Disclaimer: I do not own the Blues Brothers or any of the songs or places in the story. I do own Jackie Monroe, she is of my own invention.
Author's Note: Ok so here's the first chapter to get things swinging. It may not be particularly long but it gets the story going. Enjoy ^.^
"You in?"
"Nah, I fold"
"You?"
"Hit me...ah shit, I fold"
"Mr Blues?"
In the gloom of the dingy basement that served as a poker room, it was a wonder how the suited, stout man that was being addressed could see the hand he had been dealt in front of him at all, coupled with the solid wall off cigarette smoke that hung around the naked light bulb and the shades that sat before his eyes, just below the rim of his black trilby hat.
Jake Blues studied the cards he held with invisible disdain, taking a deep drag on the cigarette he held between his fingers. His poker hand sucked, but he had laid down nearly ten thousand bucks so there was no other option but to bluff his way through and hope his undoubtedly wealthier opponent had a worse hand then him. The Blues musician shifted in his seat, taking a last draw on the smoke before stubbing out the end into an already overflowing ashtray.
"I'm in, raise you $150." Jake scrawled the amount on a slip of paper, the other players had played with cash but Jake, being Jake, obviously didn't have ten thousand bucks on him, so he stuck with writing out IOU after IOU to substitute his bets.
One of the players shook his head. " Too high stakes for me, I fold."
Raising a thin eyebrow, the other remaining participant fixed Jake with a suspicious glare. Glad in a pale grey suit and a black tie, hair icy blonde and slicked back the man make of a distinct air of power, which was emphasised by the two burly henchmen that stood either side of his rigid figure. An expensive Rollex watch glinted in the dim light as the player reached out to take a swig of the glass of Jack Daniels in front of him, the rest of the players watching in suspense at how the rest of the game would unfold.
"Well, well, well Mr Blues, it seems to have come down to you and I." Clearing his throat, the imposing male glanced down at his own cards and proceeded to toss in several dollar bills, "Match that."
$300? Shit, that's just more to add to the ten thousand I don't have. Jake thought despairingly. Who bullshitted that poker was a game of luck? Fucking bad luck in my case. With an uneasy cough, Jake discretely gave the basement a once over, looking for a means of bolting the scene if his opponents hand really was better than his. Seeing nothing but a door that lead to the can, and the ascending stairway that had been blocked by another two of his adversaries thugs, the Blues Brother made a mental note to use the John as a last resort. Ah, gone this far, why not stick it out?
"Raise $200"
There was a stifled gasp that ran around the room like a swarm of gnats. His colleague was unable to conceal a look of surprise and raised an eyebrow, not at all trusting in his opponent. "You playing around Blues? Cos this ain't no joke here. I'm talking serious cash. An' my boys 'ere don't take kind to pranksters."
Jake feigned innocence. "Have I ever lied to you?"
Around the table the players each exchanged significant glances. They'd nearly all played cards with Jake before, and they and their wallets were all to aware of Jakes hot-handed habit of laying down the odds, but not being able to front up the cash. More than once had he escaped confrontation with a quick tongue and a few excuses, but none of those guys had been Lance Lamont, the gang leader and business man who sat around the other side of the table from Jake now.
The head honcho chuckled humorously, "I think you're bluffing."
Jake flashed Lance what was supposed to be a winning smile, which he usually put on when trying to pull a chick in a bar or when he was at a gig. The only person he knew who seemed immune to the grin was Elwood, but Jake guessed that was because he'd been putting up with it since they were kids. That had been until now of course, the steely, grey eyes of Lance Lamont showed no hint of emotion as they bore down on him.
"I'll see y'ah". With nothing else to hope for except that he had a better hand, Jake watched as the opposing player smirked and ran a finger over the top of his cards.
"You're playing a dangerous game here Blues. A dangerous, dangerous game. I hope you know what you're doing."
"Just lay down you're fucking cards, then we'll see who's laughing ok, Mr Bigshot?"
Jake's heart sank a Lance Lamont laid down his hand to revel the straight flush, beating the Blues Brother's own set by miles and totally throwing Jake into the shit. He swallowed nervously, which did not go unnoticed by the other players who sat amongst them. He remembered years ago at the orphanage when him and a few of the other guys had been playing baseball, not to the Penguin's knowledge. Not that she was adverse to the sport, the fact that they were in fact playing inside due to the rain was another thing. Elwood had opted to not get involded and had been sitting on his bed, reading a copy of 'Motors for you' and not paying attention to the game.
"C'mon El', we need even teams an' we're one short!" Jake whined, poking his brother with the end of the aged baseball bat he'd got hold of. "Get your skinny ass up there!"
"Ah, Jake ya'h know the Penguin'll go mad if she catches ya'h." Having been caught twice the previous week in participating in Jake's schemes, Elwood was in no mood to be intercepted by the Nun again and face her wraith with the long ruler she kept to inflict discipline. He was 12, and still being punished like a 5 year old.
"So don' get caught then. Don't be such a wimp." A spotty, bespectacled kid joined in, keen to get on with the game.
"Fine, but I ain't no wimp, so shut it." Elwood swung his legs over the side of the bed and swiped the ball from another orphan's hand. Elwood was already beginning to develop the look for someone who had grown a lot in a short space of time, his gangly limbs giving the impression he still needed to grow into his lanky form. Standing opposite his brother, Elwood tossed the ball a few times in preparation for the serve.
"Batter up!
Inevitably, the baseball that Jake had hit enthusiastically sailed over everyone's heads and straight the nearest window, shattering the glass with a loud and extremely non-discrete smash. A silence blanked the 8 teenagers, each exchanging fearful glances and praying that no one had noticed. But the damaged had been done and there were already the sounds of Sister Mary Stigmata holloaring furiously for whoever it was responsible to come forward and face 'His Lord's judgement'.
", let's split!" There was a scramble for the door, Jake and Elwood the last the leave. The rest of the kids had bolted to their own room, leaving the two Brother's to try and find their own hiding place. Creaks from the staircase at the end of the corridor revealed that someone, most probably a Sister in search of the culprit, was on their way up.
"Not one of your best ideas Jake!" Elwood slugged his older brother in the arm, who paid no attention and was too busy scanning around them for a hiding place. He spied a broom closet and grabbed Elwood by the arm, opening the door and shoving him inside, following himself before easing the door closed.
"Keep quiet ok?" Jake whispered into the pitch black.
"You try keeping quiet when there's a mop sticking in your -"
"Ah, don't tell me!"
There was a thump and Elwood gave a frustrated groan. "I don't know what I've just put my hand in, but it feels like the oatmeal we had last night."
"Ssshh, someone's coming!"
Footsteps grew louder as whoever they belonged to neared their hiding place. The two brothers held their breath as the person stopped right outside the closet they were confided in, before relaxing as the pursuer moved on and rounded the corner.
"Pheeeeew, that was close."
"I don't know how you do it Jake, but you can always think of something. 'Just hope done day you don't run out of excuses!"
This memory was what spurred Jake to flash his opponent a fake grin, he wasn't licked yet.
"You're turn Mr Blues." Smirking, Lance rested his elbows on the table and clasped his hands, leaning forward to support his chin on his index fingers. Expectantly, he gestured of Jake to lay down his cards, and frowned when the musician scraped back his chair and made to stand. "Where do you think you're going Blues?"
"You'll have to s'cuse me a minute fellas, just gotta go to the can." Jake managed to maintain a casual demure as he swaggered to the mens room, more than aware of the 8 pairs of eyes that watched him as he did so. He had to make a break for it. A dirty trick but it was worth the reputation to keep his legs. With a jerk of his hand, Lance signalled two of his burly thugs to loiter outside the door.
"Just in case out friend tries to pull a fast one. That would never do." There was a murmur of laughter from the other poker players, who were loving the drama of the situation. There was nothing better than watching a jackass that wasn't you getting painfully beaten at poker, especially if the stakes were high.
Inside the extremely vile excuse for a rest room, Jake was struggling with the stiff catch of the window lock that was mostly welded together with grime and mould. Huffing with effort, Jake gave up after several failed attempts, removed his hat and punched through the glass, creating a space just large enough for him climb through.
"Fuck this joint." he muttered, using his elbow to clear the remaining shards from the ledge and, with difficulty, hoisting his large physique out of the window to drop heavily onto the dimly lit street below. As Jake disappeared down the nearest side street the rest room door was ripped off it's hinges by two of hench men shouldering it down.
"Boss! Boss, 'e's done a bunk! Should we go after 'im?"
Stepping over the splintered wood, the tall, imposing figure of the man who Jake had just swindled emerged from between the gang members and scanned the empty space with an expression of stony fury plastered on his face. Jake Blues had indeed vanished.
"Ahh, Mr Blues, you have just made the biggest mistake of your sad excuse of a life. Our friend is going to slip up soon and when he does he'll learn not to run away from settling a score." He bent down a picked up a one of the splinters of wood, calmly turning it over in his hands a moment before violently striking the wall several times, each blow cracking the plaster.
"No on makes a fool of Lance Lamont and gets away with it!"
Author's Note: Well, here's the first chapter. I like white toast, but I like reviews even more :)
