Almanac Memoir: The Two of Hearts Mystery (with apologies to Damon Runyon)

 

 

 

It is one wintry Friday evening in the late seventies in the digs in Graham Street Narwee that ‘Ton’ Currie and I are sharing, and the usual detritus—Pretty Boy, the Cube, JJ Ryan, Dobber Des, Bouncer Farrelly, and others yet to earn nicknames—have been blown in off the cold streets and deposited around the broken dining table that is the venue for our weekend poker games. The television is playing  ‘The Two Ronnies’, ‘Dave Allen’ and ‘Pot Black’, interspersed by Mr Andy Vincent’s race calls from a rainy Harold Park paceway. No one watches, bar a couple of novices wagering in silver on the trots, but Mr Andy is providing a comfortably familiar ambient background for the cards.

 

The night is progressing and liquor is loosening tongues and wallets. An unusually large pot is occupying the centre. Only JJ and the Bouncer are remaining in play this hand. The former  is on account of  his low-rise pile of chips compelled to be ‘looking’ at what the latter is holding and is dismayed to be seeing a full house, which is certainly outranking his aces. Bouncer is hooting with joy and reaching for the pot. But his left hand is upsetting a scotch and coke and, as Murphy’s Law dictates, the spillage is inundating the mosaic of playing cards on the table that have been discarded by the other contestants.

 

‘Dang!’ yells the Bouncer, when it is becoming obvious the cards, already the survivors of several previous boozy sessions, are now in need of retirement. He is flicking a silver coin at me and demanding a fresh deck. But I am informing him our modest casino operates on a ‘just-in-time’ inventory system, and I am forgetting to pick up a reserve pack of cards this morning. Yet even as Bouncer is haranguing me for this oversight, I am having a flashback to my visit to the Sydney Easter Show some weeks before. Within it the Cube and I are strolling from the bar near the horse pavilions to that one adjacent to the main TAB building, which is taking us through the sideshow precinct. I am stopping suddenly to gawk at a large amusement beneath a hoarding that reads ‘Monkey Raceway’. A spruiker in a striped coat and straw hat is recruiting players for the next race and indeed punters are stepping up with great alacrity to participate.

 

I am grabbing the Cube and dragging him over for a closer look. There are a dozen metal poles set perpendicular to the base of the amusement. Clutching the foot of each pole is a wooden monkey, each of which is wearing tiny jockeys’ silks. At the top of each pole is a small plaque bearing the name of a famous racehorse, as well as a small light-globe. Standing before each pole are the ‘connections’ for the next race, mostly school boys, each holding a large water pistol attached to the counter by a hose. Seconds later, a bell is ringing, and the contestants are squeezing hard on their pistols’ triggers to squirt water at a bull’s eye set below their poles, which the monkeys are beginning to jerkily climb. The accuracy and force of the water hitting the bull’s eye is determining the speed of their ascents. Meanwhile, the spruiker is giving a good impression of Mr Ken Howard as he calls the race, the spittle flying from his mouth like a bubbler. After twenty seconds the winning monkey is reaching the top of the pole, re-activating the bell and lighting a globe. Moments later the placegetters are being identified, and the spruiker’s assistant is issuing bijou prizes to the three ‘owners’.

 

‘Oh, I am most definitely trying my hand at this amusement!’ I am telling the Cube.

 

‘Assuredly you must be getting on Gunsynd!’ the Cube insists. ‘I am seeing he is receiving much better water pressure via his pistol than those other contestants.’ The Cube is avoiding the dole queue by practising plumbing and draining from time to time, and so his analysis of the form here is indeed not to be taken lightly at all. I am seeing he is as enthralled as I am by the Monkey Raceway, but I am deducing he is lacking the funds necessary to be paying the ‘acceptance fee’ the gentleman in the striped coat and straw hat will be wanting for him to take part in ensuing contests.

 

‘Right,’ I am responding to the Cube, and pushing aside several juveniles that are loitering with apparent intent around Gunsynd’s stall, as though they are experiencing desires to be having him. I am breasting the counter and waving $2 at the assistant, who is most eager to be relieving me of it. Immediately I am settling into the saddle, you might be saying, and taking up my water pistol. Seconds later the bell is sounding again and I am at once finding the centre of the bull’s eye. Gunsynd is shooting up the pole and is soon several lengths ahead of the other monkeys. The spruiker is confirming Gunsynd’s lead and calling him the likely winner. When Gunsynd is less than a metre from the line, I am turning to give the Cube the thumbs up, but I am to my horror finding the bell is ringing prematurely. Rajah Sahib is sneaking down the outside running rail unseen even by the caller. The winning monkey indeed proves to be Rajah Sahib, and the winning owner, one of these school boys that I am just now shooing away from Gunsynd’s stall. I am being so flabbergasted I am losing concentration on my water pistol and barely clinging to third place.

 

But I need to be explaining this digression regarding the Monkey Raceway. I am recalling, even as Bouncer is abusing me at this Friday evening card game, that the prize for third at the Monkey Raceway is a deck of cards. No legit poker school is entertaining the use of such a pack under normal circumstances, for it consists of what we are sometimes calling ‘nudie cards’. These cards are featuring young dolls of the 1950s and sixties who are somewhat lacking in the wardrobe department, although modesty is still being observed by a whisker. It is the presence of these nudie cards on the prize shelf of the Monkey Raceway, I am deducing, which is explaining the unusually large population of males nearing puberty hanging around its environs.

 

I am grabbing this deck of cards from a dining-room cabinet, then explaining the circumstances of its acquisition to the others (which is bringing a nod of affirmation from the Cube) and offering them up for use. There are cries of ‘surely you must be jesting?’ and the like, but as it is clearly a case of nudie cards or nothing, the game is soon recommencing with them in play. During the first few hands there is a good deal of school boy snickering and digging of one’s neighbours with elbows, but as the pot grows once more to a serious sum, these are ending. However, soon after the cards are dealt for the sixth hand, it seems that the Cube is undergoing a catatonic fit—either that, or he is experiencing a once-in-a-lifetime hand of cards. He is staring at it with round, goggling eyes.

 

‘What are you holding there, Cube?’ I am asking him. ‘A royal routine?’

 

The Cube is making no answer, but is continuing to fix his gaze, it seems to me, on the card at the left of his hand.

 

‘I hope you are appreciating, ‘Beaut’ (this being the Cube’s alternative nickname), we are not having all night to await your next play,’ JJ Ryan, who is dealing, is reminding him.

 

The Cube seems to be in the process of pulling himself together, to an extent, and is responding, ‘Please be giving me four cards, JJ.’ He soon after is surrendering four cards, but retaining, I am seeing, the left-hand card, with which he seems to be much obsessed.

 

We are now all taking up our new cards and considering them. The bidding is commencing and the Cube is folding immediately, although he holds onto his cards. This is somewhat surprising to me, as the Cube is an inveterate bluffer and always is remaining faithful to the ‘Hail Mary’ play. During the next three hands he is taking no part in play, and immediately after that, he is standing and announcing his departure. This is even more surprising to me, as the Cube is a noted ‘stayer’ in gambling environs and is invariably being ‘swept out with the bumpers’, as the saying is, at night’s end. What is more, the pizza that has been ordered from Tony’s Colossal Pizzas is not yet arriving, and the Cube is famous for being particularly fond of that cuisine, preferring it, for example, even over rare opportunities with the opposite sex. But he is insisting he must be going over the form for Rosehill tomorrow, and leaving.

 

There is following desultory discussion of this singular development as play continues, but after a few more hands Dobber Des, who can easily be making a living counting cards at the casino, is shaking his head and saying, ‘There is most certainly a stench emanating from the back-alley-cans of Denmark.’

 

The Dobber is gathering up all the cards on the table, straightening them and counting them. ‘Just as I am diagnosing!’ he says. ‘There are only 51 cards in this pack.’ A quick examination of the floor is failing to locate the fifty-second.

 

The Dobber is then beginning to lay the cards in rows on the table, according to their suits. ‘The two of hearts is most certainly missing,’ he concludes.

 

While the others are talking over this second puzzle, I am reflecting on the uncharacteristic behaviour of the Cube after the introduction of the new nudie deck of cards and beginning to formulate a possible explanation.

 

‘I am deducing the Cube ‘half-inches’ the two of hearts card,’ I declare.

 

‘What is this?’ comes the incredulous response from all.

 

‘Please stand to, gents,’ I am requesting, and then going over again to the cabinet, before returning to the table to speak.

 

‘As you are well cognisant, the Cube is with me when I am winning the nudie deck of cards at the Monkey Raceway, so he is being savvy to its existence, and what it contains, but I am not so silly as to open it in front of him at that time. You are also well cognisant of the Cube’s state when he is being suddenly exposed to images of large female breasts. He is in the habit of losing his faculties. What the Cube isn’t knowing at this point is that I am being so peeved at getting beat on Gunsynd at the Monkey Raceway back in Easter that I am planning to return later that same afternoon to be winning the major prize. Once more, however, I am running third, and so securing another deck of nudie cards.’

 

I am then turning over my hand to reveal to the company this second deck of nudie cards, it being identical with the first.

 

‘Now,’ I am saying, opening the packet, ‘let us be looking at this two of hearts card.’

 

I am turning over perhaps a dozen cards before I am coming to that I seek, and when I do, I am not supressing a lewd ejaculation like the ‘Cor!’ one is hearing from Kenneth Connor in Carry On films.

 

The two of hearts is staring up at me. She is indeed a pretty young blonde with a sweet, engaging, wholesome ‘girl-next-door’ smile that even Olivia Newton-John might be envying. She also is possessing two large, perfect, pendulous breasts that are being released by the unbuttoning of her blue cotton cardigan. I am passing the card around to the others, who are also producing uncouth noises when they see it. I am making sure the last of them is returning the card to me.

 

‘This is what the Cube is having in his hand that is prompting his goggle-eyed performance earlier this evening,’ I am continuing, pointing at the card. ‘It is also what he is secreting in one of his pockets before he is leaving the premises. He is immediately falling in love with the two of hearts.’

 

‘Is the Cube not cognisant he is ruining the night of the rest of us by lifting this two of  hearts card?’ complains Pretty Boy.

 

‘After a short struggle the Cube is proving unable to resist this gross temptation,’ I am telling Pretty Boy gravely.

 

‘What can the Cube be planning to do with this two of hearts card when he is alone with it?’ Bouncer is demanding.

 

‘You are all knowing the Cube is not driving a car these several years,’ I am saying. ‘I am laying odds-on that Miss two of hearts is now inhabiting the plastic envelope in the Cube’s wallet where most blokes are keeping their licenses to show the police when they are being pulled over. I am not doubting he keeps her as a lucky charm of sorts.’

 

‘Do not any of you chumps be thinking of informing the Cube of our tumbling his recent egregious act of theft. I am thinking a little payback is most certainly in order.’

 

I am not making Rosehill Saturday, so I am next seeing the Cube on Sunday at the Picnic Point Bowlo. He is greeting me warily, but as I am making no reference to Friday night or the missing nudie card, he is soon relaxing, especially once he is having a few schooners fitted under his belt. So, there is no particular difficulty in observing the two of hearts peeping out from his wallet as he is paying the barman for another beer. Once he is having his drink, he is walking out onto the veranda, and so am I.

 

I am sitting on the stool next to Pretty Boy when I am pointing at the Cube and whispering, ‘The Cube holds the two of hearts card captive in his wallet, which is sitting there on the bench. If you are distracting him, I am liberating it and replacing it with a less arousing substitute, as a lesson to him not to be lifting the property of friends.’ That morning I am sourcing a conventional two of hearts card that is featuring no nudie girl and am writing on its face, ‘If you are asking me for it, Cube, I am giving it to you happily, indeed.’ It is this card I am planning to substitute in the Cube’s wallet for the nudie two of hearts card.

 

‘’How am I distracting him?’ the Pret is asking.

 

‘I am not knowing—maybe you are asking him about the “good-thing beaten” he is backing yesterday.’

 

Pretty Boy does so and at once the Cube is leaping up and pantomime-acting his jockey being unsuccessful in attempting to extricate his horse from a rails pocket inside ‘the distance’. While he is doing this, I am making the swap. The Cube is still re-enacting his horse’s stymied run to the line as I am walking past Dobber Des, who is watching intently. I am flashing the nudie two of hearts card at him and mumbling, ‘I am going to scarper before the Cube is realising he is missing the nudie card. I am thinking things may be turning ugly thereafter.’

 

‘I am thinking they are bound to be,’ the Dobber concurs. ‘I will be seeing you later.’

 

I am having a few errands to run so it is several hours before I am returning to Graham Street. Ton Currie is opening the door. ‘The Cube is calling in while you are out,’ he mentions casually.

 

‘The Cube! What is he wanting?’

 

‘He is saying he is leaving his Best Bets form guide here Friday night. He is calling to collect this publication, without which he cannot be hoping to be backing winners this afternoon, he says.’

 

‘Be bunkum he is leaving his Best Bets here on Friday night! I am seeing it in his back pocket as he is walking out.’

 

Even as I am speaking a nasty suspicion is forming in my mind.

 

‘You are not leaving him alone in the dining room, are you, during this unexpected visit?’ I am begging of Ton.

 

‘You are with this guess somehow hitting the nail right on the head. I am busy doing the washing up which you are like a grot leaving in the sink last night, and the Cube proceeds therefore to the dining room alone.’

 

I am leaping into the dining room and seizing the second deck of nudie cards. The two of hearts and its beautiful avatar are missing. Instead I am finding the very same regular two of hearts card that I am planting in the Cube’s wallet some hours earlier at the Picnic Point Bowling Club. My advice to him is erased and replaced by a note he is scribbling crudely with a carpenter’s pencil. It reads:

 

I too am gobsmacked by the Easter Show Monkey Raceway and am returning to in secret to play it later in the afternoon, arriving as you are winning a second deck of nudie cards. So I am knowing of its existence. I am however not being able to run a slot at the Raceway, and can by no means be winning my own deck. But I am thinking the beautiful two of hearts girl must be mine, as soon as I am seeing her for the first time at the card game. Her second iteration which I am rescuing this morning is now in a safe place where you will never be finding her again. Yours affectionately, the Cube.

 

And this is why to this day I am by no means giving the Cube anything in the nature of printed material other than positively de-classified losing betting tickets.

 

 

(Author’s note: this is more or less a true story,  a certain amount of embellishment notwithstanding. A facsimile of the two of hearts playing card featuring in it is available from the author on request).

 

 

To read more by Wayne Peake click here.

 

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