Page 20 of Cry Havoc (Tom Reece #1)

“Fair enough, Lee. Now that I’m gambling with a bit of Quinn’s dough, we might as well make it interesting. Showdown. Heart flush. What about you?”

Tom flipped his cards to reveal the two, five, six, ten, and queen of hearts. While not the strongest possible hand, Tom knew it had a good chance of coming out on top.

Any experienced card player knows that the moment your spirit recognizes it’s time to call it a night, you call it a night.

If not, recklessness becomes mistaken for confidence, which muddles the mind and leads to a spiral of defeat.

Tom had learned a lot from his dad at their family card table, some of which translated to life away from the deck.

Perhaps that had been his father’s intent all along?

Tom’s father, Thomas Reece, was a hard man, forged in the fires of the Great Depression and the Second World War.

The one thing that softened that rigid exterior was a deck of cards, over which he opened up about long voyages across the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, where the mind could descend into darkness if left to its own devices.

Thomas and many of his compatriots battled those demons by playing cards.

“Learning poker was as much a survival skill as anything taught at Camp X,” he told his son as he dealt a new hand one night during a snowstorm.

“What’s Camp X?” a young Tom Reece had asked his father.

The elder Reece had looked at his wife and then to his son.

“Never you mind that. Think about your possibilities with your new hand.”

Thomas Reece was a survivor. He was passing on what lessons he could over cards.

Poker, Texas hold ’em, vingt-et-un, baccarat, and a dozen other games were drilled into Tom’s young head.

Now, at a different table in a new war, all their unique qualities were swimming through his brain, sloshing alongside the bourbon and Delta Rules.

Shaking his head to clear away the thoughts of his father and the fog of alcohol, Tom heard Lee swear under his breath, flipping his cards to reveal a king high straight, which loses to a heart flush.

After the players had initially anted up $25 each and bet an additional $25 before the draw, the final pot winnings for Tom totaled $350.

Quinn’s donation, paired with the $33.40 he had left in his reserves, put him just shy of $500. Not bad.

Tom glanced at the wrist that a day earlier had held his Seiko.

“What time is it?” he asked.

Lee twisted his left hand and turned the face of a new Rolex Submariner toward him.

“Three a.m. Just getting started.”

If the sweat and smoke of Da Nang were not unpleasant enough in the daylight, they were nauseating in these early hours of the morning. At this point their game of Delta Rules five-card draw had been going on the better part of five hours. It was time to bring it to its conclusion.

Tom studied his opponent. Lee was tired. He was fighting it, but he was growing weary and now he was on the ropes, the pile of crumpled bills in front of him dramatically diminished after the last hand. Tom decided it was time to end it.

“I got lucky on that one,” Tom said, reaching for the deck. “Since I’m gambling with Quinn’s money, how about one more hand?”

“All in?”

“All in,” Tom said. As it was his deal, he began shuffling the deck, the worn cards bridging easily in his hands.

“Sure thing. One condition, though.”

“Another rule change?”

“Green Beret house, Green Beret rules.”

“Of course.”

“Treys are still wild with face cards and no aces, and we’re still playing southern hands. I feel a blaze or Dutch straight coming on.”

“You never know,” Tom said, pushing his wad of about $500 into the center of the table. If he won, the money would allow him to spruce up the Green Beret Lounge at Phu Bai, now that he saw what was possible at the Delta Club.

“How much is that?” Lee asked, assessing his stack of cash.

“Call it $480 and change. Can you call?”

Lee rubbed his chin and looked concerned for the first time all night.

“I’ve got maybe two hundred, two-fifty in front of me, but I’m feeling good.”

Tom smiled and lit another Marlboro.

“That’s not quite enough. You have anything else to call my bet?”

His eyes went to the Rolex on Lee’s wrist.

“Oh man, I just picked this up today at the PX. Two hundred bucks. That’s more than half a month’s pay.”

“That doesn’t really cover it, but seeing as how you are Quinn’s friend and this is the Delta Club, I’ll pretend it does. Plus, I need a watch,” Tom said, shaking his empty left wrist. “Want me to bury any top cards before I deal?”

“No need, but let’s finish these drinks and get another pour. You in, Quinn?”

“I’m in for a drink. Hoping Tom can get me a bit of my money back.”

“I doubt it,” Lee said. “Let me make a toast.” He raised his glass.

“To lying, stealing, cheating, and drinking. If you’re going to lie, lie for a teammate.

If you’re going to steal, steal a heart—like ‘GI Jo’s’ over there on the wall.

” He nodded to the photo of the beautiful Playmate behind the bar.

“If you are going to cheat, cheat death. And if you’re going to drink, drink with me, motherfucker!

” Lee tossed back the dark brown liquid and shook his head.

Tom and Quinn did the same.

Tom set down his glass and dealt out ten cards, five each.

“Lee, as much as I like you and appreciate the toast and hospitality, it’s time for you to lose that watch.”

All right, damage report, Tom thought, arching his cards off the table for a glance at his current hand. Could be worse. I need one card.

He looked up at Lee, who was staring at him with a confidence that at this stage of the night would be hard to fake.

“Any cards, Lee?”

“Nope.”

“I’ll be taking one,” Tom replied with an easy smile.

“Good luck.”

“ ‘Always play to the end and finish the game,’ ” Tom said, quoting his father. “I shall finish the game.”

Tom discarded his one unwanted card and pulled a lone fresh one off the top of the deck. He was adding it to his hand when he saw Lee place his cards down on the table face up.

“A goddamned royal flush. Sorry, boys,” Lee said. He reached forward and began pawing in his winnings. “Looks like you’re going to have to keep asking Quinn for the time.”

Quinn dropped his head.

“Don’t worry about it, Tom. I have a little left over to get us through the week.”

Tom had not stopped looking at his cards.

“One moment, Lee, you did say that treys were still wild, didn’t you?”

Lee’s hands stopped midway through their sweep of the winnings. “Well, yeah, but only with face cards, and not with any aces.”

“Oh, that’s good to hear. For a minute there I thought I was in trouble,” Tom said, flipping his original four cards to reveal the three of spades, three of hearts, jack of hearts, and jack of spades.

“Was damn near tempted to go for a spade flush until I remembered what was wild. That’s a pair of jacks, plus the wild treys, so long as this last card isn’t an ace. ”

Tom flipped the last card to reveal the jack of diamonds, “five of a kind”—the only hand that beats a royal flush and only possible if there are wild cards.

“I believe by Delta Rules I’m going home with a new watch.”

“Son of a bitch!” the Green Beret swore. “You are one lucky bastard,” he said, removing the Submariner from his wrist and handing it across the table. “It never even got to see the field.”

“I’ll take care of that. Pleasure doing business with you,” Tom said, rising to his feet and shaking hands with the Delta operator.

“Come see us at Phu Bai,” Quinn said. “We’ll give you a chance to win back some of your combat pay.”

“Son of a bitch” was all Lee could muster.

“Quinn, my wallet is heavy again. What do you say we head downtown to celebrate? We are on R&R after all,” Tom said.

“You’re buying.”

“Deal.”