Fools die

by Mario Puzo

  Except, of course, that they had to buy chips, the greens and blacks, and they had to gamble. A small price to pay. They could win, after all, if they got lucky. If they gambled intelligently, they would not lose too much. Cully thought benevolently that he would use “The Pencil” for Merlyn. Merlyn could have anything he wanted whenever he came to Vegas.

  And now Merlyn was crooked. Or at least bent. Yet it was plain to Cully that it was a temporary aberration. Everybody gets bent at least one time in his life. And Merlyn showed his shame, at least to Cully. He had lost some of his serenity, some of his confidence. And this touched Cully. He had never been innocent and he treasured innocence in others.

  So when he and Merlyn said their good-byes, Cully gave him a hug. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix it. Go into that grand jury room and deny everything. OK?”

  Merlyn laughed. “What else can I do?” he said.

  “And when you come out to Vegas, everything is on the house,” Cully said. “You’re my guest.”

  “I don’t have my lucky Winner jacket,” Merlyn said, smiling.

  “Don’t worry,” Cully said. “If you sink too deep, I’ll deal you a little blackjack personally.”

  “That’s stealing, not gambling,” Merlyn said. “I gave up stealing ever since I got that notice to the grand jury.”

  “I was only kidding,” Cully said. “I wouldn’t do that to Gronevelt. If you were maybe a beautiful broad, yes, but you’re too ugly.” And he was surprised to see Merlyn flinch again. And it struck him that Merlyn was one of those people who thought of themselves as ugly. A lot of women felt that, but not men, he thought. Cully said his final good-bye by asking Merlyn if he needed some of his black cash stashed at the hotel, and Merlyn said not yet. And so they parted.

  Back in his Plaza Hotel suite Cully made a series of calls to the casinos in Vegas. Yes, Charles Hemsi’s markers were still outstanding. He made a call to Gronevelt to outline his plan and then changed his mind. Nobody in Vegas knew how many taps the FBI had around town. So he just mentioned casually to Gronevelt that he would stay in New York for a few days and ask for some markers from New York customers who were behind, a little late. Gronevelt was laconic. “Ask them nice,” he said. And Cully said of course, what else could he do? They both understood they were talking for the FBI record. But Gronevelt had been alerted and would expect an explanation later in Vegas. Cully would be in the clear, he had not tried to throw a fastball by Gronevelt.

  The next day Cully got in touch with Charles Hemsi, not at the garment center office, but on a golf course in Roslyn, Long Island. Cully rented a limo and got out there early. He had a drink at the clubhouse and waited.

  It was two hours before he saw Charles Hemsi come off the links. Cully got up from his chair and strolled outside, where Charles was chatting with his partners before going into the lockers. He saw Hemsi hand over some money to one of the players; the sucker had just been hustled in golf, he lost everywhere. Cully sauntered up to them casually.

  “Charlie,” he said with sincere Vegas “Host” pleasure. “Good to see you again.” He held out his hand and Hemsi shook it.

  He could see that funny look on Hemsi’s face which meant he recognized Cully but couldn’t place him. Cully said, “From the Xanadu Hotel. Cully. Cully Cross.”

  Hemsi’s face changed again. Fear mixed with irritation, then the salesman grimace. Cully gave his most charming smile, and slapping Hemsi on the back, he said, “We’ve missed you. Haven’t seen you in a long time. Jesus, what are the odds of me running into you like this? Like betting a number on the roulette wheel straight up.”

  The golf partners were drifting into the clubhouse, and Charlie started to follow them. He was a big man, much bigger than Cully, and he just brushed past. Cully allowed it. Then he called after Hemsi, “Charlie, give me a minute. I’m here to help.” He made his voice fill with sincerity, without pleading. And yet the notes of his words were strong, rang like iron.

  The other man hesitated and Cully was quickly at his side. “Charlie, listen, this will not cost you a dime. I can square all your markers in Vegas. And you don’t pay a cent. All your brother has to do is a small favor.”

  Charlie Hemsi’s big bluff face went pale, and he shook his head. “I don’t want my brother to know about those markers. He’s murder. No way you can tell my brother.”

  Cully said softly, almost sorrowfully, “The casinos are tired of waiting, Charlie. The collectors are going to be in the picture. You know how they operate. They go down to your place of business, make scenes. They scream for their money. When you see two seven-foot three-hundred-pound guys screaming for their money, it can be a little unnerving.”

  “They can’t scare my brother,” Charlie Hemsi said. “He’s tough and he has connections.”

  “Sure,” Cully said. “I don’t mean they can make you pay if you don’t want to. But your brother will know and he’ll get involved and the whole thing will be messy. Look, I’ll make you a promise. Get your brother to see me and I’ll put a hold on all your markers at the Xanadu. And you can come there and gamble, and I’ll comp you all the way just like before. You won’t be able to sign markers, you’ll have to pay cash. If you win, you can make a little payment on the markers as you go along. That’s a good deal. No?” Here Cully made a little gesture almost of apology.

  He could see Charlie’s light blue eyes get interested. The guy hadn’t been to Vegas for a year. He must be missing the action. Cully recalled that in Vegas he had never asked to be comped for the golf course. Which meant that he wasn’t that crazy about golf. Because a lot of degenerate gamblers liked to put in a morning on the great golf course of the Xanadu Hotel. This guy was bored stiff. Still, Charlie hesitated.

  “Your brother is going to know anyway,” Cully said. “Better from me than the collectors. You know me. You know I’ll never go over the line.”

  “What’s the small favor?” Charlie asked.

  “Small, small,” Cully said. “He’ll do it once he hears the proposition. I swear to you. He won’t mind. He’ll be glad to do it.”

  Charlie smiled a sad smile. “He won’t he glad,” he said. “But come on into the clubhouse and we’ll have a drink and talk.”

  An hour later Cully was on his way hack to New York. He had stood over Charlie when Charlie made the phone call to his brother and arranged the appointment. He had conned and hustled and charmed Charlie Hemsi a dozen different ways. That he would square all the markers in Vegas, that nobody would ever bother him for the money. That the next time Charlie came to Vegas he would have the best suite and be comped all the way. And also as a bonus, that there was a girl, tall, long-legged, blond, from England with that great English accent, and the loveliest ass you ever saw, the best-looking dancer in the line at the Xanadu Hotel cabaret show. And Charlie could have her all night. Charlie would love her. And she would love Charlie.

  So they had made arrangements for Charlie’s trip at the end of the month. By the time Cully got through with him Charlie thought he was eating honey rather than getting castor oil poured down his throat.

  Cully went back to the Plaza first to wash up and change. He got rid of the limousine. He would walk down to the garment center. In his room he put on his best Sy Devore suit, silk shirt and conservative brown plaid tie. He put cuff links into his shirt sleeves. He had a pretty good picture of Eli Hemsi from brother Charles, and he didn’t want to make a bad first impression.

  Walking through the garment center, Cully felt disgust at the dirtiness of the city and the pinched, haggard faces walking its streets. Hand trucks, loaded with brightly colored dresses gallowed from metal racks, were being pushed by black men or old-timers with the seamed red faces of alcoholics. They pushed the hand trucks through the streets like cowboys, stopping traffic, almost knocking down pedestrians. Like sand and tumbleweed of a desert, the garbage of discarded newspapers, remnants of food, empty pop bottles caught in the truck wheels, washed over their shoes and trouser cuffs. The sidewa
lks were so clogged with people you could hardly breathe, even in the open air. The buildings looked cancerous, gray tumors rising to the sky. Cully regretted for a moment his affection for Merlyn. He hated this city. He was amazed that anyone chose to live in it. And people made cracks about Vegas. And gambling. Shit. At least gambling kept the city clean.

  The entranceway of the Hemsi building seemed neater than others; the skin of the foyer that held the elevator seemed to have a thinner coat of grime over the usual white tiles. Jesus, Cully thought, what a crummy business. But when he got off on the sixth floor, he had to change his mind. The receptionist and secretary were not up to Vegas Standards, but Eli Hemsi’s suite of offices was. And Eli Hemsi, Cully saw at a glance, was a man not to be fucked around with in any way.

  Eli Hemsi was dressed in his usual dark silk suit with a pearly gray tie sitting on his startlingly white shirt. His massive head bowed in alert attention as Cully spoke. His deep socketed eyes seemed sad. But his energy and force could not be contained. Poor Merlyn, Cully thought, getting mixed up with this guy.

  Cully was brief as could be under the circumstances, gravely businesslike. Charm would be wasted on Eli Hemsi. “I’ve come here to help two people,” Cully said. “Your brother, Charles, and a friend of mine named Merlyn. Believe me when I tell you that is my sole purpose. For me to help them you have to do a small favor. If you say no, there is nothing more I can do to help. But even if you say no, I will do nothing to hurt anyone. Everything will remain the same.” He paused for a moment to let Eli Hemsi say something, but that great buffalo like head was frozen with wary attention. The somber eyes did not even flicker.

  Cully went on. “Your brother, Charles, owes my hotel in Vegas, the Xanadu, over fifty thousand dollars. He owes another two hundred and fifty thousand scattered around Vegas. Let me say right now that my hotel will never press him for his markers. He’s been too good a customer and he’s too nice a man. The other casinos may make things a little unpleasant for him, but they can’t really make him pay if you use your connections, which I know you have. But then you owe your connections a favor which eventually may cost you more than what I ask.”

  Eli Hemsi sighed and then asked in his soft but powerful voice, “Is my brother a good gambler?”

  “Not really,” Cully said. “But that doesn’t make any difference. Everybody loses.”

  Hemsi sighed again. “He’s not much better in the business. I am going to buy him out, get rid of him, fire my own brother. He’s nothing but trouble with his gambling and his women. When he was young, he was a great salesman, the best, but he’s too old now and he’s not interested. I don’t know if I can help him. I know I won’t pay his gambling debts. I don’t gamble, I don’t take that pleasure. Why should I pay for his?”

  “I’m not asking you to,” Cully said. “But here’s what I can do. My hotel will buy all his markers from the other casinos. He won’t have to pay for them unless he comes and gambles and wins at our casino. We won’t give him any more credit, and I’ll make sure no other casino in Vegas gives him credit. He can’t get hurt if he just plays for cash. That’s strength. For him. Just like letting people sign markers is our strength in our operation. I can give him that protection.”

  Hemsi was still watching him very intently. “But my brother keeps gambling?”

  “You’ll never be able to stop him,” Cully said simply. ‘There are many men like him, very few men like yourself. Real life is not that exciting to him anymore, he’s not interested. Very common.”

  Eli Hemsi nodded, thinking that over, rolling it around his buffalo like head. “But this isn’t too bad a business deal for you,” he said to Cully. “Nobody can collect my brother’s debts, you said that yourself, so you’re giving away nothing. And then my foolish brother comes with ten, twenty thousand dollars in his pocket and you win it from him. So you gain. No?”

  Cully said very carefully, “It could go another way. Your brother could sign more markers and owe a great deal more money. Enough money to make certain people think it worthwhile to collect them or try harder to collect them. Who knows how foolish a man can get? Believe me when I tell you that your brother won’t be able to stay away from Vegas. It’s in his blood. Men like him come from all over the world. Three, four, five times a year. I don’t know why, but they come. It means something to them that you and I can’t understand. And remember, I have to buy up his markers; that will cost me something.” As he said this, he wondered how he could make Gronevelt accept the proposition. But he would worry about that later.

  “And what is the favor?” The question was finally asked in that same soft, yet powerful voice. It was really the voice of a saint, the voice seemed to give off a spiritual serenity. Cully was impressed and for the first time a little worried. Maybe this wouldn’t work.

  Cully said, “Your son, Paul. He gave testimony against my friend Merlyn. You remember Merlyn. You promised to make him happy for the rest of his life.” And Cully let the steel come into his voice. He was annoyed by the power given off by this man. A power born of his tremendous success with money, the rise from poverty to millions in an adverse world, from the victorious wars of his life while carrying a foolish brother.

  But Eli Hemsi did not rise to the bait of this ironic reproach. He did not even smile. He was still listening.

  “Your son’s testimony is the only evidence against Merlyn. Sure I understand, Paul was frightened.” Suddenly there was a dangerous flicker in those dark eyes watching him. Anger at this stranger knowing his son’s first name and using it so familiarly and almost contemptuously. Cully gave back a sweet smile. “A very nice boy you have, Mr. Hemsi. Everybody is certain he was tricked, threatened, to make his statement to the FBI. I've consulted some very good lawyers. They say he can back off in the grand jury room, give his testimony in such a way so that he will not convince the jury and still not get in trouble with the FBI. Maybe he can re-tract the testimony altogether.” He studied the face opposite him. There was nothing to read. “I assume your son has immunity,” Cully said. “He won’t be prosecuted. I also understand you probably have it arranged so he won’t have to do his Army duty. He’ll come out of it a hundred percent OK. I figure you have that all set. But if he does this favor, I promise you nothing will change.”

  Eli Hemsi spoke now in a different voice. It was stronger, not so soft, yet persuasive, a salesman selling. “I wish I could do that,” he said. ‘That boy, Merlyn, he’s a very nice boy. He helped me, I will be grateful to him forever.” Cully noted that here was a man who used the word “forever” pretty often. No halfway gestures for him. He had promised Merlyn he would make him happy for the rest of his life. Now he was going to be grateful forever. A real fucking claim agent weaseling out of his obligations. For the second time Cully felt some anger that this guy was treating Merlyn like such a schmuck. But he continued to listen with an agreeable smile on his face.

  “There is nothing I can do,” Hemsi said. “I can’t endanger my son. My wife would never forgive me. He is her whole life to her. My brother is a grown man. Who can help him? Who can guide him, who can make his life now? But my son has to be cared for. He is my first concern. Afterward, believe me, I will do anything for Mr. Merlyn. Ten, twenty, thirty years from now I will never forget him. Then, when this is all over, you can ask me anything.” Mr. Hemsi rose from his desk and put out his hand, his powerful frame bent over with grateful solicitousness. “I wish my son had a friend like you.”

  Cully grinned at him, shook his hand. “I don’t know your son, but your brother is my friend. He’s coming out to visit me in Vegas at the end of the month. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of him. I’ll keep him out of trouble.” He saw the pondering look on Eli Hemsi’s face. He might as well sock it to him all the way.

  “Since you can’t help me,” Cully said, “I have to get Merlyn a really good lawyer. Now the district attorney has probably told you that Merlyn will plead guilty and get a suspended sentence. And everything wil
l blow away so that your son not only will get immunity but will never have to go back into the Army. That may be. But Merlyn will not plead guilty. There wile be a trial. Your son will have to appear in an open court. Your son will have to testify. There will be a lot of publicity. I know that won’t bother you, but the newspapers will get to know where your son, Paul, is and what he is doing. I don’t care who promised you what. Your son will have to go into the Army. The newspapers will just put on too much pressure. And then, besides all that, you and your son will have enemies. To use your phrase, ‘I’ll make you unhappy for the rest of your life.’”

  Now that the threat was out in the open Hemsi leaned back in the chair and stared at Cully. His face, heavy and cragged, was more sad in its somberness than angry. So Cully gave it to him again. “You have connections. Call them and listen to their advice. Ask about me. Tell them I work for Gronevelt at the Xanadu Hotel. If they agree with you and call Gronevelt, there is nothing I can do. But you’ll be in their debt.”

  Hemsi leaned back in his chair. “You say everything will come out right if my son does what you ask?”

  “I guarantee it,” Cully said.

  “He won’t have to go back into the Army?” Hemsi asked again.

  “I guarantee that too,” Cully said. “I have friends in Washington, as you have. But my friends can do things your friends can’t do, even if only because they can’t be connected to you.”

  Eli Hemsi was ushering Cully to the door. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much. I have to think over everything you said. I’ll be in touch with you.”