A cigarette rests on my bottom lip, nearly falling off before I remember to roll down the truck window to toss it to the wind.

In the dusk light, the gravel driveway is on me sooner than I remember it should be. I snap a boot on the brakes and my pickup skids to a near stop. I twist the steering wheel and for a second I think the truck will spill over into the drainage ditch on either side of the driveway.

Sammy is standing on the wooden porch of the rusting trailer as I pull into the muddy yard and park next to the other vehicles.

“How you been doing, man?” Sammy asks waving from the porch, his stocky frame outlined by the yellow light above the trailer’s screen door.

I climb out of my truck making sure to grab the pack of Marlboros and the case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. I wave back to Sammy but say nothing as I hitch my way toward the porch’s steps and stuff the Marlboros in a jacket pocket.

“What was that squealing all about?” Sammy asks pointing at my truck while shaking my hand the way he always does.

“Oh, nothing,” I say as I open the door with a hole in the middle of the screen, “Just about missed the turn. You know how it can come up on you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sammy says and slaps me on the back as we walk inside the trailer.

I’m greeted by three voices.

“Hey, Troy.”

“Hey, guy.”

“How you doing?”

I look around at the seated fellows who greet me. Matt is in the corner fooling around with his computer, as usual. John is sitting in front of the television, playing a video game on the Super Nintendo. Ken is kicked back in a tattered reclining chair, a can of Busch in one hand while the other acknowledges my presence by waving a fat cigar.

“Hey guys,” I say as I walk past them to place my case of beer in the refrigerator. I find the fridge already full of beer and soft drinks, so I open the cardboard pack of Pabst, take out four cans, put three in to chill and pop open one for myself.

I turn around to find Sammy behind me like a puppy wanting attention.

“Did you bring any cigarettes?” he asks. He’s always asking questions.

“Sure,” I say handing him the Marlboros.

“There’s some frozen pizza in the freezer, if you’re hungry,” Matt says without looking away from his computer screen.

“No, I’m not hungry,” I say as I take off my jacket and watch Sammy light a cigarette.

“Good,” Ken says before taking another puff from his cigar, “then as soon as we can get Matt off that stupid computer, we can play some cards.”

For the first time since I walked in the door, Matt turns and looks at Ken. He’s about to say something when John slams the Super Nintendo controls on the ground.

“Stupid game!” he yells. “I was only half a level from finishing the whole thing!”

Ken rolls his eyes and gives me a look as if to say “Well, woopedy do!”

I grin and take my cigarettes back from Sammy.

John kicks the game controls away from himself and stands. “Matt, get off the fucking computer and let’s play some cards,” he says.

“It’s my house and I’ll stay on the computer as long as I want,” Matt says spinning his chair to face his younger brother.

John throws his arms in the air and storms past me to the kitchen where he takes one of my Blue Ribbons from the fridge.

“I’ll get the cards and stuff,” Sammy says walking down the trailer’s only hallway. A few sips of beer later he’s back with a folded-up card table, two packs of regular playing cards and an upside down cowboy hat filled with poker chips.

In moments the table is standing in the center of the dusty room and four chairs of various types are pulled up to its edges.

“What’re we playing tonight?” Sammy asks as he plops the cowboy hat in the center of the table and opens a pack of cards.

Matt pulls a rumpled five-dollar bill from a jean pocket and drops it in the hat. “How about Spades?” he asks while retrieving his chips.

“No way,” Ken says taking money from his own wallet to trade in for chips, “you know Sammy has to be at work at midnight. Spades takes too long. Let’s keep it to short games.”

“How about five card draw? That all right with you guys?” Matt asks.

“Sure,” I say and watch Sammy and John nod agreement as we plant a few dollar bills and several handfuls of change in the hat.

Chips are quickly before us. Sammy puts all his chips in neat piles; all the reds with the reds and all the whites with the whites and all the blues with the blues. The two brothers keep their chips in a semblance of order while Ken and I could care less and have big, mixed piles. Ken’s chaotic cynicism is what makes him my best friend, I think.

“Cigar?” Ken says as he offers me a shoe box half-filled with Macanudos, Al Capones and Ram Rods.

I look at the box skeptically. The cigars were rejects Sammy often brought home from his part-time job at a tobacco shop in town. “There’s no bugs, are there?” I ask.

Ken gives me one of his cynical looks and his bottom lip sticks out a little as if he’s pouting.

“Okay, okay,” I say taking a long, crooked cheroot, “just checking.”

I quaff some Pabst, light the cigar and look down to find Sammy has cleared away the cowboy hat and dealt five cards to each of us.

“Ante,” Ken says before each of us drops a white chip in the center of the table.

I look at my cards. I’ve got three twos, a jack of hearts and a four of spades.

“I’ll take two,” Matt says throwing down two cards and taking another two from Sammy.

“I’ll stick,” John says.

The phone rings and all our heads snap in its direction.

“Let it ring,” Ken says, “it’s Sunday night. We play cards Sunday night and everybody knows we play cards Sunday night.”

“It might be Christie,” Matt says.

“It could be a bill collector, too,” John says looking cross, “let the answering machine get it.

“How many cards you getting, Troy?”

The answering machine clicks on.

“Hi. I’m looking for Sam. This is … uh, this is Joy. Could you tell him to call me as soon as you see him.”

The machine goes dead.

“Crap,” Ken says.

“Who was that?” I ask the room.

“Herb Kimsey’s soon-to-be ex-wife,” Matt tells me, “She’s a nut case. She’s chasing Sammy now.”

I look at Sammy. “Sammy?” I say.

The devilish grin returns to Ken’s face. “Yeah, Sammy,” he says, “didn’t know he had it in him, did ya?”

I grin back.

“You gonna take any cards or not?” John says to me.

I glance at what I’ve got and drop two cards on the table. “Yeah, give me two,” I say.

Sammy hands me two cards. Now I’ve got three twos, an ace of hearts and a nine of spades.

“Time to go around the table again,” Ken says crumbling the aluminum Busch can in one hand.

“I’m in and staying,” Sammy says.

“The same,” Matt says.

“Me too,” from John.

I puff on my cigar and look into Ken’s wondering eyes. The rest of the guys apparently didn’t have much or somebody would have put down a raise. Ken wasn’t one to be bluffed however. I had three twos. Was that enough?

“I raise it a nickel,” I say tossing another white chip onto the table.

“I’ll see that and raise you a dime,” Ken says over his own cigar.

Cards are tossed or dropped as everybody else folds instantly. The problem here is that while Ken wasn’t one to be bluffed, he was occasionally one who would do a little bluffing.

“I’ll pay that,” I say dropping two white chips in the center of the table. “Let’s see those cards.”

Ken’s smirk could come from the devil himself. “You sure you can afford to take chances with your money like that?” he says. “I know you’ve been building that new patio on the back of your house and it’s got to be costing you a pretty penny.”

“Yeah, I can afford it,” I say

“Okay, whatever you say,” Ken says and flattens his cards with their faces up on the table .

He’s got three jacks and a pair of threes.

“Damn!” I yell and slap my cards down.

Ken starts chuckling and rakes in the poker chips. “You shouldn’t play if you can’t afford to pay,” he says.

Everybody laughs and I finish my beer.

“You ready for another one?” Sammy asks standing.

“Sure,” I say tossing the empty to Sammy who throws it into a plastic trash can. Sammy is the one who gets everyone’s beers and cigars after the game starts, unless you happen to be up taking a leak. Sammy has always been like that. He’d make a good wife for some lucky guy, as long as the guy didn’t mind sleeping next to a beer belly.

“So how’s that patio coming?” Matt asks me while shuffling cards and waiting on Sammy to bring my brew.

“Oh, it’s coming okay,” I say taking the can of Pabst from Sammy, “I’m having a few problems, but nothing some back-breaking work won’t fix.”

“I saw Lora the other day in Wal-Mart,” Ken says leaning back in the reclining chair, “she said you were having a hell of a time getting the posts to stick in that red soil out there at your place.”

I’m caught off guard for a second. “What day was that you saw her?” I ask.

Ken looks to the ceiling and ponders the question while Sammy sits and Matt starts passing out cards. Finally, he says, “Thursday. Just a few days ago.”

I’m about to tell Ken he must be wrong, because Lora’s car has been broken down since Tuesday and she hasn’t been away from home since, but John says “Ante up.” and we all start throwing in white chips.

“Maybe you can give Sammy some love advice,” Matt says looking at me over the top of his cards, “I mean, you know, since you and Lora have been together so long.”

I glance at Sammy but see he’s up getting John a Coke and didn’t hear what Matt said. “I don’t think so,” I say softly so Sammy won’t hear and ask questions.

Matt and John look surprised. Ken keeps his same old skeptical smile.

“But you and Lora have always been great,” Matt says, “you were high school sweethearts even.”

I nod. “Yeah, but that was ten years ago. Lately she doesn’t want much to do with me,” I say, “Hell, the last two weeks she won’t even talk to me.”

“Who won’t?” Sammy asks returning to the table with John’s drink.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say looking up at him, “go get me another beer.”

Sammy does as he’s told and the rest of us get back to our cards.

He brings me another Pabst as I finish my cigar. “Thanks for the smoke,” I say to Ken.

He answers back by laying his cards on the table and showing another full house.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” John yells throwing his cards in the air.

The night continues the same way, with Ken winning most of our money, until a little after eleven.

“Time I was getting off to work,” Sammy says.

We all nod and shake hands and put away our toys and garbage while Sammy changes into his uniform in Matt’s bathroom.

Moments later Sammy comes out and says his goodbyes. We’re going the same way, but I always let him leave first since he’s in a hurry to get to work..

“Good luck on that patio,” Ken says to me as I’m walking out the door. “Give me a call next week if you need me to help you with it.”

“Thanks, I might just do that,” I say walking out on the wooden porch.

I breath in the cold night’s air and instinctively reach for what’s left of the Marlboros squashed in my jacket pocket. With the strong taste of cigars on my tongue, I decide to pass on the cigarette.

Trodding out to my truck, I pass Ken’s Bronco.

In the brightness given off by the light above the trailer’s front door, I can see mud covering the four-wheel-drive vehicle’s back tires. I step forward and blink as I notice the mud is a dark rust color, nearly red.

Shivering, I glance back at the trailer. Laughter comes to me even though the door there is closed. The game is finished for the night, but the boys will stay around a little longer to swallow some brews and to tell some tales.

I stop next to the bed of my Ford and my hand reaches in the back for the heavy tire tool that’s rested there since the last time I had a flat two summers ago. Without feeling it, I watch my pale hand lift the cold steel thing and heft its weight. I look to the door of the rusting trailer again and the tire tool slips from my fingers, causing a solid clang in the back of the truck.

In the front seat of the Ford, I light the last unbroken Marlboro I have. The window is rolled down as I pull out of the driveway onto 772. The night air of the hills is cold on my face.

Other short stories

Just Like Fourth of July

Cadillac Dreams

Entering Jupiter