I walked for six hours and went over Johnny’s argument a hundred times, and each time it made more sense. Sammy was going to want payback from someone for what had happened to him and I would almost certainly be that someone. I realised I was frightened of the sort of violence this might involve if, as Johnny suggested, Chicago gave Sammy the go-ahead this time. I could still remember, as a child of eight, waiting for my father to come home from the tavern to beat up my mom and me, and I wasn’t prepared to live with that kind of fear again. A child’s fears never completely fade, even well into adulthood. Nothing was worth living like that once more.
My mind was finally made up. I went directly to the Firebird without returning to my apartment, so I could catch Lenny before too many other people gave him their version of what had happened.
He was in his office, swinging back and forth in his new office chair, and playing with a fancy new gold pen. Lenny always wanted the latest anything, as long as it was expensive and others could see it and appreciate its value.
‘Jesus Christ! Jack! Thank god you’ve come in. We went over to your apartment but you weren’t there.’
‘Oh?’
‘What the hell is going on? What the fuck happened at the Desert Inn last night?’
‘No, Lenny, you tell me your version. What’ve you heard? Has it reached Chicago yet?’
He seemed surprised by the question. ‘Why? Why should it?’ he asked.
I could tell Lenny was bluffing. ‘No, answer my question first, please,’ I insisted. ‘Has it?’
He’d recovered from his initial relief at my appearance and nodded slowly. ‘There and back, Jack. What the hell happened?’
‘Sammy took a sock at the wrong guy over not being allowed to play in a poker game at the Desert Inn, which never, in fact, transpired. Have you heard from the manager of the casino? He saw it all.’
‘Transpired? Ya mean, the poker game, it didn’t happen?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, Sammy starts a fight at 2.30 a.m. in the foyer of the Desert Inn over a poker game that didn’t happen. Is that what you’re saying, Jack?’
I didn’t like the inquisitorial tone he seemed suddenly to have adopted. ‘The manager of the casino would have told you that, Lenny.’
‘No, not at all, that’s not what he said he saw.’
‘What?’ I cried, startled. ‘What did he say?’
‘The version he gave me is that two hit men attacked Sammy and his helpers, and Johnny Diamond stood by laughing. It was obvious Johnny had set it up, he said.’
I almost laughed. ‘Yeah, two guys using bare knuckles against two, possibly three, men carrying guns – seems like a well-planned attack,’ I said, not without a fair amount of irony. ‘What about me? If Johnny’s falsely implicated, then so am I.’
‘I’ll get to that later. Just tell me what you know, Jack.’
I then told Lenny the whole story.
He didn’t reply for a long moment, then said quietly, ‘So, why did Johnny Diamond fly the coop?’
I kept my face impassive. ‘Has he?’
Lenny nodded. ‘It seems Johnny Diamond has packed up and left town. Did you know he was on with Sue Stinchcombe? It was Johnny who was the secret force behind that strike,’ Lenny said with a completely straight face.
‘Johnny, on with Hector’s daughter? That’s a laugh. Why, you know that’s crap, Lenny. Complete bullshit! He used to play around a bit but he’s been with that chorus girl, Gina, for over a year. As for him being the main force behind the strike, that’s crap too. What did he have to gain? Everyone knows Sue had the guts to run that strike all by herself. If what you say is true, why didn’t Louis Springer send Sammy after Johnny instead of Hector?’ I was growing more and more angry. ‘Lenny, do you really believe all this horseshit?’
Lenny sighed. ‘Jack, old buddy, not a single word. I believe everything you’ve told me. But I’ve got my instructions. Be sensible for a moment. All’s well that ends well. Think this through. Whoever does the thinking for Tony Accardo is fuckin’ brilliant. Think consequences.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Well, in a nutshell, Johnny throws Sammy off the gaming floor.’
‘He was acting under instructions . . .’ I interjected. ‘You agreed to it yourself.’
‘Yes, but . . . what’s the word, he was over . . . overzealous! He roughed Sammy up in front of the girls and some of the high rollers.’
‘Wait on, what’s this got to do with last night?’
‘Sammy was pretty upset. He obviously knew about the reunion and waited for Johnny to come down so he could demand an apology for the way he was treated. Johnny eventually arrives with his old war comrades, they’re all drunk and they don’t like Sammy’s style. Johnny refuses to apologise and Sammy takes a swing at him. Johnny’s buddies come to his aid and go too far.’
I could see what was coming. ‘So, Johnny sobers up and realises his thugs have beaten up one of the chosen few and that the Chicago Mob isn’t going to accept his apology. So, he gets the hell out of town?’ I concluded the story for him.
‘Ya got it in one, Jack. By the way,’ he held up an envelope, ‘this was tucked under my office door when I came in this morning. It’s Johnny’s resignation.’
‘Well, does it say what happened?’
Lenny opened the envelope, unfolded a single sheet and read: ‘“Dear Mr Giancana, I hereby resign without notice. There’s only one Sammy Shishka in town but it’s one too many. Look after Jack Spayd.”’ Lenny glanced up, then added, ‘“Yours sincerely, Johnson ‘Johnny’ Diamond.”’
I reached out. ‘May I see that please, Lenny?’
‘Sure, buddy.’ He handed me the letter. It was in Johnny’s handwriting and, unsurprisingly, he’d spelled Sammy’s surname incorrectly. It looked genuine.
‘Jack, you haven’t spoken to anyone, have you? The cops? Anyone else? Bridgett says she hasn’t seen you.’
‘No, not yet. But I think I should . . . maybe there’s one or two honest ones left in town. But after I’ve resigned. That’s the reason I’m here.’
Lenny jerked violently in his fancy new chair. ‘Jack, Jack buddy, whaddaya talkin’ about?’
‘Lenny, I agree with Johnny Diamond. There’s one Sammy Schischka in town and that’s one too many. Time to go. Vamoose.’
‘Jack, you make up you own mind but, before you do, just lissen to me for a moment, will ya?’
‘Lenny, it’s been six years and you’ve kept your word – Sammy’s never laid a hand on me. But it’s only a matter of time. I know that and so must you.’
But Lenny didn’t appear to be listening. ‘Jack, you have nothing to fear from Sammy for the next month, maybe two. Pretty funny coincidence – his injuries much the same as that nigger’s were, busted nose, jaw, eye socket . . .’
‘Lenny, stop right there! You’re no longer my boss and I take exception to you calling coloured folk niggers. The guy’s name was Hector and he was Sue Stinchcombe’s father – a more decent guy would be hard to find.’
Lenny spread his hands apologetically. ‘Buddy, it’s a habit, I don’t dislike coloured folk. No harm meant.’
I could see that he wasn’t particularly sorry at all, I’d simply interrupted his chain of thought. But I felt better speaking my mind.
‘Sammy’s off the air for a month and his offsider has a fractured skull,’ Lenny concluded.
‘Nothing trivial, I hope?’
Lenny actually laughed. ‘The point is, as far as Chicago’s concerned . . . and, by the way, I agree with them, Sammy’s had his comeuppance. He’s gonna live. The goon with the cracked skull is out of his coma, calling for his mama. The vets have all gone home. Johnny Diamond has fled the coop and is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The Nevada police can be kept out of this and you’re in the clear.’ He paused. ‘That’s if you keep your mouth shut.’
I sighed. ‘Christ, not again! What if I don’t?’
‘Jack, take my advice; this time
someone in the Family has been hurt, hurt bad.’
‘Not just some poor coloured bastard in the kitchen, a father with nine kids to support, eh?’ Lenny ignored this and I knew it would be pointless to continue. He wasn’t listening. ‘So, what about the other hood, and the night manager of the Desert Inn – what if one of them talks to the cops?’
Lenny picked up the gold pen again. ‘The night manager has . . . how can I put it . . . the right background, comes from Atlantic City. The promise of a nice clean envelope with a couple of used C-notes will make him say whatever we please.’ Lenny paused. ‘And, by the way, they’ve both already been briefed. You were never there, Jack. And now it’s even better. You’re not a veteran of the 101st Airborne and there never was a poker game. There was no logical reason for you to be present.’ Lenny pointed the pen at me and looked somewhat smug. ‘All taken care of, Jack.’
‘You know, Lenny, there is only one person capable of putting together this scenario.’
‘Oh, and who would that person be?’
‘Why, Mrs Fuller, of course.’
Lenny looked up slowly. ‘Does it matter, buddy? Nobody’s hurt, except Sammy and his helper and that’s no tragedy.’
‘Okay, but how did she know I hadn’t left with Johnny Diamond?’
‘One of the early morning nig— er, coloured maids in the kitchen told her she’d seen you walking Westside on her way to work; that’s when we checked your apartment.’ He paused. ‘We’ll pay for a new lock.’
‘Does this at least mean Sammy’s going back to Chicago forever?’
Lenny placed the pen down carefully, then spun it, so that eventually it came to rest pointing at one side of his desk and away from either of us. ‘I don’t know, but I doubt it. My guess is that he’ll stay for a while anyway. A few months, then we’ll get Bridgett to recommend that he leave town for health reasons.’
‘Thanks for not lying to me about Bridgett’s involvement, Lenny.’
‘Jack, she’s going along with this because she doesn’t want to lose you.’
‘I see. The best pit boss in America is lost to the industry, but the Firebird doesn’t want to lose their piano player,’ I said, not without a tinge of bitterness.
Lenny looked genuinely shocked at this statement. ‘Jack, you ain’t serious? You and Bridgett, don’t you know it’s much, much more than that?’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I LEFT LENNY’S OFFICE and made my way home, to find that the door of my apartment had been smashed in, then jammed shut with a wad of paper. Removing it, I saw it was a note. Jack, sincerest apologies, locksmith will make good later this morning. We are worried about you. Will you please contact Lenny or me urgently about last night at the Desert Inn. Bridgett.
I was too confused to ask myself what I thought about Bridgett going to the lengths she had to keep me safe. Fuck everything, I was getting out. I’d have to try to warn Johnny that the Mob might be after him, but how? He was on the road and I knew he wouldn’t have left a forwarding address.
The doorbell rang and I jumped, but it was only the promised locksmith. He gave me a cheery good morning and mumbled his name, Victor something, and immediately began to examine the damage to the door. ‘Lose your keys, eh?’ I nodded, too exhausted to want to talk. ‘Typical. Pre-war, made in Japan, burglar’s gift. I can replace it with a Yale-reinforced steel one, the latest two-click lock; cost a bit more, though . . .’
‘Go ahead, but can you hurry, please? I have to go out.’
‘You don’t want a quote? Lady called to say to send the invoice to . . .’ He began to rummage in his tool bag.
‘I’ll pay you myself. Just fix it, please. Fast!’
My obvious impatience got him off his ass and I left him to get on with it while I shaved, showered and changed into a lightweight suit I’d only worn a few times, a white shirt and navy blue tie. I’d bought the suit on a shopping expedition with Bridgett after she’d agreed to an afternoon charity performance two years previously for Anna-Lucia Hermes, in aid of the Mormon Missionary Training Centres and some orphanage in Africa. I have no doubt that, at the time, it had important political implications for the Firebird, no doubt involving the mayor, Lucan Hermes.
Though I can’t explain why, something from my boyhood prompted me to wear the suit to resign in – it seemed the right thing to do. Although Lenny would undoubtedly have told her of my intention to quit, Bridgett was my boss and I felt I needed to formally resign to her as a matter of courtesy.
I sat down and wrote out my letter of resignation, saying simply that I felt the need to move on, and that my resignation would be effective in two days. I’d never signed a contract, so there was no need to give a month’s notice. I thanked Bridgett for her unfailing courtesy and help, and signed the letter, using the new, very expensive, very fancy Reynolds Rocket (‘it will write on wet paper’) my mom and Nick had sent me for an early gift for Christmas, two weeks away. My mother still regarded America as some distant land where it took weeks for anything to arrive by mail. I think she imagined the parcel travelling by mule train, the poor beasts trudging for days through endless desert wastes.
I was suddenly ravenously hungry. I fried a couple of eggs and rummaged around for some bread, but there was only one slightly mouldy slice. I cut off the mottled crust and stuck the bread in the toaster.
Apart from being exhausted I was overwrought and jumpy, especially after Johnny Diamond’s lightning exit. Johnny was nobody’s fool. He was a war hero and no fly-by-night character – he had a good job he enjoyed, he loved playing poker – and if he felt the way he did about possible retaliation from Sammy and the Mob, then I ought to take it seriously too. But I needed a couple of days to fix my affairs and put the apartment on the market. Sammy had taken a bad beating and was in hospital; surely that would buy me some time.
By now the entire domestic workforce at the Firebird would know what had happened in the early hours of the morning. The night security staff at the Desert Inn were white but the coloured cleaners would have seen everything. Although the cover story would be widely circulated, the real story of what had happened would be known to one and all. Duplicity is yet another name for Las Vegas. News of Johnny Diamond’s departure would be spreading equally fast. No doubt someone would have been finishing up or starting the dawn shift and would have seen him drive off in the somewhat battered light-blue Chevy. He may have been a skilled mechanic, but his car was a case of the shoemaker’s children going unshod.
I ate my two greasy eggs slowly, spreading the yolk over the toast to conceal any vestiges of mould. The food helped settle my nerves and I tried to see things a little more clearly. The fact that Bridgett had been in a large part responsible for the story of the Desert Inn incident, which was to get me off the hook with Chicago, strengthened my resolve to leave. Bridgett, of all people, would know the likely consequences of Sammy’s beating.
By the time I’d fixed myself a cup of black Java – the milk in the fridge was off – the locksmith was all but done.
‘What do I owe you?’ I said.
‘Lady who called said to send the account to her, sir.’
‘Damn, I told you I’d pay.’ I reached for my wallet. ‘How much?’
‘Five dollars, sir, the carpen—’
‘Thank you, I don’t need to hear the details.’ I gave him a five and added a buck as a tip, and stuck out my hand for the two keys.
He thanked me. ‘Better keep one in a safe place, sir.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, pocketing the keys and ushering him out ahead of me, before slamming the door and brushing past him down the stairs.
‘No, sir, you lock the door a second time, using the key. It’s the double click I told you about. You have to turn it twice, the key; there and back!’ he called down at me. If I hadn’t been so far ahead of him I’d have returned and punched the stupid bastard.
It was windy and I was fairly chilly in the lightweight suit, and I momentarily considered going back
for a sweater, but the thought of facing the double-click locksmith on the stairs decided the matter and I hailed a conveniently passing cab instead of walking to the casino.
I knocked on Bridgett’s office door even though it was, as always, ajar and I could see her seated at her desk. She glanced up, leapt out of her seat and rushed to hug me. ‘Thank god you’re safe, Jack,’ she exclaimed, her voice cracking. She pressed her body hard against mine and I could feel her trembling. I tried to understand what this could mean, but the pressure of her breasts against my chest, the feel of her in my arms after so long, made it impossible for me to think straight. I simply made the most of it, breathing in the perfume of her hair and feeling its softness against my cheek. ‘Lenny told me you’d been to see him earlier,’ she said and abruptly released me. I watched her struggle to regain her composure – why do women tug at the sides of their skirts to adjust their emotions? – and saw that iron control reassert itself. ‘Please sit, Jack,’ she said, indicating the chair facing her across the desk. My heart sank to my boots as I settled myself into her stiff-backed chair. We were back where we always were.
I handed her my letter of resignation and sat back, gazing around the room while she opened it. In contrast to Lenny’s enormous scarlet and gold ‘Chinese New Year’ office, Bridgett’s could barely contain her desk and a couple of chairs. She read my note almost at a single glance, then looked up at me. It was business-as-usual Bridgett who now confronted me. ‘Jack, Sammy’s taken a terrible beating and won’t be out of hospital for six weeks at least. Please don’t leave immediately.’
Jack of Diamonds Page 58