Come at the King

by Sherilyn Decter

  Jimmy laughs, and gathers the cards back up. “Watch closer and I’ll show ya. Didn’t you learn nuthin playing cards with Mickey? He’s famous for how good he is at cheating at cards.”

  The two young men are huddled around the table in a grungy speakeasy on Callowhill Street. Tommy remembers coming to the neighborhood when he and Jimmy were working for Chalky. The Tenderloin they call it in Philly. Nobody knows why they call it the ‘Tenderloin’ , but newspaper articles note that red-light districts—areas with concentrated commercial sex and vice enterprises—offer ‘prime cuts’ for multiple customers: sex, drugs, and amusements for the working classes; good incomes for madams, pimps, and showmen; and graft opportunities galore for politicians and police officers. Philly’s small Chinatown is also in the Tenderloin, adding an exotic air to the seediness.

  Tommy shrugs, and takes a swig of his beer. “He showed me some moves, but I guess not everything.”

  Jimmy shuffles the cards and deals out a hand. “See?”

  “See what?”

  “You’re supposed to be watching.”

  “I was watching.”

  “Tommy, you are a sorry excuse for a card player. My advice is never, and I mean never, play cards for money. They’ll take you for everything you’ve got.”

  Tommy scowls at Jimmy and the cards. “Do it again.”

  Jimmy shuffles again and deals extremely slowly. Tommy catches a flicker. “You’re dealing from the bottom?”

  “Sure. But how do I know what cards are on the bottom?”

  “I give up. Show me.”

  Jimmy shows Tommy how to cut the deck, making sure the face cards are there where you need them.

  Tommy whistles. “Impossible. You should do a magic act.”

  “How about we play a game straight up, for old time’s sake?” Jimmy asks.

  Tommy shuffles and deals. “You know, I don’t think I’ve played since the Ritz days.”

  “Your ma won’t let you play cards at home?”

  “She has never said we shouldn’t. It’s just nobody does. There was one of our lodgers who sometimes played cards with me, but he moved out a while ago. It’s just not something we do anymore.”

  Jimmy shrugs. “Weird.”

  They play a few hands in silence.

  “My mother is seeing someone.”

  “Whaddaya mean?”

  “You know. Dating. Going out.”

  “Eww, your ma? What’s he like, the boyfriend?”

  “Nice enough, I guess. He works at her office. He’s sorta like an accountant, too.”

  “He buy you stuff?”

  “No. Is he supposed to?”

  “I don’t know, but if my girlfriend had a kid, I’d buy him stuff.”

  “You have a girlfriend?”

  “Sure. There’s always dames. Don’t you? Oh, I’m sorry. A loser like you. I shouldn’t have said nuthin.”

  “Idjit.” Tommy grins.

  A few more hands are played. Tommy tries to shuffle the cards like Jimmy had showed him. Jimmy guffaws. “They’re supposed to be on the table, not the floor.” He laughs when they spray out of Tommy’s hand and across the table, falling on the floor.

  Tommy scoops them up and tries again with more success. “He and my ma and I went to the movies. The Public Enemy with Jimmy Cagney. You seen it? It was all about gangsters. The main guy, Tom, was sorta like Al Capone. It reminded me a lot of Mickey. How’s he doing?”

  Jimmy just sits staring at his cards. After a few moments, he looks up, troubled. “Not so good, Tommy. Something’s not right. He was getting pretty crazy for a while. A lot like Capone, actually. Then he went nuts and shot a couple of guys at the Ritz, and Mrs. Duffy took him away for a rest.” The last word spoken is delivered with an exaggerated wink. “A rest. Ha. When he came back, he was all wrong. Not Mickey. Kinda mushy.”

  “Mushy?”

  “Yeah, like vacant.” Jimmy leans forward and knocks on Tommy’s forehead. “Lights on but nobody home? You’d be talking to him, but he wasn’t really there. He doesn’t come in very often.”

  Tommy takes this in, not sure what to say. “You said you gotta go to work later tonight?”

  “Yeah, Gus and me gotta head out to Camden, along with other stops, and pick up a load. Hey, maybe I’ll see Mercer when I’m out there.”

  “So, is that what you do? Pick ups and deliveries?”

  “Mostly. I like hanging around with Gus and Fingers. They got great stories of the old days. Fingers showed me the bottom of the deck trick. He’s missing a finger ‘cause of the war.”

  “A guy with only four fingers deals off the bottom of the deck? Wow.”

  “He’s pretty good. You know, I like playing cards, even straight up,” Jimmy says, grinning. He gets up and grabs two more bottles of beer from a box on the floor behind the bar. “They know me here,” Jimmy says to Tommy’s raised eyebrows.

  “Thanks,” Tommy says as Jimmy hands him a fresh beer. “Mickey loves poker, too. He always said that he never played the same game twice. And that all the rules were made to be broken.”

  Jimmy nods, looking up from the cards in his hand. “Yup, that sounds like Mickey.” The boys play their hands. Memories of a different Mickey hover in the room.

  “I think that if Gus and Fingers ever quit, I’m going to find somewheres else to work. I got skills.”

  Tommy looks at his friend, at his shoulder holster, and nods.

  “So, tell me more about this fancy-schmancy school you’re at.”

  Tommy shrugs.

  Jimmy waits.

  “Like I told you before, the fellas there, I don’t hang out with them much. Their families are loaded; most of ‘em live outside of Philly along the Main Line. Some of the kids are real jerks and pull silly kid stuff, like knocking your books out of your arms. And they’re nasty to the younger boys.”

  “Sounds like the Three Musketeers need to ride again.”

  “All for one,” laughs Tommy. “That was a great day.”

  “So, if those guys are jerks, why do you keep going?”

  “Not all of them are like that. There’s a few in the Astronomy Club that are okay. It’s a good school for the learning. Boy, some of those teachers are really smart. Do you know Mr. Mansfield, the guy who lives with us? Archie? He’s actually a math professor. He’s Dr. Mansfield at school.” Tommy shakes his head, still amazed.

  “Sounds like a smart guy. What are the other students like? Just boys, right?”

  “That’s right, Einstein. That’s why they call it Boys’ Central High School.”

  “Who’s Einstein?”

  “Albert Einstein? You’ve heard about him. Really smart. The physicist? Photons? Molecules?”

  Jimmy snorts. “What the heck’s a physicist?”

  Tommy laughs, laying down his cards. “I win.”

  “Not bad, Barnes, not bad. Want to play another hand?”

  Tommy looks at his watch. “Sure, one more, then I gotta go.”

  “Me, too. Like I said, I got another run with Gus tonight. An all-nighter. My turn to deal,” Jimmy says, reaching for the cards.

  “Not a chance Mr. Bottom-of-the-deck. I’ll deal again.”

  Chapter 32

  I t’s early May, a hint of the summer to come in the air. Edith and Mickey are sitting on the terrace of the house, looking out over the backyard toward Henry’s house. Tulips and daffodils are blooming, and the cherry tree is still heavy with blossoms. It’s a perfect afternoon in so many ways, including the fact that Hilda has made a pitcher of martinis with darn good gin. Edith takes a sip, and sighs.

  “Almost as good as champagne,” she says, smiling at Mickey. She’s not put his drops in his drink, and is watching what happens. So far, he’s good. Almost normal. Missing the restlessness that had first drawn her to him, but good. “Who supplied the gin?”

  “Imported. Rum-runners brought it in from England. Top shelf,” Mickey says. His eyes are closed as the sun warms his face.

 
; Mickey raises his head and looks at Henry’s house. “Any news?”

  Edith nods toward Henry’s house. “I met the house guest. Not his niece, if you know what I mean,” she says meaningfully, wiggling her eyebrows over the rim of the glass.

  Mickey and Edith clink glasses. “That dog. Who is she?”

  “It’s complicated. Jewish for starters.”

  “Really? That’s what you get for hanging around Max Hassel.”

  “That’s how they met. Her pop’s not in the business though. He’s a baker. And something to do with church.”

  “Synagogue. A Jewish church,” Mickey explains.

  “Whatever it’s called, her folks are religious. Pillars of the community, lah-dee-dah,” Edith says, waving her hand in the air. “Doesn’t matter what your last name is, there’s always someone waiting to knock you down a peg.”

  “They won’t be too happy that she’s with Henry. They frown on that sorta thing. Is that why she’s there?”

  “It gets more complicated.”

  Mickey waits. He knows how Edith likes to draw out a story.

  “I told you I met her? Well, I’d say, and I’m no expert, she’s about five months along.”

  “What? Knocked up?”

  “Yup, our Henry’s going to be a daddy.”

  “They threw her out?” Mickey asks.

  “Yeah, poor kid. Like where’s she supposed to go? Which is how she landed up on Henry’s doorstep.”

  “She doesn’t look pregnant.”

  “She will soon enough,” Edith says with a certain grimness. It’s always tough for the dames. Fellas never seem to have to pay the piper for a few minutes of bad decision-making.

  “What’s he planning on doing?”

  “I don’t know. But you know, I was thinking that maybe you should talk to him. Man to man.”

  Mickey barks out a laugh. “You mean show up on his doorstep and say, ‘don’t be a dope, marry your pregnant Jewish girlfriend’?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Who else can he talk to? Not the girl’s father. Probably not Mr. Hassel. You might be the only friend he’s got right now that he’ll listen to.”

  Mickey sits, sipping and staring. Thinking. Remembering.

  “I suppose I could do that,” he says, almost to himself. Edith smiles, but stays silent, letting the moment stretch.

  “What kinda thing do dames do in these situations, anyway?”

  “Not that I would know personally but, if they can’t get married, they go away and have the baby and pretend it never happened. Some other lucky family gets to raise it.”

  The sentence hangs there, suspended over Mickey and Edith as they sip their drinks. Lost chances. Mickey sighs.

  “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. You say he has a pool table?”

  “He’ll be at work tomorrow. Why not tonight? Send Sadie over here. Better yet, I’ll call her and tell her I need help with something. Or maybe advice on some decorating. I’ll think of something. When she gets here, you can go over there and have your little talk.”

  * * * *

  Dinner is just finished when the front doorbell rings. Hilda opens the door and Sadie comes in, a sewing basket in her arms. Edith sweeps her up. “Oh, thank goodness you’re here. I tore the dress I was planning on wearing tomorrow, and I’m just hopeless with a needle.”

  Mickey comes into the front hall, curious about the mother of Henry’s child. “This is my husband, Mickey Duffy. Mickey, this is Sadie Bloom, Henry’s niece.”

  Edith leads Sadie upstairs, chattering about fashion and the neighborhood, and Mickey grabs his pool cue that he’d left in its case by the front door.

  Mickey hasn’t been nervous in a long time. It’s those damned drops the doc makes me take. They must be working now. I don’t feel too bad. In fact, better than I’ve felt in days.

  Standing on the front doorstep, gripping his pool cue, he can almost imagine himself on a first date. He smiles at the image. King of the Bootleggers with knees knocking. He rings the bell.

  The door opens. “Mickey. Hi there, stranger. It’s been a while. Come in. Come in,” Henry says, beaming.

  Mickey looks around, never having been in the house. “Nice place, Mercer.”

  “Yeah, it turned out okay. Edith gave me a hand, added a woman’s touch. If it had been up to me, I woulda had a couch, a card table, and a bed.”

  “What else is there?”

  Mickey follows Henry further into the house. “Wow, nice table.” Henry has put his pool table in the room that would normally be a dining room. Sleek and modern, chrome bands wrap around the corners, giving it a steam liner look.

  “I see you brought your cue. Shall I break?” Henry asks.

  “Your house, you do the honors.”

  Henry breaks the neat triangle of pool balls, a lovely sound that makes Mickey smile.

  “You got any whiskey?”

  “Over there,” Henry says, not looking up from the pool table. Mickey looks around the living room and spies a bottle and glasses on the buffet. And a bouquet of flowers.

  “Nice flowers.”

  “Yeah, Sadie got them. She felt like she needed something spring-like. She’s talking about putting in a garden.”

  “A garden? Sounds like your niece is planning on staying for a while.”

  “You can cut the crap, Mick. You know she’s not my niece.”

  “You gonna marry her?”

  “In a heartbeat, but she won’t have me. She’s Jewish. Won’t marry outside the faith.”

  “But it can be done, right?”

  “Sure. You go down to city Hall and have one of them civil ceremonies. But it means the kids won’t be raised Jewish.”

  “Kids?”

  Henry leans on his pool cue. “Yup. I’m going to be a pa.”

  Mickey gives him a giant grin and walks over, slapping him on the back. “Congratulations, Henry. You, a father. Imagine.”

  Henry ducks his head, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah. I’m pretty excited.”

  “So marry the girl. Religion isn’t everything.”

  “It is to Sadie. She says she’ll never marry me.”

  Mickey shakes his head. He can see the anguish on Henry Mercer’s face, read his slumped shoulders. “So, what you two going to do? It won’t be long before people can tell. This isn’t Gray’s Ferry. It’s snooty Overbrook. The neighbors will talk.”

  “Listen to us. Like a couple of old biddies worried about what gabby neighbors might say. We used to face down thugs in back alleys, back to back. Our fists did the talking,” says Henry.

  “Those days are long gone. It’s a serious question, Henry. It’s your kid we’re talking about. What I wouldn’t give to have a son.”

  “She’s talking about leaving, Mick. Of going away until after the baby’s born. Then giving up the baby to a nice Jewish family to raise.”

  “She’s going to give away your kid?” Mickey asks.

  Henry shakes his head, his eyes hard. “I won’t let that happen. Ever.”

  Mickey comes over and puts his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “I understand, Henry. We’ll figure out something. I got your back on this.”

  Chapter 33

  T oday has been a luxury. Maggie didn’t go in to the office. Instead, she spent the day looking after her boys: Tommy and the lodgers. She got the laundry done and on the line, wandered over to Howard’s store to pick up groceries, managed a bit of housework, and then put a real dinner on the table. Her schedule had been so hectic lately, between helping her mother deal with estate matters and the day to day grind of a busy accounting practice, today and all its mundane chores felt like a gift. Her one concession to reality was stopping at a bakery to pick up a cake for dessert, rather than baking. She knew her limits.

  Tommy and the lodgers, gathered around the table at dinner, seem to appreciate her efforts. The conversation is more than dire news about the economy, homelessness, unemployment, and bankruptcies. There is an enthusiasm for life that has
been missing lately. The world is just a better place after a good meal and fresh laundry—although all that optimism doesn’t mean that the topics of discussion at dinner have changed completely.

  “I saw your story in the paper, Dick, about Hooverville.” Archie says.