Archie in the Crosshairs

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As nights in July go, it was as pleasant as New York offers, although my positive mood as I walked across town may have been because of my successful session with the cards at Saul Panzer’s apartment on East Thirty-Eighth Street. A group of us play low-stakes poker there every Thursday, and I usually finish the games with my wallet somewhat lighter than when I start.

Saul is normally the big winner, although Lon Cohen of the New York Gazette usually comes away in the black, too. Tonight, though, both Saul and Lon were losers for a change, while Bill Gore did slightly better than break even, Fred Durkin had decent winnings, and I was eighty dollars to the good — my biggest payday in recent memory.

I smiled as I relived the well-concealed heart flush I was dealt in seven-card stud. Saul held a not-so-well-hidden jack-high straight, and he kept raising me, to his ultimate dismay. The biggest pot of the night, by far, rolled my way when the cards came down. Now, normally, I take a taxi home after these games, but the combination of the beautiful weather and the exhilaration of victory propelled me to walk the thirteen blocks west and then slightly south to the old brownstone on Thirty-Fifth Street that I have called home for more than half of my life. And besides, I needed the exercise.

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