Party Crashers

Wilson loved Atlantic City. He strutted around like a high roller, nodding at every woman who walked by, handing the ones he was particularly interested in a coin for the slots. It amused House to no end to watch him at work.

"So are we going to actually play, or just strut around?" House saw a poker table with a few empty spots.

"Let's play baby!" Wilson had a little ritual when he sat down for poker. First he put his glass on the coaster. Then put his chips, in order of value, in a neat line from the glass to the edge of the table. Then he took a drink from the glass and checked that the chips weren't in the way of his refreshing beverage. Then he cracked his knuckled. And then he said the words House heard every Tuesday night at 7PM. "Let's do this."

House rolled his eyes, put a mound of chips on the table and took a last swig of his scotch. "I gotta get me more of this." He said and ordered another drink. "Complementary for players, right?"

"Always, sir," Said the Greek goddess serving them.

"As much as I want?"

"As much as you can handle," she replied tactfully.

The dealer passed around the cards and the game began.

House's turn came third and he looked at each player. Mr. Kidney Stones clearly had a pair. Sadly, he didn't realize that they were reflected in his glasses. Poor man. Myocardial Infarction was chasing a straight, but she wasn't going to get it. Pornstache, who was perfectly healthy, was far too cocky not to be bluffing and Bleeding Heart, better known as Wilson had the card Myocardial needed for her straight, but he wasn't going to give it up because he was after four of a kind and someday he might learn to hold his cards so that House couldn't glance over and see them all. You'd think, after years of playing with House, he'd know better.

House looked at the ten of diamonds in his hand. It was the card Wilson needed. He discarded it, along with a three of spades and pulled up two new cards that did nothing for his hand of mismatched orphans. "All in." He said when it was his turn to bet again. If you're going to play, play big.

"I fold," Wilson said sadly. He might not get a chance to grab that ten after all. The rest of the table folded, all except Pornstache. It was a battle of the bad hands.

House ran his thumb up and down the king of clubs he was holding. It was the only card that gave him even a glimmer of a chance of not going home after one game of poker.

The dealer put down the river card and House smiled. It was the ace of hearts, but he smiled anyway. It didn't go with anything in his hand, but his eyes lit up, only briefly; just enough to convince Pornstache that he'd gotten what he wanted.

"Fold." Pornstache threw down his cards in disgust and left the table. House tried to peek at the cards but the dealer swiped them away so quickly he felt a breeze.

The boys moved on to roulette where another Greek Goddess brought them more libations.

Wilson surveyed the table full of black and red numbers. He studied the small silver ball rolling around in the spinning bowl. None of this was giving him a clue where to put his chips, so he went with his birthday.

House, meanwhile, was laying one chip on each of about a dozen numbers.

"You're not going to win that way," an older lady told him, piling all her chips on Odd. "You've got to go with the 50/50 option."

"You play your way, I'll play mine." House looked at his handy work. He'd lined his chips into a big X.

The ball finally came to a rest. "Red, fourteen," the dealer announced.

House turned to the old lady. "Excuse me, I've got to collect my winnings." He leaned obnoxiously in front of her and swept up his three chips. Wilson was trying hard not to laugh. House had a way of making little victories seem monumental.

The old lady left and they got to play alone for a while, then they were joined by what could only be called a femme fatale. "You don't mind if I join you," she purred.

"By all means," House took a step to the side and let her in. He checked out her ass as she leaned across the table. Then he smiled broadly. "I wouldn't bet that much," he warned.

"It's a good thing I'm not you then," she shot back as the ball fell into her slot and she tripled her money.

"Yeah, good thing." House turned to Wilson. "Let's go. This game is stupid." He preferred games of strategy to games of chance. He was a man who liked to think, to read other people, and use what he read against them. Watching a ball spin around in a big bowl wasn't challenging. He couldn't manipulate the ball into doing what he wanted.

"Wanna play the slots?" Wilson looked at the rows and rows of shiny, noisy machines.

"You're not serious are you?" House would never be caught dead shoveling his hard earned money into some bottomless machine.

"It was just a thought."

House's face lit up. "I've got a much better thought."

Wilson followed House's eye and saw the small, discrete sign. "They've opened a burlesque club?"

"Apparently." House made a bee line for the red velvet rope guarding the discrete black door.

"It looks like a private party," Wilson was able to read the sign now that they were up close.

"Please." That had never stopped House before.

"We're not late are we?" House greeted the hostess with a flirtatious smile.

"And you are?" She looked down at a list of names she had.

"The guest of honor," House made a duh face like anyone should have known that.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you are not Mr. Wilde."

"No, I'm not." House smiled while Wilson tried to shrink into the scenery as best he could. "I'm the REAL guest of honor." He turned to Wilson and laughed. "That's Wiley for you; acting like the party's for him."

"Yeah. He's such a card." Wilson wasn't good at improve. House shot him a disgusted look.

"Can I have your name sir?" She wasn't going to fall for him trick that easily.

"Look." House leaned over the small podium she was standing behind. "If I give you my name, then Wiley's going to find out I'm here, and that would ruin the surprise." He winked. "And Wiley loves his surprises."

"Who is Wiley?" She wasn't getting it.

"Oh, that's just my nickname for him. He's Wile E Coyote, and I'm…well, I WAS," House held up his cane," The Road Runner." House snickered as if remembering a private joke.

"And who was he?" She looked over at Wilson.

"I thought that was obvious." No one seemed to find it so, so House explained. "He's the Acme salesman."

She laughed. "Fine, go on in, but don't make a scene, and if anyone asks, I didn't let you in."

"Never saw you before in my life," House said over his shoulder as he walked into the private club.

"Now this was more like it." House looked around the classically appointed cigar bar/burlesque club. The lighting was low and seductive and a pianist played mellow music in the corner. The bar was a great mahogany deal that took up an entire wall.

The room was scattered with small round tables; about two dozen in all. And every table was full. A low din of conversation hung in the air. "Looks like we'll have to sit at the bar," Wilson said.

"And that would be bad why?" It afforded a clear view of the stage and was stocked with alcohol.

"Would you like a drink sir?" Despite being right at the bar, a scantily clad cocktail waitress came over to them. She was in the closest thing to a Playboy bunny outfit she could wear without the club being sued. It was a strapless, corseted, black satin bodysuit with kitty cat ears and a long tail.

"Bowl of milk?" House asked. He didn't get a response. She must get that a lot. "Scotch and soda."

"Gin and tonic," Wilson added to the order.

"One scotch and soda, one gin and tonic, coming right up." She must be new. She didn't seem jaded yet.

The lights went down shortly after their drinks arrived, and House leaned back against the bar, stogy in one hand, drink in the other, and enjoyed the show.