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“I understand you no longer live at the Riverfront Park Condos, my dear.” It was a statement but he said it more like a question.
“That’s correct.” I reply, confusion deflating my joy. “Jason and I had a bad falling out and I have moved to Deadwood, South Dakota.”
“What in God’s name would you do a thing like that for.” His sweet tone morphed into what sounded to me like anger. Since when had Uncle Donald ever been angry with me? Why would he be? What difference did it make to him where I live? “I, um, well, actually it wasn’t planned. You see, I won a deed—”
“You need to get yourself back to Denver,” he barked.
I jerk into silence.
“Why?” I squeak. A tremble begins in my hand that holds the phone to my ear and slowly I feel it consume me. For the first time in my life, I feel threatened by the man. My breath quickens. I am suddenly a frightened little girl silenced by a larger-than-life grownup who has never shown such aggravation toward me. I’m so caught off guard, that I forget that I, too, am an adult.
“Maribeth Thorp! I am in need of your skills,” he continues. “Deadwood is not one of my — I need you here in Denver, or in Chicago, or L.A. But Deadwood?” he harrumphs. “I have no… investments there… Not yet anyway.”
I can tell he is choosing his words carefully. I hear him draw in a deep, rough inhale from years of smoking unfiltered cigarettes. “On second thought, stay there. I’ll come to you. I assume you have found a profitable source?
“I, uh, well, I.” I stammer.
“Good. This could be a perfect place to, uh, branch out. I’ll be there soon.”
The phone goes eerily silent. I look at the screen to see if we are still connected. We are not.
What did he mean he had need of my skills? Since when has he ever asked anything of me. It had been me who sought his help when dad offed himself, and Momma and I were desperate for shelter. After that one time, I attended games where he was present… but…
What was this new attitude? Was he really coming here to…branch out? What did he mean byI have no investments there?
Would Big Mike allow me to bring Donald Conway to a poker game? Did Mike allow strangers in without first scrutinizing their intentions? Like the way he did me in the cigar lounge. We were talking about Karaoke, but I knew he was assessing me and my intensions.
Donald has all sorts of connections in Denver, and apparently Chicago and L.A., according to him, just now. I never knew much about him other than he was Dad’s closest friend and he saved my butt when I desperately needed money but was too young to actually be in a game. He vouched for me, and I was able to get Momma and me back in the black after Dad committed suicide.
Uncle Donald seldom contacted me after that first game. Once I was of legal age and having met the men who put on the games, I didn’t need to ask for his help. Sure, he would be there, at a game, in the background, more like a spectator than a participant. I would speak to him, and he would acknowledge me. But it wasn’t like he came over to our house for Christmas dinner. And it wasn’t as if he ever asked me to ‘use my skills’ for his needs before…
I let snapshots of Uncle Donald lurking around the game room flip through my memory. He did seem to keep an eye on me while playing, but I always thought that was because I never lost. I thought I was a fascination to him, since I was so good and so young? Was I completely wrong about that?
Did he have a vested interest because my winnings meant something to him? I do remember him smiling big each time I won. I just thought he was proud of me, in an uncley sort of way.
The winnings were sorted out by the host or his people, and handed to me. I recall Uncle Donald shaking their hands. It never occurred to me there was a reason for his jubilation other than what one feels when a game is a really good one. Was there an unspoken contract in which he received something based on my winnings. Was he actually myhandler, and I didn’t know? Was this my debt to him simply because he had orchestrated that first game? Did he have some similar arrangement with Daddy?
“Oh my God!” I said to no one as my thoughts swelled to a climax. Was that why Daddy committed suicide? When Daddy lost, did Donald threaten him?
How could I have been so naïve? Suddenly I feel sick. I lean against my kitchen counter and lose my three cups of coffee into the sink.
My world as I know it just turned upside down.
And he is coming here… to see me? Or to take over the underground card games? I’m not sure what his intentions are. Should I warn Big Mike? Would Mike believe me? Would Mike think I went to his games to scope out their operation and report it back to the hoodlum from Denver? If I didn’t say anything to my friends behind the tobacco company, and Donald came into town like a steamroller to take over the card games, would I be run out of town for being a spy? Or worse? Would I be eliminated, mafia style?
I stare blankly out my kitchen window. Blaze pulls into his drive and parks his Gladiator in his garage. He looks tired as he walks to his front door. Should I run to him, confess everything, and warn him that Donald Conway was coming from Denver and it could mean trouble? Could Donald actually start a turf war?
I watch Blaze saunter up the few steps and unlock his door. The sight of him calms the tempest in my head. The fire in my nerves seems to be doused to sizzling embers as I watch the w’s on his back pockets sway with each step he takes. My breathing slows to a more normal rate and my heart feels less cramped. How could the sight of my neighbor have such a calming effect on me?
Now that I think about it, he has always had this effect on me. I feel… safe, knowing he is just there, next door. A phone call or a holler away. I smile. Even when he infuriates me with his chauvinistic ways, I know he would never hurt me or allow harm to come to me.
As adrenaline waters down in my veins, my head clears. I consider the panic attack that just washed through me. Could I be completely wrong about Donald? There could be some other explanation for what he said, the reason he wants to come here. I’m probably just being paranoid. Yeah, that’s it. Silly me!
But then what else could he mean by, “I have need of your skills.” He sounded just like Jason.
I jerk upright and stare blankly at nothing. My jaw drops wide open.
Is there a connection between Donald and Jason?
