‘No, of course.’ I realised he was playing for time, allowing my mom to recover.
He gently lowered her into a chair and reached for his reading glasses, while I lowered myself onto my haunches beside my mother’s chair and put my arm around her.
Finally, Nick looked up from the single page and then down at me. ‘Jack, this fellow Lenny – what’s his background? Giancana is Italian, isn’t it?’
‘Sicilian; he was a master sergeant in the marines at the American Embassy in London. I met his cousin, Sammy Schischka, at a card game, and he suggested I contact Lenny when the Entertainment Unit arrived in London.’
‘This Lenny, you say he’s Sicilian? But his cousin, that doesn’t sound like a Sicilian name.’
‘No, Polish, it’s a relationship by marriage. Lenny’s mother’s sister, I believe. ’
Nick paused, then said, ‘He mentions Chicago . . .’
I nodded. ‘But, before the war, Lenny lived with his parents in LA, where his dad had something to do with the entertainment business; in Hollywood, I think.’ I pointed to the letter he was holding. ‘The Las Vegas thing comes as a bit of a surprise, though. I thought he’d go back to Los Angeles.’
‘Jack, this is probably a coincidence, but in 1929 I attended a conference in Chicago on reconstructive surgery. One of the case histories presented to us was that of a mobster, Mafiosi, who had severe facial burns from having been attacked with acid by a rival gang. It was shortly after Al Capone and the St Valentine’s Day massacre, so we all thought it was pretty sensational. It was a nasty facial injury, bad scars; sulphuric acid isn’t nice. I’m almost certain the victim’s name was Giancana, or something very similar.’
Nick looked down at the letter he was holding. ‘He mentions “the family” twice in this.’
‘Well, I guess that’s because he’s Italian – Sicilian – family is important.’
‘No, that’s not what I mean. He doesn’t say my family, the way you and I might do. In both instances it’s the family.’
My mom, alarmed at his tone, looked up at him. ‘Oh, Nick, whatever does that mean? Is it bad? You sound as if you have suspicions. The Mafia, why that’s terrible!’
Before Nick could speak I said, ‘I’d be very surprised, Nick. The US marines wouldn’t have let him in with a criminal record. They’re pretty firm about that sort of thing.’
‘Criminal!’ my mom gasped. ‘A criminal family?’
Nick reached out and touched me lightly on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure you’re right, Jack. But it may be worth asking him once you get to Las Vegas. Just to make sure everything’s as it should be . . . you know . . . legitimate.’ He paused. ‘If you know what I mean, son?’
‘Sure, I’ll do that,’ I said, more to reassure my mom, who looked on the point of tears, than to take my stepfather too seriously.
Nick, aware of his wife, added, ‘You can always turn them down if you’re not comfortable and come back here.’
‘Yup, of course.’ I didn’t tell them that, whatever happened, I wasn’t going to spend the rest of my life in a jazz backwater like Toronto, wondering if I could have made it as a musician out in the big wide world. Unless I proved to be a complete musical disaster, I was going to try my luck in New York, if Las Vegas wasn’t for me.
‘Oh, but what if it’s true?’ my mom asked.
I gave her a quick hug. ‘Mom, Lenny Giancana is about as decent a human being as you’ll ever find.’ Then, wanting to change the subject, I said, ‘You have the best husband any woman could possibly have. And, Nick, you do know that you’re greatly loved, don’t you?’ I guess I was trying to say that they had each other and that my leaving wasn’t the end of the world.
‘Ah, hrrrumph . . . yes,’ he admitted, clearing his throat, lest he be caught sounding sentimental. ‘And, Jack,’ he said, ‘it feels very good to be loved by your mother.’
‘Tell you what,’ I said brightly, ‘I’ll sleep on the Las Vegas thing and we’ll talk again in the morning. What say, eh?’
My mother was silent for a moment; then she said, haltingly, ‘No, Jack, you’ve already made up your mind.’ She looked up at me, brushed the tears from her eyes and sniffed. ‘Whatever happens, remember that I love you, dear.’
I felt a sudden childish impulse to cry. When I was growing up she had given me every ounce of everything she had to give, everything! Now, in the end, I had disappointed her. I could feel a tear running down my cheek. But, as always, she was correct. I’d made up my mind.
I booked a person-to-person phone call to Lenny in Las Vegas. When he answered, I simply said, ‘Got any sunshine to spare?’
‘Hey, Jack, how ya bin, buddy? Here the goddamn moon shines hotter than the sun in Toronto!’
I wasted no time on pleasantries. ‘Thanks for the invitation to join you, Lenny – I accept.’
‘Hey, that’s great, man!’
‘Only one condition.’
‘What, buddy . . . anything.’
I swallowed hard. ‘A baby grand . . . a Steinway.’
‘You got it, kid. What colour you want?’
I laughed. ‘It doesn’t matter; black, I suppose.’ Then, thinking of Joe’s powder-blue piano, I said, ‘Blue; pale blue, maybe? But I’ll leave it to you.’
‘Blue? That the colour of fucking ice! Cold! Freeze yer balls off!’
‘It doesn’t really matter, Lenny. I’ll leave it to you, buddy,’ I repeated. It was good to hear Lenny’s familiar voice down the telephone line.
‘Lissen, Jack, I’m gonna send ya the tickets for the train, first class all the way, nothin’ too good for my pal . . .’
‘Whoa there, Lenny; no, no, buddy, I can pay my own way.’
‘Save it for yer stake, Jack, we ain’t broke.’
‘No, really, I’d prefer it that way.’
‘Hey, I like that! Ya always was ya own man, Jack. Real cool. Can’t never tell what yer thinkin’ . . . What ya next move gonna be.’
It was a nice compliment coming from a very good poker player, but I wanted an out if Las Vegas didn’t suit me. I could afford the fare even if it meant dipping into my stake money. And it meant I wasn’t beholden. As Joe would say, ‘Jazzboy, when you owe nobody nothing, losing be only a small hes-i-tation on the path to winning; a mistake, just a hiccup to success.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE TRIP TOOK FOUR days and three separate railway companies, but at last I arrived in Las Vegas on the last day of May 1946, a Friday, just before lunch.
The train station was slap-bang in the centre of Las Vegas. Lugging my old army kitbag, I’d stepped from my carriage and worked my way across the crowded platform and through the station hall packed with people; some, like myself, intent on leaving, attempting to avoid others hurrying to get onto the train, and seemingly very little love lost between the opposing forces. I finally stepped out into the blinding sunshine and momentarily glimpsed what seemed to be a parking lot across from the station entrance before being forced to close my eyes against the fierce metallic glare of the sun bouncing off the parked automobiles.
My very first impression of Las Vegas had been the streamlined modern station, but once my eyes adjusted to the glare, I realised I’d arrived in a brassy town of transients and people out to try their luck. Somewhere unseen a band played ‘The Yellow Rose of Texas’, perhaps because some Texan dignitary or millionaire gambler was arriving.
I’d sent Lenny a telegram with my arrival details but he hadn’t responded and I figured I’d need to take a cab to the El Marinero. But, squinting around for a cab stand, I saw a green limousine parked directly to my right under a sign that clearly announced: No Parking. It was the biggest automobile I had ever seen, gleaming in the bright sunshine and obviously brand-new. It seemed to announce to the world that the good old USA was back in business. Standing, with one hand holding the trunk open, was Lenny. He saw me at the same moment and yelled, ‘Hiya, Jack! How ya doin’, buddy?’ I grinned and gave him a wave. ‘Come throw y
a kit in the back and get the fuck in,’ he said as I approached. ‘Too goddamned hot and anyhow I ain’t supposed to be parked here!’
Nothing had changed. It wasn’t possible for Lenny Giancana to construct a sentence in male company without a liberal scattering of expletives. I hefted my kitbag into the trunk of the four-door sedan and noticed the soft purr of the engine. The car was polished to within an inch of its life and designed to make a statement about its owner, who was grinning back at me. He still had a marines-style haircut and was wearing cream slacks and a hibiscus-patterned Hawaiian shirt, a tuft of black hair showing at the open neck. His shoes were black and white patent leather. We were both big men; I was now six foot two and Lenny was perhaps an inch or so shorter but broader across the shoulders. It had been less than a year since I’d seen him and he was already beginning to thicken around the waist. He gave me a bear hug and, when we’d pulled apart, he must have been conscious of his softer gut against my own because he patted it and laughed. ‘Too much pasta.’
I had broken into a sweat just crossing the road and the first thing I noticed upon entering that light green monster of a car was the blast of cold air that smacked into me. ‘Christ, Lenny, you got a fridge in here!’ I called out.
Lenny walked around the front of the Caddie and opened the door. ‘Air-con, new invention; only Cadillac and Packard got it for now,’ he said, hopping behind the wheel. ‘Jack, I thought maybe I’d take you down Highway 91 first. I wanna show you two new construction sites, the Flamingo and the Firebird. The Firebird’s where we gonna build you the best piano bar in America, buddy.’
We pulled away from the station precinct and I indicated the air-conditioning. It was not only blasting us with cold air but making conversation at a normal level plainly impossible. ‘Thanks, Lenny, but if you don’t turn that thing down I’m going to die of pneumonia,’ I shouted.
Lenny pulled over, climbed into the back seat and fiddled with something until the roar of the air-conditioning faded. ‘Essential as pussy, buddy. Can’t go nowheres widout air-con. Summers are hunnerd degrees most days here. This is the middle of the fucking desert.’ He pointed through the windscreen to the shiny green bonnet. ‘Leave her outside . . . fry an egg on that by nine o’clock in the morning.’
‘Nice car.’
‘Yeah, chartreuse – good thing I didn’t buy a black one, eh? Heat suppose to bounce off chartreuse; that the idea, anyhow. Cadillac, they bringing out a new range next year and I got me a convertible on order. They got a waiting list long as Highway 91.’ He laughed. ‘I told the car dealer I wanted him to jump me up the list or maybe I’d have to organise a visit from one or two of my Chicago friends. He looks at me and salutes two fingers and says, ‘Right away, sir. I’ll call the head of General Motors tomorrow and tell him to watch out for suspicious characters.’
I laughed, not quite sure what he was telling me. Was it his way of saying he was Mafia? I decided to let it go for the meantime and asked instead, ‘Why a convertible? You just said it’s a hundred degrees out there.’
‘Fall, the nights cool down some.’
‘You mean you’re ordering a convertible to use at night?’
‘Jack, this Las Vegas, man! Daytime ain’t nuttin’. That’s when decent folk sleep. Nights are the day here, everything lit up.’ He grinned. ‘It’s show time for the Family business when the casino gets busy; it also pussy pick-up time, so that’s Cadillac convertible time!’
‘Lenny, sorry to interrupt, but can we stop right there. “The Family” – you’ve mentioned it a few times, on the phone to Canada and in your original letter. I stopped off in New York on the way and went to the public library and looked up the newspaper files for the Chicago Tribune. Your family, who are they exactly? Because various Giancanas and a guy named Tony Accardo seemed to feature in the news a fair bit.’ I was putting it mildly; the Giancana ‘Family’, according to the newspapers, were big-time Mafiosi.
Lenny pushed himself back in his seat, driving with his arms fully extended. He seemed to be thinking, then finally said, ‘You mean, am I a gangster?’
‘Well, yes. Anything I should know about? I only ask because I don’t want to settle in Las Vegas and get a nasty surprise.’
‘Fair enough, buddy. Glad you asked. Lemme set it out for you.’ He gripped the wheel and straightened in his seat. ‘We’ll have this conversation and I tell you everything you wanna know; then, if you ain’t happy, no hard feelings, you can be on the next train tonight, okay?’
I nodded. ‘Sure.’
‘Just one thing before I start. It’s a conversation we never had. If you’re asked, you know nuttin’. You’re just the guy who plays piano. Understand?’
‘Sure, Lenny,’ I replied, somewhat hurt that he felt he needed to explain that.
We’d turned onto the highway. ‘Now, first I’m gonna show you the Flamingo, or what’s gonna be the Flamingo some day; then we’ll go see the construction site of the Firebird; then I’ll take you home to the El Marinero, where I hope you gonna play piano till we got the Firebird finished in six months, tops.’ He glanced at me and grinned. ‘That’s of course if you decide to stay after this talk. Jack, buddy, I’d trust you wid my life. But not staying schtum on this thing is more than your life is worth, mine too.’
‘I got the idea in one, Lenny,’ I said.
He nodded and continued. ‘I don’t deny some of them – my cousins, uncles – they did some bad things, still do – Chicago, New York, LA – but not here in Las Vegas. Sure, my name is Giancana, an’ I ain’t ashamed a that. I’m a US marine, you know that, one year college, then the war. Interfered wid my education. I coulda took a degree maybe. Yessir, master sergeant, US Embassy, London, England – I’m a cleanskin just like you, Jack. The US marines, they don’t accept criminals. Also, the state of Nevada is controlled by Mormons. Nevada gaming laws don’t permit illegitimate business or operators wid a criminal record.’
‘So, the casinos are legit?’
Lenny hesitated then said, ‘Yeah, one hunnerd per cent . . . on the surface. That’s all that counts wid the Mormons. Jesus, Jack, the business we got here, the business we gonna have wid the Firebird, you won’t believe how good it’s gonna be. Lemme put it this way, it’s so good we can afford to be legit but not to be stoopid, like the kike wid his head up his ass who’s building the Flamingo.’
‘The kike?’
‘Benjamin “Bugsy” Siegel! He’s a big-time gangster, works outa LA for the New York syndicate. Meyer Lansky give him the job of looking after their New York interests when they bought into the project with Billy Wilkerson. Problem is the stupid kike got himself some big ideas of his own. But when it come to construction he couldn’t organise himself outa a shithouse wid no door.’ He pointed up ahead. ‘It’s coming up soon. We’ll stop and have a look, see for yourself the future of Las Vegas. Ha, ha, if Benny Siegel ever gonna get it finished. Supposed to be by Christmas, that’s the big joke around this town. He already way behind schedule and way over budget. This may be the biggest building fuck-up in Las Vegas history.’
‘Lenny, you’re losing me. Meyer Lansky, Billy Wilkerson . . . ?’
‘Meyer Lansky, the accountant of the New York syndicate. They don’t have no godfather like us. He the guy calls the shots,’ Lenny explained. ‘Now, Billy Wilkerson also from LA, owns the Hollywood Reporter, nightclubs, some other things. The Flamingo his personal project, but he gone and got himself into financial trouble and Meyer Lansky bought a controlling share for one mill. That’s what it’s supposed to cost in the first place, but now it’s already way, way, more wid Mr Big Ideas Bugsy Siegel in control.’
We’d pulled off the road in front of a huge building site.
‘See, no fence.’ Lenny pointed out.
‘Should there be one?’
‘Jesus, Jack, c’mon! This a fucking building site! Wid building material so short it’s a licence to take whatever ya want. Should be a fence, guards at the gate, dogs patrolling the perimet
er, the whole fuckin’ shebang! The joke around town is that the builders Bugsy Siegel hires during the day come back at night and steal the material, then sell it back to him the next morning. Dumb fuck don’t realise it’s happening. Also, like I say, he got some very grand ideas and keeps changing his mind, tearing down, adding stuff, going bigger. We using the same tiling company for the Firebird and the foreman tell us the kike has changed the colours of the tiles four times. You know how many hunnerd bathrooms they got? That’s just one example.’
‘So, is he going to run the Flamingo?’
‘No, worse luck. He’s a gangster. You have to have a cleanskin up front. That’s all the Mormons worry about.’
‘So, who is going to run it?’
‘You mean day to day? Christ knows, they haven’t said.’
‘I take it you’ll be running the Firebird?’
‘Yeah . . .’ He paused. ‘Well, Mrs Fuller, really. I’m front of house.’ Lenny gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Mr Meet ’n’ Greet Lemme Show You Your Suite. That’s me. I’m doing the same now at the El Marinero, where she’s showing me the ropes. Then we both move over to the Firebird when it opens.’
‘I take it this Mrs Fuller is a good operator?’
‘Jesus, Jack, she’s the best. When we bought the El Marinero, beginning of the war, it was a heap of shit, nothing but a few old-fashioned slots and faded baize tables. They say the roulette wheel squeaked. It was just another sawdust casino goin’ nowhere fast. Rooms like any hotel, bathrooms down the hall. Now it’s rated with the El Cortez the most profitable small casino in Las Vegas. She gotta get the credit for that when she invented the GAWP Bar.’
‘The what?’
‘G-A-W-P.’ Lenny spelled it out. ‘It stands for the Girlfriends And Wives Piano Bar, but that’s our name for it. Official name is The Princess. Baby grand, snazzy decor. It’s where you’ll be until we move to the Firebird.’
Jack of Diamonds Page 43
