She is crying and she meets me across the table and puts her head on my chest. To smell her hair again, to smell her. I kiss her forehead. She pulls back, digs in her purse for a napkin, wipes her eyes. When she looks at me again her mouth is set in a way I’ve never seen before. Her voice is soft.
“I thought you wrecked everything in me, Tom. I thought I’d never feel anything again. And when after a while I started to feel, I didn’t want to. Then I wanted you to pay. I wanted you to miss me and to come back and I wanted to turn you away. That’s what I told myself, anyway.” She looks away a second, then back at me. “But deep down that’s not what I wanted at all. Deep down I wanted you back, Tom. I wanted to be like we were that first night, and all those others. And I knew. You’ll think I’m crazy, Tom, but I knew this day would come, that I would sit here and you would tell me all this and …”
She stops.
“And what?”
She shakes her head.
“Just like that, Tom? Two years we went out, and one day it was all over. And now you’re back and you say we’ll start it up again. Just like that? How do I know it won’t happen again? What guarantees can you give me?”
“Guarantees?”
“Yes.”
“I won’t lie, Lisa. I can’t look down the road and see anything clear. I can’t tell you when the money runs out I’ll go to law school, or back to work in a firm, or anything. The truth is, I don’t know what I want to be. But I know I want to be with you. So I guess that’s my guarantee. That I’m through leaving you, Lisa, if you give me this chance.”
I take her hand again.
“All these months, it’s like I’ve been waiting for my life to start. Like I’ll wake up one morning and it’ll be official. I know now it doesn’t work that way. Hell, my life’s a quarter gone already, and what have I done? What have I seen? Well, I’ve learned this: The only time I was ever really happy was with you. It’s taken a while to get that into my head, but it’s in there now, Lisa. And all those times we had? We can have them back. We can be that way again.”
“Can we?” She takes back her hand. “I don’t know, Tom. Maybe we’re built different. Or maybe some things you can’t get back. Maybe they’re precious, and if you throw them away they’re gone for good.”
She stands up. She puts her hand, small and hot, to my cheek and presses very hard. Her eyes are the biggest I’ve ever seen them, and the saddest. “I’ll call you, Tom.”
She walks out of the pub into the street.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I’M ON a stool in a bar in Bay Ridge Thursday night, Little Vincent on the left of me and Big Dom on the right. I’m the biggest Braves fan in the world. They put away Florida tonight and I’m in the clear again. They don’t and I’m fucked. And that’s Fucked with a capital F.
Everything was jake until Jimmy got cold feet on the horse. He called me this morning at work.
“I can’t risk it, Tommy. If I lost I’d be so screwed with Linda I’d never get out of the doghouse. I’m still in for the thousand I gave you, but not the extra six.”
“Jimmy I told you, it’s a sure thing. You’ll be a hero.”
“It’s a damn horse race, Tom—anything can happen. Spirit could pull up lame, or take a fall, or some nag no one heard of could come out of nowhere. Then where would I be?”
“Don’t do this to me, Jimmy. You said you were in.”
“Forget it. Anyway, what do you care? Your money’s on it. What difference does it make to you if I bet a thousand or seven thousand?”
He had me there.
“I’m just trying to make you some dough, that’s all. Jimmy, everyone gets a little spooked near post time. Just ride it out, and I swear you’ll be thanking me when it’s over.”
“Sorry, Tommy. A grand’s all I can spare. See you tomorrow night.”
I dropped my head to my desk and said all the curse words I know. If I’d had a bottle handy I would have taken a stiff jolt. I should never have given Jimmy a chance to think it over. I should have gotten the money from him straight off, right after I had him hooked. Jesus, now what? Here I was, a midnight meeting lined up with Duggan to show the money, and I’m six grand short. Even if I could bluff my way past him tonight, the match is tomorrow and I need it all in hand by then. Christ.
I reached for the sports page. The only honest way I could think of to scare up six grand in a couple hours was to bet a ball game. Hell, it’s what I do best anyway. I’d treat it as my typical Friday wager, just with a little more on the line this time.
I scanned the matchups. Greg Maddux starting for the Braves against Florida jumped out at me. If any game tonight is a lock, that’s the one. At 3 P.M. I took a little French leave from the office and headed straight up to Adam’s Curse to see Toadie. He told me he doesn’t handle that kind of action but for a hundred bucks could put me in touch with someone who does. I worked the bastard down to fifty, forked it over, and popped home to get the money. Ten minutes later I was in a cab for Bay Ridge and twenty minutes after that Vincent greeted me at the door of Madge’s Corner Pub.
He wasn’t at all what I expected. Short and thin, gray up top, with glasses and a kind face. A real easy manner to him, fatherly, almost, as if I showed up to date his daughter and he’s making me at home while he sizes me up. After a few pleasantries he took me by the elbow and walked me to the bar. I was ready to believe he wasn’t a wise guy until he motioned with an open hand at a giant a couple seats down.
“Tom, this is Dom. Dom, say hi to Tom.”
“Hey, Tom. Pleasure to meet you.”
My hand disappeared into his. Dom is about six feet fìve and three-fifty, with a big friendly face and a smile like a little kid. He’s dressed in sweats and a ball cap. He slapped me on the shoulder with his left hand.
“Here to take the boss’s money, huh? Go get him.”
Vincent introduced me all around, saying, “Hey, everyone, this is Tom,” and the seven or eight guys in the place all looked up from their papers and beers and waved. The Godfather this isn’t.
Behind the bar, Madge is a friendly, aging redhead with a smile that says she’s seen it all. She poured me a pint. “You let me know when you need another, young man.”
“Thanks.” I looked at Vincent.
“You gamble with me, you drink on me, kid. House rules.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” Vincent settled onto his stool and ran his hand through his gray. “Now. Toadie says your MO is to bet four hundred a week, once a week. He says you’re looking to take a big step up from that. How much did you have in mind?”
I said I wanted the Braves for six thousand and he explained how it works. Vincent doesn’t make you give away runs when you pick a favorite, like Toadie does. Vincent does it the official way—he lays odds. The Braves are 5—3 favorites to beat Florida tonight. That means to win six thousand I have to bet ten thousand. It sounds harsh, but I’d rather do it this way. If the Braves win, I win. Doesn’t matter what the score is. If they don’t, hell, it doesn’t make a lot of difference to me whether I lose six grand or ten grand. I’m fucked either way.
The big reason I’m willing to lay the odds is because Greg Maddux pitching against the Marlins is as close as you’ll ever get to a sure thing. Maddux hasn’t lost in two months, and Gary Sheffield, the only real hitter Florida has, is sitting this game out with a groin pull. This should be an easy one.
So here we are, a few minutes to game time. Already I can feel the sweat on me.
“You ever bet this kind of money before, kid?”
“Sure, lots of times.”
“Yeah? What line are you in?”
I pause.
“Insurance.”
“Me too. Hey, Dom, kid’s in insurance.”
Dom raises his glass. “Good for you, kid. Great line of work, huh?”
I nod.
Vincent turns back to me. “I ought to get some pointers from you. You must be doing real good
to have this kind of dough to throw around.”
“Well, it’s more a one-time thing. Maddux hasn’t lost in two months.”
Vincent nods kindly.
“So you’re a nickel-and-dimer throwing it all on a hunch, huh? I’ll buy that. You understand, I don’t like to pry. I just want to make sure the people I work with aren’t in any kind of trouble. Don’t like to see them with any reason to run scared. You know what I mean?”
“Sure.”
“Hey, Dom, kid likes Maddux and the Braves at fìve to three.”
“Kid knows his stuff.”
“You know, kid, on the face of it I gotta agree with you. The Braves look to be a safe call. A lock, even. But here’s the thing. It’s baseball, kid, and with baseball you never know. A gust of wind, a bad hop, and the whole thing turns on you. Me, I never bet baseball, no matter how good the game looks. Seen too many of them get away. My kid comes to me for advice, I tell him, ‘Don’t bet baseball.’ Dom, what is it I always tell you?”
“‘Don’t bet baseball.’ I don’t know, though, boss. Like the kid says, Maddux ain’t lost in two months. And Florida can’t hit for shit. You got a chance to win six grand on Maddux, maybe you lay what you gotta lay. I think the kid’s got you beat.”
Vincent holds up his hands.
“I’m not saying he don’t. It’s up to you, kid. You want the bet, you got the bet. All I’m saying is, with baseball you never know. If it’s me, I wait till football comes around to start dropping that kind of dough.”
“I’ll take the bet.”
“Maybe you want to do it for less, get your feet wet a little.”
I shake my head.
“Okay. Six grand it is. Good for you, kid. You stuck to your guns. Now, this is just a formality here, but I got to ask to see the money.”
I take it out and start to count it for him but he stops me. “Hey, that’s good enough. I’m sure it’s there.”
The players take the field. I should have the shakes right now, but the beer helps and I feel real good about Maddux. During the anthem Dom takes his cap off and Vincent bows his head and mutters the words. The Florida starter takes his warm-ups as Vincent waves down Madge for more drinks.
“A beer for the kid, Madge—and two ice waters.” He turns to me. “Ain’t this America, kid? Head down to the local pub, watch a ball game with a few friends. You can’t beat it.”
I take a long drink.
The Braves push across a run in the first and one more in the fourth, and the way Maddux is mowing them down I can’t imagine it won’t stand up. He’s putting everything right on the black and hard, earning nods of appreciation from Dom.
“My money’s on the kid. Sorry, boss. That’s the way I see it.”
Vincent shakes his head. “His man sure looks good today.” He turns to me. “Teach me to bet against an insurance guy, huh?”
Every time I finish a pint, Madge slides another in front of me. I relax just a little.
Through eight, Maddux is still shutting them out, but it’s only 2–0. Pat Rapp of the Marlins picked tonight to throw the game of his life. Even so, I should be up four or five runs. The Braves keep stranding runners, and they’ve had a few long ones caught at the wall. In the top of the ninth the Braves load the bases with one out, and with a chance to put the game away they pinch-hit for Maddux. Vincent looks up at me from under his glasses.
“You like the move, kid?”
“Not really. You can’t argue with it, they can break the game open, but I’d just as soon see Maddux out there in the ninth.”
“I’m with you, kid,” Dom pipes up. “If I got ten grand on the line I want to see Maddux out there to finish her off.”
The pinch-hitter hits one to third and the Marlins turn a 5–4–3 double play to end the inning. Another wasted chance.
“Would you look at that,” says Vincent. “Your man hustles at all and he beats the throw. A million bucks a year and he can’t break his ass with an insurance run on the line. Next thing you know they’ll be on strike.”
I signal Madge for another pint to get me through the ninth. Come on, guys. Three more outs and I’m home free.
Wohlers comes on to pitch for the Braves. He strikes out White to start it, then Veras bounces a 1–2 pitch off the mound and out into center fìeld. Conine fouls off six two-strike pitches, draws a walk, and all of a sudden two men are on and out of the dugout to pinch-hit comes Sheffield. Dom nudges my shoulder.
“He’s gotta be the last guy you want to see right here, huh, kid?”
I take a big swig of beer and I’m still drinking it when Sheffield hits the first pitch so hard it’s over the wall before the camera can turn to follow it. Fans dive to get out of the way. It all happens so fast it takes a second to sink in.
Dom has his hands on his head. “Oh Jesus, kid. Oh man.”
Sheffield touches them all and is mobbed at home plate as the final flashes on the screen. Marlins 3, Braves 2. I can’t move. Vincent sits quietly for a few minutes, looking glum. Finally he waves Madge over. “Bring the kid a drink, will you? A real drink. Jack Daniel’s, or anything he wants. What do you say, kid? A little JD?”
I nod.
“Christ, what can I tell you? You made a good bet, kid. Any gambler worth his salt makes that bet. You’ll win it eight times out of ten. Today just wasn’t your day. Next time, kid, maybe you get me.”
It’s a few minutes before I can even think. I look at the clock. Almost ten. In two hours I’m supposed to meet Duggan. I feel the same sickness in my stomach I felt that night on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. I’m so close, and it’s all going to end here, in a Bay Ridge dive. I reach into my shirt and hand Vincent the money. He takes it apologetically, thumbs through it, puts it away. I throw back the shot, slide off the stool, and with a vacant nod at Vincent and Dom I walk to the door. Only when I’m out on the street and the night air hits my face do I snap out of it.
Jesus, Tom, what the hell are you doing? You can’t leave this place without the dough. It’s not an option. I turn around, bang my head once on the wooden door to clear it, and walk back inside. I haven’t come this far to blow it now. Vincent hasn’t moved and I walk straight to him and look him in the eye. I know just what I need to do.
“You lend money, Vincent?”
He nods kindly, his hands up and out to me.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
IN THE BACK ROOM he motions to a booth and slides in across from me.
“Let me guess, kid—you need sixteen grand.”
I stare at him.
“The ten you lost and the six you didn’t win.”
I nod. He motions to Dom.
“Hey, Dom, bring Tommy here a beer.” Dom walks from the room.
“Here’s how it has to work. In my business, Tommy, three things are important: interest, prompt payment, and reputation. Interest is how I make my money. Prompt payment is how I keep my reputation. Without my reputation, I never even get to charge interest. So if I don’t get prompt payment, Tommy, I’m forced to take certain steps.” Dom returns with my beer and Vincent nods at him. “Dom, here, helps me take those steps.”
Dom blushes and shrugs, like I’d just found out he was an A student.
“Now, this business venture you’re engaged in, Tommy. When will it be completed?”
“Late Friday night.”
“Late Friday night. So you should have no trouble paying the interest and the principal early Saturday morning?”
“That’s fine.”
“Okay, let’s go over the terms. I lend you sixteen grand today, I need you coming back with twenty. Are you okay with that?”
I guess I better be.
“Yes.”
“Okay. Just a few formalities and then we’ll get you the dough. When’s your birthday, Tommy?”
“July fourteenth.”
“What’s your home address?”
I give it to him.
“Can I see your license, please?”
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I hand it over and he checks the info I gave him.
“Good. Your home and work numbers, please.”
I give them.
“And someone to contact in case of emergency.”
I stare at him.
He shrugs and smiles. “Procedure, Tommy.” After taking it down he stands up. “I’ll be right back,” he says as he walks out. When he’s gone Dom slides into the booth.
“You like jokes, kid?”
“I guess.”
“Got a good one for you. Guy I worked over yesterday told me this one. What’s the best part about a blow job?”
“I don’t know.”
“Twelve minutes of peace and quiet.”
He slaps his hand on the table and shakes all over. “Good one, huh?”
I force a smile.
“Wait’ll you get hitched, kid—you’ll die laughing. Hey, what’d you think about my timing on that one? They say half a joke is timing. You like my timing?”
“It was great.”
He looks right at me, grinning like a ten-year-old.
“They got this comedy club up the street here, kid. Monday nights they let anyone get up on stage and tell jokes. Guy who gets the most laughs takes home a few bucks. I figure what the hell, I’m a funny guy, I’ll give it a shot. So anyway, I collect jokes. Sometimes, if I got to put the screws to some deadbeat, maybe I let him off a little easy if he comes up with a few I ain’t heard. Get some real good ones that way.”
I work on my beer.
“That’s how I got the blow-job joke. Guy saved himself a finger with that one.” Dom starts shaking again. “Peace and quiet. I tell ya. How ’bout you, kid? You know any?”
“None that I can think of.”
“Well, maybe next time I see you, huh?”
We stare at each other a few seconds, then he lets loose with a belly laugh and slaps the table again. “Just joking, kid. How’s that for timing, though, huh?”
Dom slides out of the booth as Vincent returns with a paper bag. He sits down, counts out sixteen stacks of hundreds, and slides them across the table. I count them myself and stuff them in the pouch inside my shirt. When I stand to leave they each shake my hand warmly.
Balling the Jack Page 18