Jack of Diamonds (74 page)

As for Loose Spring, he never returned from New York. He was probably wearing an apron and selling bagels and lox from a pushcart in the Bronx. The Flamingo replaced him with a seemingly nice-enough guy named Michael Solomon, inevitably known as ‘Mr Sol’. Although I had little or nothing to do with him, Lenny, who didn’t share Chicago’s attitude to Jews, said he was on the ball and a real nice guy who’d made a point of offering his cooperation, should it become necessary.

There wasn’t much I could do about the daily appearance of the threesome, but I admit, after a bit, it was making me increasingly uneasy. This wasn’t Bridgett’s territory, so, after several weeks of ignoring the intimidation, I decided to raise my concerns with Lenny.

‘Come!’ Lenny, ever the master sergeant, called without glancing up when I tapped on the open door of his office.

I walked in and sat down facing him across his over-large desk, the surface of which was spotless except for an immaculate blotter with scarlet leather trim, on which lay a copy of
Sports Illustrated
open at an article he appeared to be reading.

He’d recently redecorated his office in scarlet and gold, the colours of the US marines. There was no hint of Anna-Lucia Hermes’ influence and, I must admit, the effect was more Chinese New Year than US military. Heavy gold drapes with scarlet tassels framed the large window, the carpet was scarlet and the ceiling was gold; although, thankfully, the walls had been left a deep cream. On one wall was an enormous colourful painting in an ornate gold frame, inspired by Joe Rosenthal’s famous black-and-white photograph of the US marines raising the flag at Iwo Jima. Miss Frostbite would have referred to it as being ‘in truly appalling taste’ and I feel sure even my mom would have agreed with her.

‘Oh, hiya, Jack!’ Lenny exclaimed.

‘Have you got a moment, Lenny?’

He spread his arms and smiled. ‘Hey, Jack, buddy! For you . . . always!’

‘It’s Sammy, Lenny,’ I began.

Lenny frowned. ‘Whaddaya mean? He say somethin’ to ya? Somethin’ outa line?’

‘I didn’t tell you at the time, but he threatened me in the passageway when I stopped him beating up Hector,’ I said, and Lenny’s frown deepened. ‘And now . . .’ I explained the regular sidewalk routine with Sammy and his two minders.

Lenny immediately relaxed and leaned a long way back in his new scarlet executive swivel chair, his hands thrown wide above his shoulders. ‘Jack, take it easy, old buddy. You know Sammy. That a matter o’ pride, him tellin’ ya he ain’t forgot. But, listen up, he ain’t gonna start nothing, ya hear?’

‘Lenny, I kept my side of the bargain. I kept my mouth shut. For Sammy, it could have turned out a whole lot worse.’

‘Let’s not go there, kid. I’ll talk to him. I know it ain’t easy for you. Even if Hector is only a nigger, it happened on the casino premises and coulda maybe come to something if you hadn’t stayed
schtum
and Bridgett hadn’t stopped the kitchen staff talkin’ to the cops. Sammy ain’t stoopid enough to shit in his own nest a second time!’ He then added, ‘The godfather glad Sammy stayed outa trouble. Sammy don’t want to get into no more shit like that.’

‘Thanks, Lenny. I appreciate your help.’

‘Jack, Sammy’s just being himself – fat little guy, gammy leg, fucked in the head. Jesus, he’s a debt collector! Intimidation is all he’s got goin’ for him. That Loose Spring strong-arm stuff, it all over now. Ain’t nothing gonna happen between the two of you, buddy! Nigger’s one thing, beating up you – white guy, big money-spinner for the casino – that’s somethin’ else. You know what I mean? Chicago gonna tear him a new asshole if he try something like that.’ He shook his head slowly, then added, ‘It don’t make no sense. My advice, take no notice.’

Though he’d inadvertently put me in my place as a mere money-spinner, I knew it was just Lenny’s clumsy way and that he regarded me as an old friend and wartime buddy. Although I wasn’t entirely convinced Sammy would behave himself, I accepted Lenny’s reasoning and his promise to talk to his cousin and, almost at once, the sidewalk intimidation stopped. Three months passed and I’d only occasionally see Sammy; usually on The Strip, driving his pink Caddie convertible with his two hoods in the back seat.

What I didn’t suspect was that the sick puppy in Sammy was steadily growing into a mad dog, and that he’d developed a dangerous addiction to Benzedrine. As a medical orderly, I’d issued Benzedrine during combat and was aware of the drug’s dangerous side effects, such as paranoia, aggression, agitation, anxiety, grandiosity and even psychosis. Had I known he was hooked on Bennies, I’d have taken my own advice and left the night Bridgett and I talked and she ended up kissing me. I should have taken the memory of her kiss with me and run for my life.

I’ve mentioned before that Sammy was, at best, a poor poker player, but the drug exacerbated his delusions of grandeur. There were rumours around town that he insisted on playing poker with the rich and famous in other casinos, and that, as usual, he was losing hand over fist. None of that was my concern, although it made me anxious about the private Sunday games I played with Johnny Diamond and various acquaintances. Sammy hadn’t given up on these and, once or twice, he’d cost us a night’s poker when we’d had to turn down an invitation from an outsider who didn’t know what he was getting himself into when he invited Sammy.

I had my fair share of poker games with the rich and famous, too, mainly through the GAWP Bar. Bridgett would tease me about whenever some movie mogul or star, or mega-rich oilman, requested a private game be set up because his wife or girlfriend had sung my praises the previous night, having imbibed one too many Manhattans. When the husband or boyfriend heard that I knew my way around a poker game, he’d request a private one, either to check me out or show off to the little woman. Bridgett would pass on the invitation with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Women love you, Jack, and it’s not only for your piano playing . . . or your poker!’ Sometimes I’d be invited to play a game in a guest’s suite, organised by the Firebird. It might be with a visiting high roller or big-time musician or movie star, who, for whatever reason, had requested I be included in a game. Bridgett had little choice but to agree to such requests, and the casino supplied my stake. It was usually nice work and I’d often end up with a little bankable money. I kept my winnings and the casino carried any occasional losses. It was, in a sense, public relations.

I was practising in the GAWP Bar at around four on a Wednesday afternoon, some six months after the Hector incident. Hector, by the way, had almost completely recovered and had started work at the Jazz Warehouse, while Sue was attending college and working three nights a week in the club as a cocktail waitress. Anyhow, I was fairly well into my practice session when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Johnny Diamond. I offered him a drink, but he said, ‘No, thanks, I won’t stay, got to get back to work; just wanted to have a quick word.’

‘So, what brings you here, buddy?’

‘Hey, Jack, you remember we played poker with those guys from Houston and Dallas?’

‘Yeah, Warwick Selby, the nightclub owner from Houston; and a bunch of other guys, mostly from Dallas, Texas – nice guys, played good poker.’

‘Right. Well, a few oil guys from Louisiana are here, along with some of the old Dallas guys. They’re staying at the El Cortez for the 101st Airborne reunion dinner. It’s on Friday night at the Desert Inn. They want us to join a game tomorrow night. Do you think you can get an early mark; say, just before midnight?’

‘Probably be okay. I’ll ask Mrs Fuller.’ I laughed. ‘She owes me six hours. Two groups from Atlanta, Georgia, wouldn’t budge until near dawn most of last week. Those southern gals sure know how to party.’

‘Can you let me know soon? Warwick Selby, especially, asked that we be included. Jack, it’s only two hours off your shift. Be fun, buddy.’

‘Hey, wait, did you say it was at the El Cortez? We don’t play in casinos, unless it’s something special.’

‘Hey, no, man – it’s the hotel across the road, same as last time.’ He grinned. ‘Yeah, good money burning a hole in their pockets. It seems they been wildcatting down in Louisiana, gas and oil. Struck it rich, but you know those guys; rich Monday, broke by Friday. Mad gamblers. They warned me as a joke – a serious one, I guess – not to bother coming unless we had a roll that would choke a horse. They’ve come to play serious poker. We did okay last time, though. Never know your luck, eh? When can you let me know?’

‘Do it right off,’ I said, rising. There was a phone at the bar, and I walked over, dialled the switchboard and had Bridgett paged. A minute or so later, she answered. I can’t say she was ecstatic but she agreed to let me leave two hours early the following night. ‘Okay, Johnny, keep me a seat,’ I said, replacing the receiver.

‘Great, Jack! Let’s hope we get lucky again. See you there.’

By the time I got to Glitter Gulch the following night, it was fifteen minutes past midnight and the game was already underway with a vacant seat left for me. Johnny Diamond had been on afternoon shift at the Firebird, which ended at 10 p.m., so he’d arrived earlier and had been in the game for an hour or so, getting to know the competition. But arriving a bit late didn’t bother me unduly. I knew Johnny’s game and Warwick Selby’s, and I’d played with one or two of the oilmen before. It was unlikely the new guys would be anything out of the box. Poker players usually find their level.

Most of the men were smoking, two of them big Havana cigars, so the air was the usual fug. Even the best air-conditioning can’t cope with the heavy smoke you get around high-stakes poker games. There were always those players who felt having a drink or two beforehand helped them to concentrate, but no good poker player would play with real drunks. Occasionally even a good player would be dealt out if he were thought to be a tad too inebriated. It was part of the code of honour among decent poker players. In my experience, any more than one or maybe two drinks impairs a man’s judgement in a high-stakes game, and I was often glad that I’d sworn off alcohol as a child. Seeing the mess it made of my father’s life, and my mother’s and mine, it was an easy decision. However, I’d become weary over the years of explaining why I didn’t drink, so these days I’d simply order myself a tonic on the rocks and pass it off as either a gin or vodka mix. It meant that I could blend in in the capital of American hedonism and not be looked at as some kind of puritan freak.

After the usual chiacking – ‘Hiya, Jack’ and ‘Welcome back, buddy’ and ‘Ready to lose your shirt?’ – from players I knew, together with introductions, greeting and laughter around the table, I took my seat. They were a friendly bunch and every visiting player wore on his lapel the eagle badge of the 101st Airborne. All were there for a good time and, to their obvious delight, they had given the El Cortez casino floor a huge flogging earlier in the evening. They were awash with cash and they’d set the stakes as high as they thought they could without frightening us away. Easy come, easy go, I guess.

‘You shoulda seen it, buddy,’ one of them told me during the settling-in period. He had a slow Texan drawl and had earlier been introduced to me as Kid Lewis, and thereafter simply referred to as the Kid. ‘Frankie here was playing craps and after three wins we all gave him some cash and, ya wouldn’t believe it, he made his point nine times in a row. We
really
cleaned up, bigger than fuckin’ Texas!’

Frankie, the lucky craps player, was obviously having a good night. Winning a lot of money for your friends was always going to make you popular and I decided to keep an eye on him. Feeling lucky and overconfident is a bad combination.

We started to play and, after three hands, Johnny Diamond threw in his cards and rose from the table. ‘What’s up, Johnny?’ I asked.

The Texans laughed at the question. ‘You shoulda seen him before you came, Jack. He couldn’t buy a card to save his life.’

Johnny shook his head. ‘Some nights a guy should just stay home. I’ll hang around and watch, serve the drinks, maybe go for a walk later.’ He was smiling, though. As I said, he was a careful player who seemed always to stick to a pre-set limit. Once that was gone, he would stop. I guess a pit boss sees enough not to be careless with his own money. The Texans, flush with the earlier injection of cash from the craps win, had, as I mentioned, set the stakes high and Johnny, having a poor night, had obviously quickly lost as much as he cared to lose, but he never bitched or whined about it. Johnny was a regular guy.

After a couple of hours of play, I was up about eight hundred dollars, and one of the other locals, Jim Bragg, was also up a couple of hundred. The Texans were winning and losing, largely to each other, with a nice little share here and there for Bragg and me, but Frankie was taking a beating. ‘Big money brings few smiles into a game,’ as they say. But the company was good, we were all about the same age and most of us had been in the services, so, naturally, there was a fair amount of talk about the war.

Younger people don’t realise just how all-enveloping the Second World War was. If you were in the right age group, you were in it, unless there was something pretty seriously wrong with your health. Swapping war stories was always interesting. When my turn came, I explained that I’d served overseas too. ‘Most of the time I was in England. We were based near Gatwick airfield for a while and later I had a soft number in London.’

‘Goddamn, how about that!’ Frankie said. ‘We were there for a while in 1944, after the landings in Normandy.’ It was surprising how often ex-military people had been in the same places at the same time.