Johnnie Walker, Blue

-mention of alcoholism-

Death poured out of the blue labeled whisky bottle. The fragrant peat smell of the tawny liquid triggered Oshea, his hand clenched as if grasping for a drink himself. The musky scent promised a release, the calming and letting go he had leaned on for so many years. His body wanted it, shoulders relaxed at the redolent tang, expecting it.

No, he rubbed his hand over his bald head, he was on the job. Oshea looked around the small back room of the Oaks Card Club. A thick haze of cigarettes hung in the close, windowless room, a poker table taking up the back half. Even the musty smoke welcomed him in, a reminder of the many days he had spent here. Nothing had changed in this room, the same as it looked 10 years ago , probably 50, so different from the world outside moving at a breakneck pace.

Franklin, dressed in a crisp white shirt and black bowtie, poured two fingers into the crystal cut glass, then added a dash of Angostura bitters. Standing behind the black corner bar he worked stone-faced, not acknowledging Oshea at all.

 “Let me get you a drink?” Dameon’s eyes turned to Oshea as he picked up the glass and raised a finger for another.

“Standing there empty handed, makes you look funny, an Irishman without a drink.” Dameon cracked a smile under his tight beady eyes. Dressed up for his birthday party, the black silk dress shirt and slacks did little to hide his nature, the violent ex-con who managed this Card Club. 

 Franklin broke character and paused, a sharp look up toward Oshea. He shook his head once, quick before squatting down to put something under the bar.

 Oshea had been running from his past for as long as he could remember, but it held onto him like a dog tied to a post, letting him go only so far before it pulled him back hard and sharp to where he came from. Dameon had asked him to be on guard tonite, to find the man threatening him. After getting shot at earlier in the week, Dameon needed all the protection he could get. But he didn’t tell Oshea why he was under attack, or any indication of who it could be. So tonight Oshea’s eyes were on everyone, though he didn’t understand what could happen in this room, full of Dameon’s friends, and only one door, with Louis, Dameon’s bodyguard standing next to it. 

 Oshea had no one else who trusted him anymore, he couldn’t let Dame down tonite by drinking.

 Surprised he had acknowledged him at all, Oshea leaned back, not sure how to say no. Oshea had a specific job at this party, and it wasn’t to celebrate.

 “Arthur brought this for my birthday.” Dameon gestured to the blue label Johnnie Walker bottle, the blue box behind it wrapped with a bright yellow ribbon. “Best of the best right there, $200 a bottle!”

 The elderly man in the fedora at the green felt table raised his head at his name and nodded, before his eyes moved back to the low cut dress of the young woman sitting next to him. The fedora confirmed Oshea’s recognition of Arthur, the scion of the Adams family, in the role his father and grandfather held on the City Council. He looked much younger in his re-election posters.

 “Just like that cheapskate to re-gift.” A short older woman leaned over Oshea’s elbow. “I saw him get that same bottle last night at a fundraiser.”

Oshea raised his eyebrows at this gossip, Bernadette, who he knew as one of the largest slumlords in Oakland, and his current landlord

  “Oh, no I am good,” Oshea waved to Dameon, his jaw clenched. “But I appreciate-”

 “-Come on just a taste, this is the good stuff!” Dameon’s thick fingers, marked black with faded tattoos, picked up the bottle and poured a splash into a cocktail glass, then put the bottle back to hand the drink to Oshea. “I prefer to add bitters, but nothing fancy for you, right?”

 Oshea took the drink with both hands, cradling it like an unpinned grenade. “Thanks.” Holding it close, the heady aroma of the whisky pulled at him, the delicate fragrance of escape. ‘Just one,’ the rehearsed lie came to him unbidden, but he knew the truth. He wanted to let go of his grip on his barely held together life and crawl back into the bottle until he never came out. One drink was impossible.

 “Cheers!” Dame reached out his glass to toast, and by habit, or fate, Oshea, clinked glasses and in one motion downed the warm whisky. He didn’t care that Dameon didn’t drink his, but turned to face the rest of the party. The taste teleported him to that night, into his car.

 -Concentrating on the red taillights of the cars in front of him, sipping straight out of the whisky flask, then handing it to Laura, laughing hard, then- the sudden abrupt pain, the car spinning…

 Oshea jerked his foot out to catch himself, suddenly off balance. He placed the glass back on the bar. Nine months sober, blown up and gone. He might as well get a real taste. “Another.” 

 Franklin shook his head, his eyes straight ahead. Oshea appreciated that his friend knew him too well.

 “I can control myself.” Oshea muttered as he filled the glass himself, a heavy pour he threw back, and then, added a few more fingers of the smooth whisky. “Last one.” He said, though Franklin had turned his back on him.

 Dameon raised his glass. “Ok, ok!” he shouted into the room. “Back to it!” The guests re-joined Arthur at the green felt poker table. Oshea moved to the wall to watch. He wished Dameon had given him more background on why he had been attacked, and if the person was in the room tonight. Oshea doubted it. 

The small buzz he felt would take the edge off of a boring night. He looked over the potential suspects in front of him, almost all old and grey haired, as expected at a 50th birthday party.

Councilman Arthur Adams held the reins of power in the City. Used to seeing him on TV or billboards, Oshea had forgotten how little Arthur was, barely over five feet tall, and appearing even smaller in his baggy three piece suit. His face was pockmarked, with broken blood vessels covering his cheek bones. Most ignored him, but for an Asian young woman, pretty with long black hair who sat by his side. Her dark eyes were too intelligent to be an escort, though she was good looking enough to fill that role. She must be on his staff, here to keep him in line. Oshea knew his small frame carried a lot of power in West Oakland.

 Next to him Bernadette Bevins spoke with a large black man, his head down. Bernadette said she was in real estate, though Oshea didn’t know of her doing much besides spending her families money. Her anxious, jerking hands and furtive glances told Oshea Bernadette was hiding something. He knew she owned many of the buildings in West Oakland, old Victorian-designed homes now converted to warrens of single room apartments.

 The dealer, Roberta began the game by dealing the cards for Texas Hold’em Poker. Plastic chips clinked together as they collided on their way into the middle of the table.

Standing behind Arthur, Oshea watched him lift up his two hole cards, a pair of Kings, Diamonds and Hearts. Arthur’s thumb rubbed the axe on the King of Diamonds picture. Nice way to start off the hand, Oshea thought, just like the Councilmember himself, dealt into wealth and power.  

What does Oshea have for his hole cards? Butkus, and not even with matching suits.  

 Bernadette had something good by the way she touched her hair, maybe a low pair. Dameon though. Oshea closed his eyes to listen, and there it was. Oshea had sat across from Dameon in many card games and knew he had no obvious ‘tell’, he held the same expression and body language no matter what the cards were, he kept his emotions in check. But not his leg. Under the table Dameon’s knee bobbed in double time, tapping the underside of the table, with a subtle rattle. Dameon had a good hand.  

“I will raise another 200.” Dameon tossed more chips onto the table, his dull expression looking around for anyone to challenge him. Bernadette folded. Four cards were on the table in front of Roberta. Two Queens, of Hearts and of Spades, a two of Hearts, and a nine of Clubs.

 “Call.” Arthur placed his chips in the pot to match Dameon’s bet. Watching the cards, Oshea guessed Dameon had another Queen, and probably a two, for his hole cards so a Full House, quite a good hand. Arthur needed another King to show up on the River, the last card dealt, to even have a chance.

Roberta flipped over a card and placed it on the table, a Jack of Hearts. Arthur’s face had frustration scrawled on it in graffiti script. His hands twisted, moved as he put his cards down, and then picked them up again. Roberta, as well as Bernadette and Arthur turned to watch Dameon bet. He paused for a moment, looked at his cards, at Arthur and then grinned. His fat ringed fingers pushed all his chips into the middle.

 “All in.”

 Arthur dropped his head. “Ok, I have gone this far.” He said as he pushed his chips across the green of the table, making several motions to get all the chips in.

 Dameon turned over his cards to show a Queen of clubs and a two of clubs. “Full house! Queens over twos.” His grin widened to cover his whole face.

 Frowning as he looked again at his cards in his now still hands, Arthur’s whole body began to move, as if he was controlled by something in his waist. “OK.”

 Arthur put down his hole cards, a King and an Ace, both Hearts. "Hearts flush.” 

OShea let out a low whistle. Somehow, Arthur had turned a King of Diamonds into an Ace of Hearts. Why does a City Councilman cheat at poker? 

Oshea looked over to Franklin and the bar. He had a buzz creeping up the back of his neck. Just another drink, then he would be good. He eased over to Franklin. “Come on, one more.”

He had to pour his own drink, again.

 Dameon’s jaw dropped and his self control left him as his loss dawned on him. He slammed his fists on the table, an echo booming around the tight room. 

“That’s impossible, how did you get…?” Dameon looked at Roberta for help, but she had collected all the cards and began shuffling. He turned to Arthur. “You were dealt those two Hearts?”

“Just dumb luck, Dame.” Arthur winked. He stood up until his legs hit the table to get his arms around the pile of chips. The other players roared around him, pointing and laughing.

Dameon’s neck flushed mottled red, his eyes bulged as he reached across the table to grab Arthur’s jacket.

“Damn crook! You cheat at cards, you cheat at real estate, you cheat this City!”

Arthur threw his hands up to break Dameon's grip while Bernadette pushed on Dameon’s arm. Even Franklin came over to pull Dameon off the small, older man.

“Get off me! “ Arthur yelled, his voice cracking in a high pitch squeal. Unbalanced, he swung wildly at Dameon, with weak windmill arms.

 He must have connected, as Dameon fell back, grabbing his chest.

Released, Arthur pointed- “You’re the crook! Nothing but a common criminal. I know what you're up to!”

Oshea, from across the room at the bar watched the action, stunned. His thoughts came slow, his legs felt stuck.

 Dameon stood up, his hand pointed out across the room, then he fell sideways, bouncing against the table before he fell to the floor, a chair slamming backwards.

The noise triggered Oshea to action. He dove to Dameon, and found the prone man struggling to breathe, his hands at his throat

.

Oshea had been in this situation before, leaning over an injured person. Scenes of the car accident rocketed through him, staring down at Laura, her face gashed, struggling to breathe. The bitter taste of whisky at the back of his throat, shamed him, accused him of being too drunk. The edges of his vision blurred, chaotic images crashed through his mind, lights flashing, and someone yelling his name. There was nothing he can do to save her, and it was all his fault, all his fault-

“- Oshea!” Franklin was at his shoulder, pressing on him, wrenching him back to this reality. “Did you see what happened?”

“I don’t know, he just fell, it doesn’t make sense.” Froth and saliva oozed from Dameon’s purple face. “I think he was poisoned.” Oshea turned to the room, shouting over his shoulder. “Call an ambulance!”

“It was cyanide!” Bernadette yelled out. 

The outburst confused Oshea, could it be cyanide, how would she know? But he turned to focus on Dameon, who impossibly was attacked under his watch. Who could have done it? Everyone was near him until he fell.

 Oshea looked up, no one had moved, just staring at Dameon, spinning and rolling in pain.

He slammed his hand on the table- “Call 911!”

Finally, phones came out and excited voices shouted into them.

Oshea tilted Dameon's head to help him to breathe.

He knew what was wrong with what Bernadette said. Cyanide had the odor of almonds, and Oshea smelled only death in front of him.