COWS Vegas adventure
- Thread starter Agent 0659
- Start date
Cow's Vegas Trip
Digsville: Meyer Harris Cohen, the marvelous, benevolent, malevolent
Mickster, has been out of federal custody since April. He did nearly 40
years for racketeering, income tax evasion and the attempted murder of a
Nevada gaming official. Now the former gambling kingpin has called in
some old markers and started an operation known only to a selected few
clients.
Hush-Hush Sports -- officially owned by Mickey's spn, Morris -- is
actually run by the Mickster and a gambling friend of mine from long
ago; Salvatore Vecchio. I hadn't heard from Sally since I'd left LA
nearly twenty years earlier. I knew he was mixing with "the guys" back
then, but shit! This was Mickey freakin' Cohen!
So Sal calls me last night from outta the blue. Says he ran ino my
cousin, Kippy at Santa Anita and got my number at the enda the night.
Then he asks me, "So, you still a player, Cow?"
"Uh -- is the sun still hot?" I said.
Sally went on to tell me (in so many words) that Hush-Hush was the genuine
article. "I swear ta God, Cow! Mickey's given me 3 winners outta every 4
picks for a freakin' month!" He said. "We gotta a coupla guys that play
limits around Vegas for us, but the "real" scratch comes from some Chinese
gambling syndicate. Besides summa the old-timers back east, they're the only
ones that get our games. Period."
I hated to think it, but it sounded like Sally was playin' me. I guess he
realized it too, 'cause he said, "I ain't workin' ya, Cow. I know how it
sounds, man, but I'm playin' square! Believe me, I'll tryta slip yuz a play
now and then, if I can. You'll see, it's ****in' bizarre!"
Then he told me how he don't think Mickey's fixin' the games or nuthin', not
that "that" ain't been done before, but he says the Mickster just seems to
know everything. "He's got more connections than Ma Bell" is what he said.
Well lemme tell you guys, my freakin' wife thinks Sally is a damn grifter.
She don't know shit from shine-ola, but she knows that I shouldn't trust Sal.
Can ya believe, that? The nerve a that little b ... babe. Just this morning
in fact, she tells me, "I hope yer not talkin' to that Sal Vecchio guy no
more, cuz I'll tellya Sugar, he ain't nothin' but dirt! Ya hear me? Dirt!"
You're right, he is, baby. Paydirt.
All Mickey's old henchmen have long ago taken the meat wagon to Slab City,
but the rumor mill has it that Jimmy Stampanato and Antoine "The Fish" Guerif
are now in his employ to --- how should I put this --- clean up messes. Now
your friend, Cow would love to share some of his new-found fortune with his
cyber-pals, but ... I don't wanna end up on a hook in some meat locker. Ya
know what I'm sayin'? So, please, alla yuz, place yer right hand on today's
current Vegas lines and repeat after me ----- I, (state your name), do
solemnly swear.
Cool. Everybody's in. Now remember, anything I tell yuz from this point
forward is: Off the record. On the Q.T. And very Hush-Hush.
Rrring .... Rrring .... Rrr ...
Yeah. Hullo. What?
Cow! It's Vinny. Where ya been, man?
Skidsville.
Again? How much?
'Bout a dime.
So what's the problem?
What in the hell d'ya want, Vinny?
Okay, okay, relax. Where's Ginger?
She went to visit her sister in Seattle.
Perfect! Dig this, Cow. Are you sittin' down?
C'mon, Vinny! Spill!
Small Change hit the ****in' Pick 6 last night!
You're shittin' me.
A hundred and forty-six K!
Change?
It gets better, Cow. He 's takin' you, me and Snacks to Vegas for the
fight!
Hold on. Snacks is in town?
Yeah. Change saw him at the track! Hurry up, man. We're meetin' at the
club in 20!
I'll be there.
Cow?
Yeah, Vinny.
Who you like in the fight, anyway?
I thought you'd never ask, Vinny.
HOLYFIELD 200/310
HOLYFIELD by KO 100/400
I've looked high and low, well, I've looked high at least, but the next
installment or two from the story have evaded me. As I recall, it went
something like this ...
... I dunno if I was more excited about Small Change's good fortune or
seein' Snacks, but I know in the backa my mind I was thinkin' Vinny had
somehow screwed up and none of it was gunna be legit. In any case, I was in
the Buick on my way to the club within minutes of hangin' up from Vinny. A
giant grin and my Nerelco portable competing for room on my face. Somethin'
was gunna happen, I could feel it. Somethin' big!
I pulled into my space at the club, splashed on some Aqua Velva and scoped
the parking lot. I didn't see Snacks' Cadillac, acourse he probably flew into
town. But I didn't see Change's 914 or Vinny's Mustang, neither. Hmmm. I
figured I'd be the last one ta show! "What's up?" I remember thinkin'.
Inside, I saw Mike was behind the bar, so I figured I wasn't in the Twilight
Zone or nuthin'. "Mike! A martini if you please!" When he delivered the
goods, I asked, "You ain't seen the boys have ya? Vinny told me to meet 'em
here."
"Notta word, Cow. I mean, since last night at least. Where was you, anyway?"
"You know," I said. "I been losin', so I took one of the girls out last
night. Why? Somethin' happen?"
"You ain't heard?! Jeezuz, Cow! You gotta stay in touch, man!"
Mike walked over to the window and broke a hole in the mini-blinds so he
could see the lot. "Here come yer boys, now!" He said smiling. "I'll let
Change give ya the wire. I can't believe yer still in the dark, man!"
With that, he yanked the drawstring on the blinds, clearing the window and
drenching the club in sunlight. After a second, my eyes refocused and what
should I see, but Small Change, Vinny and my cousin, Snacks climbin' outta
the backa what had ta be the longest freakin' limousine in town.
"Ya better gimme some whiskey, Mike. 'Bout three shotsa Jack Dainiels, for
starters."
Where was I? Oh, yeah. I dunno why, but I can't seemta remember too much
about what happened next. I even went so far as to go with Snacks to the
track last night, to you know, ask Mike what he remembersa that day, but ...
well, here's what we come up with.
So the boys pulled into the club in this black stretch. And, baby, the mooda
them suckers was electric! My best guess is, this was friday at about noon,
'cause I didn't have no buzz, yet. And 'cause Mike recalls that Change was in
a big hurry. Ya see, Change was determined to see Holyfield KO Tyson, but he
didn't have no tickets, hell, he wasn't even the right town! We figure it
musta been about 18 hours until the first fight on the undercard, so lookin'
back, I 'spose I can understand why Change was so freakin' antsy.
"Ya sure yuz can't come, Mike? It's all on me, buddy! Should be one helluva
fight! See ya, then. We gotta get goin'!"
I ain't never seena man talk so fast as that, but Mike had a sick wife at
home and bein' more of a square than he'll ever admit, splittin' witha a
buncha degenerates like us, was never even an option for him. He wished us
luck and we were gone.
From the backa the limousine, Change tooka long pull offa tequila bottle and
barked at the dame that was drivin'. "Beeline to the airport, baby. And step
on it!" He wouldn't even let us stop to grab our clothes ... or dough.
Nuthin'! "We're outta here!" he said, as the limo sped toward the airport.
"Anything yuz need, we'll get on the fly!"
That's really all any of us remember. We stayed at the club long enough to
have one drink, then we was off like a prom dress. Look out Vegas! Here comes
freakin' us! We didn't have no kinda plan or reservations or nuthin'. Shit,
we didn't have a damn suitcase! All we had was Small Change. Acourse, Small
Change had like a hundred and forty thousand clams in his moneybelt, so uh,
we didn't worry too much about details. Ya see what I'm sayin'?
Tomorrow: Cocktails, Showgirls and Security Goons! Vegas: How Suite It Is!
Of the hundred worst bars in the world, I'd be willing ta betchya that
ninety of 'em are located in airports. I mean, if it weren't for the
lack of alternatives, I'd probably never sit for hours at a table the
size of a serving platter, in one a them orange, stool-chair torture
devices drinkin' five-dollar a shot well drinks. Ya know what I'm
sayin'? Acourse, Change was treatin' and remember ... I said probably.
The next coupla hours were fulla waitin' around for a flight. We coulda
left almost immediately, but as Small Change told us, we was goin' first
class, or we weren't goin' at all. Know what I mean?
So me and Change talked about gamblin', while Snacks used the pay phone.
Vinny had hooked up with some skirt and wandered off somewhere. Unless
there were cancellations, our flight was due to depart at 7:11pm.
"Sounds lucky," I said.
"Indeed it does," yawned Small Change. "Very lucky."
I looked at the clock behind the bar. Tick ................... Tick
.................... Tick ................... Tick
....................... Tick. God, my ass hurt.
Snacks finally got offa the blower and joined us. "I just talked ta Sal,
gentlemen. And check this!" (dramatic pause) "He's goin' to the fight,
too! He said he'd track us down when he gets there tomorrow."
Change woke up with "that" news. "Too cool," he said. "Maybe I'll get ta
meet him, huh fellas?"
"Natch," we said. "You'll dig him, too! Sally's the best. Head-ta-toe
class."
~~ Attention, please. Flight number 468 to Las Vegas is now boarding at
gate 10. ~~
Small Change got up, crushed out his smoke and said, "where the hell's
freakin' Vinny?"
"There," answered Snacks, pointing.
I turned to look, and there he was, tucking in his shirt as he walked
casually outta the women's restroom. Right behind him came a pair of
smiling blonde knockouts.
Digsville: Meyer Harris Cohen, the marvelous, benevolent, malevolent
Mickster, has been out of federal custody since April. He did nearly 40
years for racketeering, income tax evasion and the attempted murder of a
Nevada gaming official. Now the former gambling kingpin has called in
some old markers and started an operation known only to a selected few
clients.
Hush-Hush Sports -- officially owned by Mickey's spn, Morris -- is
actually run by the Mickster and a gambling friend of mine from long
ago; Salvatore Vecchio. I hadn't heard from Sally since I'd left LA
nearly twenty years earlier. I knew he was mixing with "the guys" back
then, but shit! This was Mickey freakin' Cohen!
So Sal calls me last night from outta the blue. Says he ran ino my
cousin, Kippy at Santa Anita and got my number at the enda the night.
Then he asks me, "So, you still a player, Cow?"
"Uh -- is the sun still hot?" I said.
Sally went on to tell me (in so many words) that Hush-Hush was the genuine
article. "I swear ta God, Cow! Mickey's given me 3 winners outta every 4
picks for a freakin' month!" He said. "We gotta a coupla guys that play
limits around Vegas for us, but the "real" scratch comes from some Chinese
gambling syndicate. Besides summa the old-timers back east, they're the only
ones that get our games. Period."
I hated to think it, but it sounded like Sally was playin' me. I guess he
realized it too, 'cause he said, "I ain't workin' ya, Cow. I know how it
sounds, man, but I'm playin' square! Believe me, I'll tryta slip yuz a play
now and then, if I can. You'll see, it's ****in' bizarre!"
Then he told me how he don't think Mickey's fixin' the games or nuthin', not
that "that" ain't been done before, but he says the Mickster just seems to
know everything. "He's got more connections than Ma Bell" is what he said.
Well lemme tell you guys, my freakin' wife thinks Sally is a damn grifter.
She don't know shit from shine-ola, but she knows that I shouldn't trust Sal.
Can ya believe, that? The nerve a that little b ... babe. Just this morning
in fact, she tells me, "I hope yer not talkin' to that Sal Vecchio guy no
more, cuz I'll tellya Sugar, he ain't nothin' but dirt! Ya hear me? Dirt!"
You're right, he is, baby. Paydirt.
All Mickey's old henchmen have long ago taken the meat wagon to Slab City,
but the rumor mill has it that Jimmy Stampanato and Antoine "The Fish" Guerif
are now in his employ to --- how should I put this --- clean up messes. Now
your friend, Cow would love to share some of his new-found fortune with his
cyber-pals, but ... I don't wanna end up on a hook in some meat locker. Ya
know what I'm sayin'? So, please, alla yuz, place yer right hand on today's
current Vegas lines and repeat after me ----- I, (state your name), do
solemnly swear.
Cool. Everybody's in. Now remember, anything I tell yuz from this point
forward is: Off the record. On the Q.T. And very Hush-Hush.
Rrring .... Rrring .... Rrr ...
Yeah. Hullo. What?
Cow! It's Vinny. Where ya been, man?
Skidsville.
Again? How much?
'Bout a dime.
So what's the problem?
What in the hell d'ya want, Vinny?
Okay, okay, relax. Where's Ginger?
She went to visit her sister in Seattle.
Perfect! Dig this, Cow. Are you sittin' down?
C'mon, Vinny! Spill!
Small Change hit the ****in' Pick 6 last night!
You're shittin' me.
A hundred and forty-six K!
Change?
It gets better, Cow. He 's takin' you, me and Snacks to Vegas for the
fight!
Hold on. Snacks is in town?
Yeah. Change saw him at the track! Hurry up, man. We're meetin' at the
club in 20!
I'll be there.
Cow?
Yeah, Vinny.
Who you like in the fight, anyway?
I thought you'd never ask, Vinny.
HOLYFIELD 200/310
HOLYFIELD by KO 100/400
I've looked high and low, well, I've looked high at least, but the next
installment or two from the story have evaded me. As I recall, it went
something like this ...
... I dunno if I was more excited about Small Change's good fortune or
seein' Snacks, but I know in the backa my mind I was thinkin' Vinny had
somehow screwed up and none of it was gunna be legit. In any case, I was in
the Buick on my way to the club within minutes of hangin' up from Vinny. A
giant grin and my Nerelco portable competing for room on my face. Somethin'
was gunna happen, I could feel it. Somethin' big!
I pulled into my space at the club, splashed on some Aqua Velva and scoped
the parking lot. I didn't see Snacks' Cadillac, acourse he probably flew into
town. But I didn't see Change's 914 or Vinny's Mustang, neither. Hmmm. I
figured I'd be the last one ta show! "What's up?" I remember thinkin'.
Inside, I saw Mike was behind the bar, so I figured I wasn't in the Twilight
Zone or nuthin'. "Mike! A martini if you please!" When he delivered the
goods, I asked, "You ain't seen the boys have ya? Vinny told me to meet 'em
here."
"Notta word, Cow. I mean, since last night at least. Where was you, anyway?"
"You know," I said. "I been losin', so I took one of the girls out last
night. Why? Somethin' happen?"
"You ain't heard?! Jeezuz, Cow! You gotta stay in touch, man!"
Mike walked over to the window and broke a hole in the mini-blinds so he
could see the lot. "Here come yer boys, now!" He said smiling. "I'll let
Change give ya the wire. I can't believe yer still in the dark, man!"
With that, he yanked the drawstring on the blinds, clearing the window and
drenching the club in sunlight. After a second, my eyes refocused and what
should I see, but Small Change, Vinny and my cousin, Snacks climbin' outta
the backa what had ta be the longest freakin' limousine in town.
"Ya better gimme some whiskey, Mike. 'Bout three shotsa Jack Dainiels, for
starters."
Where was I? Oh, yeah. I dunno why, but I can't seemta remember too much
about what happened next. I even went so far as to go with Snacks to the
track last night, to you know, ask Mike what he remembersa that day, but ...
well, here's what we come up with.
So the boys pulled into the club in this black stretch. And, baby, the mooda
them suckers was electric! My best guess is, this was friday at about noon,
'cause I didn't have no buzz, yet. And 'cause Mike recalls that Change was in
a big hurry. Ya see, Change was determined to see Holyfield KO Tyson, but he
didn't have no tickets, hell, he wasn't even the right town! We figure it
musta been about 18 hours until the first fight on the undercard, so lookin'
back, I 'spose I can understand why Change was so freakin' antsy.
"Ya sure yuz can't come, Mike? It's all on me, buddy! Should be one helluva
fight! See ya, then. We gotta get goin'!"
I ain't never seena man talk so fast as that, but Mike had a sick wife at
home and bein' more of a square than he'll ever admit, splittin' witha a
buncha degenerates like us, was never even an option for him. He wished us
luck and we were gone.
From the backa the limousine, Change tooka long pull offa tequila bottle and
barked at the dame that was drivin'. "Beeline to the airport, baby. And step
on it!" He wouldn't even let us stop to grab our clothes ... or dough.
Nuthin'! "We're outta here!" he said, as the limo sped toward the airport.
"Anything yuz need, we'll get on the fly!"
That's really all any of us remember. We stayed at the club long enough to
have one drink, then we was off like a prom dress. Look out Vegas! Here comes
freakin' us! We didn't have no kinda plan or reservations or nuthin'. Shit,
we didn't have a damn suitcase! All we had was Small Change. Acourse, Small
Change had like a hundred and forty thousand clams in his moneybelt, so uh,
we didn't worry too much about details. Ya see what I'm sayin'?
Tomorrow: Cocktails, Showgirls and Security Goons! Vegas: How Suite It Is!
Of the hundred worst bars in the world, I'd be willing ta betchya that
ninety of 'em are located in airports. I mean, if it weren't for the
lack of alternatives, I'd probably never sit for hours at a table the
size of a serving platter, in one a them orange, stool-chair torture
devices drinkin' five-dollar a shot well drinks. Ya know what I'm
sayin'? Acourse, Change was treatin' and remember ... I said probably.
The next coupla hours were fulla waitin' around for a flight. We coulda
left almost immediately, but as Small Change told us, we was goin' first
class, or we weren't goin' at all. Know what I mean?
So me and Change talked about gamblin', while Snacks used the pay phone.
Vinny had hooked up with some skirt and wandered off somewhere. Unless
there were cancellations, our flight was due to depart at 7:11pm.
"Sounds lucky," I said.
"Indeed it does," yawned Small Change. "Very lucky."
I looked at the clock behind the bar. Tick ................... Tick
.................... Tick ................... Tick
....................... Tick. God, my ass hurt.
Snacks finally got offa the blower and joined us. "I just talked ta Sal,
gentlemen. And check this!" (dramatic pause) "He's goin' to the fight,
too! He said he'd track us down when he gets there tomorrow."
Change woke up with "that" news. "Too cool," he said. "Maybe I'll get ta
meet him, huh fellas?"
"Natch," we said. "You'll dig him, too! Sally's the best. Head-ta-toe
class."
~~ Attention, please. Flight number 468 to Las Vegas is now boarding at
gate 10. ~~
Small Change got up, crushed out his smoke and said, "where the hell's
freakin' Vinny?"
"There," answered Snacks, pointing.
I turned to look, and there he was, tucking in his shirt as he walked
casually outta the women's restroom. Right behind him came a pair of
smiling blonde knockouts.
The three of us just looked at each other; stupidly. Then we busted a
gut! "Damn Vinny's hot already!" laughed Change. "That lucky son of a
bitch."
As we walked toward the gate, with Vinny sprinting up behind us, I got
that feeling again. Somethin' special was gunna happen. It was obvious.
~~ Attention, please. Flight number 468 to Las Vegas is now boarding at
gate 10. ~~
Pardon this intrusion, boys, but some things need sayin'. Ya savvy? Like
maybe, have yuz noticed that throughout this narration I've been havin'
difficulty with the frames? Well ... have ya? Time frames, I mean. They've
been outta whack, Jack. Acourse, that goes without sayin'. Ya know what I'm
sayin'? Anyway, I think here's where we get back on track, Mac.
Ya see, the fight was on a Sunday, not Saturday like I been sayin', ya
follow? I mean, it suddenly dawned on me. We didn't hit Vegas until Saturday!
And as luck would have it, that's precisely where we are in this tale of
debauchery. I guess that's it! Sorry 'bout the interruption. Ahem!
(professional radio voice) And now ... back to our story.
The boys are back in town! The boys are back in town! The boys are back. The
boys are back.
We finally waltzed into the neon at around ten o'clock that night. Small
Change was "The Man" for the first time in his life and he was livin' large.
He'd given each of us a hug, a kiss on the cheek and an envelope. A thick
envelope. All he said was, "This place is ours. Lets use it up!"
We prowled the strip like cats; from the back of a limousine. I mean, we're
talkin' very cool cats, dad. The coolest. Unfortunately, that cool cat crap
didn't take, 'cause the whole damn town was booked! Every freakin' hotel was
packed like a Pall Mall cigarette. Sometime around midnight we headed to
Caesar's Palace. Snacks knew the race book manager there pretty good. Maybe,
just maybe he could pull us some strings. If Snacks could ever find him, that
is.
"This guys a shark, man." Snacks told us. "With alla this cooze in town,
he'll be on the make for sure. And I don't think he ever leaves Caesar's, I
mean, why would he give up the home field advantage, huh?"
He made a good point, but this still had ta be a longshot at best. Too bad it
was like our only shot, too. So for the next hour and a half, me and Vinny
talked, smoked, yawned and pulled a few handles. Small Changed paced, cussed,
smoked and drank a few beer mugs fulla tequila. The casino was hoppin'! Loud
'n crowded. Vinny was jacked up and drivin' me nuts.
"Cow! Hey, Cow! I'll be right back! The dice are callin' me!" Or, "I think I
see somebody I know." Or some similar crocka bullshit.
I just kept feedin' him the same line. "Sit tight 'til we hear from Snacks."
It was killin' him.
When Small Change went to the bar for his fourth mugga Cuervo, he got cut
off. Oh, ****. He was a hundred feet away from me, through a crowded barroom.
Between his pockets and his money belt, Change musta had a hundred large on
him --- easy. Now he was sloppy drunk and screamin' obscenities at the bar.
Knowin' security would be comin', I tried to get to Small Change.
"I'm gunna knock yer teeth out, then kick ya in the ribs for mumblin'!" He
hollered.
I only heard the booze jockey say two words. "You're dead." He said
gut! "Damn Vinny's hot already!" laughed Change. "That lucky son of a
bitch."
As we walked toward the gate, with Vinny sprinting up behind us, I got
that feeling again. Somethin' special was gunna happen. It was obvious.
~~ Attention, please. Flight number 468 to Las Vegas is now boarding at
gate 10. ~~
Pardon this intrusion, boys, but some things need sayin'. Ya savvy? Like
maybe, have yuz noticed that throughout this narration I've been havin'
difficulty with the frames? Well ... have ya? Time frames, I mean. They've
been outta whack, Jack. Acourse, that goes without sayin'. Ya know what I'm
sayin'? Anyway, I think here's where we get back on track, Mac.
Ya see, the fight was on a Sunday, not Saturday like I been sayin', ya
follow? I mean, it suddenly dawned on me. We didn't hit Vegas until Saturday!
And as luck would have it, that's precisely where we are in this tale of
debauchery. I guess that's it! Sorry 'bout the interruption. Ahem!
(professional radio voice) And now ... back to our story.
The boys are back in town! The boys are back in town! The boys are back. The
boys are back.
We finally waltzed into the neon at around ten o'clock that night. Small
Change was "The Man" for the first time in his life and he was livin' large.
He'd given each of us a hug, a kiss on the cheek and an envelope. A thick
envelope. All he said was, "This place is ours. Lets use it up!"
We prowled the strip like cats; from the back of a limousine. I mean, we're
talkin' very cool cats, dad. The coolest. Unfortunately, that cool cat crap
didn't take, 'cause the whole damn town was booked! Every freakin' hotel was
packed like a Pall Mall cigarette. Sometime around midnight we headed to
Caesar's Palace. Snacks knew the race book manager there pretty good. Maybe,
just maybe he could pull us some strings. If Snacks could ever find him, that
is.
"This guys a shark, man." Snacks told us. "With alla this cooze in town,
he'll be on the make for sure. And I don't think he ever leaves Caesar's, I
mean, why would he give up the home field advantage, huh?"
He made a good point, but this still had ta be a longshot at best. Too bad it
was like our only shot, too. So for the next hour and a half, me and Vinny
talked, smoked, yawned and pulled a few handles. Small Changed paced, cussed,
smoked and drank a few beer mugs fulla tequila. The casino was hoppin'! Loud
'n crowded. Vinny was jacked up and drivin' me nuts.
"Cow! Hey, Cow! I'll be right back! The dice are callin' me!" Or, "I think I
see somebody I know." Or some similar crocka bullshit.
I just kept feedin' him the same line. "Sit tight 'til we hear from Snacks."
It was killin' him.
When Small Change went to the bar for his fourth mugga Cuervo, he got cut
off. Oh, ****. He was a hundred feet away from me, through a crowded barroom.
Between his pockets and his money belt, Change musta had a hundred large on
him --- easy. Now he was sloppy drunk and screamin' obscenities at the bar.
Knowin' security would be comin', I tried to get to Small Change.
"I'm gunna knock yer teeth out, then kick ya in the ribs for mumblin'!" He
hollered.
I only heard the booze jockey say two words. "You're dead." He said
As I fought my way through the crowd, Vinny on my heels, I could see that the
security goons was gunna get there first. Then, like Superman, or James
Freakin' Bond, Snacks had his arm around Small Change. He put a paira C-notes
on the bar and put his index finger to his lips. Then he waved some room keys
in Change's face. Me and Vinny broke through the crowd a second after the
house gorillas did. Nobody moved. I checked the now-smiling bartender. He
shrugged his shoulders at security's questions.
"C'mon!" They snapped. "Where's the damn trouble?"
With his hand in his pocket, the jock said, "The guy took off already. Calm
down, okay"
Them freakin' goons musta looked us over for thirty seconds. Then they split.
The four of us quietly grabbed our smokes and drinks and made our way outta
the bar. Without a word, we followed Snacks around the casino, through the
lobby and finally ... into an empty elevator. Where we laughed our fool
asses off!
That was how our weekend started. As you can see, we was startin' to gain a
little momentum, too!
Still to come: The Prize Fight, The Party and that slimeball, Chick Lombardi.
So come back soon, ya hear me?
On our way up to the room, Vinny couldn't stop talkin' about how smooth
Snacks was.
"Jeezuz, Snacker! You saved Change's ass! You oughtta thank the man,
Change. You was about to have an accident."
Small Change was all smiles. Snacks too, I guess. Vinny however,
couldn't quit talkin'.
"It was like a movie the way you timed that out! And cool, fellas. This
cat was James Coburn cool, with the timing of, uh -- whattaya call them
posse guys in -- dammit, in the flicks, man! The dudes in uniform, like
a posse, but with the guy playin' trumpet? C'mon! On horses? What are
blah ... blah ... blah ... etc ... etc ..."
That musta been what yuz call a time a reflection for me, 'cause I was
reflectin' like a chrome-plated bumper on the showroom floor.
I was sure glad my cousin was on that trip with us. Acourse, it was
always great bein' with Snacks. I figured it had been two and a half
years since Kippy and me had actually seen each other. Eightteen
freakin' months! He hadn't changed a bit, neither. Except for his bein'
fatter, I mean. I'd say he'd put on 40 pounds, makin' him 5'10" about
270. Oh, but he looked good, Snacks always looks good. And lemme tell
yuz another thing, too. It don't matter whether he's gettin' rooms where
there ain't any rooms, or savin' ya from gettin' yer ass kicked or
sleepin' witha hooker in your extra bedroom; you always want Snacks to
be around. He's a genuine right guy! What can I say? And it don't matter
who you are, neither. Schmoozin' with the governor or cruisin' with da
bums, Snacks is everyone's friend.
Vinny was on cloud freakin' nine. He was still a kid, really. Shit,
he'll always be a kid, the lucky stiff. And he was hangin' out in Vegas
with three degenerates that he'd always admired. He had a plan, too.
"Win, learn and watch, Cow! That's my plan."
security goons was gunna get there first. Then, like Superman, or James
Freakin' Bond, Snacks had his arm around Small Change. He put a paira C-notes
on the bar and put his index finger to his lips. Then he waved some room keys
in Change's face. Me and Vinny broke through the crowd a second after the
house gorillas did. Nobody moved. I checked the now-smiling bartender. He
shrugged his shoulders at security's questions.
"C'mon!" They snapped. "Where's the damn trouble?"
With his hand in his pocket, the jock said, "The guy took off already. Calm
down, okay"
Them freakin' goons musta looked us over for thirty seconds. Then they split.
The four of us quietly grabbed our smokes and drinks and made our way outta
the bar. Without a word, we followed Snacks around the casino, through the
lobby and finally ... into an empty elevator. Where we laughed our fool
asses off!
That was how our weekend started. As you can see, we was startin' to gain a
little momentum, too!
Still to come: The Prize Fight, The Party and that slimeball, Chick Lombardi.
So come back soon, ya hear me?
On our way up to the room, Vinny couldn't stop talkin' about how smooth
Snacks was.
"Jeezuz, Snacker! You saved Change's ass! You oughtta thank the man,
Change. You was about to have an accident."
Small Change was all smiles. Snacks too, I guess. Vinny however,
couldn't quit talkin'.
"It was like a movie the way you timed that out! And cool, fellas. This
cat was James Coburn cool, with the timing of, uh -- whattaya call them
posse guys in -- dammit, in the flicks, man! The dudes in uniform, like
a posse, but with the guy playin' trumpet? C'mon! On horses? What are
blah ... blah ... blah ... etc ... etc ..."
That musta been what yuz call a time a reflection for me, 'cause I was
reflectin' like a chrome-plated bumper on the showroom floor.
I was sure glad my cousin was on that trip with us. Acourse, it was
always great bein' with Snacks. I figured it had been two and a half
years since Kippy and me had actually seen each other. Eightteen
freakin' months! He hadn't changed a bit, neither. Except for his bein'
fatter, I mean. I'd say he'd put on 40 pounds, makin' him 5'10" about
270. Oh, but he looked good, Snacks always looks good. And lemme tell
yuz another thing, too. It don't matter whether he's gettin' rooms where
there ain't any rooms, or savin' ya from gettin' yer ass kicked or
sleepin' witha hooker in your extra bedroom; you always want Snacks to
be around. He's a genuine right guy! What can I say? And it don't matter
who you are, neither. Schmoozin' with the governor or cruisin' with da
bums, Snacks is everyone's friend.
Vinny was on cloud freakin' nine. He was still a kid, really. Shit,
he'll always be a kid, the lucky stiff. And he was hangin' out in Vegas
with three degenerates that he'd always admired. He had a plan, too.
"Win, learn and watch, Cow! That's my plan."
Have I told ya Vinny's a really nice kid? 'Cause he is! But just don't
ask him ta help yuz on the Sunday crossword puzzle, ya know what I'm
sayin'?
I remember bein' a little concerned about Small Change. It semed like he
was tryin' so hard to do the right thing that he -- I dunno -- I just
hope he had the time of his life.
"grlgt lg jqoi jgwi4u .... Earth to Cow .... come in, Cow."
"What the ... "
"Jeezuz, Pops!" It was Vinny. "Maybe you oughtta get right to beddy bye.
You were someplace else, man!"
"Clam up, smart ass!" I said. "I was thinkin' -- I mean, we shoulda
called Sal, dammit! He's probably in town for the fight! Why didn't we
think ta call him?"
That did it. All three of 'em busted up again! It as like 2am and we
were standin' in an empty corridor in fronta room 9S. And the three
clowns I'm with are havin' a tears-down-the-face laughin' attack!
"What?" I pleaded. "You ****ers smoke a number without me or somethin'?"
As he slipped in the key and opened the door, Snacks filled me in. And
ya know, for me ta be in the same elevator and somehow miss "that"
conversation, well (chuckle, chuckle) I 'spose it was pretty funny."
Check tomorrow for: "Can we raise the limit?"
So, the fellas is all laughin' at me for bein' a freakin' lame brain, and I
didn't blame 'em none, neither. I mean, it was only like eight hours earlier
that Snacks announced Sally would be here! Christ, I hate gettin' old.
Anyway, they was laughin' like hell, really makin' a racket as we followed
Snacks into that room, but baby ... when he hit them lights, it got as quiet
as the city morgue after closin' time.
In stunned silence, the four of us stood there in the entryway with our
mouths hangin' open. Nobody made a sound as we scanned the biggest, most
beautiful suite yuz could imagine. Sincerely, fellas. It was so awesome that
it numbed us.
Finally, Small Change put into words what we all was thinkin'. "This is
the tits!" he said. "I could get used to this!"
I found out later that when his other connection came up empty, Snacks had
called LA and asked Sal Vecchio about gettin' us some rooms. And like I told
yuz before, when Sally wants somethin', he just picks up the phone and ...
Bingo! He's got it.
That's when I first started to realize how big Sal had become. He was huge in
Vegas! Maybe even as huge as Mickey C. used to be, I don't know. I ain't sure
I wanna know, neither.
As for the suite, Small Change was right. It was the tits! Parlor, bedrooms,
big screen televisions, two fully-stocked bars, the works! The joint had two
separate entrances, it was so freakin' big! We was nine floors up with our
own private room service number. All food, all booze, all hotel amenities
were comped. We got a courtesy call from the front desk askin' us if we were
pleased with the accommodations. Pleased? We were pleased as ****ing punch.
As I was sayin', when we entered our suite for the first time, we was
floored. All of us. I mean, we was classy guys and all, but ... this place
was really ****in' somethin'!
We scoped the joint in about three minutes. Then me and Change hit the shower
(Hey! We had two full bathrooms, man! Don't make me sick with them perverted
thoughts you got). Vinny turned on one a the big screens and found
SportsCenter, while Snacks made us all a pitchera martinis. Twenty minutes
later, the four of us were back in the elevator; casino bound.
We musta been a sight. I mean, the clothes we had on were sharp, especially
considerin' they was bought at Portland International, but we didn't, none of
us think about shoes! So me and Vinny was wearin' sneaks with slacks, and I
hear "that's" a fashion felony. But what cracked "me" up was that Small
Change had bought us all a sports coat and, except for the color ... they
was all exactly the same! Change thought it would be cool, I suppose, and
them was some nice threads, but I just couldn't believe nobody noticed it
until we was watchin' those numbers shrink above the elevator door! I mean, I
felt like we coulda been Don Ho's band, headin' to the showroom ta play Tiny
Bubbles, for Christ's sake!
Nobody else seemta even notice, though. Leastwise nobody cared. Well, there
was a brief exchange between Small Change and Vinny. Happened just before
them big steel doors slid open, if I remember right. Check it out.
Vinny: Gee, Change. How come I gotta "yellow" jacket, instead of a dark one,
like everybody else?"
Change: I dunno. I thought it would look good on ya.
Vinny: It don't though. Does it?
Change: It looks swell, ya ungrateful bastid!
Small Change was smilin' and Vinny had cracked himself up, but it reminded me
of a scene outta Reservoir Dogs. Ya know what I'm sayin'?
"Why do I gotta be Mr. Pink?"
"Because you're a fag, okay?"
Sorry, but I love that flick.
The shower had done wonders for Change. He was a new man! Stinkin' young
punks can bounce right back. I mean, you'da never guessed that he was the
same guy that staggered outta that bar, just forty-five minutes earlier. Come
to think of it, I felt pretty damned refreshed myself right then. The fatigue
had left me like my first wife --- quickly, quietly and without bein' missed.
A soft tone sounded, and the elevator doors came apart to reveal the west
enda the casino. It was around 2:30am and we'd been in Las Vegas for about
five hours. We had enough dough to open our own bakery and now ... finally
... it was time to do some gamblin'.
I'll tell yuz somethin', and this is the absolute truth. I've been a lotta
places and done a lotta gamblin' with a lotta different people; but I ain't
never felt so confident as when the four of us strolled into the casino at
Caesar's Palace that night. When I dream about that trip, (and believe me, I
do) it always starts right here. What a great feeling, man! Small Change,
Vinny, Snacks and Cow; and obviously ... we knew howta make an entrance.
We paused, just outside of the action and watched, as heads turned to look at
us. Change musta been wearin' five grand wortha chains and rings. Vinny wore
his lucky shades and chewed on a toothpick, so he could show off his movie
star white teeth. Snacks took his usual pose. Hands on hips, sleeves pulled
back to the elbow and leanin' back so's ya thought he was gunna fall on his
ass. With a big, fat, unlit stogie comin' outta the middle of his mug. Me? I
just stood there with the boys, combin' my slicked hair back like I was Pat
freakin' Riley. I hadda Winston in my teeth and I was smilin' like a gawdam
lottery winner.
As we made our way through the crowd, dealers and pit bosses stopped for a
second and gave us the once-over. I know it sounds like bullshit, but I'm
playin' square with yuz, fellas. There was somethin' in the air that night.
Somethin', I dunno ... tangible, I guess. What I'm tryin' ta say is, I could
feel it, man! We all could. Hell, lookin' back, I think everybody felt it.
We were absolutely IT, baby! And it was time to show 'em why.
COMING SOON: BLACK JACK, LITTLE JOE AND THE WHEEL
ask him ta help yuz on the Sunday crossword puzzle, ya know what I'm
sayin'?
I remember bein' a little concerned about Small Change. It semed like he
was tryin' so hard to do the right thing that he -- I dunno -- I just
hope he had the time of his life.
"grlgt lg jqoi jgwi4u .... Earth to Cow .... come in, Cow."
"What the ... "
"Jeezuz, Pops!" It was Vinny. "Maybe you oughtta get right to beddy bye.
You were someplace else, man!"
"Clam up, smart ass!" I said. "I was thinkin' -- I mean, we shoulda
called Sal, dammit! He's probably in town for the fight! Why didn't we
think ta call him?"
That did it. All three of 'em busted up again! It as like 2am and we
were standin' in an empty corridor in fronta room 9S. And the three
clowns I'm with are havin' a tears-down-the-face laughin' attack!
"What?" I pleaded. "You ****ers smoke a number without me or somethin'?"
As he slipped in the key and opened the door, Snacks filled me in. And
ya know, for me ta be in the same elevator and somehow miss "that"
conversation, well (chuckle, chuckle) I 'spose it was pretty funny."
Check tomorrow for: "Can we raise the limit?"
So, the fellas is all laughin' at me for bein' a freakin' lame brain, and I
didn't blame 'em none, neither. I mean, it was only like eight hours earlier
that Snacks announced Sally would be here! Christ, I hate gettin' old.
Anyway, they was laughin' like hell, really makin' a racket as we followed
Snacks into that room, but baby ... when he hit them lights, it got as quiet
as the city morgue after closin' time.
In stunned silence, the four of us stood there in the entryway with our
mouths hangin' open. Nobody made a sound as we scanned the biggest, most
beautiful suite yuz could imagine. Sincerely, fellas. It was so awesome that
it numbed us.
Finally, Small Change put into words what we all was thinkin'. "This is
the tits!" he said. "I could get used to this!"
I found out later that when his other connection came up empty, Snacks had
called LA and asked Sal Vecchio about gettin' us some rooms. And like I told
yuz before, when Sally wants somethin', he just picks up the phone and ...
Bingo! He's got it.
That's when I first started to realize how big Sal had become. He was huge in
Vegas! Maybe even as huge as Mickey C. used to be, I don't know. I ain't sure
I wanna know, neither.
As for the suite, Small Change was right. It was the tits! Parlor, bedrooms,
big screen televisions, two fully-stocked bars, the works! The joint had two
separate entrances, it was so freakin' big! We was nine floors up with our
own private room service number. All food, all booze, all hotel amenities
were comped. We got a courtesy call from the front desk askin' us if we were
pleased with the accommodations. Pleased? We were pleased as ****ing punch.
As I was sayin', when we entered our suite for the first time, we was
floored. All of us. I mean, we was classy guys and all, but ... this place
was really ****in' somethin'!
We scoped the joint in about three minutes. Then me and Change hit the shower
(Hey! We had two full bathrooms, man! Don't make me sick with them perverted
thoughts you got). Vinny turned on one a the big screens and found
SportsCenter, while Snacks made us all a pitchera martinis. Twenty minutes
later, the four of us were back in the elevator; casino bound.
We musta been a sight. I mean, the clothes we had on were sharp, especially
considerin' they was bought at Portland International, but we didn't, none of
us think about shoes! So me and Vinny was wearin' sneaks with slacks, and I
hear "that's" a fashion felony. But what cracked "me" up was that Small
Change had bought us all a sports coat and, except for the color ... they
was all exactly the same! Change thought it would be cool, I suppose, and
them was some nice threads, but I just couldn't believe nobody noticed it
until we was watchin' those numbers shrink above the elevator door! I mean, I
felt like we coulda been Don Ho's band, headin' to the showroom ta play Tiny
Bubbles, for Christ's sake!
Nobody else seemta even notice, though. Leastwise nobody cared. Well, there
was a brief exchange between Small Change and Vinny. Happened just before
them big steel doors slid open, if I remember right. Check it out.
Vinny: Gee, Change. How come I gotta "yellow" jacket, instead of a dark one,
like everybody else?"
Change: I dunno. I thought it would look good on ya.
Vinny: It don't though. Does it?
Change: It looks swell, ya ungrateful bastid!
Small Change was smilin' and Vinny had cracked himself up, but it reminded me
of a scene outta Reservoir Dogs. Ya know what I'm sayin'?
"Why do I gotta be Mr. Pink?"
"Because you're a fag, okay?"
Sorry, but I love that flick.
The shower had done wonders for Change. He was a new man! Stinkin' young
punks can bounce right back. I mean, you'da never guessed that he was the
same guy that staggered outta that bar, just forty-five minutes earlier. Come
to think of it, I felt pretty damned refreshed myself right then. The fatigue
had left me like my first wife --- quickly, quietly and without bein' missed.
A soft tone sounded, and the elevator doors came apart to reveal the west
enda the casino. It was around 2:30am and we'd been in Las Vegas for about
five hours. We had enough dough to open our own bakery and now ... finally
... it was time to do some gamblin'.
I'll tell yuz somethin', and this is the absolute truth. I've been a lotta
places and done a lotta gamblin' with a lotta different people; but I ain't
never felt so confident as when the four of us strolled into the casino at
Caesar's Palace that night. When I dream about that trip, (and believe me, I
do) it always starts right here. What a great feeling, man! Small Change,
Vinny, Snacks and Cow; and obviously ... we knew howta make an entrance.
We paused, just outside of the action and watched, as heads turned to look at
us. Change musta been wearin' five grand wortha chains and rings. Vinny wore
his lucky shades and chewed on a toothpick, so he could show off his movie
star white teeth. Snacks took his usual pose. Hands on hips, sleeves pulled
back to the elbow and leanin' back so's ya thought he was gunna fall on his
ass. With a big, fat, unlit stogie comin' outta the middle of his mug. Me? I
just stood there with the boys, combin' my slicked hair back like I was Pat
freakin' Riley. I hadda Winston in my teeth and I was smilin' like a gawdam
lottery winner.
As we made our way through the crowd, dealers and pit bosses stopped for a
second and gave us the once-over. I know it sounds like bullshit, but I'm
playin' square with yuz, fellas. There was somethin' in the air that night.
Somethin', I dunno ... tangible, I guess. What I'm tryin' ta say is, I could
feel it, man! We all could. Hell, lookin' back, I think everybody felt it.
We were absolutely IT, baby! And it was time to show 'em why.
COMING SOON: BLACK JACK, LITTLE JOE AND THE WHEEL
At first, the four of us strolled through the casino at a leisurely
pace. We was lookin' for action, sure, but we was lookin' cool, too,
daddyo.
Well, we was lookin' for action, okay? Our only problem was; Jesus H.
Whatshisname, that joint was busy! And me 'n the boys, we needed some
play. Ya follow? I mean, them withdrawal symptoms were beginning to show
in very uncool ways. In fact, who am I foolin'? By that point in time,
we were droolin' ta get in a game. Any game!
Finally, Snacks got the ear of one a the pit bosses, and a few minutes
later he called us over.
"Here's the deal," he said. "Mr. Pit Boss here, tells me that he can
have a blackjack table opened up for us in about five minutes, but
there's a catch."
"Catch? What catch? I ain't in no mood for no catches!" Vinny looked
like he was havin' some kinda breakdown. "**** it," he said. "I'm gunna
go yank slots for awhile. I'll see yuz."
"What's up with him?" I wondered.
"It ain't nuthin'," Change laughed. "He could see that Snacks hadda BJ
table lined up, that's all. I'll bet Vinny was gettin' a migraine just
thinkin' about countin' cards!"
"Hold on a second, Change. Are you tryin' ta feed us that Vinny's a
counter? On a four-deck shoe?! There ain't no way, man! That kid can't
count sheep!"
Acourse, Snacks was right. I mean, Vinny can maybe count sheep, but he
definately sucks at blackjack. What Small Change was sayin' was, he had
to count fingers under the table to see what he had. You know the type.
In fact the next night Snacks and me got stuck with one at our table.
This four-eyed polyester moron wouldn't let nobody see his cards, while
he'd scrunch up his face like he was thinkin'. I 'spose we were sposed
ta figure that he'd counted down the shoe and was now calculating his
odds on hittin' sixteen. Acourse what happened was, like thirty seconds
later he lays down a paira fives, that he shoulda went double-down with
by the way, and asks, "Is that 21 or 22? I guess I've had too much ta
drink."
Christ, he didn't have enough to drink, if ya ask me. That fool needed
to be passed out in his Rambler somewhere. Not slowin' down our freakin'
game! So we take a scan at the hits he's taken. An ace, a deuce and
another deuce. Anda gawdam lousy six!
I swear. It happened! This jerk doesn't go down with the fives! Then he
scratches on a stinkin' twenty-one! Finally, he has so many cards that
he can't add 'em up! So, bein' the samaritan that I am, I helped the
stupid bastard out. "Tough break, mister," I told him. "You got
twenty-****in'-two!"
Don't worry, I gave him a green and told him to beat it. "Get outta
here, ya hear me? And get some freakin' sleep! The next fella ain't
liable ta be so helpful." Then me 'n Snacks laughed at him 'til he left.
I still feel like he got me though. Ya see, he was bettin' ten bucks a
hand, so I thought I'd get twentya my twenty-five back. Seein' as he had
twenty-one goin' against the dealer's three, but that dealer ended up
makin' a six card twenty-one, too! So I only got ten back, which acourse
I immediately gave to the dealer. But ya know what? That bitch went and
re-shuffled on me anyway.
Now, I know ya know Vinny is slow, but he ain't no dummy. He knew
better than to put hisself in that position. Plus, I remember lookin'
over at him, that first night while we waited on our table. The dumbass
was playin' slots with two long-legged California blondes. Grinnin' like
he was winnin'. Which, it turned out, he was.
"Spill, Snacks. Like, what's the catch?"
"The pit boss tells me how he'd hafta pulla dealer off break, until he
could close another table. He was sayin' it wasn't worth it to him
unless we were like, big-time players or somethin'."
"So?"
"So, I told the fat **** to bring us a young female dealer with a nice
smile, and we'd tip her so well she wouldn't want another break all
night! Then I looked that puke in the face and told him that we'd each
buy in for ten G's, if he'd raise the limit for us for an hour or two."
"Dammit, Snacks!" Change barked loudly. "I gotta have more chips that
THAT!"
Here's the wire on what's up in Bovinia. I lost all kindsa crap, when
the hard drive on my old computer got accidentally re-formatted. Long,
boring story, but it's costin' me alotta time and coin to make things
smooth again.
Boo hoo. Poor freakin' me.
So anyways, I ain't got the resta the Vegas trip no more. Oh sure, I
remember what happened, but now I gotta write it all over again. Don't
nunnayuz worry, though. It'll all be jake, see? I mean, I'm sure I'll
quit whinin' once I start thinkin' about that trip again. Ya see what
I'm sayin'? Ya do, don't yuz.
So ... thanks for yer patience, everybody. Now ... where was we ...
hmmm .......
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ PART 11 $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
At first, the four of us strolled through the casino at a leisurely
pace. We was lookin' for action, sure, but we was lookin' cool, too,
daddyo.
Well, we was lookin' for action, okay? Our only problem was; Jesus H.
Whatshisname, that joint was busy! And me 'n the boys, we needed some
play. Ya follow? I mean, them withdrawal symptoms were beginning to show
in very uncool ways. In fact, who am I foolin'? By that point in time,
we were droolin' ta get in a game. Any game!
Finally, Snacks got the ear of one a the pit bosses, and a few minutes
later he called us over.
"Here's the deal," he said. "Mr. Pit Boss here, tells me that he can
have a blackjack table opened up for us in about five minutes, but
there's a catch."
"Catch? What catch? I ain't in no mood for no catches!" Vinny looked
like he was havin' some kinda breakdown. "**** it," he said. "I'm gunna
go yank slots for awhile. I'll see yuz."
"What's up with him?" I wondered.
"It ain't nuthin'," Change laughed. "He could see that Snacks hadda BJ
table lined up, that's all. I'll bet Vinny was gettin' a migraine just
thinkin' about countin' cards!"
"Hold on a second, Change. Are you tryin' ta feed us that Vinny's a
counter? On a four-deck shoe?! There ain't no way, man! That kid can't
count sheep!"
pace. We was lookin' for action, sure, but we was lookin' cool, too,
daddyo.
Well, we was lookin' for action, okay? Our only problem was; Jesus H.
Whatshisname, that joint was busy! And me 'n the boys, we needed some
play. Ya follow? I mean, them withdrawal symptoms were beginning to show
in very uncool ways. In fact, who am I foolin'? By that point in time,
we were droolin' ta get in a game. Any game!
Finally, Snacks got the ear of one a the pit bosses, and a few minutes
later he called us over.
"Here's the deal," he said. "Mr. Pit Boss here, tells me that he can
have a blackjack table opened up for us in about five minutes, but
there's a catch."
"Catch? What catch? I ain't in no mood for no catches!" Vinny looked
like he was havin' some kinda breakdown. "**** it," he said. "I'm gunna
go yank slots for awhile. I'll see yuz."
"What's up with him?" I wondered.
"It ain't nuthin'," Change laughed. "He could see that Snacks hadda BJ
table lined up, that's all. I'll bet Vinny was gettin' a migraine just
thinkin' about countin' cards!"
"Hold on a second, Change. Are you tryin' ta feed us that Vinny's a
counter? On a four-deck shoe?! There ain't no way, man! That kid can't
count sheep!"
Acourse, Snacks was right. I mean, Vinny can maybe count sheep, but he
definately sucks at blackjack. What Small Change was sayin' was, he had
to count fingers under the table to see what he had. You know the type.
In fact the next night Snacks and me got stuck with one at our table.
This four-eyed polyester moron wouldn't let nobody see his cards, while
he'd scrunch up his face like he was thinkin'. I 'spose we were sposed
ta figure that he'd counted down the shoe and was now calculating his
odds on hittin' sixteen. Acourse what happened was, like thirty seconds
later he lays down a paira fives, that he shoulda went double-down with
by the way, and asks, "Is that 21 or 22? I guess I've had too much ta
drink."
Christ, he didn't have enough to drink, if ya ask me. That fool needed
to be passed out in his Rambler somewhere. Not slowin' down our freakin'
game! So we take a scan at the hits he's taken. An ace, a deuce and
another deuce. Anda gawdam lousy six!
I swear. It happened! This jerk doesn't go down with the fives! Then he
scratches on a stinkin' twenty-one! Finally, he has so many cards that
he can't add 'em up! So, bein' the samaritan that I am, I helped the
stupid bastard out. "Tough break, mister," I told him. "You got
twenty-****in'-two!"
Don't worry, I gave him a green and told him to beat it. "Get outta
here, ya hear me? And get some freakin' sleep! The next fella ain't
liable ta be so helpful." Then me 'n Snacks laughed at him 'til he left.
I still feel like he got me though. Ya see, he was bettin' ten bucks a
hand, so I thought I'd get twentya my twenty-five back. Seein' as he had
twenty-one goin' against the dealer's three, but that dealer ended up
makin' a six card twenty-one, too! So I only got ten back, which acourse
I immediately gave to the dealer. But ya know what? That bitch went and
re-shuffled on me anyway.
Now, I know ya know Vinny is slow, but he ain't no dummy. He knew
better than to put hisself in that position. Plus, I remember lookin'
over at him, that first night while we waited on our table. The dumbass
was playin' slots with two long-legged California blondes. Grinnin' like
he was winnin'. Which, it turned out, he was.
"Spill, Snacks. Like, what's the catch?"
"The pit boss tells me how he'd hafta pulla dealer off break, until he
could close another table. He was sayin' it wasn't worth it to him
unless we were like, big-time players or somethin'."
"So?"
"So, I told the fat **** to bring us a young female dealer with a nice
smile, and we'd tip her so well she wouldn't want another break all
night! Then I looked that puke in the face and told him that we'd each
buy in for ten G's, if he'd raise the limit for us for an hour or two."
"Dammit, Snacks!" Change barked loudly. "I gotta have more chips that
THAT!"
Here's the wire on what's up in Bovinia. I lost all kindsa crap, when
the hard drive on my old computer got accidentally re-formatted. Long,
boring story, but it's costin' me alotta time and coin to make things
smooth again.
Boo hoo. Poor freakin' me.
So anyways, I ain't got the resta the Vegas trip no more. Oh sure, I
remember what happened, but now I gotta write it all over again. Don't
nunnayuz worry, though. It'll all be jake, see? I mean, I'm sure I'll
quit whinin' once I start thinkin' about that trip again. Ya see what
I'm sayin'? Ya do, don't yuz.
So ... thanks for yer patience, everybody. Now ... where was we ...
hmmm .......
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ PART 11 $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
At first, the four of us strolled through the casino at a leisurely
pace. We was lookin' for action, sure, but we was lookin' cool, too,
daddyo.
Well, we was lookin' for action, okay? Our only problem was; Jesus H.
Whatshisname, that joint was busy! And me 'n the boys, we needed some
play. Ya follow? I mean, them withdrawal symptoms were beginning to show
in very uncool ways. In fact, who am I foolin'? By that point in time,
we were droolin' ta get in a game. Any game!
Finally, Snacks got the ear of one a the pit bosses, and a few minutes
later he called us over.
"Here's the deal," he said. "Mr. Pit Boss here, tells me that he can
have a blackjack table opened up for us in about five minutes, but
there's a catch."
"Catch? What catch? I ain't in no mood for no catches!" Vinny looked
like he was havin' some kinda breakdown. "**** it," he said. "I'm gunna
go yank slots for awhile. I'll see yuz."
"What's up with him?" I wondered.
"It ain't nuthin'," Change laughed. "He could see that Snacks hadda BJ
table lined up, that's all. I'll bet Vinny was gettin' a migraine just
thinkin' about countin' cards!"
"Hold on a second, Change. Are you tryin' ta feed us that Vinny's a
counter? On a four-deck shoe?! There ain't no way, man! That kid can't
count sheep!"
Acourse, Snacks was right. I mean, Vinny can maybe count sheep, but he
definately sucks at blackjack. What Small Change was sayin' was, he had
to count fingers under the table to see what he had. You know the type.
In fact the next night Snacks and me got stuck with one at our table.
This four-eyed polyester moron wouldn't let nobody see his cards, while
he'd scrunch up his face like he was thinkin'. I 'spose we were sposed
ta figure that he'd counted down the shoe and was now calculating his
odds on hittin' sixteen. Acourse what happened was, like thirty seconds
later he lays down a paira fives, that he shoulda went double-down with
by the way, and asks, "Is that 21 or 22? I guess I've had too much ta
drink."
Christ, he didn't have enough to drink, if ya ask me. That fool needed
to be passed out in his Rambler somewhere. Not slowin' down our freakin'
game! So we take a scan at the hits he's taken. An ace, a deuce and
another deuce. Anda gawdam lousy six!
I swear. It happened! This jerk doesn't go down with the fives! Then he
scratches on a stinkin' twenty-one! Finally, he has so many cards that
he can't add 'em up! So, bein' the samaritan that I am, I helped the
stupid bastard out. "Tough break, mister," I told him. "You got
twenty-****in'-two!"
Don't worry, I gave him a green and told him to beat it. "Get outta
here, ya hear me? And get some freakin' sleep! The next fella ain't
liable ta be so helpful." Then me 'n Snacks laughed at him 'til he left.
I still feel like he got me though. Ya see, he was bettin' ten bucks a
hand, so I thought I'd get twentya my twenty-five back. Seein' as he had
twenty-one goin' against the dealer's three, but that dealer ended up
makin' a six card twenty-one, too! So I only got ten back, which acourse
I immediately gave to the dealer. But ya know what? That bitch went and
re-shuffled on me anyway.
Now, I know ya know Vinny is slow, but he ain't no dummy. He knew
better than to put hisself in that position. Plus, I remember lookin'
over at him, that first night while we waited on our table. The dumbass
was playin' slots with two long-legged California blondes. Grinnin' like
he was winnin'. Which, it turned out, he was.
"Spill, Snacks. Like, what's the catch?"
"The pit boss tells me how he'd hafta pulla dealer off break, until he
could close another table. He was sayin' it wasn't worth it to him
unless we were like, big-time players or somethin'."
"So?"
"So, I told the fat **** to bring us a young female dealer with a nice
smile, and we'd tip her so well she wouldn't want another break all
night! Then I looked that puke in the face and told him that we'd each
buy in for ten G's, if he'd raise the limit for us for an hour or two."
"Dammit, Snacks!" Change barked loudly. "I gotta have more chips that
THAT!"
Part 12
… we now return to Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada. Thank you for your
patience.
So anyway, I'd played blackjack with Change and Snacks for an hour or so,
when I spotted one a my favorite sights; an opening at a hot crap game. "Hold
that spot for me!" I told our consistently nearby friend, the pit boss. And
lemme tell yuz somethin' about this guy; he was a real piece a work. I mean,
at first he was like our best buddy! Getting us the cocktail waitress.
Emptyin' our ashtrays. It was like, "this man loves us!" Funny, but thirty
minutes later, and we're talkin' thirty minutes of pure, unadulterated, one
hundred proof winning, that thin-lipped, corporate robot would tryta act like
he couldn't care less about us! Oh, but he cared, I'll guarantee yuz that. He
cared quite a freakin' lot, I think. In fact, I don't think his blank,
untrusting eyeballs ever left our table. Acourse, in his defense, Change was
playin' three hands for a dime apiece, so … I guess I can understand. A
little bit.
"I'm off to make my fortune," I said to the fellas as I left the table. "Last
one to Easy Street buys breakfast!"
"No ****in' fair!" Snacks said, chewing on a foot-long stogie. "Change is
already there!"
I looked back at the table and Small Change, who was up about fifteen large
anyway, hadda paira black beauties! Leastwise, that's what he called 'em.
Blackjacks, with queens. And notta red card in sight. Jill, our dealer loved
dolin' out them blackjacks, 'cause anytime one of us got one, Change'd tip
her a damn C-note. She musta haddabout eight yards by then. Not bad for an
hour's work, huh?
"You been holdin' me back, Cow! Get the hell outta here!" He laughed, peekin'
at his third hand.
"Okay. Okay." I said, walking away.
A few seconds later, as I was fillin' my trough at the crap table, I heard
Small Change again. "Oh yeah, baby! Sweet, money-makin' Jesus!" A huge smile
cracked my grill like a dropped melon. Get 'em, Change.
"Comin' out!" said the crap dealer. "Place yer bets!"
"Two bucks they don't," I said. "And two-bits any craps, for the boys!" I
tossed a green chip towards the center of the table.
Later, Snacks told me that Small Change splita paira eights on his third hand
and went three, face. Deuce, ace! Man alive! That little sunnabitch was
hotter than Tabasco on chapped lips! Lookin' back, I think the rest of us
sorta won by proxy. Ya know what I'm sayin'? He was too hot for just one
person!
I was startin' to get tired again. It'd been a long-ass day and I'd only
slept a coupla hours the night before. I remember thinkin' that I oughtta
just head upstairs and get some shut-eye. After all, we had the fight to go
to and Sally was gunna be in town pretty freakin' soon. Tomorrow was gunna be
a busy bastid and I needed my beauty rest, if'n yuz catch my drift.
"Snake eyes! Crap dice! Line away!" The dealer shouted. "Thank you very much,
sir," added the stickman, tapping in fronta me. "We appreciate it."
It was that kinda night! I played craps for another four hours or so. Picked
up maybe three grand, plus the nickel or so from blackjack. I felt great!
Exhausted, but freakin' great, man. As I made my way outta the casino, I
signaled Snacks, who was playin' one-on-one now with Jill. He nodded, put up
two fingers and looked at an imaginary wristwatch. Like he told me later,
"Sleep's for when ya can't win, cuz!"
I spotted Vinny pullin' slots over by the roulette wheel. He had dames all
around him, but he had his eyes on Small Change. The wheel was Change's game,
see. And with two pit bosses and fifty people or so crowded around watchin',
he was obviously the highest roller in the house.
definately sucks at blackjack. What Small Change was sayin' was, he had
to count fingers under the table to see what he had. You know the type.
In fact the next night Snacks and me got stuck with one at our table.
This four-eyed polyester moron wouldn't let nobody see his cards, while
he'd scrunch up his face like he was thinkin'. I 'spose we were sposed
ta figure that he'd counted down the shoe and was now calculating his
odds on hittin' sixteen. Acourse what happened was, like thirty seconds
later he lays down a paira fives, that he shoulda went double-down with
by the way, and asks, "Is that 21 or 22? I guess I've had too much ta
drink."
Christ, he didn't have enough to drink, if ya ask me. That fool needed
to be passed out in his Rambler somewhere. Not slowin' down our freakin'
game! So we take a scan at the hits he's taken. An ace, a deuce and
another deuce. Anda gawdam lousy six!
I swear. It happened! This jerk doesn't go down with the fives! Then he
scratches on a stinkin' twenty-one! Finally, he has so many cards that
he can't add 'em up! So, bein' the samaritan that I am, I helped the
stupid bastard out. "Tough break, mister," I told him. "You got
twenty-****in'-two!"
Don't worry, I gave him a green and told him to beat it. "Get outta
here, ya hear me? And get some freakin' sleep! The next fella ain't
liable ta be so helpful." Then me 'n Snacks laughed at him 'til he left.
I still feel like he got me though. Ya see, he was bettin' ten bucks a
hand, so I thought I'd get twentya my twenty-five back. Seein' as he had
twenty-one goin' against the dealer's three, but that dealer ended up
makin' a six card twenty-one, too! So I only got ten back, which acourse
I immediately gave to the dealer. But ya know what? That bitch went and
re-shuffled on me anyway.
Now, I know ya know Vinny is slow, but he ain't no dummy. He knew
better than to put hisself in that position. Plus, I remember lookin'
over at him, that first night while we waited on our table. The dumbass
was playin' slots with two long-legged California blondes. Grinnin' like
he was winnin'. Which, it turned out, he was.
"Spill, Snacks. Like, what's the catch?"
"The pit boss tells me how he'd hafta pulla dealer off break, until he
could close another table. He was sayin' it wasn't worth it to him
unless we were like, big-time players or somethin'."
"So?"
"So, I told the fat **** to bring us a young female dealer with a nice
smile, and we'd tip her so well she wouldn't want another break all
night! Then I looked that puke in the face and told him that we'd each
buy in for ten G's, if he'd raise the limit for us for an hour or two."
"Dammit, Snacks!" Change barked loudly. "I gotta have more chips that
THAT!"
Part 12
… we now return to Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada. Thank you for your
patience.
So anyway, I'd played blackjack with Change and Snacks for an hour or so,
when I spotted one a my favorite sights; an opening at a hot crap game. "Hold
that spot for me!" I told our consistently nearby friend, the pit boss. And
lemme tell yuz somethin' about this guy; he was a real piece a work. I mean,
at first he was like our best buddy! Getting us the cocktail waitress.
Emptyin' our ashtrays. It was like, "this man loves us!" Funny, but thirty
minutes later, and we're talkin' thirty minutes of pure, unadulterated, one
hundred proof winning, that thin-lipped, corporate robot would tryta act like
he couldn't care less about us! Oh, but he cared, I'll guarantee yuz that. He
cared quite a freakin' lot, I think. In fact, I don't think his blank,
untrusting eyeballs ever left our table. Acourse, in his defense, Change was
playin' three hands for a dime apiece, so … I guess I can understand. A
little bit.
"I'm off to make my fortune," I said to the fellas as I left the table. "Last
one to Easy Street buys breakfast!"
"No ****in' fair!" Snacks said, chewing on a foot-long stogie. "Change is
already there!"
I looked back at the table and Small Change, who was up about fifteen large
anyway, hadda paira black beauties! Leastwise, that's what he called 'em.
Blackjacks, with queens. And notta red card in sight. Jill, our dealer loved
dolin' out them blackjacks, 'cause anytime one of us got one, Change'd tip
her a damn C-note. She musta haddabout eight yards by then. Not bad for an
hour's work, huh?
"You been holdin' me back, Cow! Get the hell outta here!" He laughed, peekin'
at his third hand.
"Okay. Okay." I said, walking away.
A few seconds later, as I was fillin' my trough at the crap table, I heard
Small Change again. "Oh yeah, baby! Sweet, money-makin' Jesus!" A huge smile
cracked my grill like a dropped melon. Get 'em, Change.
"Comin' out!" said the crap dealer. "Place yer bets!"
"Two bucks they don't," I said. "And two-bits any craps, for the boys!" I
tossed a green chip towards the center of the table.
Later, Snacks told me that Small Change splita paira eights on his third hand
and went three, face. Deuce, ace! Man alive! That little sunnabitch was
hotter than Tabasco on chapped lips! Lookin' back, I think the rest of us
sorta won by proxy. Ya know what I'm sayin'? He was too hot for just one
person!
I was startin' to get tired again. It'd been a long-ass day and I'd only
slept a coupla hours the night before. I remember thinkin' that I oughtta
just head upstairs and get some shut-eye. After all, we had the fight to go
to and Sally was gunna be in town pretty freakin' soon. Tomorrow was gunna be
a busy bastid and I needed my beauty rest, if'n yuz catch my drift.
"Snake eyes! Crap dice! Line away!" The dealer shouted. "Thank you very much,
sir," added the stickman, tapping in fronta me. "We appreciate it."
It was that kinda night! I played craps for another four hours or so. Picked
up maybe three grand, plus the nickel or so from blackjack. I felt great!
Exhausted, but freakin' great, man. As I made my way outta the casino, I
signaled Snacks, who was playin' one-on-one now with Jill. He nodded, put up
two fingers and looked at an imaginary wristwatch. Like he told me later,
"Sleep's for when ya can't win, cuz!"
I spotted Vinny pullin' slots over by the roulette wheel. He had dames all
around him, but he had his eyes on Small Change. The wheel was Change's game,
see. And with two pit bosses and fifty people or so crowded around watchin',
he was obviously the highest roller in the house.
The guys stayed and played for another three hours. Vinny'd made about eight
bucks and Snacks, I think was up around four thousand. I never found out how
much Change'd won, but I'm sure it was way more than the three of us put
together. And I mean WAY more. I do know that he hit a single on the wheel
for seven dimes, just before calling it a night, though. Can yuz imagine
that? Seven thousand dollars on a single spinna the wheel.
"How'd ya hit it, Change?" I asked him, later.
"Freakin' Vinny gave me the number," he said. "He was standin' there
watchin', pickin' his nose, and all of a sudden he blurts out, 'Five! Get on
the five, Change! It's gunna be the five!' So's just ta shut the drunk S.O.B.
the hell up, I puts two hundred on the five and … Bingo! Seven grand! Stick
with me awhile, Vinny. You're my lucky freakin' charm!"
With that, he gave Vinny a big kiss on the cheek and two stacksa chips from
the pocket of his jacket. It was weird - for some reason, it seemed like
Change had hated Vinny for the last coupla years, but in the last few days it
looked like they were becoming pals again. It was a very cool. Acourse,
alotta shit was very cool just then. Everything, in fact.
"Why'd ya pick the five, Vinny?" Snacks asked.
"I was eyein' this long-legged dame, see?" Vinny began. "She was freakin'
beeyooteeful! So when she notices me checkin' her hardware … she winks at
me! Now, I know I ain't no sharpie or nuthin', but I knows a signal when I
see one, see? Well, then this doll slips off one of her damn shoes! And I'm
thinkin', 'what in the hell is this?' Ya know what I'm sayin'? And then I
freakin' see it. Five toes, man! Five! That's gotta be what's next! So,
acourse I immediately yell over ta Change, and the rest my good friends, is a
mystery! Pretty sweet, huh?"
Dumber than a hat fulla rocks, that Vinny.
I think I got five hoursa sack time that night. The other fellas said they
had a hard time gettin' any sleep at all, but lemme tell ya, sleepin' wasn't
easy for me, neither. It was freakin' essential.
THE VEGAS STORY - PART 13
Me and Snacks slept the sleepa the drunken sailor that night. I mean, we was
out! It was a good thing too, I figured, 'cause we hadda huge day ahead of
us, what with Sal Vecchio comin' and a fight for a little thing called the
Heavyweight Championship of the World. So what I'm sayin' is, our day figured
ta be rather eventful, ya savvy? And us old strokes need our rest. So, I
figure I got to Dreamville at about 5:00 that morning and Snacks said he was
asleep by 6:15. Vinny and Small Change had come up with Snacks, but I don't
think them bastids slept a wink.
I was so tired that morning; I remember dreamin' that I was sleepin'! Now that
's tired! Ya know what I'm sayin'? Every time I have that dream, though, the
same thing happens. I dream that the freakin' phone is screamin' at me.
"RING -- GET THE HELL UP! RING - YOU PLAN ON SLEEPIN' ALL DAY?! RING - ARE
YOU AWAKE YET?! RING - C'MON!!! RING!!! RING!!! RING!!!"
Screw it! Ya know what I mean? A fella learnsta sleep through a dream-phone
after awhile.
Snacks finally answered it on the tenth ring. Damn. I coulda swore I was
dreamin'.
"Get up Cow," Snacks said. "You talk to the sunnuvabitch!"
He threw the phone on my bed. Then he grabbed the Advil, the Rolaids and the
Daily Racing Form that he'd picked up somewhere last night and hit the can,
slammin' the door behind him.
"Hullo."
"GET THE HELL UP! YOU PLAN ON SLEEPIN' ALL DAY?! ARE YOU AWAKE YET?! C'MON!!!"
"What? Who the…"
"It's me Change, ya dumbshit! Breakfast is in the parlor. We'll meechya at
the sports book in 40, so we can get down on the champ! It's almost noon,
Cow, get movin'! Mr. Vecchio's gunna be here in about four hours! Oh! And
Cow?"
"What?"
"I'm throwin' a pre-fight bash up in the suite! I figure we'll start it up
around 4:00!"
Man that bed was comfortable, but then that particular weekend I guess ya
could say, life was pretty freakin' comfortable. Once yuz got ridda them
morning cobwebs, I mean.
The breakfast spread was regal. Seriously fellas, Elvis woulda been
impressed. There was Belgian waffles, Swedish pancakes, French pastry,
Canadian bacon and Denver omelets. Me and Snacks decided on Lucky Strikes and
Bloody Marys. Mmmmm.
"Change said Sally'll be here around four, Snacks," I yelled. "Howya figure
he knows that?"
Snacks was comin' outta the bedroom, dryin' his hair. "Oh, yeah," he says.
"Sal paged us this morning after you came upstairs. That asshole's flyin' in
with Stallone on Sly's jet! They're sittin' ringside tonight!"
We met the fellas at the sports book and made our bets for the fight. Snacks
introduced us to Mr. White, the manager. It was a good thing, too! Ya see,
everywhere in town had put a two-dime limit on the fight. The word on the
street was, "sumpin's fishy." Hey, that was plentya action for three of us,
but Small Change was freakin' pissed! He had a ton a cabbage earmarked
(sorry, no pun intended) for the fight and now he couldn't get it all down!
But after a coupla minutes on the phone, Mr. White told Change he could go up
to 50K on the fight and 10 on the KO. And yuz better believe, Change took all
of it… on Holyfield.
I don't know who that little piece a shit was tryin' to impress, but I'll
tell yuz this. He impressed the hell outta me! Ya know what I'm sayin'?
"A party, huh?" Snacks said when he heard the news. "Uh, Mr. White? D'ya
think maybe yuz could line us up with eight or ten, you know ... dames?"
Mr. White smiled and Small Change said, "We'll need at least a dozen. And
make 'em classy! Don't worry 'bout the dough, neither." Then, slipping a
coupla C-notes into Mr. White's pocket, he added, "We'll pay top dollar!"
THE LAS VEGAS STORY -- Part 14
"What the hell is this? A prizefight or a buffet?"
----- Unholycow
Sal Vecchio never made it to our place before the fight. He called and said
he would be over to see us afterwards. Too bad. Small Change hadda helluva
spread laid out and lemme tell yuz, the kid was disappointed. But, as it
turned out, the stuff kept real well, ya know what I'm sayin'? We didn't know
it at the time, acourse, but we was just puttin' the party on hold is all. I
mean, Change's post-fight gig turned out better than he coulda hoped. Well,
up until the end, I mean. But we'll get to alla that, later, ya dig?
Believe it or not, we ended up watchin' the damn fight on tv up in the suite.
Hell, nobody but Change really wanted to go anyway. And when he found out it
was gunna cost him a dime to sit with the dollar players - well, let's just
say he wasn't goin' for that. We had a great time anyway, though. In fact, as
the fight ended, we was all laughin' so hard our eyes were runnin' like cheap
stockings.
I picked up 670 bucks and Snacks did about the same. Vinny I think, grabbed
like four bucks for one on the KO and that MF Small Change nailed the
sunnuvabitch for ninety-two five. That's right! $92,500! We'd been in town
now for a little over 24 hours and our little friend was now up arounda
hundred and forty thousand clams! So uh, he was a pretty fun guy to be around
that evening, if'n yuz catch my drift.
Sally finally showed up around midnight with a bad actor. No, I ain't talkin'
'bout Rambo. The piece a crap I'm talkin' about was supposedly Sal's
bodyguard. Name: Chick Lombardi. Age: Mid-twenties. Occupation: Suck ass.
Sex: Unknown. Class: None.
"How in the hell did Sal get stuck with this guy?" I thought. I mean, this
was a straight outta the movies slimeball psychotic punk-ass freakin'
bastard! And he was way too quick to letchya know he was packin', too! Yeah,
Chicky Boy was a real piece a work. And hey! Them were his good points!
Seriously, man. Yuz half-expected buzzards to be followin' this dude around
--- he was trouble with a bad complexion.
Shoot. I gotta split. I'll see yuz all again soon.
THE LAS VEGAS STORY ~ Part 15
What a freakin' party we had that night … well … mosta the night, at least.
But there's plentya time for the bullcrap, later. Let's start with the good
stuff, huh? Actually, the "good stuff" don't come close to that night. I
mean, it was awesome and then some. Ya see what I'm sayin'? This party we had
was by far the best party I've ever attended. Better than the Super Bowl
party when Doug Williams went off and me and Snacks was all dressed up like
Injuns (we winnum heap big parlay, kimosabe). Better than the Castle's Spring
Opening back in '74 (6 live bands, 50 kegsa beer and no cops 'till after
midnighta day 2). I'm tellin' yuz; this party was even better than Snacks'
2nd bachelor party (college girls galore! "frisky" college girls). What I'm
tryin' ta tell ya is that this gig Small Change put together in Las Vegas
after Tyson got done nibblin' on the champ's ear, was first-rate. It was
solid gold, top shelf, first cabin, you name it. It was aces, baby! Every
incha the way! Jeezuz. It's givin' me goosebumps justa think about it.
bucks and Snacks, I think was up around four thousand. I never found out how
much Change'd won, but I'm sure it was way more than the three of us put
together. And I mean WAY more. I do know that he hit a single on the wheel
for seven dimes, just before calling it a night, though. Can yuz imagine
that? Seven thousand dollars on a single spinna the wheel.
"How'd ya hit it, Change?" I asked him, later.
"Freakin' Vinny gave me the number," he said. "He was standin' there
watchin', pickin' his nose, and all of a sudden he blurts out, 'Five! Get on
the five, Change! It's gunna be the five!' So's just ta shut the drunk S.O.B.
the hell up, I puts two hundred on the five and … Bingo! Seven grand! Stick
with me awhile, Vinny. You're my lucky freakin' charm!"
With that, he gave Vinny a big kiss on the cheek and two stacksa chips from
the pocket of his jacket. It was weird - for some reason, it seemed like
Change had hated Vinny for the last coupla years, but in the last few days it
looked like they were becoming pals again. It was a very cool. Acourse,
alotta shit was very cool just then. Everything, in fact.
"Why'd ya pick the five, Vinny?" Snacks asked.
"I was eyein' this long-legged dame, see?" Vinny began. "She was freakin'
beeyooteeful! So when she notices me checkin' her hardware … she winks at
me! Now, I know I ain't no sharpie or nuthin', but I knows a signal when I
see one, see? Well, then this doll slips off one of her damn shoes! And I'm
thinkin', 'what in the hell is this?' Ya know what I'm sayin'? And then I
freakin' see it. Five toes, man! Five! That's gotta be what's next! So,
acourse I immediately yell over ta Change, and the rest my good friends, is a
mystery! Pretty sweet, huh?"
Dumber than a hat fulla rocks, that Vinny.
I think I got five hoursa sack time that night. The other fellas said they
had a hard time gettin' any sleep at all, but lemme tell ya, sleepin' wasn't
easy for me, neither. It was freakin' essential.
THE VEGAS STORY - PART 13
Me and Snacks slept the sleepa the drunken sailor that night. I mean, we was
out! It was a good thing too, I figured, 'cause we hadda huge day ahead of
us, what with Sal Vecchio comin' and a fight for a little thing called the
Heavyweight Championship of the World. So what I'm sayin' is, our day figured
ta be rather eventful, ya savvy? And us old strokes need our rest. So, I
figure I got to Dreamville at about 5:00 that morning and Snacks said he was
asleep by 6:15. Vinny and Small Change had come up with Snacks, but I don't
think them bastids slept a wink.
I was so tired that morning; I remember dreamin' that I was sleepin'! Now that
's tired! Ya know what I'm sayin'? Every time I have that dream, though, the
same thing happens. I dream that the freakin' phone is screamin' at me.
"RING -- GET THE HELL UP! RING - YOU PLAN ON SLEEPIN' ALL DAY?! RING - ARE
YOU AWAKE YET?! RING - C'MON!!! RING!!! RING!!! RING!!!"
Screw it! Ya know what I mean? A fella learnsta sleep through a dream-phone
after awhile.
Snacks finally answered it on the tenth ring. Damn. I coulda swore I was
dreamin'.
"Get up Cow," Snacks said. "You talk to the sunnuvabitch!"
He threw the phone on my bed. Then he grabbed the Advil, the Rolaids and the
Daily Racing Form that he'd picked up somewhere last night and hit the can,
slammin' the door behind him.
"Hullo."
"GET THE HELL UP! YOU PLAN ON SLEEPIN' ALL DAY?! ARE YOU AWAKE YET?! C'MON!!!"
"What? Who the…"
"It's me Change, ya dumbshit! Breakfast is in the parlor. We'll meechya at
the sports book in 40, so we can get down on the champ! It's almost noon,
Cow, get movin'! Mr. Vecchio's gunna be here in about four hours! Oh! And
Cow?"
"What?"
"I'm throwin' a pre-fight bash up in the suite! I figure we'll start it up
around 4:00!"
Man that bed was comfortable, but then that particular weekend I guess ya
could say, life was pretty freakin' comfortable. Once yuz got ridda them
morning cobwebs, I mean.
The breakfast spread was regal. Seriously fellas, Elvis woulda been
impressed. There was Belgian waffles, Swedish pancakes, French pastry,
Canadian bacon and Denver omelets. Me and Snacks decided on Lucky Strikes and
Bloody Marys. Mmmmm.
"Change said Sally'll be here around four, Snacks," I yelled. "Howya figure
he knows that?"
Snacks was comin' outta the bedroom, dryin' his hair. "Oh, yeah," he says.
"Sal paged us this morning after you came upstairs. That asshole's flyin' in
with Stallone on Sly's jet! They're sittin' ringside tonight!"
We met the fellas at the sports book and made our bets for the fight. Snacks
introduced us to Mr. White, the manager. It was a good thing, too! Ya see,
everywhere in town had put a two-dime limit on the fight. The word on the
street was, "sumpin's fishy." Hey, that was plentya action for three of us,
but Small Change was freakin' pissed! He had a ton a cabbage earmarked
(sorry, no pun intended) for the fight and now he couldn't get it all down!
But after a coupla minutes on the phone, Mr. White told Change he could go up
to 50K on the fight and 10 on the KO. And yuz better believe, Change took all
of it… on Holyfield.
I don't know who that little piece a shit was tryin' to impress, but I'll
tell yuz this. He impressed the hell outta me! Ya know what I'm sayin'?
"A party, huh?" Snacks said when he heard the news. "Uh, Mr. White? D'ya
think maybe yuz could line us up with eight or ten, you know ... dames?"
Mr. White smiled and Small Change said, "We'll need at least a dozen. And
make 'em classy! Don't worry 'bout the dough, neither." Then, slipping a
coupla C-notes into Mr. White's pocket, he added, "We'll pay top dollar!"
THE LAS VEGAS STORY -- Part 14
"What the hell is this? A prizefight or a buffet?"
----- Unholycow
Sal Vecchio never made it to our place before the fight. He called and said
he would be over to see us afterwards. Too bad. Small Change hadda helluva
spread laid out and lemme tell yuz, the kid was disappointed. But, as it
turned out, the stuff kept real well, ya know what I'm sayin'? We didn't know
it at the time, acourse, but we was just puttin' the party on hold is all. I
mean, Change's post-fight gig turned out better than he coulda hoped. Well,
up until the end, I mean. But we'll get to alla that, later, ya dig?
Believe it or not, we ended up watchin' the damn fight on tv up in the suite.
Hell, nobody but Change really wanted to go anyway. And when he found out it
was gunna cost him a dime to sit with the dollar players - well, let's just
say he wasn't goin' for that. We had a great time anyway, though. In fact, as
the fight ended, we was all laughin' so hard our eyes were runnin' like cheap
stockings.
I picked up 670 bucks and Snacks did about the same. Vinny I think, grabbed
like four bucks for one on the KO and that MF Small Change nailed the
sunnuvabitch for ninety-two five. That's right! $92,500! We'd been in town
now for a little over 24 hours and our little friend was now up arounda
hundred and forty thousand clams! So uh, he was a pretty fun guy to be around
that evening, if'n yuz catch my drift.
Sally finally showed up around midnight with a bad actor. No, I ain't talkin'
'bout Rambo. The piece a crap I'm talkin' about was supposedly Sal's
bodyguard. Name: Chick Lombardi. Age: Mid-twenties. Occupation: Suck ass.
Sex: Unknown. Class: None.
"How in the hell did Sal get stuck with this guy?" I thought. I mean, this
was a straight outta the movies slimeball psychotic punk-ass freakin'
bastard! And he was way too quick to letchya know he was packin', too! Yeah,
Chicky Boy was a real piece a work. And hey! Them were his good points!
Seriously, man. Yuz half-expected buzzards to be followin' this dude around
--- he was trouble with a bad complexion.
Shoot. I gotta split. I'll see yuz all again soon.
THE LAS VEGAS STORY ~ Part 15
What a freakin' party we had that night … well … mosta the night, at least.
But there's plentya time for the bullcrap, later. Let's start with the good
stuff, huh? Actually, the "good stuff" don't come close to that night. I
mean, it was awesome and then some. Ya see what I'm sayin'? This party we had
was by far the best party I've ever attended. Better than the Super Bowl
party when Doug Williams went off and me and Snacks was all dressed up like
Injuns (we winnum heap big parlay, kimosabe). Better than the Castle's Spring
Opening back in '74 (6 live bands, 50 kegsa beer and no cops 'till after
midnighta day 2). I'm tellin' yuz; this party was even better than Snacks'
2nd bachelor party (college girls galore! "frisky" college girls). What I'm
tryin' ta tell ya is that this gig Small Change put together in Las Vegas
after Tyson got done nibblin' on the champ's ear, was first-rate. It was
solid gold, top shelf, first cabin, you name it. It was aces, baby! Every
incha the way! Jeezuz. It's givin' me goosebumps justa think about it.
Change had taken that gigantic suite that we had and filled the entire
freakin' thing with flowers. We're talkin' all kindsa a damn flowers, too.
They was everywhere, man. The place was so damned smelly; in fact, yuz could
barely get a whiffa them Cubans we was smokin'. Oh well, the dames seemta
like it better that way. And brother, there were plentya dames. With the
helpa Mr. White, Change was able to entice summa the finest dolls in Vegas up
to our suite for that party. And not all of 'em was pros, neither! There was
Showgirls, hatcheck girls, cocktail waitresses and tourists. Big ones, small
ones, short ones, tall ones. White ones, black ones, crazy ones, and ones so
n-n-n-nasty they made ya stutter. We had all of 'em up there in that suite
with us drinkin' French champagne and eatin' them little crackers with the
black, salty crap on 'em. I mean, Change said he invited about a hundred
skirts up that night and I'll bet every one of 'em showed up. It was a little
crowded, but uh, it was a nice crowded. Ya know what I'm sayin'?
I'm guessin' there were maybe twenty fellas there. Mostly they was players
we'd just met that day in the casino, but Mr. White came and somehow the
Santini brothers from back home had found out about it, so they showed up
too. We was experts at avoidin' them bums back in Portland, but we didn't
even know they was in Vegas 'til they showed up at the party. I thought sure
they'd **** sumthin' up, the classless bastids, but they was no problem at
all! Hell, Arnie didn't even make nunna the girls scream or nuthin', so ya
know they was on their best behavior.
The music was getting' pretty loud anda buncha people were dancin' to some
videos that was playin' on the big screens when Salvatore Vecchio arrived.
Five seconds after he walked in … the room was silent.
Indulge me for a moment, as I drift back thirty years. Dig it. Me and Snacks
knew Sally from the old days. We met him at Santa Anita when we was like
seventeen years old. We lived at the track back in them days and we knew our
stuff, too. But we looked to be, like thirteen or somethin', so nobody ever
paid us no mind. We hadta always do all our handicappin' at home back then,
'cause we'd spend alla our time at the track hustlin' up people to bet for
us. It was tough gettin' action for us back then, let alone a cold glassa
suds. So we'd always be on the lookout for a beard, if yuz catch my drift.
Listen to me, huh? I forgot who the hell I was talkin' to! You fellas probly
caught that drift barehanded, with yer freakin' peepers shut tight! So
anyway, that was the scene when we scoped Sal comin' away from the window at
the aforementioned racetrack. He was perfect. I mean, a young guy, by hisself
and makin' bets. We made him for a rich mama's boy and a square. If we live
ta be a hundred, we'll never be more wrong about sumthin'. Sally was sharper
than a razor blade in a baby's hand.
So, we introduce ourselves and fortunately we hit it off, immediately. In
fact, for the next ten years or so, we never hit the track without Sally.
We'd pick 'em. He'd bet 'em. And the way I remember it, we always freakin'
won. It's a little strange thinkin' back to them early days. I mean, we were
seventeen, right? Sal is three years younger than us. Hmmm. Could he really a
been fourteen years old back then, buyin' us drinks and drivin' that sweet
Lincoln Continental that he had? He sure didn't seem young back then. I
mean, it felt like Sal was always twenty-freakin-five. I'll bet he was born
with a four o'clock shadow. Ya know what I'm sayin'? Sal Vecchio. The
coolest, richest, scariest guy I'll ever know.
So … the door slams open, Sal walks in, and the whole damn room freakin'
stops. I mean, this man has that thing … whattaya call it? Charisma. Hey!
Don't get me wrong. That four-thousand dollar suit and that golf ball-size
pinkie ring mighta stopped a few people, but I'm tellin' yuz, Sally probly
pisses out more charisma in a night than most of us'll have in our whole
pathetic existence.
"Sally, you bum!" I yelled across the room. "Looks like you been workin' the
made side a the street!"
That was when Sal gave me what us guys now call "The Visage." Yuz don't never
wanna see that a second time, ya know what I mean? But lookin' back, the
chill that I got from that look was nuthin' compared to the creeps that I got
when Sal's bodyguard came in. Like I said before, Chick Lombardi was trouble
and you knew that right from Jump Street. He wore a sneer like a veteran
wears a medal. It showed who he was.
Vinny poured Sal a glassa champagne, Small Change grabbed him a cigar, Snacks
grabbed the caviar and the four of us went over to greet Sally. "Christ,
Sal," I said. "You look like a million dollars. Hush-Hush Sports must be
doin' pretty damn good, huh?" Sal barely nodded. He was busy lookin' the room
over. He seemed especially interested in Small Change and Vinny.
"So Sal," I continued. "I wantcha ta meet a coupla friendsa mine. They're
young and stupid like we was back in the day, but they're good guys, man."
Vinny stepped forward offering the glass of bubbly.
freakin' thing with flowers. We're talkin' all kindsa a damn flowers, too.
They was everywhere, man. The place was so damned smelly; in fact, yuz could
barely get a whiffa them Cubans we was smokin'. Oh well, the dames seemta
like it better that way. And brother, there were plentya dames. With the
helpa Mr. White, Change was able to entice summa the finest dolls in Vegas up
to our suite for that party. And not all of 'em was pros, neither! There was
Showgirls, hatcheck girls, cocktail waitresses and tourists. Big ones, small
ones, short ones, tall ones. White ones, black ones, crazy ones, and ones so
n-n-n-nasty they made ya stutter. We had all of 'em up there in that suite
with us drinkin' French champagne and eatin' them little crackers with the
black, salty crap on 'em. I mean, Change said he invited about a hundred
skirts up that night and I'll bet every one of 'em showed up. It was a little
crowded, but uh, it was a nice crowded. Ya know what I'm sayin'?
I'm guessin' there were maybe twenty fellas there. Mostly they was players
we'd just met that day in the casino, but Mr. White came and somehow the
Santini brothers from back home had found out about it, so they showed up
too. We was experts at avoidin' them bums back in Portland, but we didn't
even know they was in Vegas 'til they showed up at the party. I thought sure
they'd **** sumthin' up, the classless bastids, but they was no problem at
all! Hell, Arnie didn't even make nunna the girls scream or nuthin', so ya
know they was on their best behavior.
The music was getting' pretty loud anda buncha people were dancin' to some
videos that was playin' on the big screens when Salvatore Vecchio arrived.
Five seconds after he walked in … the room was silent.
Indulge me for a moment, as I drift back thirty years. Dig it. Me and Snacks
knew Sally from the old days. We met him at Santa Anita when we was like
seventeen years old. We lived at the track back in them days and we knew our
stuff, too. But we looked to be, like thirteen or somethin', so nobody ever
paid us no mind. We hadta always do all our handicappin' at home back then,
'cause we'd spend alla our time at the track hustlin' up people to bet for
us. It was tough gettin' action for us back then, let alone a cold glassa
suds. So we'd always be on the lookout for a beard, if yuz catch my drift.
Listen to me, huh? I forgot who the hell I was talkin' to! You fellas probly
caught that drift barehanded, with yer freakin' peepers shut tight! So
anyway, that was the scene when we scoped Sal comin' away from the window at
the aforementioned racetrack. He was perfect. I mean, a young guy, by hisself
and makin' bets. We made him for a rich mama's boy and a square. If we live
ta be a hundred, we'll never be more wrong about sumthin'. Sally was sharper
than a razor blade in a baby's hand.
So, we introduce ourselves and fortunately we hit it off, immediately. In
fact, for the next ten years or so, we never hit the track without Sally.
We'd pick 'em. He'd bet 'em. And the way I remember it, we always freakin'
won. It's a little strange thinkin' back to them early days. I mean, we were
seventeen, right? Sal is three years younger than us. Hmmm. Could he really a
been fourteen years old back then, buyin' us drinks and drivin' that sweet
Lincoln Continental that he had? He sure didn't seem young back then. I
mean, it felt like Sal was always twenty-freakin-five. I'll bet he was born
with a four o'clock shadow. Ya know what I'm sayin'? Sal Vecchio. The
coolest, richest, scariest guy I'll ever know.
So … the door slams open, Sal walks in, and the whole damn room freakin'
stops. I mean, this man has that thing … whattaya call it? Charisma. Hey!
Don't get me wrong. That four-thousand dollar suit and that golf ball-size
pinkie ring mighta stopped a few people, but I'm tellin' yuz, Sally probly
pisses out more charisma in a night than most of us'll have in our whole
pathetic existence.
"Sally, you bum!" I yelled across the room. "Looks like you been workin' the
made side a the street!"
That was when Sal gave me what us guys now call "The Visage." Yuz don't never
wanna see that a second time, ya know what I mean? But lookin' back, the
chill that I got from that look was nuthin' compared to the creeps that I got
when Sal's bodyguard came in. Like I said before, Chick Lombardi was trouble
and you knew that right from Jump Street. He wore a sneer like a veteran
wears a medal. It showed who he was.
Vinny poured Sal a glassa champagne, Small Change grabbed him a cigar, Snacks
grabbed the caviar and the four of us went over to greet Sally. "Christ,
Sal," I said. "You look like a million dollars. Hush-Hush Sports must be
doin' pretty damn good, huh?" Sal barely nodded. He was busy lookin' the room
over. He seemed especially interested in Small Change and Vinny.
"So Sal," I continued. "I wantcha ta meet a coupla friendsa mine. They're
young and stupid like we was back in the day, but they're good guys, man."
Vinny stepped forward offering the glass of bubbly.
"Sal Vecchio," I said. "This here is Vincent Ruggalino. We call him Vinny …
among other things."
Sal took the champagne, shook Vinny's hand and said, "Ruggalino? You ain't
connected to Jimmy "The Rug" outta Chicago, are ya?"
"No sir," replied Vinny. "I ain't connected to nobody."
Sally laughed … Then, everybody laughed.
"Sal," I said. "This fella here is the hottest man in Las Vegas. Sally ...
meet Small Change. Change, this is Sal Vecchio."
"Mr. Vecchio," Change began. "I am very honored to finally make your
acquaintance. If there is anything I can do for you, please ask. I mean that
- anything."
Sal had a huge smile on his mug, as he shook Change's hand. "Anything, huh
kid? Howsabout a light for this stogie you brought me?"
"Yes sir, Mr. Vecchio," said Change. "You got it!"
Jesus --- did he ever.
I wish I coulda taken alla the fun from that night and split it up over a
period of time. I believe it woulda lasted me 'til the millinium. When Snacks
told everybody what a great singer Sal used to be, Small Change got on the
blower. The bastid had a freakin' piano delivered to the suite! Then when he
found out nobody knew how to play it, he went downstairs to the lounge, gave
the piano player a wad a dough, announced to the crowd that the show was over
and had that son of a bitch playin' "Misty" for us in less than thirty
minutes. Sal serenaded us with Sinatra tunes for over an hour. He had a ball.
Meanwhile, Change was changin'. Too much bubbly, I think, but suddenly he
told Sally to "Get that little ****in' puke outta here!" He was pointing at
Sal's bodyguard, the slimy Chick Lombardi.
Part 16
LV, NV - XVI
I am truly - whattaya call it? Sorry. Yeah, that's it. I'm really remorseful
'bout leavin' yuz all hangin', but I ain't been able to go back and, you
know, revisit the enda that weekend in Las Vegas. What I'm tryin' to say is,
that evening when Sal Vecchio finished singin' "The Girl From Impanema" and
then Small Change called out Chick Lombardi, well - let me put it this way -
that concluded the good-time portion of our story. And by that I mean, like,
totally. In fact, there wasn't any fun in my life for months after that.
It was seven out, man. Line away. We're talkin' Craps, Dad! Can ya dig it?
Anyway, here ya go. Hey! Somebody go wake up marine, huh? Thanks.
Chick Lombardi instinctively unbuttoned his jacket as he began moving towards
Small Change. Meanwhile, a panicked Vinny actually had Change in a headlock.
He was so freakin' pissed off at him that I thought sure he was gunna pop him
a coupla times! But what he did was get right up in Change's face, whisperin'
at him so loud that everybody in the room could hear it.
"Jesus ****, Change! That ain'ta freakin' waiter yer talkin' to! Tell Mr.
Vecchio you're sorry, man! Now! Christ! Whattaya think yer doin'?"
It was sorta surreal, I think. I mean, Vinny never talked to nobody like
that, but especially not Small Change. He adored Small Change! In retrospect,
as I slowly go back to that fateful weekend, alla my memories seem surreal to
me now. I didn't really happen. I dreamt it, man! Like, I mean, the next five
minutesa the story? It seemsta me that they lasted about an hour. I mean, I
remember it like that. Time was whack, Sam! Everything moved in
s-l-l-o-o-o-o-w m-m-o-t-i-o-n, see? I remember playin' the scene like it was
a poker hand, in fact. And brother, this had the potential to be a gigantic
pot.
I lit a cigar, tugged on my visor and scanned the room, readin' the faces of
the players. I knew I had to put everybody on a hand, ya follow? I mean,
Small Change and his big mouth had foolishly made a huge bet, and Chick
Lombardi couldn't call him fast enough. I sensed immediately that this could
be the most important handa my life. How serious were these guys? How was it
gunna play out? I'll tell yuz, slow-motion at times like that is sorta like
findin' a buddy standin' third in a line of forty bettors when the track
announcer says, "the horses are entering the starting gate." I mean, I'm
talkin' handy, Randy. Ya know what I'm sayin'?
among other things."
Sal took the champagne, shook Vinny's hand and said, "Ruggalino? You ain't
connected to Jimmy "The Rug" outta Chicago, are ya?"
"No sir," replied Vinny. "I ain't connected to nobody."
Sally laughed … Then, everybody laughed.
"Sal," I said. "This fella here is the hottest man in Las Vegas. Sally ...
meet Small Change. Change, this is Sal Vecchio."
"Mr. Vecchio," Change began. "I am very honored to finally make your
acquaintance. If there is anything I can do for you, please ask. I mean that
- anything."
Sal had a huge smile on his mug, as he shook Change's hand. "Anything, huh
kid? Howsabout a light for this stogie you brought me?"
"Yes sir, Mr. Vecchio," said Change. "You got it!"
Jesus --- did he ever.
I wish I coulda taken alla the fun from that night and split it up over a
period of time. I believe it woulda lasted me 'til the millinium. When Snacks
told everybody what a great singer Sal used to be, Small Change got on the
blower. The bastid had a freakin' piano delivered to the suite! Then when he
found out nobody knew how to play it, he went downstairs to the lounge, gave
the piano player a wad a dough, announced to the crowd that the show was over
and had that son of a bitch playin' "Misty" for us in less than thirty
minutes. Sal serenaded us with Sinatra tunes for over an hour. He had a ball.
Meanwhile, Change was changin'. Too much bubbly, I think, but suddenly he
told Sally to "Get that little ****in' puke outta here!" He was pointing at
Sal's bodyguard, the slimy Chick Lombardi.
Part 16
LV, NV - XVI
I am truly - whattaya call it? Sorry. Yeah, that's it. I'm really remorseful
'bout leavin' yuz all hangin', but I ain't been able to go back and, you
know, revisit the enda that weekend in Las Vegas. What I'm tryin' to say is,
that evening when Sal Vecchio finished singin' "The Girl From Impanema" and
then Small Change called out Chick Lombardi, well - let me put it this way -
that concluded the good-time portion of our story. And by that I mean, like,
totally. In fact, there wasn't any fun in my life for months after that.
It was seven out, man. Line away. We're talkin' Craps, Dad! Can ya dig it?
Anyway, here ya go. Hey! Somebody go wake up marine, huh? Thanks.
Chick Lombardi instinctively unbuttoned his jacket as he began moving towards
Small Change. Meanwhile, a panicked Vinny actually had Change in a headlock.
He was so freakin' pissed off at him that I thought sure he was gunna pop him
a coupla times! But what he did was get right up in Change's face, whisperin'
at him so loud that everybody in the room could hear it.
"Jesus ****, Change! That ain'ta freakin' waiter yer talkin' to! Tell Mr.
Vecchio you're sorry, man! Now! Christ! Whattaya think yer doin'?"
It was sorta surreal, I think. I mean, Vinny never talked to nobody like
that, but especially not Small Change. He adored Small Change! In retrospect,
as I slowly go back to that fateful weekend, alla my memories seem surreal to
me now. I didn't really happen. I dreamt it, man! Like, I mean, the next five
minutesa the story? It seemsta me that they lasted about an hour. I mean, I
remember it like that. Time was whack, Sam! Everything moved in
s-l-l-o-o-o-o-w m-m-o-t-i-o-n, see? I remember playin' the scene like it was
a poker hand, in fact. And brother, this had the potential to be a gigantic
pot.
I lit a cigar, tugged on my visor and scanned the room, readin' the faces of
the players. I knew I had to put everybody on a hand, ya follow? I mean,
Small Change and his big mouth had foolishly made a huge bet, and Chick
Lombardi couldn't call him fast enough. I sensed immediately that this could
be the most important handa my life. How serious were these guys? How was it
gunna play out? I'll tell yuz, slow-motion at times like that is sorta like
findin' a buddy standin' third in a line of forty bettors when the track
announcer says, "the horses are entering the starting gate." I mean, I'm
talkin' handy, Randy. Ya know what I'm sayin'?
Now, I've known since I was twenty years old that high-stakes poker ain't
exactly my forte', but whattaya gunna do, ya know? One minute I'm gulpin'
fifty bucka bottle bubbly with a buxom blonde and the next minute I'm center
stage playin' sink-or-swim seven stud with the Cincinnati freakin' Kid! So
anyway, after scopin' it out, here's where I put everybody. Are ya still
with me, here? Seems my analogy's run amuck. If'n yer lost, tough shit, I
mean it's takin' me an hour to write "this much!"
Sally was stunned and a little irritated, but nuthin' more. Change was drunk
and confused, and a very easy read. Vinny was furious with his hoochified
friend. I still can't believe summa the stuff he called him. I ain't never
seen Vinny that mad, before or since. When I checked Snacks, his eyes were
dartin' around the room and his mind was a racin'. Like me, he was cappin'
his ass off. Tryin' desperately to be ready with the right play should he
become involved in the action. Then acourse, there was Chick Lombardi. If
this was a poker hand, he was about to make a limit raise. He hadda bead or
two a sweat on his forehead and his eyeballs bugged outtta his skull in a
rage. Like a flashbulb from a camera, I noticed a light from inside his
jacket. A second later I realized it was a reflection offa his heater. "This
ain't good," I thought, getting to my feet. "I'm gunna hafta call this sorry
son of a bitch." Do you fellas remember Tommy, in Goodfellas? Sure ya do.
That's who Lombardi reminded me of. Gawdam Joe Pesci's Tommy in Goodfellas,
all the way down to the spittle in the corner of his filthy freakin' mouth.
I'm playin' square, fellas. He looked like a damn madman. In fact, I think he
was.
"Please, Mr. Vecchio," Change said to Sally. "Please forgive me for being so
rude. I meant no disrespect, but your friend has been insulting me for hours
and I ain't no good at takin' that kinda crap. 'Specially not from a two-bit
button wannabe like him."
Lombardi was only fifteen feet away now. And he was reachin' inside his
jacket. I wasn't gunna get there. Neither was Snacks.
As my mouth opened to say (shout?) --- I dunno, something. Anything! We'll
never know, 'cause Sally spoke first. "Go wait in the car, Chick," he said
matter-of-factly. "I'll handle this. Tell Willy I'll be down in thirty."
Lombardi started to complain, but one look from Sal and he shut his trap and
turned to go. As he reached the door, he smoothed his hair back, then turning
to Change he said, "See ya again, Small Chance. See ya again real soon." Then
the piece a shit blew Small Change a kiss before disappearing behind a
slammed door.
"Everybody out!" Snacks hollered. "This freakin' party is over! Now get the
hell outta here!"
"It's been swell spendin' some time with yuz again, Sal," I said. "Sorry it
ended like this."
"No sweat," he said. "It was great seein' you bums, too! But I gotta tell yuz
somethin'. Don't never insinuate that I'm workin' illegal, ya got it? No more
"made" crap, understand? And never, ever tell me what to do! Not in fronta
witnesses, I mean. I gotta certain reputation to uphold. Are you listening,
Change?" Small Change nodded in shame. "Other than that," Sal continued.
"I'll handle Chick. He's a hot head. I think you fellas oughtta stay clear of
him tonight. Can ya do that? We're headin' back to LA sometime tomorrow."
After shaking hands with Vinny and Change, Sal gave me and Snacks a big hug
anda kiss on the cheek. "Don't nunnayuz be callin' me for nuthin' while I'm
in town," he said. "I'll be in touch with yuz, soon."
And he split.
The four of us showered, shaved and changed clothes then called for maid
service on our way out. Nobody said nothin'. I'm sure we was all thinkin'
about Chick Lombardi, but nobody ever mentioned his name. I 'spose we were a
little edgy, ya know what I mean? Anyway, with guys like us, we deal with
edginess in one of two ways. We either gamble, or we drink. We was about to
do a lotta both.
I'll tryta get back with more in a day or two, 'cause we didn't get ridda
"Tommy" - er - I mean Chick, quite that easily. Nope, there's a coupla more
chapters left in this story, gang. A coupla shitty ****in' chapters.
Oops. Pardon my French, ya savvy? Ciao.
When we got down to the casino after the party we split up and you know,
went our separate ways. Snacks hit the blackjack tables, Small Change went to
the wheel, Vinny sat down at a freakin' bandit and I squeezed my considerable
side a beef into an opening at the crap table. Waiting for the dice to come
around, I played the Don't Pass, layin' full odds as needed. I wasn't really
payin' attention to what was goin' on though, and the dealer workin' my end
had ta keep givin' me the wire. "Don't forget your odds there, mister." He'd
say. But I was elsewhere, man. My mind was in the sewer, stuck on Chick
Lombardi. I mean, I'd seen his rage. I'd seen the way he glared at Change.
And I know for certain that the piece a shit was reachin' for his heater. I
was the only one who'd seen it, but I know what I saw. Damn, I wish I'da
played it different.
What I did was stand at the freakin' crap table givin' myself the third
degree. Like, would Lombardi be stupid enough to come after Small Change? Did
I need to keep closer tabs on the kid? I mean, he was pretty well lit and he
probably wasn't thinkin' too clearly. The worst of it was I could still hear
Lombardi's voice sayin', "See ya again, Small Chance. See ya again real
soon." But I guess I reasoned that Vinny was on him and besides, Sally said
he'd take of it. Ya see what I'm sayin'? 'Nuff said, or so I thought.
"New shooter! C'mon buddy, you gunna throw the dice or what?"
"Sorry," I said. "Two hundred on the pass line."
Believe it or not, I held them dice for like forty freakin' minutes. And I
didn't enjoy it a bit. It was pitiful, fellas. I was worried like an old
woman. When I finally sevened out, I changed colors and made a beeline to the
cashier's cage.
"Helluva hand, Champ," somebody said, slappin' me on the back. "You musta
made a dozen passes."
I finally looked down at my chips. Christ! I musta had ten, twelve grand.
Making a quick U-turn, I went back to the table. "For the boys," I said,
throwin' down five black chips.
exactly my forte', but whattaya gunna do, ya know? One minute I'm gulpin'
fifty bucka bottle bubbly with a buxom blonde and the next minute I'm center
stage playin' sink-or-swim seven stud with the Cincinnati freakin' Kid! So
anyway, after scopin' it out, here's where I put everybody. Are ya still
with me, here? Seems my analogy's run amuck. If'n yer lost, tough shit, I
mean it's takin' me an hour to write "this much!"
Sally was stunned and a little irritated, but nuthin' more. Change was drunk
and confused, and a very easy read. Vinny was furious with his hoochified
friend. I still can't believe summa the stuff he called him. I ain't never
seen Vinny that mad, before or since. When I checked Snacks, his eyes were
dartin' around the room and his mind was a racin'. Like me, he was cappin'
his ass off. Tryin' desperately to be ready with the right play should he
become involved in the action. Then acourse, there was Chick Lombardi. If
this was a poker hand, he was about to make a limit raise. He hadda bead or
two a sweat on his forehead and his eyeballs bugged outtta his skull in a
rage. Like a flashbulb from a camera, I noticed a light from inside his
jacket. A second later I realized it was a reflection offa his heater. "This
ain't good," I thought, getting to my feet. "I'm gunna hafta call this sorry
son of a bitch." Do you fellas remember Tommy, in Goodfellas? Sure ya do.
That's who Lombardi reminded me of. Gawdam Joe Pesci's Tommy in Goodfellas,
all the way down to the spittle in the corner of his filthy freakin' mouth.
I'm playin' square, fellas. He looked like a damn madman. In fact, I think he
was.
"Please, Mr. Vecchio," Change said to Sally. "Please forgive me for being so
rude. I meant no disrespect, but your friend has been insulting me for hours
and I ain't no good at takin' that kinda crap. 'Specially not from a two-bit
button wannabe like him."
Lombardi was only fifteen feet away now. And he was reachin' inside his
jacket. I wasn't gunna get there. Neither was Snacks.
As my mouth opened to say (shout?) --- I dunno, something. Anything! We'll
never know, 'cause Sally spoke first. "Go wait in the car, Chick," he said
matter-of-factly. "I'll handle this. Tell Willy I'll be down in thirty."
Lombardi started to complain, but one look from Sal and he shut his trap and
turned to go. As he reached the door, he smoothed his hair back, then turning
to Change he said, "See ya again, Small Chance. See ya again real soon." Then
the piece a shit blew Small Change a kiss before disappearing behind a
slammed door.
"Everybody out!" Snacks hollered. "This freakin' party is over! Now get the
hell outta here!"
"It's been swell spendin' some time with yuz again, Sal," I said. "Sorry it
ended like this."
"No sweat," he said. "It was great seein' you bums, too! But I gotta tell yuz
somethin'. Don't never insinuate that I'm workin' illegal, ya got it? No more
"made" crap, understand? And never, ever tell me what to do! Not in fronta
witnesses, I mean. I gotta certain reputation to uphold. Are you listening,
Change?" Small Change nodded in shame. "Other than that," Sal continued.
"I'll handle Chick. He's a hot head. I think you fellas oughtta stay clear of
him tonight. Can ya do that? We're headin' back to LA sometime tomorrow."
After shaking hands with Vinny and Change, Sal gave me and Snacks a big hug
anda kiss on the cheek. "Don't nunnayuz be callin' me for nuthin' while I'm
in town," he said. "I'll be in touch with yuz, soon."
And he split.
The four of us showered, shaved and changed clothes then called for maid
service on our way out. Nobody said nothin'. I'm sure we was all thinkin'
about Chick Lombardi, but nobody ever mentioned his name. I 'spose we were a
little edgy, ya know what I mean? Anyway, with guys like us, we deal with
edginess in one of two ways. We either gamble, or we drink. We was about to
do a lotta both.
I'll tryta get back with more in a day or two, 'cause we didn't get ridda
"Tommy" - er - I mean Chick, quite that easily. Nope, there's a coupla more
chapters left in this story, gang. A coupla shitty ****in' chapters.
Oops. Pardon my French, ya savvy? Ciao.
When we got down to the casino after the party we split up and you know,
went our separate ways. Snacks hit the blackjack tables, Small Change went to
the wheel, Vinny sat down at a freakin' bandit and I squeezed my considerable
side a beef into an opening at the crap table. Waiting for the dice to come
around, I played the Don't Pass, layin' full odds as needed. I wasn't really
payin' attention to what was goin' on though, and the dealer workin' my end
had ta keep givin' me the wire. "Don't forget your odds there, mister." He'd
say. But I was elsewhere, man. My mind was in the sewer, stuck on Chick
Lombardi. I mean, I'd seen his rage. I'd seen the way he glared at Change.
And I know for certain that the piece a shit was reachin' for his heater. I
was the only one who'd seen it, but I know what I saw. Damn, I wish I'da
played it different.
What I did was stand at the freakin' crap table givin' myself the third
degree. Like, would Lombardi be stupid enough to come after Small Change? Did
I need to keep closer tabs on the kid? I mean, he was pretty well lit and he
probably wasn't thinkin' too clearly. The worst of it was I could still hear
Lombardi's voice sayin', "See ya again, Small Chance. See ya again real
soon." But I guess I reasoned that Vinny was on him and besides, Sally said
he'd take of it. Ya see what I'm sayin'? 'Nuff said, or so I thought.
"New shooter! C'mon buddy, you gunna throw the dice or what?"
"Sorry," I said. "Two hundred on the pass line."
Believe it or not, I held them dice for like forty freakin' minutes. And I
didn't enjoy it a bit. It was pitiful, fellas. I was worried like an old
woman. When I finally sevened out, I changed colors and made a beeline to the
cashier's cage.
"Helluva hand, Champ," somebody said, slappin' me on the back. "You musta
made a dozen passes."
I finally looked down at my chips. Christ! I musta had ten, twelve grand.
Making a quick U-turn, I went back to the table. "For the boys," I said,
throwin' down five black chips.
I then tried to case the casino and panic started settin' in before I even
got to the cage. I couldn't see Change or Vinny nowhere. Sure, they coulda
been around a corner, or in the can, but I knew right then I'd messed up. I
knew what was goin' on and I blew it. I could feel it, man. Like when the
ball is in the air and suddenly ya know it's gunna be a muffed punt. Ya
follow? I knew right then that I muffed it. I let my friend down. I let
myself down. I let everybody down.
I cashed in the chips and made a detailed searcha the casino. At the
roullette wheel? Nothin'. At the slots? Notta gawdam thing. The lounge?
Nobody'd seen 'em. I scanned the blackjack and saw Snacks entertainin' the
tourists about three deep around his table. But there was no signa Snacks or
Vinny. I called up to the room, knowin' nobody was gunna answer. I checked
the resta the bars. Damn it! Where were they? Finally, I went and pulled
Snacks offa the table. Pissed him off good. Tough shit - I was freakin'
scared.
"I can't find the boys nowhere," I says. "None of the dealers or waitresses
remember seein' 'em for at least two hours! They ain't in the room neither,
Snacks! Whatta we gunna do?"
"Take a pill, Cow," he told me. "They gotta be here somewhere. Oh, by the
way, thanks a freakin' lot! I was up around nine dimes over there. You owe
me! Hey, there's Mr. White, I'll bet he knows the score."
Mr. White had seen our boys alright. "Oh yeah," he tells us. "They left here
a while ago with with Willy."
Willy, Willy . . . I knew that name. "Who the hell is Willy?" I finally
asked.
"You don't know?" Mr. White looked astonished. "That's Mr. Vecchio's driver.
Has been for years. Shit, I thought everybody knew Willy"
Me and Snacks looked at each other. Now we were freakin' astonished. Or
somethin' like that.
"They just walked outta here with him?" I asked. I mean, I couldn't believe
it!
"Him?" Mr. White said, smiling. "Willy is the most beautiful long-legged
blonde that you'll ever wanna see. And I think her and that Vinny were
hittin' it off. Know what I mean?"
With Vinny? Hell yes we knew what he meant. Didn't that sunnuva bitch ever
get tired?
Finally I asked if he knew where they were going, but unfortunately, Mr.
White's a very busy man and I looked up to see him disappearing into a crowd
on the casino floor.
Me and Snacks sat there in silence for awhile, thinking. We were hopelessly
shorta clues on what to do next, but maybe together we could make some sense
outta this mess.
ME: Sally had gone outta his way to make sure we wouldn't call him. I figure
he must have important business to take care of before he splits.
SNACKS: Nice play, Cow! So if that's true, it then follows that . . .
BOTH OF US IN FREAKIN' UNISON: Lombardi will be with Sal!
Then somebody hit the mute button again. Neither of us said another word
until ten minutes later when the waitress asked if we were ready for another
drink. I remember now that we was both so concerned with Small Change that
neither of us even made a crack. We merely nodded yes and went back to
figurin' out our course of action.
"All we can do is wait." Snacks finally said, buttin' his Camel. "I'm gunna
go snag us a coupla Hollywood Park forms from Mr. White. We oughtta head up
to the suite and get somethin' to eat. Besides, we gotta stay near the blower
'til we hear from Small Change and Vinny."
Snacks took off through the casino and I sat there racking my brain. I
started writing what I knew on a cocktail napkin.
(1) Sal's bodyguard, Chick Lombardi threatens Small Change.
(2) Sal says he'll handle it, but stay away from Lombardi, he's a hothead.
(3) Sally tells us, "Don't be callin' me. I'll get in touch with you."
(4) Mr. White sees Change and Vinny leavin' Caesar's Palace with Sal's
driver, Willy.
(5) Willy's a tomato. Possibly a very hot tomato. Vinny and Willy made fast
friends.
QUESTIONS:
(1) Lombardi and Sal don't fit. How'd Sally get stuck with this jerk?
(2) Where in the hell is Sal stayin'? How can we find out?
(3) How close are Lombardi and Willy?
(4) Why'd both guys leave with Willy? Was Change babysitting his skirt
chasin' pal?
(5) Was Sal aware of his driver's whereabouts?
(6) Did Willy come and get the boys at Sal's request?
(7) At Lombardi's request????!!!!
got to the cage. I couldn't see Change or Vinny nowhere. Sure, they coulda
been around a corner, or in the can, but I knew right then I'd messed up. I
knew what was goin' on and I blew it. I could feel it, man. Like when the
ball is in the air and suddenly ya know it's gunna be a muffed punt. Ya
follow? I knew right then that I muffed it. I let my friend down. I let
myself down. I let everybody down.
I cashed in the chips and made a detailed searcha the casino. At the
roullette wheel? Nothin'. At the slots? Notta gawdam thing. The lounge?
Nobody'd seen 'em. I scanned the blackjack and saw Snacks entertainin' the
tourists about three deep around his table. But there was no signa Snacks or
Vinny. I called up to the room, knowin' nobody was gunna answer. I checked
the resta the bars. Damn it! Where were they? Finally, I went and pulled
Snacks offa the table. Pissed him off good. Tough shit - I was freakin'
scared.
"I can't find the boys nowhere," I says. "None of the dealers or waitresses
remember seein' 'em for at least two hours! They ain't in the room neither,
Snacks! Whatta we gunna do?"
"Take a pill, Cow," he told me. "They gotta be here somewhere. Oh, by the
way, thanks a freakin' lot! I was up around nine dimes over there. You owe
me! Hey, there's Mr. White, I'll bet he knows the score."
Mr. White had seen our boys alright. "Oh yeah," he tells us. "They left here
a while ago with with Willy."
Willy, Willy . . . I knew that name. "Who the hell is Willy?" I finally
asked.
"You don't know?" Mr. White looked astonished. "That's Mr. Vecchio's driver.
Has been for years. Shit, I thought everybody knew Willy"
Me and Snacks looked at each other. Now we were freakin' astonished. Or
somethin' like that.
"They just walked outta here with him?" I asked. I mean, I couldn't believe
it!
"Him?" Mr. White said, smiling. "Willy is the most beautiful long-legged
blonde that you'll ever wanna see. And I think her and that Vinny were
hittin' it off. Know what I mean?"
With Vinny? Hell yes we knew what he meant. Didn't that sunnuva bitch ever
get tired?
Finally I asked if he knew where they were going, but unfortunately, Mr.
White's a very busy man and I looked up to see him disappearing into a crowd
on the casino floor.
Me and Snacks sat there in silence for awhile, thinking. We were hopelessly
shorta clues on what to do next, but maybe together we could make some sense
outta this mess.
ME: Sally had gone outta his way to make sure we wouldn't call him. I figure
he must have important business to take care of before he splits.
SNACKS: Nice play, Cow! So if that's true, it then follows that . . .
BOTH OF US IN FREAKIN' UNISON: Lombardi will be with Sal!
Then somebody hit the mute button again. Neither of us said another word
until ten minutes later when the waitress asked if we were ready for another
drink. I remember now that we was both so concerned with Small Change that
neither of us even made a crack. We merely nodded yes and went back to
figurin' out our course of action.
"All we can do is wait." Snacks finally said, buttin' his Camel. "I'm gunna
go snag us a coupla Hollywood Park forms from Mr. White. We oughtta head up
to the suite and get somethin' to eat. Besides, we gotta stay near the blower
'til we hear from Small Change and Vinny."
Snacks took off through the casino and I sat there racking my brain. I
started writing what I knew on a cocktail napkin.
(1) Sal's bodyguard, Chick Lombardi threatens Small Change.
(2) Sal says he'll handle it, but stay away from Lombardi, he's a hothead.
(3) Sally tells us, "Don't be callin' me. I'll get in touch with you."
(4) Mr. White sees Change and Vinny leavin' Caesar's Palace with Sal's
driver, Willy.
(5) Willy's a tomato. Possibly a very hot tomato. Vinny and Willy made fast
friends.
QUESTIONS:
(1) Lombardi and Sal don't fit. How'd Sally get stuck with this jerk?
(2) Where in the hell is Sal stayin'? How can we find out?
(3) How close are Lombardi and Willy?
(4) Why'd both guys leave with Willy? Was Change babysitting his skirt
chasin' pal?
(5) Was Sal aware of his driver's whereabouts?
(6) Did Willy come and get the boys at Sal's request?
(7) At Lombardi's request????!!!!
Cuttin' to the chase, me and Snacks went over that kinda crap for the next
day anda half before we finally got word from Vinny. What he told us was that
he and Willy made for the sheets at their first opportunity. No surprise,
there. But when they finally finished the horizontal bop, they couldn't find
Change. Vinny says they looked everywhere without no luck. "He ain't back
there, is he Cow?" Vinny sounded like he was gunna cry.
We never saw Small Change again.
It took us about 18 hours to track down Sal, but once we did we had a steady
stream of information. Sal was on it. I think the deal was, Sal felt as
responsible as I did. Ya see, Chick Lombardi turned up missin' too. So, we
all pretty much knew, ya know, that things didn't look too good.
The next day Sally told us that Change had bought a piece from some lowlife
down in South Central. What Change was doin' there, or how Sal ever came up
with the information, I'll never know. But it was solid. 24 hours later we
got the word. Small Change was shot and killed with the very same .38 caliber
handgun that he had bought only hours before. No witnesses. No suspects. The
cops ID'd him through his fingerprints, 'cause he wasn't carryin' no
identification. Theft was ruled out as a motive, because they said he had
over ten thousand dollars on him, including a wad of hundred dollar bills in
his clenched fist.
That was about it, I guess. Me, Snacks and Vinny hung out at Sal's in LA for
about a week. Sally took care of all the funeral arrangements, seein' as
Change had no family that any of us knew of. We buried him in Reno because
that was the closest we could get him to a casino. I'm gunna hafta get down
there and visit him here pretty soon. Snacks has been there halfa dozen times
and I still ain't never gone. I don't know why, really. I think I'll go real
soon.
Well, I told yuz this wasn't no Christmas story, but I guess now ya know why
I call it the best and worst time of my life. I miss that little bastard. We
all do.
So, Snacks and me are back in Portland now, tryin' like hell to be normal.
Vinny stayed in LA. He's workin' for Sal, now. Doin' real good, too, from
what I understand. We ain't really talked to Sal or Vinny too much. 'Cept for
a call we got from Sally a couple of months later. I can't remember how he
said it, exactly, but he let us know that Sick Chick Lombardi was "outta the
loop."
Since then, I don't think me or Snacks has ever talked with Sally or Vinny
again. I don't know why, but we seem to be driftin' apart. So now it's me and
Snacks and Mike the bartender and Joey. And we're doin' fine, thanks.
I know you're lurkin' out there Snacks. You oughtta come in here and fill in
some of the stuff I left out. Just don't feed me a rafta shit 'cause I bailed
on the story, okay? I've been depressed as hell for two or three weeks, but
now I'm done. Merry freakin' Christmas.
SMALL CHANGE
Small Change got rained on with his own .38
And nobody flinched down by the arcade
The girls and the lamppost on the corner missed it all
I guess cabbies are the only ones that really got it made
And his trousers were twisted
And the sirens high and shrill
And crumpled in his fist were seven hundred-dollar bills
And the naked mannequins wore them cheshire grins
Anda banda hopeless roustabouts said buddy come on in, 'cause
Small Change got rained on with his own .38
And nobody flinched down by the arcade
And the burglar alarm's disconnected
And the newsmen start to rattle
And the cops were tellin' jokes about some whorehouse in Seattle
And the fire hydrants plead the fifth
And the furniture's bargains galore
But the blood is by the jukebox
On an old linoleum floor
Now there's a hot rain on the streets
And them umbrellas ain't got a chance
And the newsboy is a lunatic with wet stains on his pants, 'cause
Small Change got rained on with his own .38
And no one went over to close his eyes
And there was a Racing Form in his pocket
Circled, Sick Chick in the 3rd
And the cashier at the clothing store
She wouldn't say a word
'Cept the sirens tore the night in half
I'll bet she saw who stole his wallet
A surveillance of assailants if that's what you wanna call it
And some whore hikes up her skirt
To search for drug-store prophylactics
She tried to answer questions, but
All ya heard was static
She had eyes as blank as Change's
And her teeth had been in a wreck
She won't let you kiss her
But what the hell did you expect
The Gypsies there were tragic
And if you wanna buy perfume, well
They'll bark you down like carneys
Sell you Christmas cards in June, but . . .
But Small Change got rained on with his own .38
And his headstone is a slot machine
No more Limousines
Or winning streaks
Or Vegas trips
Or dreams
'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own .38
Anda fistfulla C-notes couldn't change that
And the tuberculosis old men
At the diner, wheeze and cough
And "someone" headed south until this whole thing cools off
'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own .38
Yeah
Small Change got rained on with his own .38
day anda half before we finally got word from Vinny. What he told us was that
he and Willy made for the sheets at their first opportunity. No surprise,
there. But when they finally finished the horizontal bop, they couldn't find
Change. Vinny says they looked everywhere without no luck. "He ain't back
there, is he Cow?" Vinny sounded like he was gunna cry.
We never saw Small Change again.
It took us about 18 hours to track down Sal, but once we did we had a steady
stream of information. Sal was on it. I think the deal was, Sal felt as
responsible as I did. Ya see, Chick Lombardi turned up missin' too. So, we
all pretty much knew, ya know, that things didn't look too good.
The next day Sally told us that Change had bought a piece from some lowlife
down in South Central. What Change was doin' there, or how Sal ever came up
with the information, I'll never know. But it was solid. 24 hours later we
got the word. Small Change was shot and killed with the very same .38 caliber
handgun that he had bought only hours before. No witnesses. No suspects. The
cops ID'd him through his fingerprints, 'cause he wasn't carryin' no
identification. Theft was ruled out as a motive, because they said he had
over ten thousand dollars on him, including a wad of hundred dollar bills in
his clenched fist.
That was about it, I guess. Me, Snacks and Vinny hung out at Sal's in LA for
about a week. Sally took care of all the funeral arrangements, seein' as
Change had no family that any of us knew of. We buried him in Reno because
that was the closest we could get him to a casino. I'm gunna hafta get down
there and visit him here pretty soon. Snacks has been there halfa dozen times
and I still ain't never gone. I don't know why, really. I think I'll go real
soon.
Well, I told yuz this wasn't no Christmas story, but I guess now ya know why
I call it the best and worst time of my life. I miss that little bastard. We
all do.
So, Snacks and me are back in Portland now, tryin' like hell to be normal.
Vinny stayed in LA. He's workin' for Sal, now. Doin' real good, too, from
what I understand. We ain't really talked to Sal or Vinny too much. 'Cept for
a call we got from Sally a couple of months later. I can't remember how he
said it, exactly, but he let us know that Sick Chick Lombardi was "outta the
loop."
Since then, I don't think me or Snacks has ever talked with Sally or Vinny
again. I don't know why, but we seem to be driftin' apart. So now it's me and
Snacks and Mike the bartender and Joey. And we're doin' fine, thanks.
I know you're lurkin' out there Snacks. You oughtta come in here and fill in
some of the stuff I left out. Just don't feed me a rafta shit 'cause I bailed
on the story, okay? I've been depressed as hell for two or three weeks, but
now I'm done. Merry freakin' Christmas.
SMALL CHANGE
Small Change got rained on with his own .38
And nobody flinched down by the arcade
The girls and the lamppost on the corner missed it all
I guess cabbies are the only ones that really got it made
And his trousers were twisted
And the sirens high and shrill
And crumpled in his fist were seven hundred-dollar bills
And the naked mannequins wore them cheshire grins
Anda banda hopeless roustabouts said buddy come on in, 'cause
Small Change got rained on with his own .38
And nobody flinched down by the arcade
And the burglar alarm's disconnected
And the newsmen start to rattle
And the cops were tellin' jokes about some whorehouse in Seattle
And the fire hydrants plead the fifth
And the furniture's bargains galore
But the blood is by the jukebox
On an old linoleum floor
Now there's a hot rain on the streets
And them umbrellas ain't got a chance
And the newsboy is a lunatic with wet stains on his pants, 'cause
Small Change got rained on with his own .38
And no one went over to close his eyes
And there was a Racing Form in his pocket
Circled, Sick Chick in the 3rd
And the cashier at the clothing store
She wouldn't say a word
'Cept the sirens tore the night in half
I'll bet she saw who stole his wallet
A surveillance of assailants if that's what you wanna call it
And some whore hikes up her skirt
To search for drug-store prophylactics
She tried to answer questions, but
All ya heard was static
She had eyes as blank as Change's
And her teeth had been in a wreck
She won't let you kiss her
But what the hell did you expect
The Gypsies there were tragic
And if you wanna buy perfume, well
They'll bark you down like carneys
Sell you Christmas cards in June, but . . .
But Small Change got rained on with his own .38
And his headstone is a slot machine
No more Limousines
Or winning streaks
Or Vegas trips
Or dreams
'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own .38
Anda fistfulla C-notes couldn't change that
And the tuberculosis old men
At the diner, wheeze and cough
And "someone" headed south until this whole thing cools off
'Cause Small Change got rained on with his own .38
Yeah
Small Change got rained on with his own .38
Just made Xmas
Just made Xmas
Agent -Man & Madjack-Man, Thanks loads. Brings
back :clap: :clap: great memories of the great Cow.only reading
parts of it.Will spread it out till Xmas. Thanks again. :mj14:
Just made Xmas
Agent -Man & Madjack-Man, Thanks loads. Brings
back :clap: :clap: great memories of the great Cow.only reading
parts of it.Will spread it out till Xmas. Thanks again. :mj14:
Jack & Agent, this is a great Christmas present!!! Thanks for posting this again.... Fawking classic!!! :clap: :clap:
...like MOO, man.
...like MOO, man.
Anyone that doesnt take the time to read this...well, you are truly depriving yourself.
"Christ, he didn't have enough to drink, if ya ask me. That fool needed
to be passed out in his Rambler somewhere. "
:mj07: :mj07: :mj07:
Sally finally showed up around midnight with a bad actor. No, I ain't talkin'
'bout Rambo. The piece a crap I'm talkin' about was supposedly Sal's bodyguard. Name: Chick Lombardi. Age: Mid-twenties. Occupation: Suck ass.
Sex: Unknown. Class: None.
:mj07:
"Christ, he didn't have enough to drink, if ya ask me. That fool needed
to be passed out in his Rambler somewhere. "
:mj07: :mj07: :mj07:
Sally finally showed up around midnight with a bad actor. No, I ain't talkin'
'bout Rambo. The piece a crap I'm talkin' about was supposedly Sal's bodyguard. Name: Chick Lombardi. Age: Mid-twenties. Occupation: Suck ass.
Sex: Unknown. Class: None.
:mj07:
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