I was practising in the GAWP Bar at around four on a Wednesday afternoon, some six months after the Hector incident. Hector, by the way, had almost completely recovered and had started work at the Jazz Warehouse, while Sue was attending college and working three nights a week in the club as a cocktail waitress. Anyhow, I was fairly well into my practice session when I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Johnny Diamond. I offered him a drink, but he said, ‘No, thanks, I won’t stay, got to get back to work; just wanted to have a quick word.’
‘So, what brings you here, buddy?’
‘Hey, Jack, you remember we played poker with those guys from Houston and Dallas?’
‘Yeah, Warwick Selby, the nightclub owner from Houston; and a bunch of other guys, mostly from Dallas, Texas – nice guys, played good poker.’
‘Right. Well, a few oil guys from Louisiana are here, along with some of the old Dallas guys. They’re staying at the El Cortez for the 101st Airborne reunion dinner. It’s on Friday night at the Desert Inn. They want us to join a game tomorrow night. Do you think you can get an early mark; say, just before midnight?’
‘Probably be okay. I’ll ask Mrs Fuller.’ I laughed. ‘She owes me six hours. Two groups from Atlanta, Georgia, wouldn’t budge until near dawn most of last week. Those southern gals sure know how to party.’
‘Can you let me know soon? Warwick Selby, especially, asked that we be included. Jack, it’s only two hours off your shift. Be fun, buddy.’
‘Hey, wait, did you say it was at the El Cortez? We don’t play in casinos, unless it’s something special.’
‘Hey, no, man – it’s the hotel across the road, same as last time.’ He grinned. ‘Yeah, good money burning a hole in their pockets. It seems they been wildcatting down in Louisiana, gas and oil. Struck it rich, but you know those guys; rich Monday, broke by Friday. Mad gamblers. They warned me as a joke – a serious one, I guess – not to bother coming unless we had a roll that would choke a horse. They’ve come to play serious poker. We did okay last time, though. Never know your luck, eh? When can you let me know?’
‘Do it right off,’ I said, rising. There was a phone at the bar, and I walked over, dialled the switchboard and had Bridgett paged. A minute or so later, she answered. I can’t say she was ecstatic but she agreed to let me leave two hours early the following night. ‘Okay, Johnny, keep me a seat,’ I said, replacing the receiver.
‘Great, Jack! Let’s hope we get lucky again. See you there.’
By the time I got to Glitter Gulch the following night, it was fifteen minutes past midnight and the game was already underway with a vacant seat left for me. Johnny Diamond had been on afternoon shift at the Firebird, which ended at 10 p.m., so he’d arrived earlier and had been in the game for an hour or so, getting to know the competition. But arriving a bit late didn’t bother me unduly. I knew Johnny’s game and Warwick Selby’s, and I’d played with one or two of the oilmen before. It was unlikely the new guys would be anything out of the box. Poker players usually find their level.
Most of the men were smoking, two of them big Havana cigars, so the air was the usual fug. Even the best air-conditioning can’t cope with the heavy smoke you get around high-stakes poker games. There were always those players who felt having a drink or two beforehand helped them to concentrate, but no good poker player would play with real drunks. Occasionally even a good player would be dealt out if he were thought to be a tad too inebriated. It was part of the code of honour among decent poker players. In my experience, any more than one or maybe two drinks impairs a man’s judgement in a high-stakes game, and I was often glad that I’d sworn off alcohol as a child. Seeing the mess it made of my father’s life, and my mother’s and mine, it was an easy decision. However, I’d become weary over the years of explaining why I didn’t drink, so these days I’d simply order myself a tonic on the rocks and pass it off as either a gin or vodka mix. It meant that I could blend in in the capital of American hedonism and not be looked at as some kind of puritan freak.
After the usual chiacking – ‘Hiya, Jack’ and ‘Welcome back, buddy’ and ‘Ready to lose your shirt?’ – from players I knew, together with introductions, greeting and laughter around the table, I took my seat. They were a friendly bunch and every visiting player wore on his lapel the eagle badge of the 101st Airborne. All were there for a good time and, to their obvious delight, they had given the El Cortez casino floor a huge flogging earlier in the evening. They were awash with cash and they’d set the stakes as high as they thought they could without frightening us away. Easy come, easy go, I guess.
‘You shoulda seen it, buddy,’ one of them told me during the settling-in period. He had a slow Texan drawl and had earlier been introduced to me as Kid Lewis, and thereafter simply referred to as the Kid. ‘Frankie here was playing craps and after three wins we all gave him some cash and, ya wouldn’t believe it, he made his point nine times in a row. We really cleaned up, bigger than fuckin’ Texas!’
Frankie, the lucky craps player, was obviously having a good night. Winning a lot of money for your friends was always going to make you popular and I decided to keep an eye on him. Feeling lucky and overconfident is a bad combination.
We started to play and, after three hands, Johnny Diamond threw in his cards and rose from the table. ‘What’s up, Johnny?’ I asked.
The Texans laughed at the question. ‘You shoulda seen him before you came, Jack. He couldn’t buy a card to save his life.’
Johnny shook his head. ‘Some nights a guy should just stay home. I’ll hang around and watch, serve the drinks, maybe go for a walk later.’ He was smiling, though. As I said, he was a careful player who seemed always to stick to a pre-set limit. Once that was gone, he would stop. I guess a pit boss sees enough not to be careless with his own money. The Texans, flush with the earlier injection of cash from the craps win, had, as I mentioned, set the stakes high and Johnny, having a poor night, had obviously quickly lost as much as he cared to lose, but he never bitched or whined about it. Johnny was a regular guy.
After a couple of hours of play, I was up about eight hundred dollars, and one of the other locals, Jim Bragg, was also up a couple of hundred. The Texans were winning and losing, largely to each other, with a nice little share here and there for Bragg and me, but Frankie was taking a beating. ‘Big money brings few smiles into a game,’ as they say. But the company was good, we were all about the same age and most of us had been in the services, so, naturally, there was a fair amount of talk about the war.
Younger people don’t realise just how all-enveloping the Second World War was. If you were in the right age group, you were in it, unless there was something pretty seriously wrong with your health. Swapping war stories was always interesting. When my turn came, I explained that I’d served overseas too. ‘Most of the time I was in England. We were based near Gatwick airfield for a while and later I had a soft number in London.’
‘Goddamn, how about that!’ Frankie said. ‘We were there for a while in 1944, after the landings in Normandy.’ It was surprising how often ex-military people had been in the same places at the same time.
‘What happened between Gatwick and the soft posting in London?’
‘Ah, in between was a very short stint in Dieppe.’
‘We heard about that,’ the Kid exclaimed. ‘Nasty. Were you taken prisoner?’
‘No, I was lucky. Our LCM broke down a mile or so offshore and we arrived late. Some of our guys jumped in when they let down the ramp; then we realised we’d landed right in front of a German pillbox and the navy guy in charge pulled us back off the beach. We lost a lot of guys that day.’
‘Yeah, we were always glad we were jumping through air and not into water when we went in,’ Frankie commented. ‘Wading through water up to yer thighs and then running across wet sand in army boots musta been like being on the wrong end of a kraut shooting gallery. Don’t appeal to me at all.’
Several players nodded their agreement.
‘Funny you�
��d say that. I felt that way about people jumping out of a perfectly good aeroplane. Strange, isn’t it? We all reckon we had it better than the other guy.’ I grinned. ‘As far as I was concerned, the poor bastards in the navy had it the worst. We went over on the Queen Mary and I practically shat my pants the whole time I was aboard. I don’t know how those navy guys did it year after year, never knowing when you were going to get a torpedo slap bang in the guts.’
This drew agreement, except from Jim Bragg, who, it turned out, was ex-navy. ‘Ah, you’d all get sick on wet grass! There were always lifeboats, not like having someone taking pot shots at you on a beach, or tumbling out of the back of an aeroplane with a kraut farmer waiting to catch you on the end of his pitchfork.’
It was that sort of night.
By 4.30 a.m. there was a general feeling we should finish up. I was up around $1000, and I was feeling particularly relaxed and couldn’t remember enjoying a poker night so much in a long time. I was getting ready to take my leave, when Kid Lewis, who seemed to be one of the leaders, called over, ‘Now, Jack, we wanna see you again Friday night. We’re flying back to Dallas day after.’
‘Hey, but it’s your reunion dinner, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yeah, but we’ve organised a game after.’ The Kid pointed to Johnny, who stood across the room, talking to two of the other guys. ‘Sergeant Johnny booked the room at the Desert Inn a month back.’
‘Johnny Diamond, he one of yours?’ I asked, surprised.
The Kid looked genuinely astonished. ‘Yer mean ta tell me, yer didn’t know he was 101st Airborne? Sergeant Diamond, fuckin’ living legend during the Normandy Invasion – Distinguished Service Cross. He was with us all the way from our first training camp to the finish in Germany.’ The Kid turned and shouted, ‘Hey, Johnny, come on over here for a moment, will ya?’ Johnny Diamond excused himself from the two guys he’d been talking to and came over. ‘Tell Jack we want him in Friday night’s game, buddy.’
Johnny shrugged. ‘I thought it was strictly 101st Airborne, but it’d be real nice if you could make it, Jack.’
‘I don’t know if I can,’ I said.
‘I know Friday’s a big night at the GAWP Bar.’ Johnny grinned. ‘I applied to Lenny for the day off three months ago.’
I hesitated. Bridgett wouldn’t be happy and, besides, it’s never a good idea to ‘play the same pack’ too soon after a high-stakes game. I’d won a fair bit, certainly ending ahead of any of the other players, and if I did that two nights in a row, the group might decide I was ‘a cut above the pack’ (another poker term) and I’d be excluded from future games.
‘I’ll have to check with my boss. Like Johnny says, Friday’s one of our big nights.’
The Kid stabbed his forefinger into my chest. It was obvious he wasn’t going to accept no for an answer. ‘Try real hard, Jack, will ya? A friend of Sergeant Johnny Diamond is automatically considered one of us.’ He called over to the others, ‘Right, fellas?’
‘Right!’ they all chorused.
‘Great, buddy; see ya Friday, midnight, eh?’ the Kid said.
‘Come on, I’ll give you a lift home, Jack,’ Johnny offered.
Once we were in his car, I said, ‘Hey, you never told me you were with the 101st Airborne in Normandy.’
‘You never told me you were at Dieppe,’ he replied.
When we reached my apartment, I thanked him for including me in the game and said how much I’d enjoyed his wartime comrades. ‘Sorry it wasn’t a great night for you,’ I added. ‘Perhaps tomorrow night, eh? Goodnight, buddy.’
He shrugged. ‘Some nights are great, some not. Nobody knows that better than you, Jack.’ He then said, ‘Be nice if you can make it, but I understand if you can’t. Call me either way.’
I nodded. ‘I’ll talk to Mrs Fuller.’
I slept well and woke after midday – winning tends to be the best sleeping pill of them all. I showered, dressed and walked directly to the Firebird to see Bridgett at 2 p.m. After a bit of ‘umming and ahhing’, and a nudge about the gals from Atlanta the previous week, she agreed – probably the worst decision on my behalf she ever made. ‘You owe me, Jack,’ was her final comment. Not strictly true but, what the hell, she was pretty particular about whether a new intake had a great night at the GAWP Bar.
I called Johnny and told him.
‘Great news, Jack, the guys’ll be pleased. I’ll meet you at quarter to midnight sharp.’
I had my customary late lunch, or early dinner, and settled into an hour-and-a-half’s practice in the Phoenix Bar, while the staff set up the room for the evening and Barney prepared the bar. Bridgett permitted any member of staff who had a birthday to have fifteen minutes off to allow me to play a special request or two in their honour. Then I was due to meet Bridgett and Lenny for a drink; although, on Fridays, Bridgett was often run off her feet, and sometimes couldn’t make it. After this, I’d have a little time to relax, and read a book in my dressing-room before changing into my tuxedo for the early show.
I was just thinking about finishing practising when I sensed someone standing behind me. Completing the short exercise I was running through, I turned around and realised with a start that Sammy Schischka was directly behind me.
I attempted to conceal my surprise – we hadn’t spoken a single word since the Hector incident and his subsequent threat.
‘Oh, hi, Sammy. What can I do for you?’ I asked. Bridgett had assured me he was banned from The Phoenix Bar, making his appearance even more startling. As usual, he was with his two scowling retainers, who stood below the platform on either side of their master.
‘You’re playing in a poker game over at the Desert Inn tonight.’ It wasn’t a question but a statement.
‘Yeah?’ It was none of his business but I wasn’t looking for trouble.
‘Well, I wanna play. Get me into the game.’ It sounded like an order.
The room was silent; the cleaners had stopped working, no doubt as shocked as I was to see him.
‘Sammy, this is my practice time. You’re not supposed to be in this part of the hotel and the answer to your question is simple, I do not have the authority to invite you to tonight’s game.’ I paused. ‘That is, even if I wanted to and . . .’ I now realise I should have left it at that but I added, ‘. . . even if I could, I’d be damned if I would.’
‘What’s that supposed mean?’ he asked, his voice the sound of a barrow upturning a load of gravel.
I was already beginning to regret not keeping my reply straight and to the point, simply explaining that I was a guest myself, and that this was a reunion of the 101st Airborne and, therefore, strictly private. But instead, I said, ‘Sammy, these are war buddies at a reunion. They want to play a late game together. You’d be way out of your depth. They’re very good, they take poker seriously and they’re cashed up. This is not your sort of game.’
‘Oh, yeah, but it’s yours, is it? Who the fuck you think you are? I’ve played you before! Remember Gatwick?’
I was trying very hard to keep my cool. ‘Yes, that was a long time ago and you always lost. But listen, Sammy, that’s not why I can’t invite you. Johnny Diamond, the pit boss, was in the 101st Airborne and it was one of his wartime buddies who invited me.’ I then added, ‘Johnny and I are friends, and I’ve played with some of them before; they’re buddies.’
To my surprise, Sammy actually stamped his foot. ‘Well then, fuckin’ ask Johnny to get me in!’ he shouted.
The little-boy-style tantrum was almost funny and allowed me to collect my thoughts. In a reasonable voice, I said, ‘Now, I can’t do that, Sammy. It’s not Johnny’s call. Besides, you could ask him yourself.’
‘Can’t!’ he snapped.
I then remembered he was permanently banned from the gaming floor, where Johnny was the pit boss; a ban he seemed to accept. I sighed. ‘Be sensible, Sammy. Even if Johnny could, and he can’t, you’d get rolled! Cleaned out. Like I said, this is a high-stakes game but it’s still friendly.’
‘What yer fuckin’ mean? I haven’t got that kinda dough?’
‘Hey, steady on, ladies present!’ I indicated the cleaners, then said with a sigh, ‘No, I didn’t suggest that. But if you have, then you’ll lose it!’
I hadn’t given much thought to the gossip about Sammy’s Benzedrine habit – these sorts of rumours were always flying around and Sammy attracted more than his fair share of them – but now, glancing at him, I could see he looked jittery and hyped up, with a heavy sheen of sweat below his hairline, even though the piano bar was air-conditioned. Careful, Jack, this guy’s high, I warned myself.
‘Well, ya gonna fix it?’ he asked, as if he hadn’t heard a word I’d said.
‘Sammy! Ferchrissake, I just told you, I can’t! It’s not my call. The guys from the 101st invited me but they definitely didn’t say I could bring anyone.’
‘You fuckin’ war heroes all think yer something special, doncha? Well, you can shove your game up your ass. Mark my words! You’ll be fuckin’ sorry, punk! And you can tell your friend Johnny Diamond the same. Asshole wouldn’t allow me onto the gaming floor last week. My fuckin’ family owns the fuckin’ joint! Who the fuck does he think he is!’ He turned and stomped off across the lounge, trailed by his twin shadows, who, it occurred to me at that moment, I had never seen without their hats.
Too late, I realised I had hit a nerve: Fort Leavenworth and Sammy’s prison experience. The 101st Airborne was army and here they were, punishing him once again with another dishonourable discharge, treating him like shit. Could it be that simple? I was no psychiatrist but who could say what went on in Sammy Schischka’s warped mind? I wondered whether I should mention the incident to Johnny, but decided to hell with it; if Johnny, as pit boss, hadn’t allowed him on the gaming floor, he was only following management’s instructions. Sammy would get over it. I didn’t need to worry Johnny with this one. Benzedrine eventually wears off, and by morning, even Sammy would most likely have forgotten the episode or decided it never happened. To hell with the fat little psychotic jerk.
Jack of Diamonds Page 56
