Fic: Playing for (The Sting)
For petronelle, may she feel better soon.
Johnny looks up when the door opens and Henry walks in, then quickly looks back down at the five cards in his hand, then glances at the reactions of the other men at the table. Can't let the mark know he's watching -- Johnny's character is a genteel drunk, slowly pissing away his Daddy's money, and not inclined to look farther beyond himself than the next hand and the next beer.
The mark from New Mexico is grinning pleasantly at the cards in his hand, convinced that he can walk in here with his friend "Mr. Hendrickson", cheat them, and fleece the whole company. The mark's a real lop-ear, but J.J. has him on a short rope and is working him up to Chicago, bringing him to Twist to play. Johnny and Henry are just helping out in passing, since they were in town.
Johnny and the others at the poker table are just window dressing, just the setup to show Mr. Albuquerque that J.J.'s method works. They'll lose a few thousand dollars to him tonight, slick and easy. The mark will let J.J. pocket it, and J.J. will pay them back later. The game tonight is just the convincer Mr. Albuquerque needs to get confident, to decide to risk higher stakes once they get to the big city, and to wire his bank to send more cash.
He's glad to see Henry, that's a regular part of the play, but not so early. As the betting rolls around the table, Johnny wonders what could have gone wrong that would send Henry in early.
Still, Henry doesn't have his hat on, so Johnny stays in character, too. When J.J. introduces Henry to the others at the table, Henry carefully doesn't quite make eye contact with Johnny. Whatever it is, it's bad, then. Bad enough that Henry doesn't think they can look at each other and not react. That's enough to spook Johnny, right there.
Johnny thinks about exits from the building, about where their bags are stashed, about the route to the train station and when the next train will be coming through. He finishes his beer and shifts in his seat, pushing his chair back slightly.
Henry really is something. If you didn't know him the way that Johnny and J.J. know him, you'd never guess that anything is wrong. His character is a tired shop-owner, ready to take a load off at the end of a long week, have a few beers, play a little poker with the boys on a Saturday night.
"You want in on the next hand?" J.J. asks.
"Sure," Henry responds, then gives a short, high, hacking cough. "Just let me get a drink first." He wanders off towards the icebox in the kitchen.
Johnny sighs as the man on his left raises, and folds. He could have stayed in longer, lost a little more, but he's nervous. Henry doesn't usually get jumpy, and Henry doesn't ever forget a script. "I'll be back for the next hand, too, fellas," he says, getting up from his seat. He leaves his chips on the table. Johnny sways a little for effect as he picks up his empty bottle and saunters into the kitchen.
Henry has already climbed out the window, onto the fire escape. Johnny puts his drink down by the sink and silently climbs out after him. Their suitcases are piled out there, getting wet in the evening drizzle. Henry puts his hat on and starts down the metal ladder.
Johnny's coat and hat are back in the apartment, but he doesn't think now is the best time to go retrieve them. Silently, he hands the suitcases down to Henry, standing on the platform of the next floor down. One more platform, then a jump to the alley. They're walking down the street, away from the apartment building, when the police cars pull up by the front door. Between the dark and the wet, though, nobody's paying any attention to the two men.
They're walking away from the train station. Johnny starts to ask, but Henry just shakes his head, minutely, so he holds his tongue. Then they're down another alley, and Henry's pulling open the door of a delivery truck. "Slide in."
It's a tight fit in the cab with their cases and it's getting humid with the windows rolled up against the rain. There are two cheap cloth jackets in there, worn and solidly working class. Johnny pulls one on, and gets his old cap from his case. Henry stows his coat and wriggles into the other one. It hangs off him -- the original owner had big beefy shoulders, but Henry's build on a different scale. With obvious regret, Henry take off his hat and ruffles up his hair and somehow his eyes set into a different face, still tired but entirely unlike that store owner. Now he's just another sad-sack truck driver, working late again, trying to make ends meet.
Henry smiles at him, meeting his eyes for just a minute, before starting up the engine. As they roll out of town, he says, "One of the guys at the table was a snitch, told the cops about the game. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem. J.J.'s in good with the local fixer. But as it was..."
As it was, Henry was wanted for a federal warrant. All the fixing in the world wouldn't do him a bit of good if the cops found him and figured out who he was.
And even knowing all that, Henry had still come to the apartment, racing against time to get there before the cops. Henry knew, and he'd still come.
Johnny thinks about that, and feels something building, just under his ribcage, until he explodes, "Are you crazy?" Johnny's shouting, and in the cab it's loud, even over the noise of the big diesel, "You shoulda just left! You shoulda left me a message with someone, and gotten out of town!"
"Naw," Henry says, apparently unruffled, "I owed J.J. a warning, at least. He'll get out of it okay."
"You shoulda sent him a message! Cripes, Henry, you shoulda --" but then he shuts up, because Henry has pulled over along an empty stretch of road and is looking at him, just looking at him. "What?!"
Henry shakes his head, then carefully moves his hat from the seat next to him to the dashboard. "I wasn't going to leave you there, kid."
"Why not?" Johnny's leaning in, he's had enough of being babysat, first on the Lonnegan job and now here. "I can take care of myself!"
"Sure you can," Henry agrees.
"So then why-?" but again, Johnny stops, this time because Henry's got a hand behind his neck and pulled him closer and closer, and is kissing him, and even as Johnny thinks, "Oh," he's catching up, bringing a hand up to Henry's face, the other arm around his back.
When they finally part for air, Henry backs off a little, catches his breath, and says, "A man's gotta take care of his partner."
Johnny feels, not surprised exactly, but amazed, delirious, like he's full of helium and ready to float away like a kid's balloon. He can't ever remember a time he was this happy, not even when Luther let him play the Poke for the first time. He can feel the grin splitting his face, until he pulls Henry back to him, and then his lips have better things to do.
Johnny looks up when the door opens and Henry walks in, then quickly looks back down at the five cards in his hand, then glances at the reactions of the other men at the table. Can't let the mark know he's watching -- Johnny's character is a genteel drunk, slowly pissing away his Daddy's money, and not inclined to look farther beyond himself than the next hand and the next beer.
The mark from New Mexico is grinning pleasantly at the cards in his hand, convinced that he can walk in here with his friend "Mr. Hendrickson", cheat them, and fleece the whole company. The mark's a real lop-ear, but J.J. has him on a short rope and is working him up to Chicago, bringing him to Twist to play. Johnny and Henry are just helping out in passing, since they were in town.
Johnny and the others at the poker table are just window dressing, just the setup to show Mr. Albuquerque that J.J.'s method works. They'll lose a few thousand dollars to him tonight, slick and easy. The mark will let J.J. pocket it, and J.J. will pay them back later. The game tonight is just the convincer Mr. Albuquerque needs to get confident, to decide to risk higher stakes once they get to the big city, and to wire his bank to send more cash.
He's glad to see Henry, that's a regular part of the play, but not so early. As the betting rolls around the table, Johnny wonders what could have gone wrong that would send Henry in early.
Still, Henry doesn't have his hat on, so Johnny stays in character, too. When J.J. introduces Henry to the others at the table, Henry carefully doesn't quite make eye contact with Johnny. Whatever it is, it's bad, then. Bad enough that Henry doesn't think they can look at each other and not react. That's enough to spook Johnny, right there.
Johnny thinks about exits from the building, about where their bags are stashed, about the route to the train station and when the next train will be coming through. He finishes his beer and shifts in his seat, pushing his chair back slightly.
Henry really is something. If you didn't know him the way that Johnny and J.J. know him, you'd never guess that anything is wrong. His character is a tired shop-owner, ready to take a load off at the end of a long week, have a few beers, play a little poker with the boys on a Saturday night.
"You want in on the next hand?" J.J. asks.
"Sure," Henry responds, then gives a short, high, hacking cough. "Just let me get a drink first." He wanders off towards the icebox in the kitchen.
Johnny sighs as the man on his left raises, and folds. He could have stayed in longer, lost a little more, but he's nervous. Henry doesn't usually get jumpy, and Henry doesn't ever forget a script. "I'll be back for the next hand, too, fellas," he says, getting up from his seat. He leaves his chips on the table. Johnny sways a little for effect as he picks up his empty bottle and saunters into the kitchen.
Henry has already climbed out the window, onto the fire escape. Johnny puts his drink down by the sink and silently climbs out after him. Their suitcases are piled out there, getting wet in the evening drizzle. Henry puts his hat on and starts down the metal ladder.
Johnny's coat and hat are back in the apartment, but he doesn't think now is the best time to go retrieve them. Silently, he hands the suitcases down to Henry, standing on the platform of the next floor down. One more platform, then a jump to the alley. They're walking down the street, away from the apartment building, when the police cars pull up by the front door. Between the dark and the wet, though, nobody's paying any attention to the two men.
They're walking away from the train station. Johnny starts to ask, but Henry just shakes his head, minutely, so he holds his tongue. Then they're down another alley, and Henry's pulling open the door of a delivery truck. "Slide in."
It's a tight fit in the cab with their cases and it's getting humid with the windows rolled up against the rain. There are two cheap cloth jackets in there, worn and solidly working class. Johnny pulls one on, and gets his old cap from his case. Henry stows his coat and wriggles into the other one. It hangs off him -- the original owner had big beefy shoulders, but Henry's build on a different scale. With obvious regret, Henry take off his hat and ruffles up his hair and somehow his eyes set into a different face, still tired but entirely unlike that store owner. Now he's just another sad-sack truck driver, working late again, trying to make ends meet.
Henry smiles at him, meeting his eyes for just a minute, before starting up the engine. As they roll out of town, he says, "One of the guys at the table was a snitch, told the cops about the game. Normally, it wouldn't be a problem. J.J.'s in good with the local fixer. But as it was..."
As it was, Henry was wanted for a federal warrant. All the fixing in the world wouldn't do him a bit of good if the cops found him and figured out who he was.
And even knowing all that, Henry had still come to the apartment, racing against time to get there before the cops. Henry knew, and he'd still come.
Johnny thinks about that, and feels something building, just under his ribcage, until he explodes, "Are you crazy?" Johnny's shouting, and in the cab it's loud, even over the noise of the big diesel, "You shoulda just left! You shoulda left me a message with someone, and gotten out of town!"
"Naw," Henry says, apparently unruffled, "I owed J.J. a warning, at least. He'll get out of it okay."
"You shoulda sent him a message! Cripes, Henry, you shoulda --" but then he shuts up, because Henry has pulled over along an empty stretch of road and is looking at him, just looking at him. "What?!"
Henry shakes his head, then carefully moves his hat from the seat next to him to the dashboard. "I wasn't going to leave you there, kid."
"Why not?" Johnny's leaning in, he's had enough of being babysat, first on the Lonnegan job and now here. "I can take care of myself!"
"Sure you can," Henry agrees.
"So then why-?" but again, Johnny stops, this time because Henry's got a hand behind his neck and pulled him closer and closer, and is kissing him, and even as Johnny thinks, "Oh," he's catching up, bringing a hand up to Henry's face, the other arm around his back.
When they finally part for air, Henry backs off a little, catches his breath, and says, "A man's gotta take care of his partner."
Johnny feels, not surprised exactly, but amazed, delirious, like he's full of helium and ready to float away like a kid's balloon. He can't ever remember a time he was this happy, not even when Luther let him play the Poke for the first time. He can feel the grin splitting his face, until he pulls Henry back to him, and then his lips have better things to do.