Jack of Diamonds (76 page)

‘Yeah, I wasn’t going to mention it to you. He wanted in on tonight’s game.’

‘Sorry about that, Jack. As you probably know, Lenny’s given me the nod to keep him away.’

We walked on in silence until we reached the Desert Inn, neither of us wanting to talk about Sammy and spoil the night.

‘Pity you missed the get-together after the dinner,’ I said.

Johnny laughed. ‘No way, buddy. Saves me having to glad-hand two hundred vets and their wives and girlfriends.’

‘You mean, you know them all, the entire division?’

‘No, of course not. I know the guys in my company.’ He laughed. ‘I won’t recognise most of them, guys change shape, but they’ll know me. I had the misfortune to get a decoration for something any of us could have done in Normandy. Kind of the right guy in the wrong place at the right time.’ Johnny laughed. ‘Five minutes later and I’d have been spared five hundred thousand future handshakes with strangers. Everyone wants to shake the hand that shook the general’s hand that pinned the medal to the breast of the so-called warrior, and then it’s compulsory to introduce the wife or girlfriend.’

‘I think I understand a little how you feel,’ I said as we walked into the Sky Room.

It was pretty packed, but the guys were fairly relaxed, and I ordered my customary G and T without the G, which I could nurse until the game started. But, what with one thing and another, it wasn’t until after 2 a.m. that the poker game was mentioned, and by that stage most of them were half tanked. The Kid did a quick head count and decided to call the game off.

‘Damn,’ Johnny said into my ear. ‘Tonight I’m really feeling my
cojones
.’

I wasn’t really sorry – a relatively early night would help settle me after Sammy’s visit, which had upset me more than I was prepared to admit even to myself.

About a dozen guys and their wives spilled into the foyer to see us off, and, as we moved towards the entrance of the Desert Inn, I was surprised to see Sammy and his two shadows coming towards us through the entrance.

‘Where’s the game, Johnny?’ he demanded while he was still some way off. ‘I know ya bin in the fuckin’ Sky Room. Game ain’t started yet!’ His lips were spit-flecked as he fronted Johnny Diamond, ignoring me completely.

‘There’s no game tonight, Sammy; it’s off. And mind your language, buddy, there’s ladies present!’

Sammy didn’t look right; he was sweating heavily and was very agitated, like a man who’s worked himself up for an argument and was determined to have one. ‘Hey, you okay?’ Johnny asked.

‘You fuckin’ liar,’ Sammy yelled. ‘You and Spayd are fuckin’
employees
. You’ll do as you’re fuckin’ told or else.’ He stabbed his finger at the two of us. ‘Now, where’s the fuckin’ game?’

‘Hey, whoa . . . Sammy, take it easy, man,’ Johnny said, placing his hand on Sammy’s shoulder.

Sammy shrugged it off. ‘The game, asshole! Where is it?’ he yelled.

The whole group had fallen silent. A couple of the women had moved closer to their partners.

‘We don’t like that kind of language in front of ladies, sir,’ Kid Lewis said in his slow Texas drawl. ‘Perhaps you should just go home, eh?’

Sammy swung around to face him and saw a small wiry guy. ‘You shut your fuckin’ Texan mouth or me and my guys will shut it for you.’ Sammy’s thugs moved in quickly to stand on either side of him.

Once his backup was in place, Sammy swung a wild haymaker at the Kid, who almost lazily swayed out of its path, the punch missing by inches. ‘Hey, take it easy, sir.’ He waited for Sammy to recover his balance.

One of Sammy’s helpers stepped forward and Sammy pulled his arm back to have another crack at the Kid. After that, everything happened very quickly. The Texan hit Sammy flush on the nose, with a brutal straight left. It had all his weight behind it, and I heard the crack and a sickening crunch as the cartilage in Sammy’s nose was crushed. It was one of those perfectly timed punches that spreads a nose halfway across a face. Sammy dropped to his knees, cupped his face in his hands and started screaming like a little kid.

The bodyguard on his left reached inside his jacket, which was a mistake. Warwick Selby grabbed his arm at the elbow and wrist, and began to rotate it rapidly skyward as a gun clattered to the foyer floor. Warwick then kicked the hood’s feet out from under him, rolled him over his hip and used his grip on the tough guy’s arm to fling him hard against the marble floor. The second thug had seen enough, and took off through the entrance and into the night. I started after him but Johnny yelled, ‘Jack, let him go!’

Sammy was still on his knees, sobbing, both hands covering his face. ‘Who is this pussy, Johnny?’ the Kid asked, only breathing a notch or two above normal.

‘He’s a debt collector,’ Johnny said, ‘one of the Chicago Mafiosi behind the Firebird.’ Most of the guys were shepherding their wives and girlfriends away from the pool of blood spreading over the floor. Several late-night staff from the Desert Inn came running up.

‘Say, Jack . . . Johnny, I sure hope we ain’t got you two
hombres
in trouble,’ Kid Lewis drawled. ‘Down home, we don’t tolerate this sort of behaviour in front of the ladies.’ His slow drawl and old-fashioned, almost courtly, manner were in stark contrast to the brutal efficiency he and Warwick Selby had used to dispatch the pair.

Sammy was still keening like a wounded animal and his offsider was doing a damn fine job of pretending to be unconscious.

By this time the casino security had arrived, and a guy who was obviously the night manager assured us he’d take care of everything if we’d be kind enough to leave immediately. ‘There are plenty of witnesses, ladies and gennelmen,’ he said, smoothly. ‘Nothing for you to concern yourself about; we saw it all.’ The security began to move the wounded pair from the foyer towards the rear of the hotel.

Johnny and I farewelled our hosts, and assured them that they needn’t worry about us. I mentioned that Sammy was almost certainly on Benzedrine, and we said our goodnights and set out to walk back to his car at the Firebird. Alone at last, Johnny let out a long sigh. ‘Jesus, what an almighty fuck-up!’

I couldn’t have put it more succinctly. ‘That night manager at the Desert Inn is going to get the shock of his life when they clean Sammy up and he sees who he is,’ I replied. ‘By the way, did you ask his name; get a good look at him?’

Johnny shook his head. ‘Jack, we’ve screwed up big time. Chicago almost certainly has points in this casino.’

We continued to walk, not entirely sure we wouldn’t be followed or jumped in some dark corner. After a while, Johnny said, ‘Jack, I can’t see Sammy just letting this go.’

‘Christ, Johnny, he had it coming to him.’

‘Buddy, you play The Phoenix Bar. I work the floor – I see more hoods in a day than you see in a month; investors, owners, bad guys checking on their assets. Sammy’s a bad bastard but so are they; they may not want him on the floor, making trouble, but he’s still one of them, he’s Tony Accardo’s man in Las Vegas.’

‘But he’s also a psycho. They know that?’

Johnny laughed. ‘The Mafiosi are the official employment agency for psychos, as you so nicely put it. To be a sick fuck is almost a condition of employment, Jack!’

‘What are you suggesting . . . that we report this incident to Lenny?’

‘For fuck’s sake, Jack, wake up! Can’t you see what happened tonight? It’s all over, man. I’m outa here. I’ve got a bit tucked away. I’m a damn good motor mechanic by trade. It ain’t glamorous but I’ll stand half a chance of growing old. I’m off, back to the East Coast.’

‘C’mon, Johnny, aren’t you being a bit melodramatic? Sammy and his help simply got what was coming to them.’

‘Whaddya mean, melo . . . ?’

‘Exaggerating.’

‘Jack, Sammy’s fucked up big time tonight. The whole of Las Vegas is going to know about this. Tony Accardo made the New York guys bleed over Louis Springer. You don’t think New York will grab the chance to do the same? Chicago can’t let that happen.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Can’t you see, they’ll claim we set it up. That business with you in the kitchen hallway and me goosestepping him off the gaming floor in front of some very high rollers. He got really abusive, using foul language, claiming he owned the Firebird, and generally upsetting the other players. He grabbed a tray of cocktails from one of the hostesses and hurled it against the wall, then yelled at her, “Are you a fuckin’ white nigger bitch too?” He stopped the floor dead.’ Johnny shook his head and we walked on for a while in silence.

‘Do you mean it, buddy?’ I asked him eventually. ‘You really thinking of leaving?’

He stopped and grabbed me by both shoulders. ‘Jack, you’re not 101st but you’re like my brother; listen ter me, buddy. I’m going to the Firebird right now to fix that puncture. Then I’m gonna go home and pack the car, and I’m leaving tonight. I’ll be across the state line by dawn, before that prick Sammy is in any condition to retaliate. We were taught to hit and run, so that’s what I’m gonna do. Sammy won’t see me for dust.’

‘C’mon, Johnny, Sammy hasn’t got the brains to get himself out of this jam.’

‘Maybe not, but Chicago has. By noon tomorrow, Sammy will have their instructions, the story he’s gonna tell.’

I was finding all this pretty hard to believe. ‘But we didn’t lay a hand on him, neither of us,’ I protested.

‘Exactly, we imported the muscle from out of town. That’ll make perfect sense to the Mob. They do it all the time. It would have been far better if we’d laid into the three fuckers ourselves; at least it would have been two on three. Everyone knows his twin hats carry guns – we might have maybe won the sympathy vote.’

‘But what about the witnesses?’

Johnny actually laughed. ‘The manager of the Desert Inn, who the fuck do you think pays him? Security is gonna say what they’re told to say. The vets in our party who saw what happened will all have gone home. The Mobsters may privately hate each other but they’re all in this together, swapping points, scratching each other’s backs . . . you’ve seen enough to know it’s the way it goes here in Las Vegas.’

‘Johnny, this isn’t the first time Chicago has had to worry about Sammy. Heck, there’s dozens of bashings around town for debts not paid on time, the thing with Hector and me . . .’

‘Yeah, all of them covered up.’ Johnny turned and grabbed me by the lapel of my tuxedo. ‘Jack, there are plenty of places in New York for a top piano player. Let’s scram. Come with me tonight, buddy,
please.
’

‘Thanks for the offer, Johnny, but I don’t think I could let down Lenny and Mrs Fuller. We’ve been friends for a long time, Lenny and I, from way back in London during the war. Besides, I’ve got an apartment and a bank account I can’t operate until they open this morning. By the way, what are you going to do for money, Johnny?’

‘Never did believe in banks, Jack. The Depression, I suppose. I’ve got my stake for tonight’s game intact and a bit under the mattress at home, and I’m up to date on my rent. I’ve got enough to get me to New York, with a bit leftover. I need a new rear left tyre but that’s no sweat; get one when I cross the state line. Been meaning to adjust the brakes for months, too.’ Johnny, it seemed, was already in mechanic mode. ‘What about you? Won’t you change your mind? You can get Bridgett to sell your apartment and it’s only money in the bank – you can have that transferred, can’t you? And, in the meantime, you’ve got tonight’s stake.’

‘I’d rather wait until the banks open, then make up my mind; there’s a fair bit involved,’ I said to appease him.

Johnny Diamond sighed. ‘Okay, then, Jack, if you’re that confident. I hope you’re right, buddy. It’s been real nice knowing ya.’

We’d reached the Firebird parking lot.

‘Just stay safe, Johnny, look after yourself.’

‘You too, little buddy.’

‘I’ll be okay, I’m Canadian. I have a border I can cross. Need any help with that tyre?’

‘Nah, I’m a mechanic. Do it with my eyes closed. You’ll only get in the way, old son.’ He grinned in a valiant attempt to cover his concern and we shook hands. ‘Do it soon, Jack. These guys don’t fuck around. Be seein’ ya, buddy. Just remember to watch out for Sammy; he ain’t gonna leave this one alone.’

Then, somehow, we both started to laugh. ‘Christ, Johnny, the Kid hit him so goddamn hard. You guys must have really been taught by experts in the 101st. The Kid’s punch damn near buried Sammy’s nose.’

‘Yeah, I guess we were all pretty handy. You never knew what was waiting for you when you hit the dirt. But the Kid is something special. He was runner-up in the middleweight Golden Gloves in Fort Worth in 1940. If the war hadn’t come along, he probably would have turned pro, he was that good. He also boxed for the US army. Sammy made the mistake of thinking he was easy because he’s not a real big guy.’

We laughed some more, then I gave him a wave and started to walk home. I’d only gone maybe thirty yards when he called, ‘Jack, get the hell outa here. Don’t trust Lenny . . . even Mrs Fuller. Go home, pack your kit and we’ll hit the road, brother.’

‘Thanks, Johnny, I promise I’ll think about it, but not tonight, buddy!’ I called back.

I was real sorry to see him go. Good men were hard to find in Las Vegas. I felt a bit shattered, now I was alone, as if a piece of my life had dropped away. It wasn’t just that I was going to miss a regular guy I liked. We all adjust to farewells and arrivals, exits and entries. It was something else, something about final outcomes. I was rejecting an opportunity that might well have changed my life and I still wasn’t certain I’d made the right decision. New York was an option that I knew would probably lead to musical success. Of course, there were better musicians than me, but I was by now highly experienced and near the top of my profession as an entertainer. Deciding to forego this next step in my career because of a game, a simple card game a child could learn to play in a single afternoon, a game that had nothing to do with making a unique mark in life, didn’t make sense. Some epitaph, ‘Jack Spayd – a damn good poker player’. Johnny Diamond, perhaps unknowingly, was telling me not to cheat myself out of a good life, especially not for the sake of sitting in a smoke-filled room around a table with five cards in my hand. In real-life terms, it was no jackpot.