Boys’ Night

Deano’s got a 4 and a 5 in front of him. “Hit me,” he says and I deal a 6. He stops to consider.

There’s nine of us here in the upstairs room tonight, which is a lot. Too many for Cards Night, we can’t all get round the table. But it’s Boys’ Night too, or maybe Boys’ Cards Night, we’re not turning people away. There’s five of us regulars and the other four brought someone else. It’s not the first time someone’s brought a guest, but the first time we’ve had so many. I’m the only one who’s come stag.

It’s unpleasantly hot, even now the bloody sun’s gone down.

Deano’s still thinking. He’s Frankie’s cousin, on his way upstate to a new job, clearing the quarantine zone. Breaking the journey, last night out before weeks out in the camps. A big guy, his tanned bald head shiny. He looks at the card and mutters. “Fifteen.”

I’ve got a 9 showing. It’s a judgment call, probably. I’m not that good with probability. Things happen or don’t happen. Who can predict the future?

I look sideways at the veiled figure at my far right. The Angel At The End Of All Things, another guest, Stan’s friend. If anyone knows the future then they do.

I don’t really believe it, or I wouldn’t be playing cards with them. Not for money anyhow.

“You going to play Deano?” Ali stares across, touching his cards carefully. Ali doesn’t drink, so maybe I shouldn’t play cards with him for money either. Doesn’t matter when I’m the dealer. The cards come out, and I take a card or stand according to the rules. A robot could take my place, if they could make one that didn’t get hacked or go rogue as soon as it left the factory.

“Just thinking,” said Deano.

“You know what’s a good game?” drawls the guy Ali brought. Almost supernaturally good-looking, older than the rest of us, a haircut worth more than our cars.

“What’s that Mr Ford?” asks Deano. Ali’s an electrician and he got called in to where they’re filming up in the woods. He asked a passing guy for some help installing lights, turns out he used to be a carpenter and took care of the fittings. Only after they were done and he’d invited him out did he realise he’s one of the actors. I’ve seen some of the films – Force Ten From Navarone, Frantic, The Fugitive. He’s been in others but we’re still working through the F section in the video store.

“Seven Card Stud, Aces Wild,” says Ford.

Ali shifts uncomfortably. “We don’t play poker,” I say calmly. “Deano, what are you doing.”

Deano takes a drink from his bottle, putting off the moment of decision. It was Stan and Sebastian who vetoed poker from Cards Night. Sebastian could never keep track of what actual game we’d decided on, Stan kept drawing the dead man’s hand, Aces and Eights. He won a lot of money that way but it spooked him out.

Better to stick to blackjack. A simple game. Nothing can go wrong.

“Hit me,” says Deano. It’s a 7. “Bust,” he says.

Ford shows his cards. It’s an 8 and a King. “I’ll stick with this,” he says.

“It’s a good hand Mr Ford,” says Deano.

“I’ve got a good feeling about this,” says Ford. Deano wants Ford to say Call me Harrison, or Call me Ford, or Call me Harry. It isn’t going to happen.

Ali shows an Ace and a 6. Before he can ask for a card the three watching the game on the TV stand up and yell at it. Something’s happened. I can’t see from my seat. I’m the dealer. We’re in the middle of playing. I’ve got to keep an eye on the table.

“Locusts,” says Ali cryptically, looking at the screen.

Ford isn’t looking, nor is Deano. The Angel At The End Of All Things hasn’t turned, perhaps because they are not interested, perhaps because they already know. “Hey Mr Ford,” says Deano. “How come you’re spending Thursday night with us guys.”

Ford gives a half smile. “You know a long time ago I said I’d rather take any acting job than be a carpenter again. Then this guy asks me to help and before you know it I’ve been doing fucking joinery for an hour. Seems to me I should keep an eye on someone that convincing.” He shifts in his chair. “What I’m wondering is how come there’s a fucking Angel at the table.”

The Angel At The End Of All Things turns slightly, the white silk veil wafting slightly. “It was back when Detroit was hit by the earthquake missiles and fell into the underworld.” We all nod. A disaster to remember, even by the standards of this decade. Of this century. “I got deployed there with the Heavenly Host. Stan over there – the tall one whose sins weigh lightly on him – he was in the Air National Guard. We met at Bishop airfield, and he said to call in if I was ever passing.”

“Something we should know?” asks Ford, his voice hardening a little. “Some event on the way?”

The Angel At The End Of All Things shrugs. “It’s my night off.”

Ali is back looking at the table. “I’ll live dangerously,” he says, though Aces are high and low. “Hit me.”

An 8. He’s on fifteen. Ali shrugs, drinks his tea. “I’ll stick,” he says.

Frankie’s staring at his cards. He puts them down. A pair of Queens. Twenty. “Oh boy,” says Ford.

Sebastian appears behind Frankie. He’s got the whiskey bottle in his hand. He’d been drinking before he got here. I think he’s brought Charlie just so he could get a lift. Charlie was Sebastian’s friend, not one of us. Not that that mattered. An extra guy at Boys’ Night wasn’t a problem.

Sebastian does have a problem. “Point of order,” he says. “Point of fucking order.”

“It’s not a meeting at the VFW Seb,” says Stan from behind him. “If you’ve got something to say then say it.”

“I will say it,” says Sebastian. “It’s about Boys’ Night. Boys and Cards Night. Look we all love the ladies. We all love them.”

“Speak for yourself,” says Deano, a recent divorcee. Stan nods in agreement; I wasn’t sure exactly what his deal was, but he’d not been involved with a woman for as long as I’d known him.

Me, well, if I love anyone in the world it was maybe some of the people in the room, and Moira, out on Girls’ Night. The rest of the human race can go hang, I guess.

“Alright,” says Sebastian. “Alright. But the point is that whatever we think about the ladies, it’s good to have a break. To get away and hang with the Boys. Boys’ Night. There’s not a lot of rules.”

“There’s no rules,” says Stan. “It’s Boys’ Night. Get away from the rules.” Stan is wrong. There are always rules, even if they weren’t written down. Even here and now.

“Look, I’m sure they’re a great… person. But the Angel At The End Of All Things isn’t a boy. They shouldn’t be at Boys’ Night.”

“Seems a bit inhospitable,” says Ford, covering the awkward moment.

The Angel At The End Of All Things stands up to their full height, which is about as tall as Sebastian. Exactly as tall as Sebastian. Absolutely on the same level. “I get your point,” they say. “Still, I’m not a girl, and that’s the important thing isn’t it?”

Sebastian swallows, tries to come up with a retort. I can feel the power of The Angel At The End Of All Things’ attention, distorting the air between them. He wants to tell the angel that it isn’t the important thing, but can’t.

I am not caught by their sight, I’m in my right mind. I can’t either.

“I don’t want to cause trouble.” They lift one whiteclad arm, a dark hand emerges, rising, pointing to the window wall and the darkness beyond with the power of inevitability. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll go.”

“Let the Angel stay,” says Frankie, his cut-glass accent breaking the mood. “Anna calls it Gentleman’s Night and we’re all getting the benefit of the doubt on that one.”

Moira calls it Hairy Belching Men Night and she calls Girls Night Bitchy Gossip Night and I don’t think that leaves much room for doubt.

“Got no problem with the Angel,” says Ali.

“Stan brought him,” I say. “And I’m dealing to him. He’s got our votes. But Stan was right, it’s not a meeting. So Sebastian. You going to insist on throwing them out of my house, I ain’t going to stop you.”

Sebastian looks at me, and at the others. Stan holds up his hands. “Hey, we’ve known each other for years. You don’t want this guy at Boys’ Night, I’ll take him away. No hard feelings.”

Sebastian turns back, face to veil. “Well okay then. I guess you’re an honourary boy.” He holds out his hand. The Angel At The End Of All Things shakes it.

“Well, maybe now we can play some cards,” says Ford. “Even if it’s this blackjack shit.”

“We’ll have a drink after this hand,” says The Angel At The End Of All Things to Sebastian. “Talk it out.” He nods and turned away. Willing to argue with a guest but not to kibbitz at the card table. You know a guy for twenty years and sometimes you don’t know him at all.

“Where were we,” says Deano. “I’ve gone, Mr Ford’s gone, Ali and Frankie – hey it’s you Angel.”

The Angel At The End Of All Things looks down at their cards. They turn them over. A 4 and a King. “Hit me,” they say.

It’s a Jack and they’re bust. “Oh well,” they say. “So much for providence.” They pick up their bottle of Coors and raise the veil to drink.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe eyes upon eyes, wheels upon wheels, wings upon wings. An animal head, a blank face, an eye-scorching light.

It’s a face, more beautiful than any I’ve ever seen, more compelling even than Ford’s. But just a face.

“It’s my night off,” says the Angel At The End Of All Things, looking back at us staring. “There’s no revelation at the end, the unveiling doesn’t show any hidden truth. Not tonight.” They nod at me. “Dealer to play.”

I’ve got the nine showing so I go ahead and turn the last card. A Queen. “Dealer has nineteen,” I say. I clear up all the chips except Frankie’s, where I pay out instead. A good hand for me.

The Angel At The End Of All Things stands again. “I’m going to talk to Sebastian. Clear the air. See what’s bothering him.” They take another swig then lower their veil. “Better do it tonight or I might not get the chance.

They look round at our frozen faces. “I might not come back to town. Good Lord, don’t take everything I say as being graven in stone.”

Frankie gets up too. “Got to piss. Don’t wait for me.”

I look at the three left at the table. Deano, Ford and Ali. “You know, poker’s off the table. But we could always play something else. Spades maybe. You’re the guest, how do you feel about that Mr Ford?”

He nods, the smile reaching his eyes. “Sounds pretty good to me. Better than the shit we’ve been playing. Hell, let me shuffle, you have a drink.” As I hand him the cards he gives me a wink. “Oh, and call me Harry.”