Dead Man's Hand
G.M. Reinfeldt
Dead Man’s Hand
G.M. Reinfeldt
Copyright © 2001 by G.M. Reinfeldt
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Chapters
1
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Dead Man’s Hand
Copyright © 2001 by G.M. Reinfeldt
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.
Published by G.M. Reinfeldt
First edition: October 2012
Dead Man’s Hand
Elliott crossed the street, but not at the crosswalk as the other residents of Two Rivers did. He strolled across the street with the expectation that all traffic would stop for him. Every Thursday, or payday as he called it, was the same as the one prior. He walked to the bank and withdrew one hundred and fifty dollars. From there he went to The Corner, one of the town’s oldest local bars, which was conveniently located across the street from the bank. Elliott went to The Corner not for a drink, though he would have a few before the night was through, but for cards. His buddies from the factory, Mitchi and Jake, were waiting for him at his table. Everybody in town knew it was Elliott’s table no one sat at it on Thursday night save for Elliott and his friends.
*****
Nate watched the sky with unwavering amazement as the storm clouds rolled in from the west. He felt like a child, who enjoyed this meteorological event for the first time. It was going to rain. Nate felt that this was a special rain; not a rain to water the parched earth, but a rain meant to calm the restless people in Two Rivers.
The true beauty of the night was slightly tainted by the streetlights. Nate decided to start his stroll into town. He rose from the ground where he laid sky watching all day. He walked with a slight limp in his right leg. He limped pass the local church. It was not anything fancy. Only three years ago, the church had raised enough money to buy a single stained–glass window. The window was now a focal point for the church. It depicted a crown of thorns emitting rays of light as it floated slightly above a cross. The building surrounding the window was wood, painted white by the church’s parishioners. The amount of original material incorporated in the church was a testament to the quality of labor in this town. The older residents offered free labor to ensure that the younger generation remembered their roots through this relic of the past.
Nate slowly passed some nice homes; one of which had been his. He did not even wait to linger by it. It was a painful reminder of everything he had left behind.
After another twenty minutes of walking, he made his way into the downtown of Two Rivers. It was not much: just four bars, two restaurants with a new diner coming soon, a general store with a gas pump and a slew of unused storefronts that included a newly built brownstone for a new medical practice. The buildings huddled around a nice quiet park. He shuffled down the street not knowing what he was looking for, only that he would recognize it when he saw it.
Nate felt like a stranger in a familiar place. He did not notice a single person he knew on his whole journey into town. He stopped. This was the place, the green door. He only remembered the green door nothing more. He had passed several green doors on the way to this one, but this was different. It pulled him and begged for him to open it. This door yearned for him to enter and he was a slave to its call. He knew this was what he was searching for. The green door belonged to a place called The Corner. Nate answered the doors call and pulled the door open. He crossed the threshold. The door shut swiftly behind him.
The Corner had a bare wood floor littered with pretzels, peanuts and stains. The bar was set to the left of the door. It was only big enough to accommodate three or four people; however, there were seven stool lined up. The seats on three of them were covered with electric tape and two others were missing a foot, which caused them to be off-balanced. The rest of the tiny room contained only four handmade tables and it was apparent the hands were unskilled on all but one. On one table a leg was longer than the rest. Another was sanded too thin in the middle, while another was not even sanded. However, the last table was of a simple design and created with excellent attention to details. The tabletop was smooth and centered resting on one large leg. The leg was carved as an ace of spades on one side and the queen of hearts on the other side. The face was not that of the standard queen, it was the face of Elliott’s wife. This is the table designed by Elliott to play the one game he loved: Poker.
Nate did not even wince from the pungent aroma that hung like a cloud in the bar. The bartender was too enticed by the lady at the bar to see who it was. The bartender and the woman were engaged in a conversation that was too slurred to understand. At the wobbly table sat a man in his mid-thirties. He was covered in grease, from the cars he worked on, and came here to pour himself into a bottle while he fantasized about a better life. At the end of the bar, closest to the door, was an older man in his late fifties. He seemed out of place. He had the appearance of a vagrant who was blowing all the money he had panhandled for all day. Looking up from his two fingers of bourbon, he greeted Nate with wide eyed shock. Taking the two fingers in one deep drink, slammed the glass down and stumbled out the door muttering something incoherently.
In the back corner, at the nicest table, there sat three stoic men. They appeared to be middle aged and intently focused on playing cards with one exception, Nate did not meet this man’s stare. His two companions wore blue work shirts with factory’s logo on their backs while the other sat in a lousy T-shirt that boasted a popular jean company across his chest which was underlined by the crease generated from his gut. This was the kind of shirt they gave away for free after you bought three pairs of expensive name brand jeans. Unimpressed, Nate continued to look about the bar.
The walls of the bar were covered in advertisements for various beers and a poster that promoted the monthly pudding wrestling competition on Saturday. Nate could not see much else through the haze and was further hindered by the lack of lighting. Nate was ready to take a seat at the bar.
