Long White Con

by Iceberg Slim

  What a strange thing, he thought, I don’t ever remember calling my mother anything except P.G. to her face. The G was for Grisby, her maiden name. She hadn’t liked it. She’d begged him to call her mama. She’d threatened, and even tried to bribe him. Finally she gave up.

  He remembered her account of how, in 1926, she became a waitress-hostess. She was eighteen years old, had a magnificent body and an Eurasian appearance. Silky clouds of jet hair floated to her twenty inch waist. She’d found it easy to get work in the wooly Roaring Twenties nightspot in Kansas City, Missouri.

  Later, in his teens, she told him how she had run away from her home in the country outside of New Orleans. She’d left her father and mother, one sister and four brothers.

  Folks remembered his mother told him how she got work as a waitress in a Rampart Street gumbo house. His father and several other white musicians came there one early morning from Bourbon Street. His father was half drunk but he was stricken foolish at the wondrous sight of Phala. He was stone drunk that same week when he actually married his ravishing fourteen-year-old mother.

  His father had drummed for three bands by the time he was three. Somehow, despite his drinking, he managed to keep food in their mouths and a roof over their heads. He came to see them only when his band was playing near Kansas City. And when he came, it was usually for only overnight. Then he didn’t come at all.

  Phala had told him later he had fallen in love with a wealthy white girl and was living common-law with her in the east. But Phala had loved him too much to get a divorce. She always hoped he’d come back to them. He never did!

  “Peckerwood cunt, weakling deserter!” Folks said as he left the bedroom.

  He went to the bar and poured whiskey into a water glass to the brim and dumped it down his gullet.

  Balmy late summer night had fallen when Speedy and Upshaw went to Speedy’s hotel suite after a soul food dinner at Tango’s house. Dinner had followed exhaustive rehearsal of several ways for Upshaw to lose the rigged fight, which was not to occur.

  Upshaw sat in the living room sipping a cool drink, relaxing from the rigors of the rehearsal with Samson. Speedy finished packing his bags in the bedroom. He shoved them into the closet to be scooped up next afternoon after Tango was separated from the hundred grand he was hopping wild to wager on a cinch thing.

  Speedy went to the bathroom and pulled out the mirrored cabinet from the wall over the face-bowl. He took his and Folks’ bankrolls from the stash, then he extracted twelve grand, in large bills, from his bundle. Chewing his lip thoughtfully, he peeled off two thousand. He shoved the ten grand into his shirt pocket, packed the two grand with the bankrolls into a money belt and strapped it around his waist next to his skin. Then he replaced the cabinet and left the bathroom.

  He was going behind the bar in the living room when he heard two light knocks on the door. He looked at Upshaw and dipped his head toward the bedroom. Upshaw went into the bedroom and shut the door.

  Speedy put his eye to a peep hole and opened the door to elderly Jake, the bell captain, creased and vivid in his puce monkey suit. Jake went past him as he shut and chained the door. The old man up-ended a brown paper sack and dumped a pile of counterfeit fifties and C-notes on the coffee tabletop. Speedy stared down at the phony fortune.

  Jake said, “There’s a hundred and twenty grand there at ten cents on the buck like I told you. Wanta count it?”

  Speedy grinned ruefully. “Jake, I trust your count . . . but, all I could raise is ten grand. Hope you’ll split the boodle and still let me cop a hundred grand at ten cents on the buck.” Speedy riffled the ten grand.

  Jake studied Speedy’s poker face with narrowed grifter eyes for a long moment.

  Jake shrugged. “Nigger, it looks like you done had a double lucky night since this old scuffler ain’t about to stick his ass out copping two grand, wholesale, for twenty gees of sizzling ‘queer.’ And I sure ain’t gonna take it in them streets to pass. ’Course, I’m hip I ain’t pulling your coat to nothing you ain’t already figured out!”

  Speedy slapped the wad of bills into Jake’s extended palm. “I owe you two grand, Jake. Now, count it fair and you’ll find it there.”

  Jake said, “Nigger, the bargain you got, it better be right and there,” as he shoved the wad into his brown paper bag.

  Jake moved to the door as Speedy unchained and opened it. Then Speedy extended his hand. Jake stared at it for a mini instant before he shook Speedy’s hand with minimal enthusiasm and went down the hall. Speedy shut the door and Upshaw stepped back into the living room, sat on the sofa watching Speedy stuff the “queer” into a briefcase.

  Upshaw said, “I heard Grandpa beefing.”

  Speedy grinned as he shut the case. “Yeah, he had rocks in his jaw. He’d piss his pants in joy if he knew how close he came to making me a gift of this ‘queer’.”

  Upshaw laughed. “He’d have a stroke, you mean. I wonder why you didn’t break his heart.”

  Speedy shrugged. “He’s Folks connected.”

  Upshaw hee-hawed. “Don’t drop that lug on me, friend. You know Folks wouldn’t turn a blond hair if you ripped off any outside grifter, even if it was his old lady!”

  Speedy frowned irritation. “I couldn’t be sure that Jake wasn’t an exception with Folks. They go back together since he was a punk carny shill.”

  Upshaw needled, “Come off the shuck. Jake is old and black and you got a sucker soft spot for a mark like that. Always have had in the twelve years I’ve known you. Right?”

  “Right! So you would have taken off Jake. Now, let’s get the hell out of here, cold-blooded Tear Off Thomas!”

  They stopped off in the ghetto at an auto body-upholstery shop recommended by Precious. In a half hour, the left bottom of the limo’s rear seat had a foot and half long section cut out. The aperture from carpet level was concealed by the intact flap of leather upholstery. The next stop was to purchase two identical thick leather valises, with locks and keys, at a Loop luggage shop.

  They drove several blocks to a luxury hotel where Folks had rented the Presidential Suite especially to receive Tango and the score the next day. Folks led them through the gem-cut chandeliered entrance hall into the posh gold-leafed living room, sunken and fabulous with richly gleaming furniture and cream-hued brocaded walls and drapes of cobalt blue, shot through with antique gold. They sat down on the blue satin sofa.

  Folks lifted a bottle of 1928 Chateau Margaux from a wheeled cart and filled their glasses. He said, “Here’s to the score!” They toasted and drank.

  Folks said, “I’m going to order dinner for you guys,” as he finger picked and nibbled morsels from the remains of baby quail on the coffee table.

  Speedy said, “No, thanks. We let Tango stuff us with garbage soul food.”

  Folks asked, “We’re all set up for the play tomorrow, I take it?”

  “All set. The limo back seat is gizmoed, and I copped Jake’s hundred and twenty grand in ‘queer’ and the valises. Tango is creaming his drawers for action. Tonight Upshaw and me will load the dummy valise with paper from the phone book, cut the proper size with the weight of two hundred grand. I’ll plant it in the limo switch-nest!”

  Upshaw yawned wearily. “I hope we don’t make up that boodle tonight, Speedy. I need rest.”

  Folks stood and stretched, sweeping his arm through the air. “Well, this pad’s all yours, pallies. Just sign your name Frederick Dockweider, 111, for food and drink. I’ll be back around noon.”

  Speedy’s face was pained as he glanced at his watch. “Partner, it’s just ten-fifteen. Don’t split with Upshaw sneaking into the land of nod,” pointing to Upshaw as his chin dropped to his chest. He snored, fast asleep. “Stay for a couple of hands of gin, two bits a pop.”

  Folks shook his head as he turned and moved toward the entrance hall. “I got Barbara McNair’s double waiting in my bed for a rematch,” he said over his shoulder.

  Speedy followed him through the entrance hall t
o the door. “Folks, I got our bankrolls from the stash,” he said as he started to unbutton his shirt.

  “Leave my bread in your kip until tomorrow,” and he opened the door.

  “You lucky jockey! A broad that looks like McNair, huh? Where did you cop?”

  Folks smiled. “In the lounge at my hotel, couple of hours ago.”

  Speedy wrung his hands. “Christ, I’m horny for some Big Windy pussy. If I had a nice face and the right paint job, I could slip in that lounge downstairs and con the pants off one of those muckety-muck silk broads laying at the bar.”

  Folks smiled sadly. Cruel angles of light and shadow deformed his face hideously old and tortured.

  “Wade, a white paint job over your blackness could drive you mad. Believe a friend.” Folks stepped into the hall and walked away.

  Next day, in mid-afternoon, Tango, Samson and the con players were assembled in Folks’ Presidential Suite. Upshaw and Samson glared ferociously at each other as per the script. They all sat on the living room sofa and in chairs, silently scrutinizing Speedy, standing, as he counted and stacked Tango’s hundred grand wager, in large crisp bills, into the brand new valise on the coffee table.

  “A hundred thousand. Correct, gentlemen?” Speedy said.

  Tango and Folks nodded.

  Speedy started to count Folks’ bundle of nearly perfect phony money. Tango scooted to the edge of the sofa and leaned his eyes close to the coffee table as Speedy audibly counted out Folks’ stakes. Speedy packed the bundle into the valise, locked it and tossed the key in his palm.

  “Well, whoever is chosen to hold the stakes will have charge of the key,” he said as he casually placed the key beside the valise.

  Folks said, “Carl, since Mister Dolan is our referee, it seems logical that he should retain the stakes in his office safe until the bout is concluded. That is, if Mister Brice has no objections.”

  Tango said stoutly, “Mister Hoffman, since we going with your referee, we gotta go with my stakes holder.”

  Folks said, “Whom would you trust with that responsibility, Mister Brice?”

  Tango looked at Speedy. “Carl is going to hold the stakes.”

  “That’s impossible!” Folks said.

  “No it ain’t, if we bet.”

  Precious said, “Mister Hoffman, why is it impossible?”

  Folks waved his arms in exasperation to explain the obvious. “Because, Carl is my employee. True, he’s honest to a fault, but the conflict of interest, with him as stakes holder, compromises Mister Brice unfairly. Let’s observe, at least, minimal protocol in this affair.”

  Speedy said, “He’s right, Mister Brice. Looks like Mister Dolan should hold the stakes. He can’t judge a fight to the finish, so he’s conflict free.”

  Folks said, “I need an aspirin. Excuse me for a moment, gentlemen,” as he rose from the sofa and left the room.

  Speedy leaned into Tango’s face and whispered angrily, “Brother Tango, what the hell you trying to do? Blow the deal?”

  Tango answered, “I ain’t no fool. Might as well blow the deal now if those two peckerwoods freeze the stakes in that safe with some legal bullshit. Suppose when Upshaw’s wind gives out in round twenty-five, like we planned, and Hoffman claims he quit on purpose. Shit, a powerful peckerwood like Hoffman could deny there was a bout, or even that my hundred grand was in the safe. The police gonna take the peckerwood’s word. Gambling ain’t legal in Illinois, Carl. I’ll mash five grand on you. You got to hold the stakes!”

  Speedy shook Tango’s hand. “Since you put it like that, brother, guess we’ll have to convince Junior to let me hold the stakes.”

  Speedy sat down beside Tango and glanced at his watch. Forty-five seconds before Kid was scheduled to put through the call from New York as Dolan.

  Folks entered the room, then seated himself on the sofa. “Well, let’s decide on the stakes holder and get to the gym.”

  Tango said, “We done decided. Carl wants to hold the stakes.”

  Folks glared at Speedy. “Carl, did you agree to do that against my wishes?”

  Speedy sheepishly averted his eyes. “Yes, sir . . . but only because otherwise, I believe Mister Brice will cancel the bout.”

  Folks lit a cigarette, puffed it in furious aggravation.

  “All right, let’s go to the gym. I’ll have a word with you later, Carl,” Folks said as the phone jangled on the coffee table before him. He picked up the receiver. “Hello Mister Dolan, we were just leaving for the gym.” Folks listened for several moments, let disappointment blossom on his face. “Yes, I understand. All right, then you’re certain that tomorrow afternoon we can hold the bout? I wish her well. See you then.” Folks hung up.

  “Gentlemen, the bout is reset until tomorrow afternoon, same time. Mister Dolan’s wife’s appendix burst two hours ago. He was calling from the hospital.” Folks sighed, “I need a drink. How about you, gentlemen?” as he stood and moved toward the bar across the room.

  Folks said, over his shoulder, “Carl, perhaps you should give Mister Brice his wager, or take the valise to Mister Sheppard at my bank for safekeeping in the vault.”

  The others stood.

  Tango stared down at the valise. “Brother, give me my bread so I can lock it up in my own safe. I don’t want it outdoors in no peckerwood’s vault.”

  Speedy jabbed an elbow into Tango’s ribs. “Dummy up, brother. I’ll put all the stakes in your safe,” he hissed as he picked up the valise and moved to the bar, followed by the others.

  Speedy glanced at his watch. “Mister Hoffman, I better shag to the bank with the valise before it closes.”

  Folks said, “I’m sure, Carl, the bank vault is the more convenient arrangement for the stakes. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mister Brice.”

  Tango said, “Tomorrow, Mister Hoffman.”

  Folks glanced at his watch. “Hurry, Carl!” Speedy led the way from the suite and they went to the limo.

  Speedy laughed. “Precious, a stakes holder with two hundred grand can’t chauffeur. You drive.” He gave Precious the ignition key and got in the car on the cushion over the dummy valise beneath him.

  As planned, Upshaw let Tango get in the back seat before he got in to crowd himself between Speedy and Tango. Samson got up front with Precious and Precious pulled the limo into heavy Loop traffic. Speedy clasped the valise on his lap, the valise magnetized Tango’s darting glances.

  Several blocks away, Precious halted the limo at a stoplight. Speedy pointed at a uniformed guard unlocking a closed bank door to let out a customer. They all glanced at the closed bank as Precious pulled away on the green light.

  Speedy laughed. “Tango, how could I leave the stakes in Junior’s bank vault when it was closed when we got here?”

  They all laughed.

  Precious said, “And you’ve got four witnesses!”

  They laughed again.

  As they neared the Outer Drive, Speedy caught Precious’ eyes in the rear view mirror and fluttered an eyelash. Seconds later, Precious shot the limo toward the rear of a truck, then stomped the shrieking brakes. The limo passengers were thrown forward with gut-wrenching violence as the big car halted inches from the truck.

  The dummy valise shot from concealment like a missile, striking the back of Speedy’s ankles. He let the valise on his lap slip to the carpet as he hurtled forward with palms thrown against the back of the driver’s seat. Then he kicked the cash valise into concealment with the back of his foot as he retrieved the dummy valise from the floor. He leaned back and placed the dummy on his lap as the others recovered.

  Precious glanced into the rear view mirror as he pulled around the truck. He stiffened at the sight of a Buick containing four of Tango’s hoods in the traffic behind.

  17

  REQUIEM FOR SPEEDY

  Shrill winds buffeted the limo and flogged Lake Michigan frothy as Precious drove the Outer Drive toward the southside.

  Samson glanced at the speedometer and growled, “Damn, Preciou
s, you doing seventy-five. Lighten up. I nearly went through the windshield in the Loop!”

  Precious reduced the speed to sixty. Speedy’s bland face concealed the interior ecstasy of the score accomplished. He was unaware that the body shop cutter had electric-sawed into the seat springs and a hanging barb of steel had gouged a half inch puncture into the dummy valise near the top, on the blind side, exposing a flash of printed telephone book boodle.

  They reached Tango’s house at three-forty-five. Precious parked and they all got out as the four hoods pulled the Buick in behind them and got out.

  Speedy said, “Brother Tango, you’re the stakes holder until tomorrow,” as he gave Tango the valise.

  Tango said, “Brother, I sure ain’t got the words to thank you for everything.”

  “You a beautiful brother. It’s a pleasure to be in your corner,” and he shook Tango’s hand.

  “How about a drink?”

  Speedy’s hands shaped a voluptuous pattern in the air. “Got a date, brother.”

  Tango turned to lead his group up the walkway toward the house.

  “Brother Tango, I got us an appointment with a contract expert after the bout tomorrow,” Speedy said as he and Upshaw got into the limo’s front seat.

  Tango made the A-OK circle with thumb and index finger over his shoulder and Speedy goosed the limo away.

  Precious went behind the living room bar immediately. Samson, Tango and his four hoods followed to seat themselves on bar stools as Tango placed the black valise on the bar top before him. Precious served Samson ginger ale and the others their choice of whiskey before he served himself a double shot straight, and down the hatch.

  Tango’s fingertips caressed the valise as he sipped whiskey and dipped his head frenetically to the beat of a disco hit blasting from the bar radio. A laser of late afternoon sun fired through open Venetian blinds to illuminate the seat spring puncture in the valise. A corner of printed paper protruded. Precious was hypnotized as he watched Tango’s shocked eyes as he snatched the valise off the bar and tremblingly held it near his face.