Chapter 2

Before I continue, please allow me to explain something or you’ll think poorly of my group of players. Let’s consider some cold hard facts. I’ve been down on my luck at times, just as most of the other players have, but we’ve all played together often enough that everyone is aware of the rules, especially Ol’ Wheeler. I agree we don’t have them exactly written down anywhere, but whenever you start playing with our group, we tell you right up front what’s what, and you agree to everything, or you don’t play in our game. The game is table stakes, unless you got a killer hand, and you put up the pink slip to your car or something that the rest of the players are willing to accept as collateral. Well, anything except a wedding ring of course.

There are no IOUs, checks or anything like that allowed. I admit this with some level of chagrin, because I had one great ‘57 Chevrolet convertible I lost in a card game. So, don’t go feeling too sorry for Wheeler. Remember, it’s our ball, our rules, our game. You play it our way, or you don’t play. Anyway, it was common knowledge sometime Wheel pops off, and this was not the first time he’d tried the wedding band routine.

Regarding the players in our little games, there are around eighteen to twenty of us who get together and play two or three times a month at someone’s house. Not all the guys can make each game, but seven to ten of the guys usually make it. Wheeler was one of the more regular players and actually one of the better ones. Tonight was just not his night.

The older gentleman who was sitting to the left of Wheeler had only played with us a few times before. Horny Ralph originally brought him to our game ... and yeah, you got the name right. Horny Ralph. Horny, as in extremely horny! Allow me to explain about ‘ol Horny Ralph. The overriding characteristic of Horny is that he has this thing for the dames.

I know most guys like women, but with Ralph, it’s different. If we allowed a gal to sit in on our games, he’d lose every dime he had because Randy wouldn’t be able to keep his mind on the game. He’d be trying to figure out a way to get her horizontal the entire time we were playing. It’s as if he can’t get enough sex. When I say he doesn’t seem to be able to get enough sex, we are talking about two or three women in just one night and sometimes he’s still looking for more. I don’t know about you, but I think that’s a bit excessive.

Randy is a very skinny guy. He’s a tad less than six feet tall, and he’s just skin and bones. I’ve seen him eat at some of our poker games and I know if I ate half of what he eats, I’d end up twice the size of old Wheeler. No idea how he stays so slim unless all that sex sweats it off him, but the one thing it doesn’t seem to do is slow him down when it comes to women.

Don’t get me wrong, I like women as much as the next guy. Just to make sure I’m perfectly clear, I don’t ride the other bicycle, if you know what I mean? I love women, but not like Horny. I realize I’m not very PC, but in my declining years, I’ve noticed women have other attributes than the furry patch between their legs, and the secrets buried beneath. Women are just as intelligent and just as much fun to be with as men, but somehow, Horny doesn’t see it that way.

I know, I know. It’s not the correct thing nowadays to refer to the fairer sex in those terms, like sex objects and all. God knows in this age of political correctness one must talk and be so careful not to offend, but at my age, it’s a bit tougher to change my views. Old dogs, new tricks, you know, like that. I don’t think women are less capable than men, or that they should receive less pay for doing the same job, or any- thing along those lines. And I sure as Hell don’t think they are less intelligent. I, just as many other men do, have to admit to viewing women as sex symbols. Actually, they’re a lot more than just symbols, but it has almost everything else beat. I think they look, feel, and smell great. The sight of unfettered breasts swinging free under a sweater, or a great set of legs poking out of a skirt with a slit that shows some thigh; ah well, that to me is pure poetry in motion. To me it just makes life worth living.

You damn betcha there’s a difference. I sure as hell don’t see many men I wish to view as sex symbols. In a strict biological sense, women were placed on this earth to turn on us horny dogs. To propagate the species and all, right? I choose very carefully with whom I practice the propagation thing. Ralph, on the other hand, would jump a bush if he thought there was a rabbit in it, and so we all call him Horny Ralph. I honestly believe he even enjoys the name. He seems to feel it’s his badge of honor. As long as Horny has attended these games, I have no idea what his last name is. He was already part of the group when I joined, and they introduced him as Ralph. A couple of weeks later Scott had called him Horny Ralph and I almost choked on my coffee when he said it. Scott told me many of the players call him Horny Ralph to his face and he seemed to be proud of the name. Go figure.

Anyway, the older gentleman friend of Randy’s he’d brought to our games had been introduced to all of us as Slim. Nothing else, just Slim. I know I’d never heard any other name for him, first or last. The name fit him perfectly. Slim was perhaps 5’ 5” at the most and he was slat thin. I figured him to be well over seventy and he’d obviously spent a lot of time in the sun. He had heavily seamed skin with deep wrinkles and his face looked like a well-polished brown walnut shell. He had pale eyes that peered out from under large, bushy, sun bleached eyebrows.

The first time I met him the word eagle came to mind. Not to imply he looked like one, just somehow the concept of an eagle perched in a tree watching everything before him came to mind. Something about him generated a need for me to watch him. I’m not certain whether it was the shape of his nose or the feeling that he observed everything that everyone said and did around him, but he was a very curious guy. Slim reminded me a lot of that rich old man from Texas. The one with the big ears and the bad haircut who several years ago kept getting himself embroiled in and then out of politics, and who could never make up his mind if he should run for president or not.

It was now Slim’s turn to bet. I’d had a slight burst of energy during the confrontation with Wheeler, but I could feel the adrenaline was now starting to fade. While I sat waiting for Slim to decide what he was going to do, I noticed him reach up with his left hand and then wipe his left eye with the back of the hand. After a few seconds, he did it quickly twice more.

He finally picked up a large stack of bills and counted them. He threw in the large pile of bills and turned to the player who had stopped Wheeler from removing his wedding ring. “Tom,” Slim drawled, aiming his comments towards the host of tonight’s game, “IU’, tapped out.” He looked around the table at the rest of the players and said, “I know better than to offer a check, ‘specially after the scene Wheel did to y’al, however, I’d like to put up my houseboat. Some of ya have seen it and have been aboard. Thoe of you who know the houseboat, know that it’s worth at least a couple hundred grand, maybe a lot more. Right?”