A Christmas Quick Sketch Read online

“I like Halo,” he said. “I don’t mind driving a truck. It gives me time for my other pursuits.”

  “What other pursuits? Poker and drumming?”

  “Maybe I’d use the money to buy a mess of paintings. That way I could support your interests.”

  “Somehow I don’t see you as an art collector, Todd, but that’s sweet of you to say.” Too bad the man didn’t have more ambition, but I snuggled into his arm and enjoyed the feel of his brawny body against my back.

  On the stage, a jowly seventies-era Elvis in shades, white cape, and Santa suit grabbed the microphone. With a few preliminary hip thrusts for the crowd, he broke into Blue Christmas. Behind him, a vertically challenged man in a tired looking elf costume began some moves evoking the Temptations.

  “Would you look at that. An elf who can dance,” said Todd.

  “That singer looks real familiar.” Byron squinted. “But I’m seeing two of him.”

  “Byron, that’s not really Elvis,” I said. “And no more Rock-a-Hula cocktails for you.”

  “I think this plan is going to work just fine. Like Priscilla said, these kinds of hustlers will be interested in playing an out-of-town player. We should reel them in that way.” Todd leaned over to kiss me on the cheek, causing a rush of heat to prickle across my skin. “Especially if those con-artists are local like you think.”

  “And the way the Colonel and Priscilla started salivating over the idea, I think they won’t even need to throw a wide net. Todd, while you work on winning back Byron’s money, I’ll work on figuring out who the hustlers are.”

  “Getting rich is the best way to get even.”

  Byron’s blue eyes snapped from their Rock-A-Hula haze. “Messing with these guys is dangerous, Cherry.”

  “Byron, you’re forgetting my grandpa’s best friend is Forks County Sheriff. Uncle Will was as much a part of my raising as Grandpa Ed and my Grandma Jo, bless her soul. I picked up plenty of ideas from Uncle Will. Hell, I used to do ride-alongs for kicks.”

  “We could be walking into a very serious trap. Or get caught by the cops.”

  “Have some faith. It’s Christmas.”

  We watched the show, and as the Elvis wannabe broke into Merry Christmas Baby, the Colonel returned. We turned to face him, hugging the pleather bar to hear the Colonel over the screech of the hot mike on the stage.

  “The fix is in,” said the Colonel, “and the game is on. Honey, looks like you were right about gamblers wanting to spread a little Christmas cheer.”

  I smiled and slapped Byron’s shoulder. “See Byron? We’ll get you that frozen turkey and find a way to get your wedding ring back.”

  Five

  The Action Card

  Thinking it safer to leave Byron in the Blue Hawaii suite, Todd and I borrowed Byron’s truck to scope out the Memphis late night poker scene. Armed with an address and names from the Colonel, we snagged a map from the front desk and drove into the city.

  “Driving here is not much different from driving in Atlanta,” said Todd. “But the Memphis streets are better marked.”

  “Speaking of Atlanta.” I said, gazing out at the bright city lights. “I think I should call Uncle Will and tell him what’s going on.”

  “Now Cherry, that’s not the plan. You’re going to get these guys in trouble. And they’re going to a lot of bother to help us.”

  “Uncle Will may be a sheriff, but he’ll see my reasoning. He’s probably got a friend or two out here. Seems like he’s networked across the country.”

  Todd shook his head. “You bring in law enforcement and these guys will fold the game. They’re pros.”

  He pulled into a parking lot off Beale Street. We ambled along the sidewalk, joining the other tourists enjoying the street entertainment. Reaching a corner, Todd checked his handmade map and turned right. We followed the side street several more blocks and watched the neighborhood grow from sketchy to foreboding. Todd grabbed my hand before turning down a road that looked more alley than street. He pointed to a flight of stairs leading to a basement door.

  “This must be the Green Room.” Todd grasped my hand with unnecessary strength and pulled me around to face him. “It’s probably better if you just let me do the talking. We need to get players interested in a big game, and you’ve told me a million times how much you don’t like poker. We don’t want to scare them off.”

  “I don’t like my part of the plan,” I said. “I’ll sketch the players so we can see if Byron recognizes anyone, but I’m not so good at watching. I’m more of an action person.”

  “I know you are, baby, but you’ve got to trust me on this.” He chuckled nervously and began strumming the side of his leg with his free hand.

  “Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it to save Christmas for Byron. But in the future, don’t expect me to play the ‘little woman’ role. It makes me itchy, like I want to hit someone.”

  “That kind of turns me on.” His strumming became a drum roll.

  “You better calm down and focus, Mr. Big Shot Poker Player.”

  “All right, baby.” Todd smiled brightly. “Let’s go find Fred and this other dude, Luther. The Colonel said they’ll help us set up a game.”

  We followed the stairs to a jade green door. No sign. Not even a light shined over the battered door. The stairs were littered with cigarette butts and gum wrappers.

  “I feel like I’m walking into a speakeasy,” I said. “Reminds me of Savannah. So did all those drag queens.”

  “What drag queens?” asked Todd.

  Sometimes I couldn’t tell if Todd was joking or all foam and no beer.

  We pushed open the heavy door and came face to face with a man the size of a well proportioned hippo with a face to match. He sat behind a cage of chicken wire surrounded by shelves of random items.

  “Is this a pawn shop?” I asked. “You got any wedding rings in here?”

  “No,” said Hippo. “And no.”

  “We’re looking for Fred and Luther. The Colonel sent us.”

  “Barry?” said Hippo. “Go on back.” He motioned with his third chin to a door on our right and pressed a buzzer.

  Todd grabbed the door, yanked it open, then blocked the entrance with his body.

  “What are you doing?” I stood on my toes, trying to see around him.

  “Just checking the place out,” whispered Todd. “That big guy makes me nervous. Jeez Louise, look at all those tables.”

  I pushed on his back. “Let me see.”

  We entered the basement room set up with a bar and a dozen tables. A string of Christmas lights hung over another barred window that opened onto Hippo’s den. Men and a few hard-jawed women briefly shifted their glances our way. Tension vibrated off the players, although none showed much evidence of the pressure.

  Behind the small bar, a goth rock-a-billy girl loitered in a skintight skirt, transparent black blouse, and a jet black pompadour slashed with a streak of scarlet. She crooked her finger at us and we strolled to the bar.

  She scanned my Christmas dress for a hard minute before greeting us. “Are you looking for a game?”

  Todd leaned on the bar. “Do I buy chips from you?”

  “Do I look like a bank?” she snapped.

  “Hold on to your money, Todd. We’re looking for Fred and Luther,” I said. “We’re not interested in playing.”

  “You don’t chat with anybody without playing. This ain’t that kind of social club.”

  “What’s the buy-in?” asked Todd.

  “Now Todd.” I gritted my teeth, preparing for my ‘little woman’ role. “We can’t afford to spend money on cards. You can wait for that big game tomorrow night and then you’ve got the tournament in Vegas. That’s plenty of poker, the way I see it.”

  “Too bad Blondie holds your leash so tight.” Rock-a-billy raised her eyebrows and pursed her crimson lips. “Big game tomorrow night? Sounds like your plate is full, Handsome.”

  Todd gave her his best hayseed smile. “Yes, ma’am. I am blessed
with the chance to compete in an amateur tournament in Vegas. Tomorrow night is just for fun. The Colonel is throwing a little game of Hold’em for me and he thought Luther and Fred would be interested in joining. Maybe some of Luther and Fred’s friends want to play, too.”

  Bending forward, he held a hand near his mouth. “But it’s a big limit, so only serious players.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Where you gonna hold this little game?”

  Todd turned to me. “Baby, where are they holding the game? How’d I miss that part?”

  I sighed. “Todd, you’ve got to start paying attention to details. A new visitor’s center at Graceland. The Colonel knows a guard who’ll let us use a room.”

  “That’s new construction,” said Rock-a-Billy. “It isn’t done yet. You must be mistaken, Blondie.”

  “I’m not mistaken, Goth Girl,” I said, knowing her type from art school. “The new construction was the point. It’s not like we could use the real visitor’s center and the Colonel didn’t want to hold it in the usual places. He’s worried about cops.”

  “That so?” She folded her arms on the counter. “Well, I can’t let you stay to chat unless you’re playing. So if you want to say hello to Fred and Luther, you best buy some chips and sit your butts at a table.”

  “No problem,” said Todd, fishing a twenty from his wallet. “Will this do? What’s your name?”

  “I’m Lucinda. I can’t believe the Colonel is wasting his time with you. Go get your chips from Little Jimmy at the front door. Fred and Luther are at the back table. I’ll get them to deal you in next hand.”

  We left the bar to retrace our steps to Little Jimmy, who turned out to be the hippo. I hoped there was no Big Jimmy.

  “Todd,” I whispered. “Are you sure you can play with these guys?”

  He looped an arm around my neck and bent to kiss me on the cheek. “Don’t worry, baby. If I lose a little money tonight, it means more money for Byron tomorrow.”

  “I’m not following your logic. If you lose money tonight, you won’t have much to play with tomorrow.”

  But we had reached Little Jimmy’s cage. A stumbling negotiation ended with Todd handing over a precious five hundred dollars. We circled the dank room to the back table where Rock-A-Billy stood chatting with the men.

  Her surly demeanor had switched to a teasing smirk. “Fred. Luther. This is Blondie and Handsome. The Colonel sent them.”

  A young, dark haired man in sunglasses and a baseball cap smiled up at me and held out his hand. “Hey, I’m Fred.” Two dimples popped in his cheeks.

  My heart skipped, and I quickly swiped my hand on my dress before grasping his. “Hey Fred. I’m Cherry.”

  The lanky, young guy sitting next to him wore a fedora and a shiny suit that might have walked out of Frank Sinatra’s closet. He tipped his hat to me. “I’m Luther.”

  I eagerly grasped Luther’s hand for a hearty pump. “Hey Luther, nice to meet you. You guys seem so young. You were not what I was expecting at all.”

  Lucinda scowled. “There’s your chairs. Deal them in, Fred.”

  “Don’t deal me in. I don’t know how to play,” I said. “I’ll just sit here and chat.”

  “You don’t play, you don’t sit,” said Lucinda. “You can wait outside or with Little Jimmy.”

  I turned away from Fred’s adorable face and confronted the pin-up knock off. “It’s December. I’m not waiting outside.”

  “Then I guess you go in the cage.”

  “I’m not sitting in any cage.”

  “Cherry,” said Todd, slipping onto a chair. His fingers strummed the table. “Why don’t you sit at the bar? I’m sure that’d be okay, right?”

  With long dimples framing a face God normally reserved for angels, the smile Todd offered Lucinda would have warmed the Grinch’s tiny heart.

  “Maybe I’ll sit in on this hand,” she said and hopped into the chair next to Todd. “Blondie, go watch the bar.”

  A sudden shot of jealousy blasted through me, but before I said anything, my brain reminded my mouth about my promise to Todd and the reason for this trip to the Green Room. I was here to save Christmas for Byron’s children and could take the high road.

  I wandered back to the bar. Sliding on a stool, I pulled a pad and pencil from my messenger bag and began to surreptitiously sketch the poker patrons.

  My pencil flew over the paper, first roughing out basic features and then working an oval around the figure, cameo style. From the closest table, I chose a guy at random and quickly found poker players made excellent models. They barely moved.

  After twenty minutes, Luther wandered to the bar and tipped his hat toward me. I flipped the page to an illustration I had mocked up earlier as a decoy.

  “What are you doing, doll? Drawing pictures?” He leaned closer. “Say, that’s pretty good. Can you do one of me?”

  “Sure.” I flipped to a blank page. “Did Todd fill you in on the Colonel’s game tomorrow?”

  “Sounds like a gas.” He leaned against the bar with a rocks glass in hand, attempting his best Rat Pack pose. “Heard you’re raising money for a family in need.”

  “You watch a lot of old movies, don’t you.” I swept my pencil over the paper, capturing the arc of his shoulder and the swagger in his grin.

  “Only the classics, baby doll.” He winked.

  I ripped the sketch from my pad and handed it to him. “What do you think?”

  He gazed at the paper and glanced at me. “That’s my mug, all right. Say, you’re fast. I bet the other cats would like their picture made, too.”

  I shrugged. “I worked as a quick sketch artist at Six Flags during high school.”

  “The fellows and I have been talking and we need a good blind for the visitor’s center. We think you’ll be just the ticket.”

  “Ticket for what?”

  “Fred knows a guy, who knows a guy. You think you can pretend to paint a wall?”

  Blessing my foresight to carry a box of sharpened Berols, I kept my hand flying over the pages of my sketchpad. I planned to show Byron my sketches, hoping he might identify a suspect. But I also figured I might make Byron a few bucks selling sketches to players.

  When they weren’t looking, a face materialized in my book. As games broke up, players stretched their legs and sauntered to the bar, where I offered to make them a quick sketch. Dropping a twenty on a drawing meant nothing to these big spenders, and, in my most humble opinion, their egos enjoyed the quality artwork depicting them playing fast and loose with the cards.

  Above all else, a portrait artist must feed the vanity of their subject. Either that or lose the commission.

  So I happily zipped off my contribution to the underbelly of illegal gaming. One night’s work could buy a tree, turkey, and stocking stuffers for the kids. And if Byron were smart, he’d buy Tina something extra nice. Like a girl’s weekend to Branson.

  Luther had returned to Todd’s table. I concentrated on my sketchpad and not on Lucinda’s flirting or the dwindling pile of chips in front of Todd. I knew nada about poker other than it required one to sit for long periods of time, which in my book, rivaled jabbing a pencil in my eye.

  When hot, fetid breath blew down my neck, I jerked around in my seat and found myself squaring eyeballs with Little Jimmy.

  “What ‘cha doing?” he growled. “We can’t allow loafing in here.”

  “I’m watching the bar for Lucinda while she plays.”

  “What ‘cha doing with that paper and pencil?”

  Little Jimmy’s neuron connectors needed some greasing. Or perhaps he was not a connoisseur of the art world and had never seen doodling such as mine.

  “Quick sketches,” I said with less humility than usual, “which your customers are loving.”

  I pointed to a particularly lucrative table where my portraits lay next to the corresponding players.

  Oddly, instead of praising me on my craftiness, Little Jimmy’s face turned an interesting shade of puce. Th
en he tried to snatch my pad.

  “What the hell.” I shoved the pad into my messenger bag and jumped off my barstool. “Didn’t your momma teach you not to grab?”

  “Give me that notebook.” Little Jimmy reached past his glacier-sized overhang to snatch my bag.

  Lucky for me, I easily out dodged Jimmy’s T-Rex arms. I circled the bar to get additional barriers between me and his stumpy range.

  “Chet,” Little Jimmy called over his shoulder. “This gal’s drawing everyone in the Green Room.”

  I peeked over the bar. An average looking, middle-aged man jerked his head up at Little Jimmy’s holler. I tried to remember if I had sketched Chet, but his blend of ordinariness set him apart from the Green Room’s more interesting characters.

  With a scowl, Chet tossed some chips into the center of the table and folded his hand. “Dammit, Little Jimmy. Why do I end up doing everything myself?”

  “What’s the problem?” I called over the bar. “Does Little Jimmy expect a cut from my commission?”

  Chet didn’t care to answer or he was deaf.

  My voice carried to Todd, who suddenly blinked out of his poker slump and straightened. Lucinda also turned in her seat, with Luther and Fred following suit. The other guys at the table took the distraction as a chance to relax their features and check their cards.

  Chet pushed out of his seat and rose, sharpening his gaze on my half-stoop behind the bar.

  I ran for the door, ready to protect our sketchbook lineup of possible suspects. I assumed Todd would come after me.

  I hoped Todd would come after me.

  His major character flaw would be his ability to forget about me while playing poker. A pretty big flaw if your girlfriend is about to run out of an illegal gaming room and into the gritty streets of a city she’s never visited.

  But that was just a brief flash in my mind as I yanked open the first green door and hurled myself through it. Three steps past the cage and I was at the outer green door.

  Behind me the first door slammed into the wall and I could hear Little Jimmy’s labored breath. I was not much on organized exercise such as running, but I had no doubt I could easily beat Little Jimmy.