Sleepers. Part 13

KING B BENNY SHUFFLED the cards, large espresso cup to his left, drawn window blind shielding his face from the sun. I sat across from him, chest near the edge of a small round table, hands folded, 7Up bottle at my side, waiting for the game to begin. I was eleven years old. the cards, large espresso cup to his left, drawn window blind shielding his face from the sun. I sat across from him, chest near the edge of a small round table, hands folded, 7Up bottle at my side, waiting for the game to begin. I was eleven years old.

"Sure you wanna play me?" King Benny asked.

"Why not?"

"I cheat."

"Me too," I said.

"Good," he said, and opened the deal.

The game was sette bello sette bello, Italian blackjack, and the stakes were low, a penny a win, nickel on a two-card hit. We were in the middle of King Benny's club, three empty tables around us, the door behind us locked. White dust particles, heavy enough to hold, curled their way up toward the hanging overhead lights. A jukebox played Sinatra and "High Hopes."

"Hungry?" King Benny asked, tossing me two cards.

"No," I said. "Thanks."

"Sure?"

"I'm sure," I said.

"What's it gonna be?" he said, nodding toward my cards.

"Give a hit."

King Benny flipped a card from the top of the deck, his eyes on me.

"You're over," he said. "You're into me for a penny."

"Double or nothing," I told him.

"A sucker bet," he said, dealing out a fresh set of cards and sipping from his coffee.

I lost the first ten hands we played, King Benny picking up the pennies and piling them next to his cup. He kept the deck of cards in his right hand, dealing with one finger, his eyes always on me, never on the table. He shuffled the cards every other deal and ignored the phone when it rang.

"You always end up with a six," I said. "How is that?"

"Lucky," he said.

"Got any pretzels?" I asked.

"Behind the bar," he said. "Help yourself."

"Want anything?"

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Quarter to five," I said, looking at my Timex watch, a swag present he had given me.

"Too early," he said.

King Benny never ate before seven and slept only two hours a night. He always carried a thousand dollars in twenties and singles in his pants pocket, never wore a gun, and was said to have a brother in jail, doing natural life on a double murder charge.

I sat back down, picking at a bag of salt pretzels. He sipped his coffee, shuffled the cards, and leaned back in his chair.

"I hear you got trouble at home," he said, putting the cup back by his side.

"It's nothing."

"If it was nothing," he said, "I wouldn't have heard about it."

"My father owes money," I admitted.

"Who this time?"

"The Greek," I said. "He's six months late on the payments."

"How much?"

"Three thousand," I said. "As of yesterday. Goes up every day."

"Yeah," King Benny said. "It does."

"The Greek sent a coupla guys over late last night," I said. "Scare him a little."

"It work?"

"Scared or not," I said, "he doesn't have the money and can't get it from anybody else."

"No," King Benny said. "He can't."

"He's hiding out," I said. "Until it blows over or he makes a big score."

"Guys like your father never make big scores," King Benny said. "They just keep guys like me in business."

"Will they kill him?"

"No," he said. "He'll just wish they did."

"I got sixty bucks put aside," I told him. "My mother can come up with another forty. That should be good for something."

"Forget it," King Benny said.

"I can't forget it," I said. "He's my father."

King Benny shook his head. "The loan's been squared."

"Who squared it?"

"You did. This morning. The Greek picked up an envelope with three grand and a note from you. Him and your father are even."

I didn't show any real emotion. That wasn't allowed. All I said was "I can't pay you back right away."

"You don't have to pay me back at all," I was told.

"Why'd you do it?" I wanted to know. "You never liked my father."

"Still don't," King Benny said. "He lives or dies, don't mean a thing to me."

I took a drink of the 7Up.

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks a lot."

"Always watch out for men like your father," King Benny said. "They go down bad streets. And they never go down alone."

"He tries," I said. "He just gets caught up."

"There are other ways," he said. "Better ways. You should walk away from the table knowing that."

"He wants to make money," I said. "Same as everybody around here."

"Looking for easy money," King Benny said. "Every one of them. And guess what?"

"What?"

"Ain't no such thing," he said.

"Does my father know?" I asked. "About the payment."

"Not yet."

"Can I tell him?"

"Soon as you see him," he said.

The room was turning dark, the sun's shadows giving way to early evening. King Benny's coffee cup was empty and my soda was warm. The jukebox had abandoned Sinatra and settled now on "Don't Be That Way" by Benny Goodman. In a corner, an old steam radiator sizzled, despite the outside heat.

"He's down in a bas.e.m.e.nt apartment on 47th Street," King Benny said. "Near Ninth Avenue."

"I know."

"He's not alone," he said.

"I know that too," I said.

"You want some dinner before you go?" he asked.

"What's it gonna be?"

"Pasta and snails," King Benny said.

"Maybe not," I said.

"It's good for you," King Benny said.

"I should go."

"One thing," King Benny said. "Before you go."

"What?"

"The business with the Greek," King Benny said. "It stays between you and me."

"He's gonna ask where I got the money."

"Lie," King Benny said.

"Can't," I said.

"He lies to you." you." King Benny pushed his chair back and stood up, cup clasped in both hands. "All the time." King Benny pushed his chair back and stood up, cup clasped in both hands. "All the time."

"That's different."

"How?" Now King Benny walked to the bar, his face free of emotion.

"He's my father," I said.

"Think he cares?"

"Doesn't matter," I said. "I care." care."

King Benny nodded and turned, walking behind the bar, his right leg dragging across the floor.

"See you tomorrow," he said, his voice even.

"Only if I get to deal," I said.

"We'll cut for it," he said, washing his cup in the sink under the counter.

"You'll win the cut," I said. "You always do."

"Can't trust a thief," he said, drying off his hands. "Or a liar."

"Which are you?"

"Both," King Benny said.

He folded a hand towel in half and laid it on the bar. Then he walked over to the small wooden door at the end of the hall, turned the k.n.o.b, and went into the kitchen, closing it softly behind him.