Chapter 21: Strip Poker Anyone?

“Ace of spades,” Roman Michaels says.

Across the green-felt-covered table with its green-felt panel divider, Jordan Tolms lifts the leading edge of the face-down playing card and takes a look.

“Damn!” he says. “Do you know that this go-round you only missed two out of the whole deck?”

“You’re kidding!” Roman combs a hand through his silky hair. Disturbed strands catch the light and provide a momentary halo.

“Come on, now, Roman, fess up! You must have felt it the moment your hyper-perception kicked in. You’ve never had a success rate like this one.”

“Something about the air?” Roman hasn’t made a statement. He’s not sure he’s experienced anything differently. “There’s just, maybe, something different about it?”

“Like what?”

“Like … well, you know how it sometimes feels differently before an electrical storm? Like that.”

“Why don’t I feel it?” Jordan wonders aloud.

“Maybe I’m just imagining it.” As if Roman might actually have an answer.

Silently, this time, Jordan now wonders how Roman’s perception seems on the sudden increase. Jordan’s seem to be failing, more and more lately. The last time Jordan read a deck of playing cards, he only got twelve right. At one time, he consistently got thirty out of fifty-two.

“Let’s try it one more time,” Jordan suggests.

“Sure,” Roman agrees after checking the time. His wristwatch is a very expensive, but unassuming, Piaget that Gregory bought him when Roman read half the playing deck correctly. Gregory will be genuinely pleased by Roman’s latest progress, especially if Roman can provide an equally impressive encore.

“Okay, then. Let’s make it more interesting, shall we, by shuffling two decks?” Jordan says.

Roman frowns. As when his brother, Sydney, smiles, his dimples deepen; the corners of his eyes attractively crinkle. There’s less likely to be another expensive gift from Gregory if Roman’s skills, in reading two decks, don’t match the one-deck read lead-in.

“First, shouldn’t we verify my one-deck success story isn’t just a fluke before we move on to more complex testing?”

“A reading of all the cards but two in a regular deck is spectacular success, Roman,” Jordan says. “I mean, genuinely spectacular.” He should know. He had doubters gawking in disbelief when he was able, in his prime, obviously now passed, to get a correct reading of just thirty.

He doesn’t wait for Roman’s approval but reaches for a new deck. He breaks the seal. He peels off the cellophane. He opens the carton. He spills the cards into his hand.

He reaches for the deck already in use but changes his mind, sliding it to one side. He unwraps a second new deck and adds its cards to the ones already in his hand.

He shuffles. He shuffles again. He shuffles a total of ten times.

He deals the top card, face down onto the green felt on his side of the panel-divided table.

He nods for Roman to begin.

“Ten of diamonds,” Roman says, without hesitation.

Jordan thinks, “Four of spades.”

He upturns the card.

Ten of diamonds.

He deals a second card, face down.

He nods for Roman to continue.

“King of Clubs,” Roman says, without hesitation.

Jordan thinks, “Queen of Hearts.”

He upturns the card.

King of Clubs.

So it goes, until fifty-two of the hundred-and-four cards have been placed, face down, one by one, on the table top.

Score: Roman, fifty-two. Jordan, zero.

“He’s hot,” Roman says and wipes his forehead which is slightly sweaty.

“Who’s hot?” Jordan reflexively asks. Unless Roman refers to the Jack of Diamonds, the last card upturned, his comment is entirely out of context. Jordan pauses and doesn’t continue the deal.

“Timothy Gril’s father,” Roman says. There’s a slight glassiness to his eyes.

“I thought it was your brother who was gay.”

“I don’t mean hot that way,” Roman says. “I mean too-close-to-the-witch-burning hot.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Jordan asks. He deals another card.

Without waiting for Jordan’s nod to continue, Roman says, “Six of clubs.”

Jordan thinks, “Four of diamonds.”

He upturns the card.

Six of clubs.

“Burn, heathen, burn!” Roman says and does so rather loudly.

“Roman?” Jordan is suddenly concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Sure.” Roman runs his hand through his hair. He smiles. His dimples deepen. The corners of his eyes attractively crease. “Why do you ask?”

“You just said the most extraordinary thing about the father of someone called Timothy Gril.”

“Did I?” Roman looks confused. “Don’t really even know Timothy all that well. He doesn’t really run with my crowd, if you know what I mean. As for his father, I’ve never met the man, although I think Gregory knows him quite well. How am I doing with the cards, this time around, by the way?”

Jordan decides not to pursue the Gril line of inquiry. Stranger things happen during card-readings by genuine adepts. Their minds work in entirely different ways from normal folk. Jordan can attest to that from personal experience.

He deals another card.

Again, without waiting for Jordan’s nod, Roman this time says, “Two of clubs.”

Jordan thinks, “Two of diamonds.”

He upturns the card.

Two of clubs.

Once again, out of sight and out of mind, Gyle Gril’s flesh crisps, and he screams for rescue from frustrated fireman who simply can’t manage the intensity of the flames to get to him.



Copyright 2009 W. MALTESE