Jack of Diamonds (62 page)

‘And then some, Jack. Your looks were . . . well, you seemed too good to be true. I guess I just didn’t expect to find everything in the one package.’

I could feel my face burning. Juicy Fruit was the only other woman, apart from my mom, who had ever remarked on my appearance, and while I liked Juicy Fruit a lot, she belonged to a profession practised in the ways of making a guy feel good. And, of course, nobody can trust their mom’s views!

I’d never given my looks much thought, always assuming that my luck with women was due to my skill at the keyboard. I guess the Iroquois blood from my mom’s side added an exotic touch – dark hair, dark eyes, skin ‘like an early summer tan’, as my mom would say when I was a child. I’d been a big kid, not much interested in games, and I’d grown into a big man. That was about it. The harmonica, then the piano, had always seemed to me the only thing that separated me from every other guy.

Now I could feel my heartbeat increasing by the second.
Christ, what is it with you and this lady, Jack Spayd?
I realised that, after just two demure kisses and one hug, she’d burned herself into my nerve endings so that I was acutely aware of her standing by my side, as if there were an electric charge between us.

‘I’d like to stay,’ I heard myself murmur. ‘Thank you, Bridgett.’

Just then I observed a bulky figure hurrying across the dining room. It was Lenny, and clearly something was wrong. A deep frown was fixed on his normally genial face and, as he reached us, he hissed, ‘Ferchrissake, Bridgett, call an ambulance. Fuckin’ Sammy’s damn near killed a kitchen hand wid a meat cleaver!’

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

NEITHER LENNY NOR BRIDGETT
discussed the details of the attack on the kitchen hand and I could hardly ask. I was too recent an employee to be able to discuss it with the kitchen or front-of-house staff, and when I asked Gina at reception what had happened, she’d said only, ‘It was horrible, Jack. We’re not allowed to discuss it.’

I later learned that Lenny had covered the hospital bills and paid the rail fare for the unfortunate man and his family out of Nevada, as well as a modest amount to help them settle in another state. Two days later I saw Manny ‘Asshole’ de Costa in the foyer, coming directly towards me. I said ‘Hi’ but he seemed oblivious and brushed straight past me. I saw him fairly often over the next two weeks and had to conclude he was staying at the casino to help out in some way with the meat-cleaver incident, but plainly it was none of my business. As far as I could gather, Sammy Schischka had been sent back to Chicago by plane the morning following the incident and I presumed – incorrectly, as it turned out – that he might not be coming back to Las Vegas.

The atmosphere among the staff was tense, with only perfunctory smiles for the guests, and I couldn’t help wondering if I was getting into something I’d later regret and that I ought to get the hell out of Las Vegas while I could. But there was the lovely Bridgett. Although she must have been preoccupied with the attack, she nevertheless made a special effort to see that I was happy in my new job, giving me the use of one of the suites while I looked for accommodation in town. When I told her I’d be happy with a room in the staff quarters, she said warmly, ‘You’re welcome to stay here at the El Marinero as long as it takes, Jack.’

I decided to find an apartment of my own as soon as possible and create some space between the El Marinero and my private life, although I was in no hurry to create space between myself and Bridgett. However, Lenny had warned me against becoming involved with any of the staff, so I decided I’d find a poker game to distract myself. The gaming floor of the El Marinero was off limits to staff for recreational purposes and Lenny had also suggested I stay away from the other sawdust casinos. ‘Get a debt you cain’t settle pronto ain’t a good look, Jack. This town, everyone knows your business.’

It seemed unlikely I’d have money worries. With tips, discreetly handed to me in hotel envelopes, I’d made a little over two hundred bucks in my first week, more than I’d ever earned playing piano. Two hundred dollars a week was three or four times the income of a normal family and I felt I was at last entitled to call myself a professional musician and entertainer.

My evening gig in The Princess – or the GAWP Bar, as we all called it – started at six-thirty and around five-thirty Bridgett, Lenny and I usually met for a drink in the Longhorn Room to discuss the business of the day (kitchen-hand incident excepted). Bridgett could then brief me on any special requests her ladies might have – something for a birthday, wedding anniversary, a sentimental piece of music to please a friend, that sort of thing. On one particular evening a couple of weeks after I arrived, Bridgett couldn’t be there, so I took the opportunity to bring up the subject of Sammy’s personality change.

‘Lenny, the day I arrived you mentioned Sammy, and what happened to him in the air force . . .’

Lenny emptied his glass, raised two fingers and waited until a waitress nodded. I had no idea how long he’d been drinking before I arrived, but in the weeks I’d been at the El Marinero I’d realised he’d become a heavy drinker, always with bourbon and usually doubles; at least three in the time it took Bridgett and me to finish one drink. He’d usually have them lined up in front of him so we wouldn’t be interrupted. Bridgett drank a single Manhattan and I, of course, stuck to sarsaparilla or an occasional Coke. But, on this occasion, two of the bourbon glasses were already empty. There was no doubt he could hold his liquor, but I’d never seen him drink this much at a sitting. ‘Wait on, Jack, I’ll tell you after Sue brings my regular poison, buddy.’

Sue was a real good-looking young lady: chestnut hair, brown eyes, light summer tan, lovely legs. In fact, it was obvious that all the waitresses had been selected for their looks, wearing their uniform of tight grey skirts, fresh white blouses and black high heels with style. It was the same with the waitresses in the GAWP Bar, only their skirts were more fashionably wide but not as sexy looking. Bridgett explained that the tight skirts were also worn on the gaming floor, so that if a high roller felt frisky he couldn’t get his hands too far past the hem.

While we waited for Sue to return with Lenny’s bourbon and my Coke, we chatted about my house hunting. I’d found an apartment on the edge of town in a block originally built in the early thirties for the engineers building the huge dam in the Boulder Canyon. It was a way from the El Marinero but only a couple of miles from the Firebird, sufficient to give me a good walk into work when we finally moved up the highway. Lenny kindly volunteered the casino odd-job man for if I decided to work on the interior.

Sue returned with our drinks, smiled sweetly and left. Lenny must have sensed something, perhaps due to the way I inadvertently glanced at the two double bourbons. ‘Bin a tough coupla weeks, Jack,’ he said. Then, remembering my original request, he went on, ‘Thanks for not asking about the incident in the kitchen.’ He paused. ‘It was ugly. Sammy’s changed a lot. He got into trouble and ended up in a military prison, then later, ’cause he did something else real stupid, they sent him to Fort Leavenworth.’

‘Leavenworth . . . isn’t that a pretty serious place?’

‘You gotta believe it! Those son-of-a-bitch MPs at Leavenworth, they treated him like some animal. Beat him up so bad he ended up in hospital for four months. The army patched him up and gave him a dishonourable discharge. His body is more or less okay – face a bit rearranged and he got himself a nasty limp where they busted his kneecap – but what can I say?’ He shrugged. ‘They’ve fucked his head. It not somethin’ we talk about, but you oughta know he can snap at the slightest provocation. Frankly, I had my way, he wouldn’t be here, but Chicago trust him, he’s got a criminal record, and that makes him legit, so now he’s a senior soldier in the Family. Not just a soldier, the godfather takes a personal interest in him.’

‘A senior soldier?’

‘That’s Mafiosi for a member of the Family called on to do whatever the godfather wants. Ain’t nothin’ he kin refuse.’

‘Not even murder?’

‘Nuh, whatever dirty work; he a strongarm, a soldier, no questions asked, do what he told.’

‘And you?’

Lenny thought for a moment. ‘No, wid me it’s different. The Family don’t trust nobody who ain’t got a criminal record but, like I told you before, I’m the necessary cleanskin.’ He laughed. ‘Strictly front of house.
Mr Meet ’n’ Greet Lemme Show You Your Suite
,’ he added. I was to learn that it was an expression he used when he’d had a bit to drink. I guess being not much more than the front-of-house man for a casino was pretty hard to take after he’d been a marine master sergeant at the American embassy in London, where, I daresay, his every command would have been instantly obeyed. He continued, ‘If I decide I wanna walk away, I can, so long as I keep my mouth shut.’ He paused and his head jerked back as he gave a short dismissive snort. ‘Mind, that strictly theory and I ain’t about to test it. You don’t never leave the Family. Anyhow, I ain’t a working member, know what I mean? But Sammy’s been inducted, that’s different; he’s a senior soldier and he gotta follow instructions unquestioned, like in the army, whatever the godfather want. In return he’s got their absolute loyalty until death.’ He grinned, then added, ‘Which, in the bad old days, wasn’t usually from old age.’

‘So, what did he do to get into Fort Leavenworth?’

‘Jack, you need to understand, he was never air force as a pilot or crew. He was senior sergeant in change of the kitchens at Gatwick, bringing in supplies and stuff like that. Wid the shortages in England, most of the food – meat, cheese, lotsa tinned stuff, even some vegetables – was coming in from the States. He was caught running a black-market operation. I guess everyone in military food supplies, they had some sorta racket goin’, but Sammy, he got too greedy and they zapped him and sent him back to the States, where he got four months in the clink. But then the stupid fuck had himself an argument with a prison officer, and he called the Family and got three Chicago soldiers to come up and beat the livin’ Christ outa the prison officer as a warning Sammy cain’t be touched no more.’ Lenny paused and shook his head. ‘Not a real smart move, Jack. Mafia, maybe they can beat up a member of some other gangster organisation wid no consequences, but a prison officer with the US military . . . shit, man, that a definite no-go zone. They sent him on to Fort Leavenworth wid “suitable instructions”. When he was finally released, his mind was completely fucked.’

‘So, why is he here? I mean, this is a casino for high rollers and their wives; surely he wouldn’t be called upon for, you know, strongarm purposes here, would he?’

Lenny sighed. ‘Brain damage ain’t necessarily a bad thing where Chicago concerned. He has expertise in food supply and he bin sent to set up the food contracts for the Firebird; at least, that’s what everyone says. Meantime, he’s here at the El Marinero to learn the catering needs for a hotel that got high-roller guests and fine dining. That’s why he can go into the kitchen wid the staff, the niggers, any time he wants.’

‘You mean after what happened in the kitchen, he’ll come back to Las Vegas?’ I asked, surprised.

‘Yeah, far as Chicago concerned, that a minor incident, some nigger hurt, who gonna care?’

‘And you, do you feel the same way?’

Lenny took a long slug of bourbon. ‘Jesus, no! Widout niggers, we ain’t got kitchen staff. Widout Sammy, we got peace and happiness.’

I cleared my throat. ‘Lenny, I’ve got a problem – might as well get it out. It’s . . . it’s the term “nigger”.’

Lenny looked surprised. ‘Hell, it ain’t meant bad, Jack. Kike, wop, mick, chink, canuck, wetback, nigger, it all part’a the American language, it don’t do no harm.’ He smiled, suddenly recalling, ‘’Cept I was always a big kid, someone call me a wop, I busted his head good and he don’t do it again, I guarantee.’

‘But coloured folk can’t do that, buddy,’ I said. ‘As I understand it, if they touch a white man, they’re in serious trouble.’

Lenny, for all his intelligence, looked bemused. ‘You know, Jack, I never thought about it like that. Kikes, micks, wops like me, they kin hit back, retaliate, bust someone in the mouth if they insulted.’ He paused fractionally. ‘Yeah, you right, niggers . . . er, coloured folk, hey, yeah, I suppose they cain’t do nothin’. The consequences ain’t gonna be good if they hit a white guy.’

‘So, Sammy takes a cleaver to a coloured man and nothing happens. Do you think that’s fair?’

Lenny shrugged. ‘Jack, you gotta understand, you cain’t change the world and nobody else round here gonna abuse the kitchen staff. Bridgett, me, we not gonna tolerate that. Manny ‘Asshole’ de Costa come up and fixed things wid the police. Also, I made some compensation to the nig . . . er, man’s family.’

I realised this was about as close as Lenny was ever going to get to understanding the issues. ‘But can’t you say something to Chicago?’

He shrugged. ‘Sure, but it won’t help. Like I said, to them, it a minor incident, I’m simply told to butt out, keep my nose clean and do as I’m told. They send Manny Asshole to tidy things up wid the cops. I try to reason wid Tony Accardo, the godfather; to tell him if some’a the high rollers get to hear about what Sammy done, they won’t be too happy, that maybe he should stay away . . .’ He gave a short laugh, which was more of another snort, ‘but he don’t take kindly to criticism. He hates Bridgett even though she’s made us a success. He still ain’t happy about the Firebird on The Strip and he think I’m in cahoots wid her.’ He looked at me steadily. ‘Jack, Sammy ain’t only here for the catering contracts.’