The Wild Card by Mark Joseph Page A

of your stunts.”
    â€œI’m pretty sure it is,” Nelson replied. “Justice will be served. The star witness is about to step into court, and we get to be our own judge and jury.”
    â€œAin’t that the truth,” Dean mumbled.
    Alex spread the blue deck face up and flipped it over face down, then back and forth, back and forth like a tide. His hands were sweating.
    Standing in the corridor was a middle-aged man of medium height, balding, clear-eyed, a little paunchy, and dressed in a tailored English sport jacket, polo shirt, outsized silver belt buckle, flannel slacks, and snakeskin cowboy boots. A diamond-shaped ruby stud brightened his left ear.
    â€œBobby!”
    â€œYeah, hello. Charlie?”
    â€œYeah, yeah, it’s me. Thirty years and thirty pounds.”
    They shook hands and fumbled through the lightest of brotherly hugs.
    â€œHey, Charlie, all right. How are ya, man? Good to see ya.” The voice was instantly recognizable, boisterous and full of hail-fellow-well-met.
    â€œCome on in. We saved you a seat.”

    â€œSorry I’m late.”
    â€œNo sweat. C’mon.”
    Charlie ushered Bobby into the living room where Dean and Nelson stood at the table while Alex, resplendent in Panama and dark glasses, remained seated, smoke from his cigarette swirling into the light.
    â€œHey, Dean, Alex, hey, Nelson. Looks like you boys got yourselves a game going.”
    â€œWe got a game,” Charlie said, the congenial, effusive host. “We got eats, we got seegars and booze and Dean has some dynamite weed. We got everything.”
    â€œWell, all right. Sounds good to me.”
    â€œCheck into your room all right?” Charlie asked, wondering what happened to the bellhop who was supposed to notify him of Bobby’s arrival. “They take care of you?”
    â€œI didn’t check in, no. I came right up. Nice room, pretty fancy,” Bobby answered, pursing his lips, nodding his head, and looking around. Noticing the pictures of Maverick and company he added, “Nice decorations.”
    â€œCare for a drink?” Charlie asked.
    â€œSure. Got a soda and lime?”
    â€œGot everything.”
    While Charlie hustled into the kitchenette to fix a soda and lime, Bobby stood between the foyer and the card table, arms folded across his chest, slowly nodding his head and looking appraisingly at Alex, Dean, and Nelson. They returned his frank gaze until the long looks became awkward.
    Breaking the ice, Dean came around the table to shake Bobby’s hand. Grinning, the light making his beard shimmer with rum drippings, his sleeveless T-shirt revealing faded tattoos and munificent belly, he pumped Bobby’s arm, saying, “Well, I’ll be damned. Good to see you, man, even though you just cost me a hundred bucks.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œThe Wiz and I had a bet. He said you’d show, and it looks like he won fair and square.”

    â€œA little action on my arrival, hey?” Bobby said with a nervous smile. “I shoulda guessed. They still call you the Wiz, Alex?”
    â€œIt’s a time warp in here, Bobby. Nothing much has changed. We just got older, that’s all.”
    â€œNice hat, jack o’ diamonds.”
    â€œI only wear it once a year,” Alex said, slowly standing and removing his dark glasses. He walked over, stood for a long moment in front of his long lost friend, and then gripped his shoulders.
    â€œIt’s been a long time, Bobby. Too long, a lifetime.”
    Bobby grinned. A rising swell of emotion pushed the two men together and they grasped one another in a strong bear hug. As soon as Alex let go, Nelson grabbed Bobby, slapped him on the back, and was too overcome to say anything more than, “God damn, God damn , it’s good to see you.”
    â€œHey, Chinaman, you, too.”
    Embarrassed, almost blushing, Bobby felt as though they were back in Alex’s