Jack of Diamonds

by Bryce Courtenay

  Decisions had been made and there was already the start of a plan to get the family out of Nevada. But perhaps I could help. I looked at Hector. ‘Would you consider Toronto, Canada? Working in a jazz nightclub? I’m sure we can find something for Sue as well, that will allow her to go to college. The schools are good in Toronto.’

  Hector was in too much pain to smile, but he nodded his head as hard as he could.

  ‘I can arrange that – transport to Toronto,’ Booker T. said, smiling. ‘Ain’t nuttin’ but a little bitty bit over the border.’

  Chef Napoleon Nelson smiled. ‘So, all we gotta do is convince Sue.’

  At drinks that night, Bridgett was absent and Lenny was about ten minutes late arriving. ‘Hi, Jack, sorry I’m late.’

  I nodded and grinned. ‘That’s okay. Bridgett’s not here yet.’

  ‘She’s caught up. A call to New York, trying to get them before the close of business hours.’ He didn’t explain further and ordered a bourbon. When the waiter brought it and we were alone, he said, ‘Jack, that thing yesterday afternoon with Hector. You did the right thing not going to the police.’

  I didn’t reply and Lenny continued, ‘I told Sammy, no more. He has to stop working for Loose Spring at the Flamingo.’

  ‘Well, that’s great, Lenny; I’m sure Sue and Hector will be pleased.’

  ‘Aw, Jesus, Jack. Just leave it, will ya?’ I could see he was getting pissed off.

  I held up my hands in mock surrender. ‘Okay, Lenny, whatever you say, buddy.’ There was no point talking about it, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell him about my hospital visit; nor, for that matter, Bridgett, even though I’d trust her with almost anything. I resolved to stay schtum about the threats Sammy had made to me – it seemed somehow weak to be carrying tales to Lenny.

  I’d decided to call Miss Frostbite during my evening break, when I knew she’d be at the Jazz Warehouse. I felt certain that once she’d heard the story, she’d agree to give Hector a job. As the best barbecue chef I’d ever known, he’d be a welcome addition to the Jazz Warehouse kitchen – good meat chefs are always hard to find.

  As for Sammy and me, all this had done was to bring to the surface a problem I’d been trying to ignore the whole time I’d been in Las Vegas; or, rather, from the day I heard about the meat-cleaver incident. Sammy was a loose cannon and I had no illusions about the amount of control Lenny exercised over his cousin. His reassurances were meaningless.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WHEN I NEXT VISITED Hector, Chef Napoleon Nelson was once more by his side. As soon as I’d satisfied myself that Hector was recovering, if slowly, he told me he had some news. According to a chambermaid at the Flamingo, Loose Spring – or Mr Louis, as Chef Napoleon Nelson called him – had left for New York in the Flamingo Convair.

  The coloured folks’ grapevine extended to all the casinos big and small and, because their welfare depended on accurate information rather than gossip and rumours, it was usually pretty reliable. Nobody knew yet whether Loose Spring’s departure was permanent or simply routine, or even if his visit had anything to do with Hector’s beating.

  ‘Chambermaid from the Flamingo, she say Mr Louis, he take hisself two big suitcase, that all we know – drawers, cupboards, all empty, shoes all gone.’ He paused and looked enquiringly over at Hector, who nodded. ‘Also, something else happen.’ Hector reached under his pillow and passed me a manila envelope torn open at the top, indicating that I should open it. Inside were twenty-five used twenty-dollar bills and a typed note:

  Your hospital bill will be paid for two weeks. Use this money to take your family out of Nevada, with your daughter, Sue. Don’t come back!

  ‘Who gave you this?’ I looked first at Hector, then at Chef Napoleon Nelson. ‘This is evidence.’

  ‘It be under Hector’s pillow when the nurse plumpin’ it up this mornin.’ He paused and shrugged. ‘Hector gonna need money to settle down someplace new.’ He sighed and pointed to the envelope. ‘That there be a year pay for a meat chef like Hector. No evidence, no witness, Jack. Like I said, case close tight shut and that good cash money gonna give Brother Hector and his fambly a new start in Toronto, if you can arrange that job.’

  I sighed. ‘All right. As you wish. I called Toronto and the job is okay. Hector’s family is welcome. My friend Joe will look about for suitable accommodation for them.’

  Chef Napoleon Nelson’s face split into a broad grin, and Hector gave me his rictus smile and nodded his head cautiously. ‘That joy and jubilation! On behalf the church folk and ever-one The Resurrection Brothers, we thank you, Jack, from the bottom our heart.’

  I left soon after for the Firebird. As usual, I entered through the parking lot and into the now-notorious corridor leading to the kitchen. Mr Joel called me over and led me to Chef Napoleon Nelson’s office, where we could speak in private. He must have been just about due to go off shift.

  ‘Mr Sarsaparilla, we done miss you the last two days. The staff, they jes want me to say thanks for what you do the other day in the corridor . . . and after,’ he said. ‘We ain’t gonna forget, not never.’

  ‘Sure, sure, Mr Joel,’ I said, touching him on the shoulder; then I told him the news from Toronto.

  He jumped up, stepped outside the cubicle and clapped his hands loudly several times to bring the kitchen to silence. ‘Wunnerful news, folks!’ he said, once they were quiet. ‘Hector, his fambly, Miss Sue also, dey goin’ to Toronto. All arrange by Mr Sarsaparilla!’

  There was a muted cheer, every member of the kitchen staff wearing a huge grin.

  ‘It’s the least I could do. Hector will like it at the Jazz Warehouse and Susan can complete her education, as well as work there nights if she wants.’

  ‘We mighty obliged, Mr Sarsaparilla. Sooner he gets hisself and his fambly outa Nevada, the better it be for them all.’ Mr Joel sighed deeply. ‘Mr Sarsaparilla, we all got us fambly. Jobs not easy to find.’ I knew this was an explanation as well as a thank-you, and I reminded myself, not for the first time, how fortunate I was to have been born white, or white enough, and not an American Negro, obliged to wash dishes, scrub floors or barbecue steak, no matter how intelligent or gifted I might be. In my head I could plainly hear the worn but still-too-true lyrics of ‘Ol’ Man River’. The coloured people were still toting barges and lifting bales – who could blame them for feeling weary?

  The nasty episode with Hector had upset me more than I was prepared to admit, even to myself. I hadn’t been hurt personally, though I knew Sammy’s threat to me was far from idle, but it’s one thing to hear stories about bad things happening elsewhere to people you don’t know and quite another to be confronted by the harm done to people you care about. I had lost the distance I had so carefully cultivated, preferring not to think about Sammy, who, until recently, had played no part in my life as a musician and only a peripheral role in my private Sunday poker games, when he tried to barge into them, usually without success. On the rare occasions when he was able to bluff his way in, Johnny Diamond and I would quietly withdraw. As I mentioned, the guys setting up private games soon got the message. As to whether Sammy took umbrage – well, frankly I didn’t give a damn. Johnny mentioned once or twice that Sammy had threatened him, but there wasn’t much he could do – it wasn’t our game and we had no real say over who was in or out.

  But I was kidding myself. The Mob really ran Las Vegas and did so with a mixture of instilling fear and inflicting brutality. Sammy was one of them and although I’d always known through the kitchen staff what was going on, I’d chosen to ignore it. Like most people, I guess, I preferred not to listen to my conscience. I told myself there was nothing I could do. But now Hector’s terrible beating had involved me directly and I knew that if I’d really pushed it, acted like a man, made a fuss, a real fuss, then something might have changed. But, as Chef Napoleon Nelson had suggested, it would have been the end of Hector and his family, and possibly Mr Joel and himself, and if they lost their lives I’d never h
ave been able to face myself again.

  I thought about Hector’s daughter, a truly remarkable young woman my own age and with more guts in her pinky than I had in both my big Rachmaninoff-playing hands, and I knew – I mean, deep down I knew – that the real reason I had kept quiet was because I was frightened of what Sammy represented. Despite Lenny’s assurances, I knew Chicago would back the psychopath. I was therefore a coward. No two ways about it.

  There was only one person I could talk to and that was Bridgett. Perhaps I wanted to run to Mommy, so she would make it better, tell me it wasn’t my fault and what a brave boy I’d been to come to Hector’s aid.

  As soon as I saw her, I asked if I could speak to her in her office. I told her the whole story, starting with the first porterhouse steak, but Bridgett stopped me short. ‘Jack, I know all this. What’s really bothering you?’

  I ran a hand through my hair and said gruffly, ‘I feel like a coward, Bridgett. I know what happened, I know Loose Spring contracted Sammy to beat up Hector so he could avenge himself on Sue Stinchcombe and, yet, I’ve agreed not to go to the police. I’m ashamed of myself.’

  Bridgett looked at me for what seemed like a long time.

  ‘Do you really think going to the police would have made a difference, Jack? Take my word for it, the connection between the cocktail-hostess dispute and Hector’s terrible beating could be impossible to prove. As far as the police are concerned, the girls got their union working conditions, so now it’s back to normal, with only one battered Negro to show for it.’

  ‘But at least I’d feel I’d stood up to the bastard – both bastards – Loose Spring is worse than Sammy.’

  ‘Jack, it’s time to set you straight. If you’d identified Sammy, the police would have had to act on it. But what evidence would they find?’

  ‘Christ, I saw it happen! I’d go to the newspapers. Sue’s beautiful, she’s photogenic, it’s the type of story they’d love. Not every American is a racist!’

  ‘Sure, you’ll force the police to ask questions. But where is the evidence? They’ll make all the usual enquiries, huff and puff a bit for the newspapers, but nobody, certainly not Mr Joel nor the kitchen staff, is going to say they saw Sammy beating up Hector.’

  ‘I know. They’ve already explained that to me.’ I paused and looked directly at her. ‘Were those your orders?’ I asked pointedly.

  Bridgett shrugged. ‘I don’t have to give orders about such matters, Jack. Coloured folk know how to react, though I daresay Chef Napoleon Nelson may have had a word to them.’

  ‘Well, that doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better.’

  Bridgett was silent for a moment. ‘Okay, Jack, say you went ahead. Your accusation that Hector’s beating was related to his daughter’s role in the strike would be made to look ridiculous in the hands of a good New York lawyer. The New York Mob may not approve of what Sammy did at Mr Springer’s instigation but they’d be forced to defend him. Besides, you may be sure Sammy doesn’t have a contract with the Flamingo to pursue their debtors. It would be a deal done on a handshake with cash money paid. Mr Springer would deny everything. The judge would fine Sammy for his so-called drunken attack on a meat cook, but that would be about it. Sammy wouldn’t be the first drunk to take his frustrations out on a person of colour.’

  I shook my head. Bridgett was only confirming what I’d told myself. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. ‘It just isn’t right,’ I said. ‘And it doesn’t make me any less a pathetic coward.’

  ‘Stop it, Jack!’ Bridgett snapped; then, in a more even voice, she continued, ‘Castigating yourself isn’t going to help. How long do you think it would be before Hector – and, for that matter, Sue – would vanish? No evidence, just gone?’ She snapped her fingers, ‘Pfft!’

  ‘And you think all this is okay, Bridgett?’

  ‘Jack, I don’t think it’s okay at all! But it’s the way it is. If you cause a real problem for these guys, something that really affects them, they’ll most certainly kill you if they have to. The Jewish Mafiosi, as a general rule, prefer to leave assassinations to the Sicilians and the Irish. They, New York, prefer to buy people off. But if they have to, they too will contract a murder. Remember Mr Siegel . . .’

  I sighed. ‘So, the sun comes up over the desert tomorrow morning and it’s business as usual?’ I said bitterly, knowing I was as guilty as anyone.

  Bridgett gave me an enigmatic smile. ‘Well, yes and no. I daresay New York were not officially informed about Hector’s beating or the connection to the waitress strike.’

  ‘What does that mean – officially? I’m told Loose Spring left for New York this morning.’

  ‘Well, yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Does it have anything to do with Hector?’

  Bridgett smiled. ‘Jack, like I said, not officially.’

  ‘You’ve lost me, Bridgett.’

  ‘Well, let me give you a bit of background. I was pretty certain Louis Springer was clinging onto his job by the skin of his teeth. The managers and owners of the other casinos whose waitresses went out on strike have let New York know what they thought of Mr Springer and the disastrous and arrogant manner in which he handled the strike. After all, we’re all supposed to be legitimate businesspeople with points in each other’s casinos, in order to keep the peace. Defying the union just wasn’t smart and New York would have been embarrassed. But if they’d withdrawn Mr Springer immediately, it would have shown weakness, and Mobsters can’t tolerate that. They were obliged to stick by their man for the time being.’

  ‘So, what happened to get him out of Las Vegas? I take it it’s permanent?’

  Bridgett nodded. ‘I really shouldn’t be telling you this, Jack, but I put through a person-to-person call to New York, and told them what had happened to Hector in my casino and the reason. I made it clear that my coloured staff were witnesses and that it would be difficult to cover things up . . . not difficult, impossible, if New York didn’t cooperate by removing Mr Springer immediately.’

  ‘You can do something like that?’

  ‘Not usually, but I thought they’d take my call.’

  I looked at her, flabbergasted. ‘And you told them about Sue and the reason for Sammy’s assault on Hector?’

  ‘Like I said.’

  ‘But how did you know they hadn’t approved Hector’s beating? That Loose Spring hadn’t informed them?’

  Bridgett sniffed. ‘It would have been entirely out of character for them to agree. They only use violence as a last resort. Besides, they wouldn’t want to compound the problem. Spring’s was a patently stupid action and they’re not stupid. I guessed they were only waiting for the right opportunity to pull Louis Springer out and my bluff worked. He left on their company plane this morning.’

  ‘I suppose that’s something, but Hector’s still no better off.’

  ‘Jack, like you, I’m fond of Hector. You will recall we brought him over to the Firebird from the El Marinero, to get him away from Sammy, and now . . .’

  ‘Fat lot of help that turned out to be,’ I said bitterly.

  ‘Jack, that’s simply not fair! This incident was at Louis Springer’s instigation. Please allow me to continue. I also like Hector’s daughter, Sue. She’s a swell girl, bright, intelligent, an all-round lovely young woman.’ Bridgett took a breath. ‘So, I put through that call to New York.’ She paused and grinned. ‘It gives me another piece of insurance, and of course, they think I’m doing it for the good of the casino.’ She threw back her head and gave a short laugh. ‘Men seldom read a woman’s motives correctly and, thank the Lord, invariably underestimate her intelligence.’

  However, I knew Bridgett well enough to realise that getting rid of Loose Spring wasn’t the only reason she’d called New York. ‘Well, why else? You were doing it for the good of the casino, weren’t you?’ I persisted.

  ‘Jack, I feel sure you know about the envelope under Hector’s hospital pillow.’

  My surprise must have been a
pparent. ‘The grand in old notes? That wasn’t . . .’

  ‘Aha, no. It was New York. They’re paying Hector’s medical bills as well.’

  ‘The typewritten note?’

  ‘I used an old typewriter I found in a back cupboard in the storeroom. I’ve since disposed of it.’ She grinned. ‘New York were happy to oblige with the money.’

  ‘You bluffed them into thinking it – the whole Hector thing – was going to blow up big?’

  Bridgett nodded. ‘Yes, but like you, I feel thoroughly ashamed. Ashamed of what happened to Hector in the corridor. Ashamed that I knew it would be just another cover-up with the police, that the coloured folk were helpless. Mr Springer had to go anyhow and the money for Hector’s family will help a little to resettle them elsewhere, but it’s still not right.’

  ‘Bridgett, aren’t you sailing a bit close to the wind with Chicago by calling New York?’

  Bridgett nodded. ‘Normally, yes, but Lenny agreed I make the call when I put it to him. Remember, they all share points in each other’s casinos. Lenny immediately saw my call as an opportunity to get rid of Louis Springer, a feather in his cap with Chicago, so long as Sammy wasn’t sacrificed in the deal.’

  ‘Christ, Bridgett, doesn’t that scare you, playing ducks and drakes with various Mobs?’

  ‘Jack, I try to make very certain I never get into that sort of situation. I’ve got good reasons, as you know, to stay in Las Vegas and my paperwork is immaculate . . .’

  ‘Not much good if you’re dead,’ I quipped.

  ‘Killing me would be downright foolish, Jack. What I have on Chicago would allow the feds to lock them up for a hundred years.’

  I felt a confused mixture of admiration and despondency; the former because she was such a remarkable woman, the latter because she would surely never look twice at a guy like me. For a moment, I considered telling her of Sammy’s direct threat to me – pathetic, I know – but then decided against it and said instead, ‘Sometimes I wonder whether I should stick around. Maybe it’s time to pack my bags and move on?’