Will caught him at the elevator bank Thursday evening, jacket already on, loosening his tie like a man walking away from the day.
“You play poker?” Will said.
August had his hand on the down button.
“Not well.” “Perfect.
Judge Parks hosts a monthly game.
Lawyers only.
Tonight somebody dropped out.” Will hit the button himself.
“You’re in if you want in.” The elevator arrived.
August stepped inside and Will followed, and the question hung between them while the floor numbers counted down.
A sitting judge.
The same judge whose docket August had been added to for a suppression hearing in April.
The same judge whose irritation he’d already learned to read through a transcript he’d filed three weeks back.
“What’s the buy-in?” August said.
“Two hundred.
Table stakes.
Nobody goes home broke.” Will grinned.
“It’s more about the game than the money.” The lobby opened ahead of them and Will was already walking like the answer was yes.
“I’m in,” August said.
Will clapped his shoulder once and kept walking toward the street.
“Ardmore and Clark.
Third floor.
Be there by eight.” August went home first.
Changed into a shirt without the firm logo stitched small near the pocket.
Ate standing at the counter because sitting down would’ve meant admitting he was nervous about a card game he could win without effort and couldn’t win without cost.
The third floor walkup smelled like cigars and old carpet.
Will opened the door before August knocked.
“Kid,” Will said.
He had a rocks glass in one hand and a grin that belonged to a version of himself the associates never got to see.
“Come on.
You’re last in.” The apartment was small and warm and too loud.
Five men around a green felt table, chips stacked in careless towers, a television playing basketball with the sound off in the corner.
August recognized Judge Parks by his voice before he saw his face the same cadence he used to shut down rambling counsel, now deployed to tell a story about a terrible golf shot that had everyone half-listening and fully laughing.
“Gentlemen,” Will said.
“August Quill.
He’s with Lockhart/Gardner.
Don’t take him too seriously.” Parks looked up.
Took August’s hand and shook it firm and quick.
“You argue in front of me?” “Next month,” August said.
“Suppression hearing.
Vehicle stop.” “Then tonight you lose,” Parks said.
The table laughed.
Parks wasn’t joking.
“I don’t let lawyers who beat me at cards beat me in my courtroom.
House rule.” August bought in.
Took the seat between a tax attorney who didn’t introduce himself and a public defender named Gorman who did.
Will dealt.
The first hand August folded pre-flop.
Watched instead.
Parks played loose and talked constantly.
The tax attorney played tight and said nothing.
Gorman bluffed too often and won anyway because the table liked him.
Will played like he lived easy and warm and three moves ahead of where the conversation was happening.
Second hand August caught pocket jacks.
Raised modest.
Got two callers.
The flop came king-seven-three.
He checked.
Gorman bet.
The tax attorney folded.
August could read the bluff in the way Gorman’s hand stayed too still on his chips after the bet.
Could read the honest curiosity in Parks leaning back to see if August would call.
Could read Will watching him instead of the board.
He folded.
“Smart,” Parks said.
He folded too.
Gorman took it down with ace-high and showed the bluff for the applause.
The next hour played the same.
August won the small pots he couldn’t avoid and lost the big ones to men who deserved them less.
He drank the beer he was handed and half-listened to the stories that weren’t about the cards.
Parks had a daughter applying to law school.
The tax attorney was thinking about a judge run.
Will had a sister getting married in June and he was already tired of the seating chart.
August learned that Parks hated motion practice and loved trial work.
That the tax attorney’s firm was poaching associates from mid-sized competitors.
That Gorman had pulled an acquittal on a case everyone thought was clean.
He learned that Will folded when he was beat and raised when he wasn’t and never bluffed unless he thought you’d fold.
Learned that Will had known these men long enough that the table ran on old jokes and newer grudges and the kind of warmth that came from losing money to people you’d see again next month.
Around eleven the tax attorney went bust and bought back in.
Parks was up four hundred and wouldn’t stop talking about it.
August was down sixty and holding it there like a man trying not to drown too fast.
Then he caught aces.
Under the gun.
He raised three times the blind.
Gorman called.
Will called.
Parks folded and said something about knowing when to quit while he was ahead.
The flop came ace-king-nine.
Two spades.
August had top set.
The best hand at the table unless someone had caught the unlikely straight or was drawing to the flush.
Gorman checked.
August bet half the pot.
Will raised.
It was the kind of raise that said I have the flush draw and I’m getting the right price.
Or said I have two pair and I think you’re bluffing.
Or said nothing because Will didn’t give tells the way other men did.
He just played and let the board decide.
August could’ve re-raised.
Could’ve put Will in a position to fold or commit.
Could’ve taken the pot down now and banked the win and walked out two hundred up instead of sixty down.
He called.
Gorman folded.
The turn came a blank.
Will checked.
August checked behind.
The river paired the nine.
Will bet two-thirds pot.
August looked at the board.
Looked at Will.
The man was giving him nothing.
Just sitting there with his cards facedown and his hand loose on the rail and the faint smile that meant he was three streets ahead or three streets behind and either way he was fine.
August called.
Will turned over king-nine.
The river had given him the boat.
The hand that beat top set.
The one out that mattered.
“Nice call,” Will said.
He wasn’t being sarcastic.
He meant it.
You paid to see it and you saw it and that’s poker.
August mucked without showing.
Let the aces go into the muck unseen.
“What’d you have?” Gorman said.
“Something that lost,” August said.
Parks laughed.
“That’s the right answer.” Will pulled the pot and stacked it without ceremony.
Looked at August across the table and August looked back and the moment sat between them like a test that didn’t have a written question.
“You play careful,” Will said.
“I like to see where I’m landing,” August said.
“Nothing wrong with that.” Will shuffled for the next deal.
“Long as you’re willing to jump when it matters.” They played another hour.
August climbed back to even and then won one moderate pot on a straight he didn’t have to show.
Left at twelve-thirty down forty dollars and up something he didn’t have a name for yet.
Will walked him to the door while the table argued about whose turn it was to deal.
“You fold too much,” Will said.
“I know.” “But you know when to call.” Will handed him his jacket from the hook.
“That’s the part that matters.
Knowing the difference.” August put the jacket on.
“Thanks for the game.” “Next month,” Will said.
“Same time.
If you’re still willing to lose to Parks.” “I’ve got a suppression hearing to win first.” Will grinned.
“Then take the over on folding pre-flop.
He’s going to be watching.” The street was cold and quiet and the walk to the L cleared his head.
He’d gone in knowing he’d have to lose.
Had lost.
Had read every tell at the table and banked none of them and walked out forty dollars lighter and one relationship closer to something that felt like belonging.
Forty dollars was a cheap price for it.
Then he went home and stared at the locked drawer and wondered how many small trades he’d make before the ledger came due.
Silver / $6 / 10 ahead Gold / $9 / 15 ahead Platinum / $15 / 20 ahead, no weekly wait That’s it.