Glitz. Part 19

Teddy walked through Bally's, the Claridge and the Sands without seeing one lady who was his type. The girl of his dreams would be in the 58-to-65 range, not too big, with dyed hair or a wig and played the slots with a big cup full of coins and a drink on the counter in front of her. A cigarette hanging out of the corner of her mouth was a good sign, and if she was coa.r.s.e in her speech, a kidder, that was the best sign of all she was the one for him. Close to eight, the casinos were filling up with the evening rush of greedy spenders and would be going strong with lights flashing and bells ringing for hours. He felt security people, with their name badges and walkie-talkies, looking him over. They weren't, but that's what he felt. Like driving and seeing a cop and getting nervous for no reason. He had reason last night to be nervous. Jesus, the way the hotel room door came open in his hand. Not expecting it-that'd scare the s.h.i.t out of anybody. It was a good plan, it was just the cop had probably got up to take a leak and happened to hear the key turn. But the door had been double-locked so it wouldn't have worked anyway . . . He had in mind now another plan. Follow the cop in his car, the Datsun. Pull up next to him at a light and let the cop get a look, surprise the h.e.l.l out of him. Not wave or yoo-hoo at him, he'd have to be cool, but make sure the cop saw him. Then zip ahead and let the cop follow. Take him out Longport Boulevard and over the JFK Bridge, out in the marshland and pull off the road. The cop comes over to the car, looks in the window right at him, close, eye to eye. Pow pow pow . . . Soon as he got some money. s.h.i.t, he didn't even have enough on him to buy gas.

Teddy left the Sands and headed for Spade's Boardwalk, next stop in his quest for the ideal old lady.

Leaving the lounge Nancy held onto his arm, guided him through the lobby to the familiar gold elevators. Vincent said he thought she was going to show him the casino.

"I am, but a way few people ever see it."

She brought him along the executive hall to the surveillance room: to the bank of monitors, twenty movies playing at one time: deadpan characters suspended, waiting for the turn of a card; the slot players, the "high pullers" at the dollar machines; only the c.r.a.pshooters animated. Vincent said, "I could spend some time here." Nancy said, "You haven't seen anything yet." She introduced him to Frances Mullen who glanced up from a monitor off to the side. Frances said, "Be with you in a minute."

"She's watching the soft-count room," Nancy said and pointed to the dropboxes that were brought in from the tables at the end of each shift, the money taken out and counted by employees in coveralls, no pockets, then transferred to the main cage. When Frances turned to them she said, "Well, here's a familiar face. You were playing blackjack the other night-" Vincent saw her expression change as her eyes moved from him briefly and back again, a glance at Nancy close behind him shutting her up.

"I won four hundred seventy bucks," Vincent said, imagining himself on one of the screens, "and I swear I didn't cheat." He was sure Nancy had a picture of him.

She said, "They would've caught you if you tried. If the dealer or the pit boss didn't spot you Frances would. Come on, I want to show you something else."

He followed Nancy along the hall, through a door and down a metal stairway, a ship's ladder, into a dark area that resembled the rafters of a building, the crawl s.p.a.ce above the ceiling. Except that here you could stand upright, follow a wide catwalk with handrails, and from both sides of it look down through one-way smoked gla.s.s at the casino floor: at the tables, the slot machines, the ma.s.s of players and strollers less than ten feet below.

"The Eye in the Sky," Nancy said.

Teddy had read somewhere they had over sixteen hundred slots here at Spade's. He wouldn't want to count them; though he could, moving up one row and down another, looking for the girl of his dreams. Jesus, but dollar slot made a racket, those big slugs clanging in the tray. He liked the sound of quarter-slot payoffs better; it sounded more like real money, the coins ching chinging down on top of one another. Half-dollar payoffs were somewhere in between, a hefty sound and real too.

He'd stop and play a quarter slot every once in a while. Won four bucks, lost it, won five, moved on with his green paper cup and lo, look-it there...a woman playing two machines at once, her territory staked out with a drink, two cups of coins and her purse there on the counter. Look at her, no wasted motions. She'd insert a coin, give the handle a yank and step to the other machine as the first one spun. A payoff less than a big one not even making her pause to look. Back and forth feeding half-dollars like she was working on a factory line. Letting up, but only to get out a cigarette. Now there's a cute woman, Teddy thought. Right around sixty, hair a pretty henna color that went with her gray knit pants suit and pink blouse. Her gla.s.ses flashed as she looked at a big heavy woman who stopped by her and said, "Marie, we're going over the deli get a bite t'eat." Marie lit her cigarette, blew smoke at the woman and said, "Go ahead." Independent little woman, wasn't she?

Teddy said, G.o.d, let her win. She deserves it.

Vincent stood with his hands on the metal rail looking straight down through the angled pane of gla.s.s at a blackjack table where two men and a woman were playing with green chips; he could read their cards. "It's so close to everything."

"But when you're down there you don't notice it," Nancy said. "We're part of the sparkling decor. No one looks up anyway."

"Covers the whole floor?"

She nodded, indicating the length of the catwalk. "Goes all the way to the end, over to the other side of the room and comes back."

"You have people in here?"

"Sometimes, or if they spot something on the monitors, a dealer slipping a chip behind his tie. Or a player they think is cheating, like trying to double his bet after the dealer shows his cards." Nancy had moved close to him, their arms touching. "At the moment we're alone."

She stared through the gla.s.s at the floor below, letting him look at her and feel her close and get the scent of her perfume-more subtle than Linda's, more expensive. Linda would have said, "We're alone," and rolled her eyes at him or given him a vampy look as she reached for his fly; and he'd jump. But it could work either way. Nancy's method, stagey-serious, must be working because he felt a clear urge to make the next move. Grade it later, what it meant. They were fooling around, that's all, flirting a little. It didn't have anything to do with Linda. Except that Linda did appear in his mind and he had to say to her, in there, What am I doing? I'm not doing anything. It was his having been raised a good boy that was trying to hook him with guilt, ruin his chances here. h.e.l.l, Linda was a friend, her life was music . . .

Nancy said, "Tommy's down there, somewhere.

With another one of our big spenders." She gave Vincent a nudge.

"I still haven't met him."

"Do you want to?" Her voice very quiet.

He could hear a hum of sound from the floor. "It's not important. I don't think he knows anything about Iris, what happened to her."

"You're being kind," Nancy said. "He knows very little about anything that happens around here."

Vincent kept quiet.

"He's drunk most of the time."

She was telling him to make the move, it was okay.

"I've always thought I was a fairly good judge of character. At least had an eye for typecasting. But I really blew it with Tommy. I married him on impulse, much too quickly."

She was saying, come on, let's go. What're you waiting for?

"We talk about business, but it's been months . . . Well, never mind."

And you say, Vincent thought. "What has?"

"Since we've slept together."

Do it, will you? Go ahead. He couldn't think of anything to say, which was just as well. It was time, very quiet, the urge, the tender feeling there. Tender enough. He turned her face to his with his hand, gently; their mouths came together, he felt her tongue . . . and heard bells ringing, like a fire alarm, from somewhere almost directly below them. Their faces still close, her nice brown eyes smiling at him, she said, "Jackpot." Now Vincent smiled. Why not? And closed his eyes again as she closed hers, going for those slightly parted lips.

Well, Marie had quit working her two machines now with the bell ringing and those fifty-cent pieces still coming out, letting up for a few seconds then pouring out again, some spilling on the floor there were so many. Teddy grabbed an empty cup and got down there to pick them up. He set the cup next to her purse saying, " 'Ey, you won four hundred dollars. Not too shabby. I just hit two hundred bucks myself over to the Sands. It's nice, 'ey?"

Marie raised her eyebrows, proud of herself. She looked at him through smudged gla.s.ses; the frames were gray, with sequins. "Them others go and eat all the time. I tell 'em you got to play play if you expect to win." if you expect to win."

"That's the truth," Teddy said. "And you got to know which slots to play, the ones timed to go off."

Marie turned back to her scooping, but then looked at him over her shoulder. "I heard it pays it don't empty. They's always money in it."

"That's right," Teddy said, "but you heard of frequency modulation? See, the big jackpots are timed to pay off at certain times or frequencies, when there's lots a people around."

Marie said she never heard of such a thing.

Teddy looked at his watch. "Well, I got, let's see, about twenty-five minutes to get back to the Sands where I'm pretty sure a couple half-dollar slots're gonna pay off. I been watching 'em all day. See, I live right here."

"You wouldn't kid me," Marie said.

"Come on, you don't believe me. I been studying slots since they opened Resorts, the first one. I don't even have to work." He took a quarter out of his pocket and held it up. "See this? Got nineteen seventy-eight on it?"

Marie said, "So?"

"I been playing this this quarter for six years. I never lost with it. I hold this quarter over the slot? I know when it's gonna pay and when it ain't." quarter for six years. I never lost with it. I hold this quarter over the slot? I know when it's gonna pay and when it ain't."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I still have it, don't I? ...You coming or not?"

"I just might. Sands the next one up?"

"Take us fifteen minutes."

"I got to cash in first."

"Well, hurry up, will you?"

Act like her kid. If she had one it would seem natural to her if he was grouchy. Marie did; she had three grown sons. She had come on a bus from Harrisburg where she was a checkout girl in a supermarket; they were going home at nine. Out on the Boardwalk Teddy told her she just had time to win another pot. Wasn't it a beautiful night after all that rain? He told her when he was little they used to go under the Boardwalk and look up through the cracks at girls in dresses. They called it stargazing.

Marie said, "You were a little d.i.c.kens, weren't you?"

Teddy said, " 'Ey, look. There a bunch a stars out tonight."

Marie looked up.

And Teddy said, "Oh, no!" He sunk to his hands and knees, got down close to a s.p.a.ce between the boards. "I dropped my lucky quarter!"

Marie bent over. "You see it?"

"It fell down underneath. I got got a find it." He worked his face into a frown. "G.o.d, wouldn't you know? . . . I'm sure it's right down there, right below us." He looked at Marie. "You got a lighter, haven't you?" a find it." He worked his face into a frown. "G.o.d, wouldn't you know? . . . I'm sure it's right down there, right below us." He looked at Marie. "You got a lighter, haven't you?"

She said, "Yeah, but . . ."

"Come on, we can find it. I know we can."

20.

LADONNA SAID, "You want me to barf all over the car?" Trying to tell Jackie she was petrified, getting physical about it now. "You know how I feel. How can you even ask me to do something's going to make me ill?"

With her baby-doll Tulsa drawl and then Jackie speaking in his dialect-a tribe that used to live in the Bronx-like he was suffering, and he probably was, trying to make himself understood, get her to realize the importance of this dinner. "I got a talk to the guy."

"You talk to him on the phone all the time."

"Face to face. I got a tell him this across a table. It's how he wants to do it, fine, it's how we do it."

"But I can't go in in there." there."

"I got what you need, help you out," Jackie said.

Now he was pouring her a tequila and lime juice, chilled, from the limo's bar next to the little TV set.

DeLeon Johnson was catching all this from the front seat, sitting eyes-front behind the wheel; like listening to a radio skit. He'd shift his eyes to the mirror, see shapes, movement; but Jackie'd had him put up the gla.s.s separating front from rear, for privacy, and DeLeon was getting headlight in his eyes to make it worse, harder to see anything. The black Cadillac stretch limo was parked on Fairmount Avenue, on the north side, across the street from La Dolce Vita, "Authentic Italian Cuisine" blinking in red neon, making the girl sick. They were supposed to meet Frank the Ching in there for dinner and the girl was fighting it every way she knew.

DeLeon had pushed the b.u.t.ton to raise the gla.s.s part.i.tion, then brought it down a couple inches while they were talking so he could hear the skit. It was anybody else, Jackie would want him to listen, be a witness; didn't matter if he got dumped on or made to look a fool by some Eye-tie. (Jackie would call them "guinea f.u.c.ks" and one time DeLeon said, "Excuse me, my granddaddy was Italian," and had to listen to Jackie explain he meant these wise-guy schmucks, not your real Eyetalians.) But Jackie didn't want a witness when he was talking to LaDonna, who had these hysterical seizures and little Jackie didn't know s.h.i.t how to bring her down.

She said, "You go in. What do you need me for? I'll wait here." go in. What do you need me for? I'll wait here."

DeLeon grinned at the mirror. Tell him, girl.

He'd be at the house talking to LaDonna, giving her advice how to maintain cool-that is, the ability to respect yourself while taking a minimum of s.h.i.t-and Jackie would come bust in the room like he meant to catch them making it. The fool. There were all kinds of times and places DeLeon knew he could take LaDonna up in the sky; but it would be a glide, it would be to say, yeah, I ride this one-time beauty queen runner-up. It would be a score, was all. It wouldn't be anything like some little bitty Puerto Rican chicks he knew could take him up laughing all the way and do loop-the-loops, man, get him light-headed with the pleasure of their being there. He wished he was back in Puerto Rico instead of here listening to Jackie saying, no, he didn't need need her, he wanted her at the table because the Ching would behave himself. "Not stick a fork through my hand he doesn't like what I'm telling him." her, he wanted her at the table because the Ching would behave himself. "Not stick a fork through my hand he doesn't like what I'm telling him."

"It's going to happen," LaDonna said. "I know it is."

"That's in the movies they do that. The G.o.dfather The G.o.dfather."

"It's in the paper, it's on TV. I see see it." it."

"That's in South Philly. Come on, it's after eight. Christ, twenty after."

"Why can't I get you to understand?" LaDonna said. "That fella works for Tommy, he's the only one of you is the least bit sympathetic. I tell him I can't eat with those people, he says, 'I don't blame you, I couldn't either.' "

DeLeon raised his eyes to the mirror as Jackie said, "What guy works for Tommy?"

"The one, you know, with the beard. He's nice."

DeLeon heard Jackie say, "Jesus Christ, you talked talked to him?" Then Jackie was rapping on the gla.s.s part.i.tion. "Go in and tell Ching we're gonna be a couple minutes-I got a phone call. Buy him a drink." DeLeon got out of the car hearing Jackie say to LaDonna, "Okay, when'd you talk to the guy?" to him?" Then Jackie was rapping on the gla.s.s part.i.tion. "Go in and tell Ching we're gonna be a couple minutes-I got a phone call. Buy him a drink." DeLeon got out of the car hearing Jackie say to LaDonna, "Okay, when'd you talk to the guy?"

Ricky Catalina had decided, first, he couldn't use any of his own people. A family deal, it was best to get outside help, sc.u.mmers with no personal interest, muscle you hired by the pound.

Late afternoon he cruised Boystown till he ran into a couple of heavyweight bikers. They were in Snake Alley selling homemade killer weed, parsley flakes sprinkled with PCP, telling a gay couple in jogging suits and headbands how the dust would stretch their minds, their bodies, grow actual f.u.c.king wings on them, man. The sc.u.mmers were dressed sleeveless now that it was fifty degrees out, showing their muscle, their tattoos, their chapter insignia, Hagar the Horrible from the funnies. Ricky got them aside in a bar, gave them the deal with sleepy eyes and they said yeah right away. Anything crazy or destructive, they said, yeah, babe.

One of the pair, called Bad Isham, had been burned when his lab blew up, out in the Barrens; one side of his face was shiny scar tissue and he was missing an ear. The other sc.u.mmer, Weldon Arden Webster, was known for making explosive devices. He said to Ricky, "You have a diversion, I could blow you a car out front a the place."

Ricky said, "Yeah, but I don't want the guy I want to run out-he hears any kind a big explosion."

Weldon said, "s.h.i.t, you want it done right, I wire the guy's guy's car." car."

"I want to do it," Ricky said. want to do it," Ricky said.

"Yeah, give you a remote control box."

"I want him to see see me do it. It's the kind a deal this is, it's between me and him." me do it. It's the kind a deal this is, it's between me and him."

Weldon said, "You people got queer notions how you have to settle things."

Bad Isham said, "The guy ain't the only one gonna see you, Ricky. Lemme think on it."

The trouble with getting sc.u.mmers to help, they sat with their big shoulders hunched over the table making muscles jump in their arms, drinking their schnapps and beer chasers, and pretty soon the deal was their idea, how it should be done. Ricky had to give one, then the other, his sleepy eyes. You through? You through?

"That place, all they get now are tourists," Ricky said, "the way their prices are. Except in the bar there, guys still hang out in the bar; they lay some heavy sport bets. Weldon gets in a fight with some guy, anybody. Make some noise, bust a few bottles. The help comes out from the restaurant part, see what's going on. Reno, the guy's driver comes out. You know Reno? . . . Okay, you belt Reno, be sure. I walk up to the guy"-Ricky wouldn't say his name-"I come in that entrance from the parking lot, cap him and walk back out. The car's over on the side street. Isham, you pick up a car. You drive, that's all." Wasn't that simple enough, even for a couple of spazzed-out bikers?

Bad Isham said, "Other way around. Weldon drives, I bust up the bar."

Weldon said, "Bulls.h.i.t!"

Ricky finished his gla.s.s of red while they argued who was meaner, dirtier, who'd stomped more civilians, hit more cops, got brought up more on charges. Ricky listened, wondering what made sc.u.mmers the way they were. All that muscle s.h.i.t. They could come at him with their tire irons, their chains, their big bare arms, he'd say, you guys crazy? And blow holes in them. There was no way to understand people like this. If they asked him to judge which of them was sc.u.mmier it would be a tie. So he said, "Hey." He said, "Hey! G.o.dd.a.m.n it!" When they looked at him he was settled back.