The Star Ruby Contract by Philip Atlee

Author:Philip Atlee
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MysteriousPress.com/Open Road Media
Published: 2020-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

We played it straight, one down and four up, with no hole cards for deuces or treys and no wild cards. No joker. Father MacManus was drunk-shrewd, and knew every percentage. He never called unless he was at least as good as I was, except for a few fourth-card pressure bets, and that was Scarne, too.

Since we had announced no limit, and the first one to tap out on table stakes lost it all, each bet deserved study. Because if I made a mistake, Father MacManus might just shove everything in and have a look at my tonsils. I couldn’t afford that because I wanted to get back to Rangoon. So I watched my eccentric religious friend keep belting away out of the silver chalice and I bet two pair like two pair.

The hours went by, and the glittering marker jewels flowed back and forth across the straw mat. I don’t think I ever saw a man enjoy a poker game so much. He blarneyed me with ferocious humor, took every lost hand like a personal Armageddon, and often lapsed into Latin curses. I don’t know any Latin profanity, but his bitches were so profound that I knew they could not be spiritual.

And all the while he kept knocking the drinks back. Sacrificial wine, native arrack, and once even drew a bottle of Cutty Sark out of the gloom behind him. After several hours of play, the Wa girl curled up behind him and went to sleep.

Once, while Father MacManus was shuffling doggedly, I asked where his mission was. Without looking up, he said that “those Chinese sods” had taken it over and wrecked it. Tried to kill him, too, but couldn’t shoot straight enough …

“And these little baubles?” I motioned at the heaps of glittering gemstones on the mat. “Where did a priest come by them?”

“Oh …” The padre riffled the front end of the deck with his right thumb, then cut the deck smoothly with just the one hand. When you see a player do that, cash in, whether they call him Doc or not. “I’ve slaved among these poor benighted bahstids for eighteen years, you understand, Mallory. Then, a year ago Ne Win announces all of us are going to get pitched out of Burma. Visitors, we were, I think he said, who had overstayed their welcome …”

Shaking his shaggy head, he started dealing with the right hand, placing every card with neat dispatch. This is another sign of misspent youth, and I wondered where he had taken his religious training.

“… so if the buggers were going to throw me out, along with Mother Church, I decided to change our ritual a little. You know? After I heard about the deadline for the old heave-ho, nobody in my mission could confess or get absolution until they ponied up with one of these jewels. And even then,” he added bitterly, “I got stuck with several glass uns. What I really needed was one of those little dinguses you screw in your eye.

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