Speedy shook his hand.
Folks said, “Precious, you still a star nine ball player and top craps mechanic?”
They sat on the sofa.
Precious said, “I’m still nine ball champ. I was tops with craps until I played Tango last year and blew this joint to him. You gonna get down in the Windy, Folks?”
“Maybe we will, but not the short con in the streets. I’m itching to rope a hot mark for the long con. White, black or polka dot.”
Precious went to a cabinet in the corner. “I’ve got vodka, gin and Scotch.”
“We’ve been drinking Scotch.”
Precious brought back a fifth of Black and White with glasses. He placed bottle and glasses on the table.
Speedy said, “Precious, I’d go for some chicken, dark meat.”
Precious said, “I’ll get a platter, on the house. What part do you go for, Folks?”
“Dark, Precious, with coleslaw.”
Precious went to the curtain separating the rooms and called a waitress to give the order, then came back to sit on the sofa and pour himself a drink from the bottle on the table.
He lit a cigarette, exhaled and said, with hazel eyes ashine, “Say, Speedy, how’s your cube game?”
Speedy grinned. “I can trim working marks on payday if I had to. Why, Precious?”
“Don’t get me wrong, but Joe Brice . . . uh, Tango and me, were hustlers locking asses to win anyway we could.” Precious sighed. “He was just a better craps man, a better cheat. Still, it would thrill me to see somebody kick his ass with the craps, or with any kind of grift, the arrogant, greedy sonuvabitch! I . . .”
The waitress came through the curtain with a large tray of aromatic chicken and side dishes. She placed it on the table before them and poured two glasses of water from a pitcher. Speedy stuffed a five dollar bill in the front pocket of her tight pink uniform that looked painted on her curves. She smiled and wiggled away through the curtain.
Precious said, “Excuse me a moment.” He went into the restaurant.
Speedy and Folks smacked their lips as they attacked the mound of golden chicken.
Speedy said, “Damn! This is good. Best commercial bird I’ve ever had!”
Folks agreed. “It’s fantastic! Franchise this ambrosia, and the Colonel and the others would have blues in the night with corporate toothache.”
Precious returned as they were smoking cigarettes and sipping Scotch.
Folks said, “Precious, the chicken is a wipe-out. What a recipe!”
“Yeah, it’s great. My mama’s. She died two months ago, at seventy-five. I can’t shake the idea that it was my blowing of our business that nudged her into the grave. She suffered bad to see me flunkying here as the manager for two bills a week.”
Folks said, “You said that Brice was greedy. How greedy?”
“Well, if you had come to town from Memphis, scuffling, two years ago and copped the biggest numbers bank on the southside, this restaurant that nets two grand a week, silent partner in several bars, a secret owner of a stable of fighters, would you be greedy enough to deal dope and risk the joint?”
Folks said, “He’s got the disease! Like a hog named Paul, he wants it all.”
Speedy said, “How the hell did Tango cop all those goodies in just two years?”
Precious answered, “With the dice at first. I mean the square dice! The slick bastard can shake ’em and roll ’em across the string and throw anything from two to twelve whenever he wants to. He beat Sweet Dog out of the numbers bank and did a black Mafia bit with a gang of gorillas imported from Memphis to cop the rest of his empire. He’s big and treacherous!”
Folks said, “It’s interesting about his secret control of a stable of fighters. I’d guess a hog like that would set-up to bet the ones that dived.”
“That’s Tango’s angle.”
Speedy said, “Cute moniker, how’d he get it?”
“He was just a club fighter, a chicken shit heavyweight spoiler down south twenty years ago . . . a clutcher and a dancer in the ring.”
Folks said, “How do you stand with Tango, Precious? You know, does he really trust you after trimming you?”
Precious grinned. “Yeah, enough so I can burn him for thirty, forty dollars a week. I’m living in his house. I’m good at figures and straight business stuff my mama taught me. Tango is not smart, just slick. He’s a rank, loud mouth gorilla. I’d split, take my cue stick on the road with a few grand.”
Folks said, “How much liquid draw-it-out-of-bank green would you say Tango is got.”
“He’s got two hundred grand if he’s got a nickel in a safe at home. Why, you think you’ve got an angle to take him off?”
“I’m just kicking around an angle. Maybe Speedy and I can string it together. If so, you’ll get ten percent of the score we take from Tango.”
“Folks, you got an angle already. I can tell. You’re gonna play for him!”
Folks stood and smiled. “It all depends on you at this point to start the tumblers clicking right. Precious, we need you to bait and hook the mark. We better split before he walks in on us with our heads together. Let’s meet somewhere tomorrow.”
Precious said, “We can talk now. Tango is in Memphis at his old man’s funeral.”
Folks sat. “Maybe we can cheer him up when he gets back with a mind-blowing offer to buy the recipe and the right to franchise this chicken shack and the Precious Jimmy’s Creole Chicken title.”
Puzzled doubt creased Precious’ face. “Folks, I know you’re cinch dynamite with the con, but that sounds like a shaky way to the bread.”
Folks grinned. “Precious, do you believe your mama’s chicken is delicious enough to franchise across the country?”
“I know damn well it is.”
“Well, Tango knows it from the two grand a week he’s taking out of the joint free and clear.”
Precious dubiously shook his head. “Folks, I can’t get the connection to a hunk of Tango’s two hundred grand.”
“Don’t worry about it now. Speedy and I will worry about the connection details. Say, does Tango have a special fighter in his stable? You know, that he’s pushing and grooming toward a title?”
“Yeah, a young heavyweight from Memphis. Black Samson, a helluva prospect!”
Precious stared with mouth agape as Speedy leapt to his feet, embraced Folks, kissed his cheek. “It’s sweet! Bait the mark with the franchise offer then switch him and play him against the old fight con, updated. It fits Tango like a pigskin glove, no pun intended.”
Folks said, “When does Tango get back to Chicago?”
Precious answered, “In the next several days.”
“Mellow! Precious, when he gets back tell him how a black Mister Carl Davis ate your chicken and flipped over it. Mister Davis returned two nights later with his white boss, me, a Mister ah . . . let’s see, I’ll give you that name later to fit a real Loop businessman. The chicken freaked me out. Then lay the golden hook line on Tango. I am president of a conglomerate company involved in the food and services franchise industries. We’ll have an answering service contact and business cards for you tomorrow, Precious.”
Speedy said, “Precious, it’s very important to mention that my white boss was here with me on my second visit. Maybe one of those waitresses out there is a spy for Tango or just a flap jaw who might crack that a white guy was back here tonight with you.”
Folks said, “Where do Tango’s fighters train? I’d like to gander Samson in the gym.”
“Tango’s set up a private gym in the rear of his house. Full scale ring, the whole works.”
Speedy exclaimed, “Folks, this is so sweet I can’t believe it!”
“Precious, any chance we can see that gym alone before Tango gets back?”
“Sure, tonight after I close the joint.” Precious glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s eleven-thirty. Come back at two-fifteen and follow me home. It’s just fifteen minutes from here.”
Folks sai
d, “We’ll be back.”
Precious put his arm around Folks’ shoulder. “Folks, I love you like a brother. Maybe you shouldn’t play for Tango. He’ll hurt you bad if he tips during the play.”
“Precious, he won’t tip to our airtight play. Tonight the three of us will rehearse the hook to the bone.”
They shook hands with Precious and went to the Eldorado. Speedy pulled it into traffic, then groaned. “Well, there goes my chance to grease my jones unless I can long-shot and shoot some fox down in the coffee shop at our hotel.”
Folks laughed. “You’re right, partner. The joints are out for us tonight. We can’t expose ourselves together at all. In fact, it would be wise the day that Tango gobbles the bait that I split to a class hotel suite in the Loop.”
Speedy laughed. “Boss, sir, that move will sho ‘nuff be convenient to our Loop franchise office set-up.”
They laughed.
Then Speedy said, “Precious is bright, but I wonder if he can take the cues and handle all the crossfire lines of the hook with on-the-money-split-second-timing.”
“He can handle it. I got no doubt . . . after we rehearse him.”
Speedy pulled the car to a halt at a stoplight as Folks glanced at a couple in an alley. A tall dude was frantically trying, but failing, to block street view of his woman squatting and spewing urine on the alley floor.
Folks remembered, with a shudder, when years before in a drunken helpless tailspin over loss of Camille Costain, the heartless white Goddess, he had been mistaken for white and been violated on Scoville Avenue in Cleveland’s black ghetto.
It had been midnight when he found himself at the shabby corner of Thirty-ninth Street and Scoville Avenue. It was central headquarters for dope peddlers and whores. He’d never know why he’d been stupid enough to park and stumble into a funky bar on the corner, crowded with profane whores and drunken tricks. He took a stool and a double shot in a corner near the back door.
The heat in the crowded room was terrific. He couldn’t take off his overcoat because of the roll of dough stashed in the lining, afraid the coat might get away from him. He stood up and was bending his elbow to drain his glass when a toothless old black whore reeled into him. Runny sores covered her face.
He staggered back and said, “Goddamn, watch it, Grandmaw!”
She grinned up at him vacantly, wiped the snotty sleeve of her mangy rabbit fur coat across her drippy flat nose and simpered, “Whitey, I got the hottest pussy on this corner. C’mon and have some fun. You can go three-way for a tray. C’mon, Whitey, and spend something with Louise.”
He backed up to the wall from her stinking breath and the clouds of crotch rot.
She clutched the front of his shirt and shouted, “Why don’t you spend a chicken-shit tray with Louise?”
He knocked her hand away with his elbow, but she grabbed and twisted her fingers into his shirt front again. He was angry and dizzy. He had to escape the bedlam of the spinning room.
He blurted, “Louise, you’re a joke. You’re old and funky and ugly. You should have retired fifty years ago. Get your goddamn hand off me!”
She jerked her hand away and glared at him as he stumbled out the back door. The snowy ground was revolving like a giant record on a wobbly turntable. He threw his hands out as the frightful whiteness catapulted up toward him.
He stirred. He felt something crawling, patting and moving across his clothes. He opened his dazed eyes. A dark crouching shape was silhouetted against the star-infested sky. He tried to move away from the busy shadow with the familiar rotten stink. But his muscles were paralyzed.
Then the shape moved out of sight behind him. Suddenly the sky was blotted out, and he seemed to be trapped in a pitch black tent. And the familiar stink was overpowering. He heard a cackling giggle and a hot pungent rain splattered his face and scalded his eyes. He lay there groaning and twisting his head from side to side in the stinking blackness.
He felt a feathery sweep of the tent across his face as it slid away to bare the cold blue stars again. He lay there gasping and sucking in the wonderful wintry air, feeling his muscles quivering back to life. He was rising on his elbows when a horde of shadows came through the back door and stood in a silent circle around him. They fumbled at their flies.
He jerked up and sat there screaming at them, as he had screamed at the black racists who had chased him with knives on Chicago’s Forty-third Street when he was a boy. “I’m a nigger! I’m a nigger!”
The cruel bastards just laughed and started kicking him. He wrapped his arms around his face against the crushing barrage of feet ripping into him from head to ankles. He crashed on his side and faintly heard the steady patter of terrible rain against his numbness.
Then the laughter, the numbness and the patter of the reeky rain were lost in a yawning black pit of nothingness.
Now, he heard Speedy say, “Well, pally, we’re home.”
Folks was grateful for the fresh air of reality as he got out of the car and followed Speedy into their hotel. In the lobby, Speedy craned his neck to ogle a gaggle of young foxes seated at the counter in the coffee shop. He took several steps toward the chattering sexpots, halted and got into the elevator with Folks.
He sighed. “I can’t really get in a pussy mood, pally, with a mark on the turn with two hundred grand in a home damper.”
Folks said, “What saves you, partner, is you’re just a part-time trick.”
Speedy gave him a jab in the arm as the elevator took flight.
15
TANGO TO CON MUSIC
Two days later on Monday, Precious called Speedy’s answering service from Tango’s house with a message for Mister Carl Davis to call Tango at home. Speedy did and made a Wednesday afternoon appointment with Tango at his house.
Wednesday noon, Folks and Speedy sat in the swank Loop hotel suite that Folks had checked into that morning as Mister Steven Hoffman. Vicksburg Kid and Tear Off Thomas, Harlem brute-built young grifter and former pro knockout artist handicapped by a fragile jaw, checked into a suite down the hall. At one-twenty, Speedy left the suite in chauffeur’s uniform for a rented limo to keep his two o’clock appointment with Tango.
Precious winked as he said, “Good afternoon, Mister Davis,” and let him into the living room of the sprawling white stucco house crammed with expensive modern furniture.
Speedy sat on a twenty foot red silk sofa. There was the raucous sound of a craps game from the rear of the house.
Precious whispered, “The hog is rooting the loot from some sucker hustlers from Milwaukee. I’ll get him,” as he left the room through an archway.
Speedy leapt to his feet, with chauffeur’s cap in hand, stooped a bit, knees dipped a fraction in perfect role play of the genuflective servant. Tango’s six-four brawny frame filled the archway as he entered the room with Precious. He had the malevolent black face of a Sonny Liston and a ninety percent gold-toothed smile as he cat-walked red lizard shoes and green plaid suit across the carpet to Speedy.
Precious said, “Mister Brice, Mister Davis.”
Tango said, “Brother Davis, it’s beautiful to meet you,” as he seized Speedy’s hand in a mammoth paw and pumped it.
Speedy said, “Sure is a pleasure for me too, Mister Brice,” as the trio sat down on the sofa.
Tango leaned close to Speedy and studied his face for a long moment. “I like you, brother, you look like good people.”
Speedy averted his eyes in the shy fashion of a coquette. “Thank you, sir.”
Tango’s face registered terminal pain. “Brother, don’t call me nothing but Tango.”
“Mist . . . uh, Tango, thank you. You can call me Carl if you want.”
Tango turned and spanked Precious’ thigh. “Get Carl a taste while we rap ’bout chicken and peckerwoods.”
Speedy said, “Thank you, but I don’t drink since I got my ulcer operation last year.”
“Brother, I wanted to see you up front before I rapped any business with your boss. G
imme a rundown on Hoffman.”
Speedy said, “I brought him to eat your chicken and he wants the world to enjoy it and get richer than he is.” Speedy enjoyed an interior chuckle as he added, “. . . which is the name of the game for white folks.”
Tango said, “Brother, don’t feed me no a-b-c’s! I mean rundown your boss’ character, like his track record. Is the peckerwood honest?”
“Sure, he’s white business man honest, as honest as the contract you sign. When you get it, take it unsigned to a lawyer who is expert in contracts. You got one?”
“He’s out of town, but he’s the best mouthpiece fixer in Chi. He’s handled my contracts with fighters.”
Precious said, “Tango, Hawkins is basically a criminal lip. He’d be in trouble with a corporation contract.”
Speedy said, “Tango, you can take the contract and a couple of hundred dollars to a contract specialist. All you need now is the contract.”
Tango banged Speedy’s shoulder. “You’re a beautiful brother, in my corner like a true blue nigger oughtta be. I’m gonna stick him up for a hundred grand before I Hancock a fucking contract. How about that?”
Speedy shook his head emphatically. “Brother Tango, we gonna lose our new friendship, and my respect for you, if you don’t demand a million dollars!”
Tango’s eyes sparkled excitement. “A million dollars?”
“Why not, brother? Here’s a secret. One of his father’s subsidiary companies gave the Colonel a million. Your chicken makes his garbage by comparison. You know that’s the truth.”
Speedy slipped on a bitter mask of seriousness as he prepared to spin the first segment of the con tale. “I’m an honest man, on the square with honest men. I’m no traitor to my boss. Let me share something personal with you brothers, my reasons why, beyond that we’re black brothers, that I want to see you get a good white folks deal against my boss’ business interests. Brothers, listen to the truth.
“I been flun . . . uh, working for the Hoffman family since Steven Hoffman Jr. was a snot-nosed kid. Like the mammies in slave days, I know them and a lot of their secrets. I’ll say it! Hoffman Sr. treated me like I was white before his health failed seven years ago and he let Junior pretend that he’s in control. I was, more than anything else, the old man’s companion and friend.
Long White Con Page 13