That Night, 8:00 P.M.
The game started out with eight players: Race, Blink, Snaps, Dutchy, Snoddy, Itey, Jake, and Flick. It was against the better judgment of all the boys to play in a poker game that included Racetrack, but the fact was that it was more-or-less impossible to find a poker game that didn't include him. Besides, there was the matter of Flick. Nothing that this particular girl said or did could really be called a novelty anymore; they had learned to expect anything and everything from her. But a girl gambling was still a bit of a curiosity, at least.
Luckily for all present, Jack was out with Sarah, greatly minimizing the chances of Flick's flying into a rage. Mush was also on a date, with some girl named Victoria who he'd met while selling, but several of the other newsboys gathered around to watch the game. Secret also pulled up a chair, looking more cheerful than anyone could remember seeing her. She didn't even object when Bumlets squeezed into the seat between her and Odds.
Racetrack shuffled and dealt the cards, tingling with anticipation. This was what he'd been waiting for ever since the night he first met Flick in the casino in Harlem: another chance to play poker with her. What with her behavior since arriving at the lodging house, he'd begun to worry that the chance would never arise; but now, here it was, and Race couldn't wait to begin. His eyes met and locked with Flick's. Both pairs of eyes, his brown and hers that rare light blue, contained a private challenge. They alone knew there were really only two players in this game.
Most poker games take a while to build up any kind of excitement or suspense. The players have to get warmed up first, as do the cards before they start blessing anyone with above-average hands. This game was different. The first ante was barely over with when Flick began her outrageous raising of the pot, and thus commenced a poker tournament like none that anyone present except Flick, Race, and Secret had ever witnessed before.
Itey was the first to fold. Jake followed not long after. Snaps stuck around until the fourth hand before bowing out of the game. Dutchy decided not to brave the sixth, and after the next round, Snoddy bade an impulsive farewell. Kid Blink looked from the fire-haired dragon on his right to Manhattan's most famous gambler, best friend or not, on his left. Grimly, the blonde boy tossed down his cards and left his chair to join the growing ranks of the audience. On either side of the poker table, necks craned to see the two players' carefully concealed cards; no one dared get too close. The players' faces were scrutinized by the more experienced gamblers in the room, but no one could get anything out of Race or his opponent. Racetrack's expressionless poker face was too well perfected and, just like the night in the casino, Flick's eyes were glued unwaveringly to her cards. Observing this, Race felt the lightbulb go on in his head.
Her eyes change coloh! Dey change wit 'er moods, dark when she's mad or upset, an' lighta when she's happy. Dat's why she's so ca'hful ta keep 'em down all da time durin' a pokah game; oddawise, da quality o' her hand would be cleah as day jist by a coitain shade o' blue.
He didn't have much time to ponder this realization, however; Flick had just raised the pot a whopping two bits.
Thirty minutes passed. Then thirty more. An hour, an hour and a half...the time slipped away like water through a seive. Jack returned to the lodging house, earning an outburst of teasing questions about whether he'd had fun with Sarah, but neither of the poker players so much as glanced at him. Cowboy took one look at the game, shook his head, and headed to his bunk. Soon the other boys began to follow suit. One by one, they took to their bunks and drifted off to sleep to the soothing lull of, "Call...raise ya five...two pair...t'ree of a kind..."
Finally, the only people remaining awake were Flick, Racetrack, and Secret. Stifling a yawn, Secret watched as Race shuffled the deck yet again. Neither he nor Flick seemed to notice that they'd lost most of their audience.
Deyre jist like Song when she's playin' 'er flute. The comparison flashed across Secret's mind, and a moment later, another thought caught up to it that left her numb. Springing to her feet, she dashed across the room to curl up in her own bunk. Still, neither gambler glanced up from the cards.
It wasn't until the candle on the card table had burned down to a stub and Racetrack's last cigar was reduced to a tiny mound of ash that Flick started violently, as if coming out of a deep reverie (which she was), and announced, "Dis ain't goin' nowheah."
Also starting, Race stared at her, and raised one eyebrow in his characteristic amused/mocking gesture. "Did I jist heah da dragon forfeit?"
"Nah, ya jist hoid Flick O'Grady suggest forfeitin' as yer course o' action," the girl replied, glaring across the table at him. "An' dat is my name, by da way. Flick O'Grady. Not 'dragon'."
Race grinned. "Whateveh ya say, Flick...so, ya shoah ya don't wanna t'row in da towel?"
"Take a guess, kid," Flick replied sweetly. This time it was Racetrack's turn to glare.
"A'right, how 'bout a compromise heah? If yer name ain't 'dragon', mine ain't 'kid'."
Flick considered this for a moment, then nodded solemnly. "Deal," she agreed, spitting in her hand. Race spat in his, and they shook on it. At that moment, the bunkroom door popped open and an irritated face topped with white hair poked into the room, followed by a hand clutching a formidable broom.
"Racetrack! Flick! Ta bed with youse! Stayin' up this late playin' poker, an' they 'spect me ta let 'em sleep in the next mornin'," he muttered, raising his eyebrows pointedly at Flick.
"Sorry, Kloppman," Race called, saving a laugh until the old man had closed the door and retreated back down the stairs. He turned to Flick, his expression one of sincerest regret.
"Guess we betta get ta bed, den."
"Guess so," Flick replied equally reluctantly. She rose to her feet with a groan, stretching her stiff limbs, then added sharply, "but leave da cards alone, ya heah? Dis ain't oveh. If ya get up in da middle o' da night ta deal yaself a royal flush or sometin', I'll heah ya."
"Shoah ya will," Race replied, also rising and grinning mischievously, "'cause youse such a light sleepa, Flick..."
Dodging a blow, he dove for the safety of his bunk, shaking the whole bunk bed.
"What da...Race, get ta sleep!" moaned Blink's half-awake voice from the bunk above.
Race settled down sheepishly, and Flick rolled her eyes and headed to her own bunk, brushing through the sheet that surrounded it. Glancing at Secret and deciding that her friend was sound asleep, Flick scrambled up to her bunk and closed her eyes. Hearts, clubs, aces, and spades danced in her head.
"So, Flick," piped up an angelically innocent voice from the bunk below her, "welcome back. Youse two 'ave fun?"
Secret caught a pillow full in the face.
Five minutes later, Flick O'Grady was, as usual, sleeping like a log. She dreamed of poker and poker alone. Not of her poker opponent.
Not much.