Number Nine: Chapter 17

A STONE IN BLACK WATER


FADE IN:

EXT. – MOONLIT WATERS – NIGHT

We sink to the bottom of the moonlit waters of the Mississippi River as the Mississippi Queen floats above.

INT. – MISSISSIPPI QUEEN – NIGHT

Fade in the sweet voice of Ruby Daulton singing Billie Holiday’s Don’t Explain…

Hush now, don’t explain
Just say you’ll remain
I’m glad your back, don’t explain…

We see Ruby, drooping and hazy eyed, at a microphone in the plush, red velvet players’ room on the Queen.

You know that I love you
And what endures
All my thoughts of you
For I’m so completely yours…

Hush now, don’t explain…

Pan to faces in the room, men and women, all eyes trained to Ruby with desire and admiration. Gambling and drinking and all activities seem to stop.

CLOSE UP of a handsome, dark complexion man as a tear rolls down his face. This is the MARQUIS. Fade DON’T EXPLAIN. Fade in GIRL by The Beatles.

Is there anybody going to listen to my story
All about the girl who came to stay?
She’s the kind of girl you want so much
It makes you sorry
Still you don’t regret a single day

Ah girl…

Fade to black.



Aboard the Mississippi Queen, the war did not exist, the heat was not oppressive, a storm was not brewing in the Tropic of Capricorn, and the poor were only shadows that never reached the light.

Inside the Queen, Darfur, Guantanamo Bay, Fallujah and Abu Ghraib were only words, foreign and faraway, devoid of terror or loss.

Inside the Queen, no one was destitute, diseased or dying. No one was down on their luck or desperate. No one was betrayed. No one was buried in self-pity. No one cried out in pain. No one absorbed the suffering of the common masses. No one was lost or abandoned except Ruby Daulton.

Ruby was the Queen of the royal court and the Queen was swimming in darkness, descending a spiral staircase into the black waters of the Mississippi where neither man nor beast ever returned.

Ruby would not go gently into that goodnight. She would claw, scratch, tear, bite and fight with every particle of her soulful being. No one takes Ruby down without wearing the wounds of battle.

When Ruby was a child, she was a magnet for the taunts of hungry little boys and jealous little girls until she learned to fight back. What she lacked in technique she made up for in raw passion and she never looked back.

Jake Jones walked onto the Queen decked out in a gray-blue zoot suit tailored for someone of his approximate size and stature. He was a man among boys and he was itching for a fight. He could feel Ruby’s light through miles of liquid darkness. He could feel her breath on his neck, her breasts on his chest, her motor revving, her vacuum pulling him in, her song drowning, sinking like a stone in black water.

He strode seamlessly onto the casino floor and the machines began to sing. The anarchy of sound peeled away, revealing the nature and quality of each instrument. The journey had tuned his senses, unraveling the mystery of random chance.

He stepped up to a quarter slot machine to test his theory. Three riverboat queens rolled into perfect alignment: Jackpot.

He was acutely aware of the principle of fallibility. He was not the same man he was in Vegas. Back then there was nothing to lose. Now, he had everything to lose. Knowing how desire colors the senses, he struggled to hold back his yearning. A man does not mold the world to his will but behaves in a manner that allows the things he needs to come to him. Focusing too much on the result will lead you to the door but lose the key.

He noticed the glances of those around him and realized they had already marked him for a lucky man. It was too soon to be noticed. He would have to be shrewd. He thought of Ruby and played it cool. Lose a little; win a lot. Lose a little more; win again.

He felt the great river rushing beneath his feet. It gave him strength and bolstered his confidence and at the same it felt its power for good and ill.

A woman on a poker machine three rows down and to his left gathered her tokens and walked away just as the machine began to sing. He tipped the roaming waitress and made his way to the machine in question. Five quarters hit a full house. Five more pulled four sevens. Five more drew a straight flush. Five more pulled an Ace, King, Jack, Ten of Hearts and a Queen of Spades. He did not hesitate. He discarded the black Queen and drew a ruby red Queen of Hearts: Royal Flush.

Jake Jones had been noticed.

In the corner of his eye, he saw him. At the top of the stairs on the far end of the floor, in a dark blue suit with a slick white New Orleans jazz hat, the figure of an Indian stood smiling, glaring, challenging. The Coyote was onboard.

Behind the door at the top of the stairs, in a room reserved for players, propped up by two large black escorts and surrounded by red velvet, Ruby took the stage. She felt herself losing hold of the world around her, losing touch with her own senses, losing grasp of a law governed reality, losing connection with the solid ground of earth.

She remembered an old song, so long ago, so far removed from here and now, when nothing seemed to matter and nothing but the moment was important. Ruby sang:

Hush now, don’t explain…

The world turned to liquid before her eyes, slowly drifting by, light and color bleeding and separating in an endless parade, pulsing and falling in harmony beyond her reach. Ruby sang:

Quiet, don’t explain…

She fell to the bottom of the sea and lived in a liquid slow motion reality, motionless and still, watching the procession of life around her. Ruby sang:

Cry to hear folks chatter
And I know you cheat
Right or wrong, don’t matter
When you’re with me, sweet…

She felt no pain, no sorrow, no worries. She had no fear. Like a snail with its feelers extending outward from her shell, she was helpless and completely vulnerable. Ruby sang:

Hush now, don’t explain
You’re my joy and pain
My life’s yours love
Don’t explain

When Ruby sang, every angel in heaven and every sentient soul on earth wept a river of tears and the black waters of the Mississippi rolled on.

She was no longer Ruby Daulton, Queen of Hearts; she was a kept thing like a poodle and she did not care. Her masters would care for her, tell her what a pretty thing she was, stroke her, kiss and caress her. She belonged to them and she did not care.

Jake heard her voice from behind the doors at the top of the stairs and his heart stopped. He collected his bearings and his winnings before approaching the men guarding the doors.

“How much to play?” he asked.

“We’re pleased you inquired,” said a man. “It requires an account of twenty thousand.”

He produced his winnings in a tidy stack of black and gold chips. The man smiled, took his name and two gold chips for deposit.

Out of the darkness, out of the swirling lights and sound, out of the symphony of rumbling, roaring electrons, out of the depths of a bottomless pit where sirens sing and spirits dance on flames of desire, two words sprang forth like a beacon from a lighthouse on a jagged shore.

“Jake Jones,” announced the doorman.

A man in dark, shoulder length hair, impeccably dressed in the latest Parisian suit, looked up, his olive face registering surprise, and said, “Show him in.”

The Coyote stood glaring from the shadows across the room and Ruby, now seated in a velvet corner, was far gone from the world of light. Her eyes rolled back and she swooned before collapsing on a lush pillowed sofa, the hint of smile on her pale white face.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” said the man in the Parisian suit. “I am the Marquis and I assure you, she is in no danger.”

Jake betrayed no fear. He had found his adversary and the game was on.

“You like to play games of chance?” asked the Marquis.

“There’s no such thing as chance,” Jake replied.

The Marquis smiled and introduced the players. They were not the Vegas crowd, the hard-edged hustlers that taught Ruby to play. By all appearances (and in this case appearances were not deceptive), they were southern gentry. They could afford to lose and the one vice they shared above all others was pride.

The game was Texas hold-em and the limit was the house but, by gentleman’s agreement, they would allow Jake to either stake his position or yield his seat before they went for the kill. Nothing was said. No agreement was struck. It was understood.

The cards were from the Vegas Mirage, informing Jake that Guido Lazerri was connected here. The Marquis, who alone pushed the conversation forward, took note.

“You find our choice of playing cards of interest?” he asked.

Jake remained silent, preferring to focus on the players as drinks of choice were served. He chose a glass of ice tea. He could not help but wonder if the game was rigged but dismissed the notion. The Marquis was as honorable as a man in his position could afford to be. He was by all appearances the consummate professional.

“We share acquaintances in the Mirage,” said the Marquis. “We have common interests,” he added with a glance at Ruby who was now sinking in liquid darkness, incapable of recognizing that her hero had arrived.

“An Italian gentleman,” he went on as the first hand was dealt. “Though the term should be reserved for the gentile,” he smiled. “Indeed, it was not long ago that he sat where you sit now. In fact, it seems like only yesterday.”

The Marquis threw in on the third round of betting. Jake bumped on a pair of Jacks and the others folded. Within a half dozen hands, he built a nice stack and the two of them were securing their positions. The Marquis was established as a player who knew the odds and could not be pushed around. Jake was feeling him out.

“The Italian had a particular attraction to the ladies,” said the Marquis between hands. “It was an obvious flaw in his game. I warned him it would be his downfall but he did not understand my language.”

The dealer dealt two down and bets were placed. Two threw in, leaving three along with Jake on the small blind and the Marquis. The turn laid out a queen of hearts, jack of spades and an ace of diamonds. Everyone stayed in until the Marquis doubled the pot.

Jake placed his hand on his down cards without looking. His eyes peered into the Marquis’ eyes, eyes that held the cold darkness of a Mississippi grave. What he saw there, in that impenetrable depth, in that layered mystery of fog and mist, had no words but it betrayed a particle of doubt.

Every poker game comes down to two players. The game is a process of discovering who those players are. Once the discovery is made it becomes a question of which will prevail. Only one can win; the other will lose. Everyone else is just holding a seat.

At this table, on this evening, as the Queen rolled down the great river, as Ruby swam in the murky depths, it came down to Jake and the Marquis. Jake was the challenger. His greatest asset was that he was unknown and unknowable to those who graced the player’s table in the velvet room on the Mississippi Queen. The more they watched, the less they saw. They more confident they grew, the less they understood.

Only the Marquis knew what drove him though he did not fully appreciate how far he would go to achieve his objective, to free his beloved Ruby. In time, he would understand completely. Jake was the kind of man he rarely encountered and invariably underestimated.

Jake called and the others politely folded. The Marquis glanced at his cards, at Jake’s remaining chips and signaled the dealer to play on.

Fourth Street was a jack of hearts. The Marquis asked for a chip count and forced Jake all in with a raise.

Fifth Street was a ten of hearts. The Marquis deferred to Jake and Jake asked for house rules on betting beyond one’s holdings.

“What would you like to bet?” asked the Marquis.

“All that I have, my life and my name, for Ruby.”

The Marquis smiled. Until this moment, he had Jake pegged as a loser: the noble hero who rushes headlong into a hopeless situation, the character who always prevails in fairy tales and formula Hollywood movies but stands no chance against the hardcore realities of life.

Now he saw another side of Jake Jones: a gambler who made careful calculations and took his best shot. Now he understood that if he were in Jake’s shoes he might well make the same calculations and arrive at the same conclusion: This was the shot.

Narrowed down to a simple fact: He admired Jake and somewhere in the long forgotten chambers of his mind, he wanted Jake to win. By that acknowledgement alone, Jake had already won.

“Gentlemen,” said the Marquis, “we are pleased to witness a rare phenomenon. Here is a man who understands that we are not engaged in a game of chance. We are summoning forces beyond light and beyond darkness, beyond life and death.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Jones, I am not in a position to accept your wager. The lady is not mine to gamble. However, you may wager any monetary amount you choose. Your honor is beyond question and your credit is good.”

Jake declined the offer and let the bet stand. He had no real concept of how much money was represented except that it was a large amount.

The Marquis turned over an ace and a queen of spades. Jake revealed his destiny with Ruby Daulton: an ace and a queen of hearts for a royal flush.

“Congratulations,” said the Marquis. “Will you be playing on?”

Jake shook his head and rose, not knowing where he would go or what he would do next. He heard the word “burgundy” and saw an image of Ruby swimming in darkness, eyes fluttering from side to side, as if observing a carousel, yet she remained absolutely still, her mind severed from her body, limp yet warm like jelly in a plastic bag.

He awakened in a Memphis hotel alone.


Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Came down upon his head
Bang! Bang! Maxwell’s silver hammer
Made sure that he was…

Number Nine. Number Nine…