Ace sneered. “I’m from the South Side of Chicago, asshole. A protégé of Sensei Snake Simmons. We stomp loud-mouth niggers like you for fun.”
“Okay, okay,” Richey said, using his stage voice and the authority of his position to head off a fight. “Let’s cut out the love talk. We don’t use racial epithets here, including Nigger and Redneck. No fighting. It’s all in the employment contract you signed and obviously didn’t read. Do it again and you’re fired. Now, all of you who want to play the lottery, put your money in the cigar box so I can see it. If you got change coming, take it out of the bowl. Pull your chip or chips out of the fish bowl and get back to work.”
Richey paid winners after work at The Stadium, or the beginning of the next shift. He didn’t think management would do anything other than slap his hands if they found out about the lottery. It would be amazing if they didn’t know about it already, although Beems, the second shift manager, hadn’t come around once during lunch break for the entire last year. Richey figured Beems had just turned his head to the obvious. Besides, every shift at the plant had a betting pool going on for the World Series, Super Bowl, NCAA Final Four, and a variety of other sporting events. The front office brass even got into that action, so how could they be hypocritical about The Richey?
About nine-thirty, Richey noticed a man walking toward his office from the area of the loading docks. He wore pressed jeans, a Navy pea coat and matching stocking hat. Something in his confident, graceful walk told Richey the man didn’t work in the warehouse. Richey began to smile as he finally recognized the intruder.
When Marshon Johnson walked into his office, Richey said, with mock seriousness, “We’re not hiring your kind today.”
“You mean someone with intelligence and ambition?”
The handsome black man and the middle-aged white manager with the chiseled facial features and well-coiffed hair hugged each other with genuine affection, as if they hadn’t spent the weekend spinning The Wheel.
“What are you doing here?” Richey asked, sitting down.
“Had a hankering for a bowl of hot soup,” Marshon said, flopping into the chair in front of Richey’s desk.
“We got a ham and pea soup guaranteed not to contain more than ten percent mouse turds. I suggest a vodka tonic instead,” Richey said, taking a bottle from his ice chest and tossing it to Marshon, who caught it with one hand.
“Richey, tell me again why the fuck you are still working here? How long’s it been now?”
“About three years,” Richey answered. “I’ve put down roots, kinda like the potatoes rotting in the back of the warehouse. Either that, or it has something to do the third law of thermodynamics.”
Marshon interrupted to provide the punch line: “The tendency of a body at rest to remain at rest … until moved by an outside force. Well, that force may be at work, especially after Friday night.”
Richey rose and shut the door. “Anything new?”
“We identified the two robbers, located their families, did some jawboning, paid some hush money, and those boys will be buried tomorrow.”
“You can do that without the police or anyone finding out?”
“If you know the right funeral director. As for official paperwork, that’s always for sale, Richey. I can get you a new birth certificate indicating you’re twenty-one years old and African American, if you like.”
“Next time I go for an audition, I’ll remember that.”
Marshon shifted in his chair and frowned. “The problem is: about three hundred people or more saw this whole thing go down. Keeping a lid on that will be difficult, to say the least. They could charge me with being an accessory, although that would be a stretch. I was taking a piss at the time and didn’t even see the knife-throwing exhibition. I’ll probably have to pay the two grieving mommas a monthly stipend for several years. If the media gets wind of what happened, it could be déjà vu all over again, like it was four years ago.”
At that time, the largest citywide newspaper, the Star, ran an expose regarding The Wheel. The news lead was that a local entrepreneur was attempting to restructure The Wheel as a charitable gambling organization in conformity with state laws. The article quoted several state officials who ridiculed that idea. The reporter sensationalized the dark underbelly of The Wheel as a breeding ground for excessive drinking, illegal gambling, drug use, and fights. Several players had been knifed and/or shot under various circumstances. One had died only a month before the article ran. Jemmy and his cadre of bouncers had put several players in the hospital. Moreover, there had been nearly a dozen robberies. A policeman called to an attempted robbery had been shot and wounded.
“After the Star ran its expose, the politicians and city hall bureaucrats rose up on their hind legs and began to howl,” Marshon said, snorting in disgust. “Half of them was on my payroll. All of them called and told me how they was just talking to the microphones and really was on my side. Still, I had to shut down for a couple of month, as you’ll recall. I lost at least a hundred grand before I was able to smooth the waters. Worse of all, I nearly lost Gail. And, you had to knuckle under to Shirley and quit.”
Richey nodded sadly, but didn’t respond.
“It was nice to reminisce a week ago about how you and I and Gail met,” Marshon said, chuckling.
It happened more than six years ago during a production of Showboat, staged at the outdoor Starlight Theater located in Canyon Park. Richey had won the lead role as Steve Baker, and a gorgeous black woman, Abigail Thomas, then a university student, was chosen to play Julie LaVerne. Marshon had previously spotted Gail in Tremont Plaza, was captivated, and began following her. Richey called it stalking, although Marshon insisted he was only trying to broaden his circle of friends. He followed Gail to a rehearsal and cajoled the director into giving him a non-speaking part as a dockworker. When someone dropped out of the chorus, Marshon volunteered. It turned out that he had a surprisingly good baritone voice.
“You remember how you and I and Gail used to lie in the grass during breaks in the Showboat rehearsals?” Richey asked.
“I often think about that golden summer,” Marshon said, pensively. “Gail would regale us with stories about college, and you would sing show tunes. You really were a ham, Richey!”
Richey laughed loudly. “Me! You tried everything to impress Gail, including pointing out all the star constellations. I admit that was impressive, especially since I can never even see ʼem, let alone name them.”
Marshon chuckled. “It was my Uncle Clyde’s hobby. Many a night I sat on the front porch when I was a kid and he pointed out the constellations in the clear night sky, and named them.”
Richey had been an aspiring actor since college. It wasn’t a hobby, but rather an obsession. He’d married Shirley right after graduation and they had Ethan shortly thereafter. For the next decade, Richey worked a variety of jobs to support his family, mainly in sales and retail, but he never really committed to any occupation. In fact, he had to quit a job at an office supplies store to take the lead role in Showboat, when his manager wouldn’t let him off early to attend rehearsals.
After the musical ended, Richey eagerly accepted Marshon’s offer to work at The Wheel, first as a blackjack dealer and later as a rover. He’d been happy in that role and Marshon soon promoted him to head rover. Then, the Star newspaper ran the expose on The Wheel.
Shirley had been appalled and afraid. She insisted that Richey quit his job. He did, but was equally adamant that she support his effort to launch an acting career in Hollywood. Quid pro quo. Their son Ethan had started college, so perhaps it wasn’t an auspicious time to make such a decision. However, Richey had some money set aside, so he moved to L.A., auditioned for roles and moonlighted as a blackjack dealer in an L.A. casino. Shirley returned to work as a middle school teacher. They kept their marriage going long distance. The money issue worked out, but the career didn’t, even though Richey got a few minor movie parts, as well as roles in several commercials.
Eventually, he returned home, defeated and disheartened.
Shirley still insisted he take a “regular” job; hence, he wound up at Biederman’s, mainly because their health insurance package for managers included dental. Both Shirley and Ethan needed expensive dental work at the time. The salary was a modest $34,000. Ironically, two years after he came to work at Biederman’s, Shirley left and moved to Chicago. Only then did Richey begin to work for Marshon again, filling in some weekends.
“After you came back from L.A., you should have come to work for me again, full-time,” Marshon said.
“I know, but Shirley wouldn’t allow it and I was trying to save my marriage.”
“The offer still stands. Hell, you can run my apartment business if you want. I’ll double or triple your salary.”
Richey stood and became very animated. He did a few dance steps, causing Marshon to laugh and begin clapping time. “I could organize the girls into a stage show, like the Folies Bergère,” Richey said. “We could advertise! Draw in a helluva crowd. Get a review in the Star! Shirley would have loved that.”
“That would be the kind of additional publicity I don’t need right now,” Marshon replied. “I understood your problem with Shirley, brother, because I have a similar problem. After the Star ran that article, Gail dumped me, too, as you’ll recall. Her old man, the Judge, lobbied against me constantly. To be honest, few women will accept what I do for a living, especially the apartment business.”
“As I recall, when you and Gail first started dating, you convinced her you were in the real estate business,” Richey said.
Marshon feigned hurt feelings. “I was and am, sorta. Anyway, it took me another year to rebuild The Wheel with a new image, and to regain Gail’s trust and affection.”
“Did you have a premonition about Friday night?” Richey asked. “Before we even opened the tables, you told me you were thinking about making a change and wanted to talk with me about my lottery.”
Marshon nodded. “Not a premonition, really, although I’m wondering now if the whole episode couldn’t be seen in the tea leaves, or Tarot cards. It’s just that the Friday night potential always exists when The Wheel is in operation. You know that. And, the bribes I’m paying are increasing at a faster rate than profits. It seems a good time to move on. You gotta be thinking about doing something new, too, Richey. I mean, Shirley’s been gone now for a year, man.”
Richey tossed an empty plastic tonic water bottle into the trashcan and took another out of the ice chest. “Yeah, you’re right. Biederman’s is the bottom of the barrel. On the other hand, all jobs suck. Most people hate what they do for a paycheck. I guess I’m here because I don’t have to work hard. I’m flying under the radar. My lottery and part-time work at The Wheel keeps me in pin money. I get to close down the bars in the early morning hours and sleep in late.”
Marshon understood the real situation. His friend was still grieving dual failures — his marriage and his acting career.
“Skinny Walker came to see me when I was in the reformatory at age fifteen, sentenced to three years for stealing a car,” Marshon said. “He recited his philosophy that day, which was that life was only about making money. Regular jobs are for chumps. There is no equality of race or income, politics is a farce, and legality is a relative term. Skinny was a philosopher for the ages.”
Richey knew that the legendary Skinny Walker had taken Marshon under his wing when Marshon was still a teenager, although Richey wasn’t exactly certain why. He surmised that Skinny and Marshon’s dad had been close friends. There may even have been some three-way relationship involving the two men and Marshon’s mother.
“When he turned The Wheel over to me when I was twenty-five, he said it wouldn’t survive another five years, especially competing against the riverboats and online gambling. He was right, of course, although older folks don’t live in the virtual world. They still like to get out in the real world on the weekends. Skinny told me to diversify, and I have. But, I need a new direction now, which is why I thought of you and your lottery. When you were working as a blackjack dealer in L.A., Richey, did you ever get in on one of those private poker games for whales?”
Richey nodded. “I filled in a couple of times for dealers who had some type of emergency. One game I remember was at a private home in Bel Air. Mainly movie producers, although Ben Affleck and Leonardo DiCaprio were there. It was a Texas Hold ʼEm poker game with a quarter-million-dollar buy-in. Eight guys, two million dollars in play.”
“I read on a Website about a woman who hosted and organized such games,” Marshon said. “She didn’t charge admission or take a rake, because that’s apparently illegal where she was operating. But, she was making four to five million a year in tips. Tips! And, I’m busting my nuts every weekend, taking a chance of winding up in jail for years — or, worse yet, dead — all for maybe a million-five in profit.”
Richey knew something was in the wind. Marshon had never before revealed such financial details. “You’re thinking about starting up a private game for whales?” Richey asked, astounded. “This is the Midwest, man. There ain’t any fish like that here. Besides, you have to earn their trust to start with. All rich folk and celebs are gun-shy about publicity.”
“I understand all that. But, if I could get such a list and start to move in those circles, would you be interested in coming with me?”
Richey laughed. “And leave all this? Why me?”
Marshon shook his head as if the answer was obvious. “You got experience in all forms of gambling, Richey. No one knows odds better than you do. You’re a great actor. You can charm the pants off the players. You’re an experienced dealer. And, you’re white. I know we got a black president and times have changed, blah blah, but there’s still a ton of racists out there. You could be my beard with those guys.”
“You put it all together, Marshon, and I’m in.”
“What about the new woman in your life, Carmen? Will she be a problem?”
“Probably. But since she’s beautiful, smart and successful, she won’t stay with me, anyway.”
“Well, as you probably know, Gail will be a problem for me, too. I doubt she’d relocate. Anyway, why don’t the four of us get together soon? Maybe the women will hit it off and that could be a positive. We’d get a read on how they might react.”
“Sounds good, but I’ll bet you a thousand they say no, and I’ll give you odds of five-to-one.”
“I ain’t taking that bet.” Marshon sat forward in his chair. “Okay, to the other problem of the moment, and the other reason I stopped by. What about this Ace Semanski character? Is he still here?”
“Yep.”
“He say anything about Friday night?”
“Said not to worry, that he was on board. I believe him, because I sense he’s had some run-ins with the cops before.”
“I got rid of Friday night’s surveillance tapes, although it was the end of the evening before I thought about it. But the way Ace took down those two guys, that was unique, Richey. People who saw it will talk about it the rest of their lives. Even I can’t get over it. Semanski kills two men with throwing knives and it doesn’t even faze him. He talked back to Jemmy! Nobody in their right mind does that. Then, he tells me to put their bodies through a wood chipper! All he wants is free beer and a few hundred bucks to blow on roulette.”
Richey agreed. “He’s scary and dangerous. Probably unpredictable, too.”
“Like I said, no matter how much we try to put the fear of God into them, people on the East Side will gossip about Friday night. Word will get out. It won’t be hard for the cops to find Ace. Many people heard that he works here, for you. My fear is that if someone from the County Attorney’s office puts the screws to him, he’ll confess to the killings as an act of self-defense. Then, they’ll drop the charges against him in return for him testifying against me for not reporting the killings and for disposing of the bodies. Small fish for a big fish. Shit, they could indict half my crew, inc
luding you.”
“I looked at Ace’s employment record, at least as he revealed it to Biederman’s,” Richey said. “He claims to have been a construction worker in Michigan for the past three years. Why would he move down here and take this job?”
“He’s a rolling stone, or he’s got warrants, which is even worse in a way. It makes him vulnerable to law enforcement.”
“So, make Ace a deal he can’t refuse.”
“My thinking is to offer him five grand and suggest strongly that he move on. He doesn’t, Jemmy will come by and talk to him.”
Richey went in search of Ace and brought him back to his office. The three men looked decidedly uncomfortable in the small space, with the door shut. Marshon stood and handed an envelope to Ace. “Here’s five grand.”
“Who else you want me to kill,” Ace said, and grinned.
“I think it would be best for both you and me if you moved on, Ace,” Marshon said. “I can’t control the rumors. Hundreds of people saw you and saw what happened. They know your name, and that you work here. You can expect the police to come calling. You got friends and family in the area?”
“Got no family anywhere to speak of.”
“There you go. That makes it easy.”
Ace took out the cash, thumbed through the bills, folded them and put them into a front pocket of his jeans. He dropped the envelope on Richey’s desk. “Thanks, Marshon.”
“You bet, Ace. Let me know if you need any help moving out of town.”
After Ace left, Marshon looked at Richey. “Keep an eye on him and let me know when he leaves — or doesn’t leave.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Richey said. “You’ll never see him again.”
Given the result of his life decisions to date, Richey’s judgment was suspect to begin with, but his assessment regarding Ace Semanski would prove to be way off the mark.
4/Gotta Have Money
After talking with Richey and hopefully striking a deal with Ace, Marshon drove across town toward his apartment. Maybe he had put out the fire. It wasn’t the first time a couple of hoods had tried to rob The Wheel. When he first took over from Skinny Walker, it was a regular occurrence, in fact. Then, the law of the frontier prevailed. Most of the gamblers were packing and they often became instant lawmen, shooting it out with anyone who threated their stash or the game in which they hoped to earn a stash.
The Money Game Page 6