. I don’t want what happened to Harridas.”


This is where my monologue should have kicked in. Some wise skit, straight from the heart. I couldn’t control what happened in Arizona. But Harridas got hurt because of what we were doing. Instead, I stood up. Lights flickered, and an icy breeze from the AC vent overhead tossled my white hair. I pulled Moderatus into a hug. Not a there-there hug. This guy worried about his mentor since the skit went down in August. And I’ve been stone faced since then. Three fokking months without my best friend. We were not whole, and the time of our gathering revealed that lack as clear as a pumpkin pie with an unexpected missing slice. Arms added to the embrace. Everybody knew what was missing from this year’s festival.


“Guys, I can’t breathe.” Moddy said under the huddle.


Everybody unhugged. I wiped some blinker fluid from my eye. The moment passed, but the feeling remained. Nothing’s more awkward than emotional honesty, so a sudden tidiness took over and dishes were taken to the kitchen area. The pile of chips sat on the table. Shortest game ever. Did I lose?


There’s only one way to find out. I cleared my throat and said, “We might as well do the vote.”


Rain set the mini-vac down on the table as she returned from the closet where she fetched it. “What about Kagogo and Harridas’ votes?”


Yasunori pulled their mask back up after taking a bite of pizza. We waited for the chewing to finish. “They sent their votes to Moderatus and myself for verification.”


I grabbed the box from the corner and began picking up the chips. “So, you two have known this whole time?”


Their raspy voice said, “Yes.”


Finished with chip collecting, I moved to the living room as I pulled my haptic gloves from the pockets of my shorts. They covered my finger tips with a wired leading across the back of the hand to a wristband. A sweep and twist of my hand halted the video on the television and melted the scene away to reveal the Seeming. My avatar appeared on a grassy knoll surrounded by gray standing stones.


As the others slipped on their gloves, their avatars joined me on the screen. We could have implemented a simpler voting system, but using the virtual space, the Seeming, incorporated a non-binary ranking system. The only problem I had with it was the auditing requirements eliminated anonymity. Everybody knew if they couldn’t check everything, I could manipulate the results. That didn’t mean I would, but my skills lay in hacking systems.


“I propose that Yasunori be major domo for this vote.”


A surprise voice from my left said, “Seconded.” Moderatus. I hated it when people do that.


Yasunori nodded and signed to initiate the voting sprite to appear before each character on screen. “Begin.”


The real reason I didn’t like this system came next. I ranked Moderatus as last choice. Everyone would see this in the audit. Worse, Moderatus would see almost no one wanted him in charge. Ever. Sure, I’ll make hard choices, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to hurt people’s feelings. I paused my selection and looked around. My fellow wizards waved their hands, arranging the candidates in their casting language. Unlike them, my options floated before me in my third eye. Low resolution text, but legible to me. Few here knew about my third eye, or what it cost me.


I looked at the names and what became at stake when I went public in August. We’re short two wizards. The governmental changes left too much to the unknown. I’m the center of too much drama. Nine swipes later, I cast my selection to the wind. On screen, the flaming green circle swirled and flew into a cauldron now resting in the middle of the group on screen.


Soon, other voting sprites joined it, swirling in a bubbling pool of mystery. I didn’t know whether Artura consider the game a loss for me. Harridas’ injury and anger at me since August simmered for months. That Kagogo flew out to see him told me where he stood.


My right knee twinged. It hurt less now the replacement healed but still flared up. I made my way to the recliner and plopped down. Everyone else remained standing, staring at the screen, waiting for the result. With my eye closed, I’d find out soon enough.


Yasunori’s metallic translator voice said, “It is done.”


A moment later, the results exploded from the cauldron into a nine-by-nine grid. Artura created all the graphics for our spells and the Seeming. Technically, my third eye showed the results in plain format, but I ignored it. Moderatus’ voice broke my concerted concentration to not look.


“Everyone voted against you?”


Robes swished as everyone turned to look at me in the chair.


“Maybe we need a change, Moddy. And you and I argue too much. We could listen to a new voice. We’re all qualified.”


The television screen flashed as two figures poofed into our council circle. One wore orange robes and a giant afro. Kagogo had arrived. Which meant the other figure could only be—


“Y’all hold up, I demand a goddamn recount.” Harridas. His avatar wore a weird amalgam of a ten gallon hat and pointy wizard hat.


Yasunori said, “He has eighty-one points. Alex and the others ranked him last.”


Moddy smirked, and said, “He lost. It is too late to change things, we’ve already voted.”


“Yeah, well, I was angry last week when I sent mine. Y’all don’t know what I went through, but Alex does. Maybe any of us could run this council. But Alex can get us through what’s coming. I survived the worst day of my life that I’m still recovering from. But Alex survived a year. At my wedding, when things went crazy, everybody ran. But Alex stood up took a stand. Why’n the fuck would we choose anybody else?”


Moddy stamped his foot. “Why? He’s never stated a position, he just does things. What does he stand for?”


Rain, the real one, looked over at me. It was time. My staff was too far away, by the front door,


I would have to do this myself. I leaned forward and pushed myself up out of the recliner while my knee protested.


“What do I stand for? Have I shown you nothing? Must I tell you? When a bully goat attacks, I stab it. When a troll kills someone, I burn it. When the rules lead to a bad conclusion, I step off the path. When things need doing, I do it myself. Same as all of us. That’s why Haridas got hurt and I have a new knee. Maybe we need to work together more. We’re worried about the future. Raganarok is coming. Why are we playing card tricks when we know things will get worse. We need to build up, get people to safety, and undermine those who would do harm. Is that enough? We won’t know until we get there and we won’t get there if we don’t stand together.”


The lights flickered as I caught my breath. My pulse surged from adrenaline. Monologues take a lot out of me. I’ve never told them about Ragnarok. They’ll think it’s a metaphor. Maybe the monologue worked.


Yasunori’s hands circled and twisted to undo the vote. On screen, the votes spiraled out of the cauldron to become glyphs floating in front of each of us. Soon, the decisions were made, and the cauldron bubbled and swirled a rainbow of colors until it settled into a gray stew.


I am gray.


I stand between the candle and the storm. And the wizards stand with me.

 

KL here. This year’s story is set around 2016, and yes, there're signs of differences in Alex’s world, but also some of the same. Stuff has happened. People aren’t at the table. I thought about ending it there.


Perhaps this is where Alex’s world is different. Since you read this tale, you’re at that table, too. Happy Thanksgiving.


Writer Secret: it is hard writing a poker game and getting the action right, especially if you need to change some cards after the fact. Even harder is handling seven talking people in a scene.


For more Wizard of Houston short stories:


 






































Special Agent Predo waited resolutely for the man sitting behind the large desk to finish watching the surveillance video on his phone. The man’s dyed comb-over needed adjusting, but that wasn’t the FBI agent’s problem to deal with.


“That’s it? These guys are playing cards and cheating. Palming cards and literally putting them up their sleeves. Except for the one-eyed guy, though I think he knows what the cards are. I’ll figure it out. I thought there’d be floating cards and shit. Why should I care about this?”


Predo nudged the manila folder sitting on his side of the desk toward the man in charge. “Well sir, as documented in this file, he’s known locally as the Wizard of Houston. At the moment, we’ve displaced his proof of citizenship, and he’s flagged as a foreign agent for Iceland.”


“Iceland? Where the fuck is that? Canada?”


“No sir, it’s an island east of Greenland.”


“Whatever. Back on my show, I’d take this guy apart. See, anytime an illusionist calls what they do magic, mind reading, etc. That’s fraud. Now this is the fucker who did that thing in Houston?”


Predo sighed. “Yes, sir. I also have reason to believe he interfered with your election.”


The man’s face tinted red. “See, that’s the thing. You see. We can’t have people playing with the numbers. Not against me. Those are my numbers. It’s my show.” He leaned back in his chair, and picked up his cheeseburger, still in its fast-food wrapper. A grease stain remained on the giant desk. “You know.” He took a bite. “I could order you to school clock tower this guy. Grant a pardon. The courts.” He swallowed. “I could make it legal. They’ll do anything I say. My people will do anything I want. That’s the trick, you see. You got to have the right people. Are you the right person, uh, Agent Playdo?”


Predo nodded. He could work with this.

 

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