'This is a good game,' he smiled at Sidewalk.
'Beginner's luck,' said Bruce nervously. He looked tentatively at Sidewalk and then at Zaharran.
Gabby said: 'Grab it while you can.'
'Sure is beginner's luck,' nodded Zaharran, taking care not to look up from the money he had accumulated. He stuffed it into the pocket of the voluminous trousers and threw the final dollar into the centre of the wheel as his wager for the next game. 'Anybody want to change seats?' he inquired, looking about him with fat innocence. Nobody did.
Sidewalk fluttered his dollar into the centre and the others followed suit. Sidewalk spun the wheel as he always did.
Zaharran glanced at the embarrassed Bruce and smiled
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diffidently at Gabby. 'I wonder can I do it again?' he said ingenuously. 'I just wonder?'
Twice more during the course of the evening he won and at the conclusion of the session he was thirty dollars richer. Sidewalk was last from the table. 'George,' he said, getting up elegantly. His shoes caught the light. 'We got another game we play. Like to take a chance?'
Ossie moved close to Sidewalk. 'Watch it, man,' he whispered. 'Don't make any trouble. Trouble makes trouble. Understand?'
'Sure,' said Sidewalk amiably. 'I don't have any trouble in mind.' He walked towards Zaharran and put his hand on the fat arm. There was no reaction but a guarded smile. 'It's a great game,' he said. 'And quick. We take the cards and we throw them up at the fan there.'
Zaharran looked up to where the huge old-fashioned fan cleft the air above their heads. 'And when they come down?' he asked.
'When they come down every guy catches a card while it's still flying, see? Whoever gets the highest card wins the loot. Okay?'
'I've got a better idea,' said Zaharran.
'I thought you could have,' said Sidewalk. 'What is it, friend?'
'Just you and me, Mr Sidewalk. We'll play the game. Twenty-five bucks we put down. Then we throw the cards into the fan.'
'Twenty-five bucks?' Everyone looked anxiously at Sidewalk. That was a lot of money on South Miami Beach. A grin broke unexpectedly on his face although it disappeared again quickly, as if it had no right to be there. 'Okay, you got a bet. What's twenty-five bucks anyway?'
The old men all looked at each other and shrugs were exchanged. 'What's twenty-five bucks, anyway?' they echoed to each other. 'What's twenty-five bucks?'
They gathered around the rivals. The Chinese waiters stood in one clutch as if ready collectively to defend themselves in trouble. Ossie and Bruce, sensing the tension, glanced
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unsurely at each other. Gabby wondered how much twenty-five dollars meant to Sidewalk. All of twenty-five dollars she guessed. Sidewalk pushed the pack of cards towards her. 'Okay,' he said. 'You throw, lady.'
'You sure you want to go through with this?' said Gabby. She hesitated. 'For twenty-five dollars?' She looked at Zaharran and then hard at Sidewalk. Sidewalk nodded and Zaharran said: 'Throw them, little lady.'
Gabby did. She shuffled and tidied the pack. Ari the Greek said: 'No need to shuffle them. Gabby. The fan shuffles 'em.' Then she threw them into the revolving blades of the fan. The cards seemed to hang in" the close air for a moment and then the four blades caught them and flung them to all corners of the room. As they floated down Sidewalk grabbed a card in mid-air and so did Zaharran. Sidewalk immediately slapped his down on the table. 'Queen.' he said quietly. 'Of Spades.'
'Eight of Hearts,' sighed Zaharran, throwing his on the floor. He reached into his deep trousers and counted out twenty-five dollars for Sidewalk. Sidewalk laughed and so did everyone, including the relieved waiters. 'I'll buy you a beer, mister,' said Sidewalk shaking Zaharran by the hand.
'Thanks, I need one,' said Zaharran. He did too. It was not every day that he threw away a winning card, a King of Diamonds. If Salvatore ever paid his expenses he would make sure the twenty-five dollars was included.
Gabby lay naked in Ossie's arms in the beach tower which had for so long been the scene of his employment. She stirred uneasily and he looked questioningly at her in the diffuse moonlight.
'Something wrong?' he said. *You don't seem too happy, Gabby.'
'Me? No, I'm okay, Ossie. I guess you can't expect to be as kookie as I am and be calm and happy all the time. It's a tough combination.'
I know' he guessed. 'You got another letter from Prince Charming in St Pete's. He's coming for you on his white horse with his shining lance in his hand.'
'Stop it,' she half-laughed. As she said it a droopy-faced
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pelican dropped dozily on to the rail of the watchtower and sat there ridiculously, observing them with hooded eyes.
'Oh God,' said Gabby. 'Now we have an audience.'
'Beat it,' said Ossie to the pelican. The bird obeyed but was back within two minutes with two colleagues. They sat, their huge beaks hanging like pockets, each watching the naked humans with unembarrassed interest. Ossie clapped his hands at them but they only flew a few yards before returning.
Gabby laughed. 'Maybe they think we're a couple of big fish. Maybe they haven't seen naked people lying flat before. Maybe we'd better split.'
'Let's split,' agreed Ossie. 'We'll go to my room. If that's all right with you.'
Gabby only hesitated momentarily. They had never been together in his room. She had only been there with Loose Bruce. 'Okay,' she said. 'As long as you don't have a creaky bed.'
'It creaks,' he told her. 'But I've never seen a pelican in there. Let's go.'
He stood up and put his pants and shirt on. She put a brief dress around her body and pulled her panties up beneath it. 'Okay?' she said addressing the pelicans. 'The show's over. Hope you had a good time.'
As the humans went down the steps of the watchtower the birds croaked a little and flew away as if disappointed. Ossie took Gabby's hand and she felt his assurance flowing into her. They walked along the beach and then up over the lawns to Ocean Drive and separately into the Sunny Gables HoteL It was late. The banjo player had gone, Mrs Nissenbaum was eating her supper, and the old man who cleaned up the place in return for his room was dusting the leaves of the rubber plant. He hardly noticed the two people. He was very intent on the leaves and he wiped each leaf carefully. Mrs Nissenbaum liked clean leaves.
They went swiftly to his room and stood together in the gloom. He undid the buttons of the dress and she pulled her panties to her knees with her hand and then the rest of the way with one foot. She took his shirt away and he let his pants fall to his ankles.
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They were instinctive lovers and once they looked at each other in the dimness of the room they closed together with no further words, their bodies touching firmly and enjoyably all the way down. He moved his hands up her thighs to her hip bones and then to her small stomach and below.
Ossie smiled at her in the wan light and she returned the smile and put her lips to his hard chest. They shuffled one pace to the bed and he eased her on to it. There came a loud twang of old bed springs. They clutched each other, transfixed with it.
In the next room the old husband opened his eyes at the noise. He glanced quickly at his old wife. She snored softly. He left the bed and crept to his voyeur's position by the wall. All day he had been secretly at work with a chisel and had made a peep-hole through the plaster. Eagerly his eye went to it. He could see the dim figures on the bed a few feet away. He heard Gabby whisper: 'Take it easy now, darling, this bed's like a bell.'
They moved again and the twang resounded through the room. He looked at her anxiously in the dark. 'Maybe nobody will hear,' he whispered. 'Maybe they're all asleep.'
'They'll hear.' she forecast grimly. 'When it does that I feel like the Hunchback of Notre Dame.'
Holding each other's ribs they attempted a tentative roll across the mattress. There came some muted creaks and groans from the bed beneath their bodies but nothing major. Ossie smiled down at her in the half light. Gabby smiled back. Then
, like some booby trap being sprung, the most resonant twang that ever issued from a bedspring vibrated through the room. They lay still, waiting.
There came a furious banging from beneath the floor as if someone were buried alive down there. Muffled shouts issued up. Ossie swore fluently.
'To hell with it,' he said to the girl. 'I pay for this room. At least, I'm going to pay for it when I get enough dough. And while I rent it, I do what I like in it.'
'Not if Mrs Nissenbaum finds out,' pointed out Gabby. Her body was hot and her eyes sleepy. 'Come on Ossie,' she said urgently, 'let's give it another pitch.'
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'They're only jealous,' he whispered. Carefully he manoeuvred himself to her, feeling her soft flesh on his, thigh mounting thigh. The bed remained quiet but they were not fooled by it. It was merely waiting in ambush.
Ossie and Gabby moved into each other, easily and softly as familiars do. They knew each other now, every hill and culvert of the lover's body. He kissed her face and she returned the kiss from beneath him. It was very hot in the room. Ossie felt full. He moved harder into her. Twang!
The bed emitted the loudest noise to date. It was as if one spring had been jammed below another and had been released by some movement of their lovemaking. Twang. It sounded again. That did it. From every side, it seemed, from above and particularly below, the elderly inhabitants of Sunny Gables Hotel set up a fusillade of protest. Banging, kicking, shouting. Except the room to the left, where the old man sat and waited and watched. He was not complaining.
'You bastards are spoiling the late, late show!' howled a denizen to the right.
'So what?' bellowed Ossie back. 'You're spoiling my late, late show. Fuck off the lot of you! You old bums!'
Gabby was somewhere below him howling with laughter. He put his hand gently over her mouth. 'I think we're going to have to finish this some other time, baby,' he said. 'Mrs Nissenbaum will be on her way up soon.'
Gabby nodded mirthful agreement. She rolled from the bed looking like a wet fish. She put her meagre clothes on and kissing him briefly went out of the door and down the stairs, just as the old folks were coming out of their doors all around. In their nightdresses, nightcaps and ancient pyjamas they converged on Ossie's door and there they were grouped, hammering with their bony fists, when Mrs Nissenbaum thumped her way up the stairs and made her way through them like a riot cop pushing aside a mob.
'That guy's disturbing us!' one man said, prodding Mrs Nissenbaum with a stick.
'He ruined the late, late show.'
'He does things in bed.'
'Disgraceful at this time of night.'
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'Are you in there!' shouted Mrs Nissenbaum, rapping her knuckles on the door. 'Come on, young man, are you in there!' Her eyelash had fallen across her eye like a seal. She pushed it back into place. 'Answer me, mister!'
Ossie let out a huge echoing yawn. The bedspring harped again as he eased himself from his horizontal position. 'What's the racket?' he called towards the door. 'Who's making all the noise?'
'Open this door, please,' ordered Mrs Nissenbaum grimly. 'It's Mrs Nissenbaum. Come on, young man, open up.'
The door opened and Ossie appeared there, yawning, eyes blinking, naked with a long manilla envelope held in front of his private parts. 'Mrs Nissenbaum,' he inquired amid the gasps of the old ladies, 'why are you making all this noise.'
In the next room, the old husband left the hole in the wall and retreated to his bed and his old, snoring wife.
Sidewalk Joe said: 'Listen, just listen to me. We either got to get something going soon. Like quick. Or we'd just better forget the whole goddamn thing.'
Ossie nodded. 'You mean the confidence will disappear.'
'Jesus,' said Gabby. 'Since when did we have any confidence?'
'I've got a suggestion,' said Bruce. They were sitting in Flamingo Park under the Tree of Knowledge. It was a fine Florida day with no clouds, no wind and no waves. The sun had the sky to itself.
Bruce looked around, surprised that he was being given unusual hearing room. There were only four of them under the tree, for it was the morning most people went to collect their social security and there were always long lines at the office on Collins Avenue. Sidewalk, who retained some of his old privileges as a gang boss, had an arrangement whereby he could dispatch an emissary to collect his. He now smoked a cigar and looked with the others at Bruce, but with no great hope.
'What I want to say, to suggest, anyway, is that we bring in another guy. That guy George.'
A groan passed from one to another. 'We need another
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hand in this outfit like we need fleas,' said Gabby. 'Jesus, we don't make enough dough to go round as it is.'
'One thing we've never had,' pursued Bruce, 'that's luck. Not once have we had a lucky break. It's always gone the other way. Now George, now there's a lucky man.'
'If we want a mascot why don't we get a black cat or something?' asked Ossie sourly. 'Or a tattoo on our ass?'
'Just a minute. Give me a break,' insisted Bruce. 'I know that guy. I've talked to him a lot since he came here. He makes his luck. He's not just hoping it will come along. The things that guy's done! New York, Philly, Savannah, all over. He's told me. He could be the one to turn it for us.' He paused and looked around at their doubting faces. 'And we sure need somebody.'
Zaharran made a massive sight sprawled on his narrow bed in the Sunny Gables Hotel. He was stripped to the waist, his chest hairy and his stomach enormous. He was smoking a dubious cigar and the smoke hung around him like rainclouds around a mountain. His instinct told him that he might be getting a caller and it was right. After he had been prone there for an hour, had rested his nagging back and smoked three evil cigars, there came a knock and Loose Bruce and Ossie walked in at his call. I
'Hi,' he said, his huge head revolving towards them as if moved by a slow mechanism. 'What's this, a raid?'
'Kind of,' smiled Ossie. He was still not feeling sure about George.
'We just wanted to talk to you,' said Bruce, who was sure, but was worried that the others had already made him responsible for the results of the new man's recruitment to the gang. 'We got a proposition to make. If you're interested.'
'Oh God,' groaned Zaharran. He rolled his eyes. 'It's not work is it? I ain't fit to work, that's for sure, son. I ain't hardly fit enough to lie here. It's my back. I got agony all the way down from my neck to my ass.'
'No, no, it's not work, not exactly,' Ossie assured him. He looked around the close room. There was the customary small armchair and a stool. He pulled the armchair forward for the
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full three feet it would travel without colliding with anything and made to sit on it.
'The left hand leg at the front,' warned Zaharran, without moving. 'It's come off. You have to keep your weight towards the back. What do you guys want anyway?'
Bruce sat on the stool and pulled it nearer to the bed like a doctor with a patient. Ossie manoeuvred his backside into the armchair and eased his weight away from the left front corner. The chair wobbled but he managed a balance.
'It's like this,' Bruce began. He paused with uncertainty.
'Like what?' asked Zaharran. His retired policeman's heart was beating hopefully. He even glanced down in case its palpitations might be visible through the hair on his chest.
'Well, George, you seem like a guy who's got all his nuts and bolts. You've been around. New York, Savannah and places. And you've done things. Am I right?'
Zaharran turned his expression half an inch towards the young man.
'Sure,' he said. 'I've done things. Yesterday, for instance, I had a crap. What kind of things?'
'Crime,' Ossie put it bluntly. Bruce looked at him half grateful, half annoyed.
'Yes, like crime,' said Bruce. 'Remember, you told me, George.'
'Oh that,' smiled George. The smile wandered down his face like a trickle of water. 'Crime. Well, sure, I've tried my hand at ev
erything including crime. But I did two years in South Carolina State Prison and that kinda cured me. It's quite a cure, believe me.'
'That was for the thing you did in Savannah,' prompted Bruce. 'You told me, remember?'
Zaharran dismissed the thought with a wave of the decomposed cigar. It curved through the air like a burning aeroplane. Its odour had reached both the younger men and they wiped their eyes. 'That's all gone and past,' said Zaharran. 'I didn't mean to bore you with those things, son. I was just passing the time of day. We seem to have plenty of that to pass down here.'
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'That's just it,' said Ossie on cue. 'Some of the people down here have found they don't care just to hang about until they're dead. So they do something. They take action, George.'
Zaharran ordered his heart to stop banging. He eased himself up on his thick, pale elbows. His great sweaty face revolved from one to the other as if it were on oiled castors. 'What?" he asked. 'What do they do?'
Bruce glanced at Ossie. It was the signal for him to continue. 'So far, not much,' he said carefully. 'But we have a group of people down here who like to take part in a little excitement. A little robbery and that sort of thing.'
Zaharran erupted into outsized, convincing laughter. 'Ho! Oh, Jesus Christ!' He roared. 'That's the best yet! Robbery! The poor old bastards from around here?'
'Right,' said Ossie quietly.
'Right,' repeated Bruce more sharply. They felt hurt at his mirth. Zaharran looked at their serious faces and burst into a further peal. Bruce produced his Russian pistol and stuck it into his fleshy belly. Zaharran stopped laughing.
'No bullet would ever penetrate that, sonny,' he said seriously. 'Move it up to the ribs. Give it a fair chance.'
For some reason Bruce took the advice. He moved the gun up to the ribs. 'This is a Russian gun,' he said. 'A Muscof 43. It could make a hole in you as big as a plate.'
'That's if it was loaded,' sighed Zaharran. He pushed the muzzle of the gun away. 'Okay, so you're serious. I guessed you guys didn't just go around doing good works down here. And the chick also. So what's the plot, the scene like you say today. Yeah, what the hell's the scene?'
That Old Gang Of Mine Page 18
