Pennies for the Ferryman - 01 (30 page)

A smile crossed my face and I said, “All done now?”

The burly Texan chuckled, matching my grin,
“Done? Done? Shit! I ain’t even started! Let the good times roll!”

Episode 9: Location, Location, Location

People say
greed
like it’s a dirty word. Greed is simply raw and naked want. What’s wrong with a little want? I suppose too much of a good thing can be bad, but too much of anything good wasn’t a regular occurrence in my life up to that point. The casino I was standing in made a living off of other people’s greed.

Why was it that my greed is a bad thing and theirs was just good business? I’ll admit to having a little advantage – namely an accomplice that only I could see and hear watching the cards. There’s a saying out there that the house never loses. Never? That word was so inflexible. How about, almost never, except when Mike Ross comes to town?

“Hole card’s a four, Mike!”
Don’s voice called out. From his kneeling position he enjoyed a great view of the dealer’s cards, as well as her other assets. Unlike Kevin McNeil, another dead friend of mine, my former Sergeant thought the idea of a ride up to Atlantic City was a fantastic idea. As soon as my medical retirement check rolled in, I convinced Rusty, a still living friend, that we both needed a road trip. I’d lost track of Rusty once I got to the blackjack table. My guess was he was either dropping some coins in a slot machine somewhere, or hitting on a couple of NYU coeds who’d come down for the weekend.

As far as I was concerned, it was high time that I started making this paranormal power work for me.

My hand was a pair of sevens. The dealer held a queen and a four, which meant the odds were in my favor.
 
“I’m going to split and double down.” More chips go from my sizeable pile and for a guy whose picture is in the dictionary next to the phrase “the chips are down,” I was due for a comeback.

Two casinos and several hours after arriving in Atlantic City with a meager five hundred dollars, there was five grand in front of me and just over two grand in the hotel safe. Occasionally, but not often, it’s good to be me. The dealer hit me and I picked up a jack and an eight for totals of seventeen and fifteen. I stayed at this point. The pretty dealer flips over her four and hits with a king – busted.

My eighty dollars in chips becomes one sixty. I decided to act paranoid and switch tables. Sliding the dealer a twenty dollar chip, I picked up my pot and headed towards a table two down from my current location.
 
My ankle was still tender from the sprain I’d picked up three weeks ago, but I could manage, even with the extra weight of the chips in my hands.

Two gentlemen in suits were blocking my path. “Pardon me sir, but we’d like you to come with us,” the taller one said.

The last casino I’d been at sent a guy to inspect me, looking for cameras or other hidden devices, before asking me to take my winnings and business elsewhere. It looked like I wasn’t going to get a chance to talk to that very attractive Asian dealer after all.

Oh well, five hundred into seven grand in under six hours. Not a bad little trade off.

“No problem gentlemen.” Don followed along; making faces at the men all the way.

They led me into a fairly stark little room. It was all very quaint. If they were looking to pressure me or something, Don and I knew it wasn’t going to work.

Five minutes later the chief of security strolls in. Not some hulking thug, just a well dressed black man slightly under six feet tall. “Mickey Pitman, Mr. Ross. How do you do?”

“I can’t really complain, Mr. Pitman. I’m on a hot streak.”

He looked at the container of chips in front of me. “That’s a pretty good haul, Mr. Ross. Question is how much am I going to let you leave here with?”

Don peeks out through the wall. “He doesn’t have a bunch of goons out in the hallway, Mike, just let him wave his limp dick in the air and let’s cash out and go somewhere else.”

Scratching my chin, “I’m not certain what you’re talking about Mr. Pitman. I would expect to be able to walk out of here with my winnings.”

“That would be a bad idea,” Pitman says flatly.

“What? Expecting the casino to honor my winnings?”

Pitman looks at me, “No, dipshit. I wasn’t talking to you. I was referring to your friend here’s suggestion that you move on to the next casino. I got your ‘limp dick’ right here
boy
and I can promise you that you don’t want any part of this.”

A slight lump in my throat formed as Pitman looked at me. “I’m not chief of security for this hotel. I’m chief of security for Atlantic City, Mr. Ross. Now, let me guess, you’re a new Skinwalker with a nice shiny new body and no coin to go along with it? You grab one of your buddies to take your new legs out for a test drive and the two of you decide that you’re going to tap the river of money flowing through this town. How am I doing so far?”

Concentrating, I thought I could see a faint aura around him. He was either alive, like me, or I just met my first Skinwalker. Eva warned me about the Skinwalkers. Deciding to play along with his story, I said, “Pretty good, but what makes you think I’m brand new?”

“Because if you weren’t a newbie, you’d know not to wander into someone else’s territory and pull this kind of rookie wet-behind-the-ears bullshit. I’ll take another shot in the dark, you and fatigue boy here got killed off in Iraq and still haven’t really figured out what you’re going to do with yourselves?”

“You must see this all the time.”

“Once or twice a month; after the holidays, things are busy, Mr. Ross. You’re the third one this week.”

I should have figured it wouldn’t be this easy. It never is. “How’d you catch us, security cameras?”

“I suppose I should give you boys a lesson on staying out of trouble, even though you’re both dead. There are lots of ways. Some places are equipped with thermal imaging and look for cold spots where someone could stand and watch the hole card. Some of the pit bosses are Skinwalkers, but the easiest way is to just watch our dealers. You think just any pretty face gets to be a dealer here? No, we hire sensitive people and then watch for them getting nervous and twitchy. It’s gambling boys and everyone has a ‘tell.’ The one you were at, she kept running her hand through her hair, not that your buddy here would have noticed the way he was ogling her tits.”

As Don and I were processing this, two ghosts floated down through the ceiling.
“Twenty three hundred up in the hotel safe Mr. S.”
One of the ghosts reports, while I inventoried my options. There were several bottles of iron filings, but they were up in the room. My sword was out in Rusty’s car. Naturally, there was the small problem of Rusty himself.

“Well, you’re the expert Mr. Pitman. How do you normally handle these situations?”

“Nice to see that you’re willing to be reasonable. Let’s see, all and all, you’ve taken about seven large. Which casino did you pick that up at?”

I gave him the names and he looked annoyed, but not at me. “I need to get some better people over there. Alright, how much you need?”

“Five grand.” I shoot for the mid-range.

He laughed. “Nice try. You get to keep the twenty-three hundred upstairs and I’m being generous. I’ll get the front desk to bump you up to one of the suites, you have a nice meal, take in some of the sights and stay away from the tables, and we’ll call it even. Tomorrow, you get out of town and don’t come back until you learn to respect other people’s territories. My last lesson is don’t bother taking this little act to Las Vegas and whatever you do, don’t mess with the Indian casinos – just don’t. There are some things even being dead won’t save you from.”

I really didn’t like the sound of that. “So this is your territory?”

Mickey laughed even harder. “I just work here. If
I
ran this territory, do you think I’d be wasting my time with a couple of little fish like you?”

Don was curious,
“I bet it’s one of the gangsters from the twenties, is it Capone?”

Pitman spit on the ground and growled in anger. “That worthless no account punk, he’s just a little bootlicker out in Chitown. No little boys, this is Diamond Jim Brady’s territory. Always has been, always will be and it’s my job to keep it that way.” From his reaction, I guessed he was a contemporary of Capone’s. I knew as much about gangsters as I did about the civil war six months ago, which was basically nothing. I added that to my list of things I should probably learn - fast.

Mickey scoops up my take and points to one of the ghosts, “Abe here is going to keep an eye on you for the rest of your stay. Don’t try and lose him and I won’t wreck that young little body you have. On behalf of Mr. Brady, I hope you enjoy the remainder of your stay here in beautiful Atlantic City. Check with the front desk for your new room key.”

The other ghost left and Abe introduced himself as Abraham Landau. He was a balding Jewish man, not exactly what I’d think of when the word “gangster” came to mind. Of course, my education came from watching the Sopranos and various Hollywood films, so go figure. Still, I was curious, “So, who is Mr. Pitman, really?”

Abe smiled a spectral grin
. “That’s Dutch Shultz himself. You’re lucky you caught him in a good mood. Smart thing to keep your mouth shut and not do anything stupid. Plus, you weren’t after anything important, just a few dollars.”

That surprised me, “There are things more important than money to a Walker?” This sounded useful.

He laughed openly
, “You boys really are new frogs. Come on follow me.”
 
 

Looking at Don, I said, “Strange world, Civil War heroes are my enemies and mobsters are being nice to me. Am I still the good guy?”

“Dunno,” he answered, “I’m beginning to wonder if there really are any good guys.”

The suite was pretty impressive, complete with its own pool table and wet bar. A huge plasma screen television dominated one wall and the leather couch alone was probably worth more than I’d ever made in a single year.

Anyone asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up right then would have received the answer – Mobster. Shultz’s assistant was a fountain of information.

“Tell me more about these territories?”

“What do you want to know?”

Where was I going to begin?

“Where are these territories? Who runs them?”

He sat down on the couch and tells me to turn on the TV and flip around. I got to be his channel changer, but at least he was offering something useful in exchange.
“Well, you already know that you’re in Diamond Jim’s territory. He and Miss Lillian run the lower half of Jersey. They used to claim up to the Hudson, but the fighting between Boss Tweed and the Roosevelts for control of New York City started spilling out this way and it became more trouble than it was worth, so Diamond Jim decides to pull back to south Jersey.”

“The Roosevelts? Like the President?”

“You got it.”

“Which one?”

“Both I think.”

“No shit?”

Abe shrugs,
“Why would I lie to you?”

The dead man had a point. “How about south of here, DC, Philly, and Baltimore?”

“I don’t really leave this area much. I went to Philly once. Some outfit I’d never heard of before runs that place. Not much going on in Baltimore, I dunno, but I hear there’re like somewhere around eight groups trying to control DC.”

That was disappointing news considering my proximity to our nation’s capital. “What are they trying to control?”