“So what do we do about her?”
“Well, I’ll just show her my plans. That ought to convince her she’s got nothing to worry about.”
That Sunday Lola and I went down to the Blue Casket while it was still closed. I figured that if Lola was going to help me keep an eye on things, she might as well be in on everything from the beginning. I spread out my plans on a table and Olivia looked them over.
“So we’ve got the restaurant and the bar here,” I said, pointing them out, “and the casino back here. We’ve got three roulette wheels, blackjack, poker, and craps.”
“No slot machines?” Olivia asked.
“No!” I said emphatically. “That crowd I don’t need.”
“And no video gambling,” Lola added, “and not even public phones.”
“There’s nothing here that gets on Max’s turf,” I said.
“Maybe so,” Olivia said, taking a long drag from the cigarette in its holder, “but I’m not really all that concerned about Max. The real question is, do I need to worry about you?”
“Look at the plans,” I said. “I don’t see anything here that would appeal to your customers. Do you?”
Olivia puffed on her cigarette for a while. “No,” she eventually said. “What else have you got?”
“What more do you want?” I asked. “Our two clubs might as well be on different planets, for Christ’s sake!”
“What I want, Clyde, is for you to stay in your own back yard. Stick to fleecing the bourgeoisie and keep out of my part of town. Don’t get ideas about expanding and don’t advertise around the docks, in the radical papers, or anything like. You get me?”
“Got,” I said. “I don’t mess with your stuff… and you don’t mess with mine.”
Olivia fixed her eye sockets on me for a few seconds. “OK,” she finally said. “I can live with that.” She jabbed a skeletal finger at me. “But don’t you ever cross me, man.”
“No problem,” I said.
It took a little while to get the plans finalized and the contractors lined up. Then I shut down the Rub-a-Mat and we got started. The first step, of course, was getting the insides of the place ripped out. That was tough, emotionally. I liked the old place a lot but you can’t fund a revolution with an automat, no matter how well it’s been doing. Once the building was reduced to a shell, the reconstruction began.
One afternoon we got a visitor. I became aware of a few men standing at the edge of the property. One of them caught my eye. I went over to them and held out my hand to the one that stood out.
“You must be Maximino,” I said. Olivia had sent word through Glottis (she was making a show of not speaking to me) to expect him sometime. “I’m Calavera. Manny Calavera.”
Max took off his hat and did his best to grind my hand into a fine powder. “Pleased ta meet ya, Calavera,” he growled. “I would’a been at the ground breaking, but the track keeps me very busy.”
“No problem,” I said. “Would you gentlemen like to look the place over?”
Max turned slightly to his companions, but I sensed that his attention remained fixed on me. “Why don’t you boys beat it, huh? Me and Mr. Calavera have business to discuss.” The others took a couple of slow steps back and then stopped. Max turned his suddenly-baleful gaze full on them. “I said scram!” he snapped. The little gang quickly melted away.
“They worry about me,” Max said as I led him over to the building. “They’re afraid they won’t get their cut if I make money and they’re not around.”
“I guess it’s good not to have an entourage,” I said, risking a somewhat critical response.
“You’re smart, Calavera,” Max said, rewarding the chance I’d taken, “very smart.” He gave me a manly thump on the shoulder. “You’ll go far. So what’ve you got goin’ on here?”
“Just a little club. Nothing big.” I took Max into the contractor’s hut and showed Max the plans. “Got a restaurant here, a bar…”
“Got a mirror behind the bar?”
“Well…”
“Better put one in, Manny,” Max said in a warning tone. “A bartender needs to know what’s goin’ on when his back is turned. One of the speaks I had in Chi didn’t happen to have one. ‘Pimple’ Orwell got the drop on my boys there one day ’cause there wasn’t any mirror an’ all of a sudden I didn’t have that place no more—so put a mirror in.”
“I’ll do that, Max.” He beamed at the familiarity. “Thanks. Let me tell you about the casino.”
“You puttin’ a casino in, too?” Max asked. Like he didn’t already know.
“Sure. It’s back through here.” I showed him on the plans. “We’ve got roulette, poker, craps, and blackjack.”
“Hey, that’s fuckin’ great, Manuel!” Max clapped me on the shoulder. “I’ve always said what this burg needs is casino gambling.”
“Yeah?”
“Sure. People keep sayin’ to me, ‘Hey, Maxie! Put a wheel in that lounge of yours!’” Max shook his head. “That ain’t for me. I’m in the kitty business. This’ll take some of the heat off, no doubt about it. But where the hell are the phones?”
“There’ll be one in my office and one in the cloak-room.”
“No, no, no,” Max said with an impatient shake of his skull. “Where the customers can get at ’em!”
“Oh, well, if someone wants to bet on a race, they can go to your track, Max.”
“That’s a mistake, Calavera,” Max scolded. “Let ’em call their bookies.” Max clicked his fingers. “Hell, what am I sayin’? I’ll arrange it so’s they can call the track direct.” I saw dollar signs spin in Max’s eye sockets as he started figuring the kickback into his betting revenue. “We’ve gotta work together to make this a first-class burg, ’cause I tell ya, Manny, those punch boards just don’t cut it.”
I nodded, even though what I really wanted to do was punch the air. “I think you’re right, Max,” I managed to say blandly like the good little organization man I hoped to pretend to be.
“Well,” Max said as he put his hat back on, “I guess you’ve got a good little club here, Manny. Not as nice as my girlfriend’s, of course, but…” Max shrugged.
“Did you say… your girlfriend?”
“Hey, Manny! Don’t pretend you don’t hear the gossip. It’s not a secret any more. Olivia and I are officially an item.” He clapped my shoulder again. “Don’t forget to invite me to the grand opening.”
“You know I won’t, Max,” I said.
Max left the hut after giving my hand another crushing. After taking a few steps, he turned halfway toward me. “By the way,” he said over his shoulder, “Chief Bogen is a pal of mine. Be sure ’n’ show him a good time if he ever turns up in your club.” He nodded and walked away.
“Oh, man!” I breathed.
Crossed Wires
“The police chief?” Glottis asked, sounding incredulous, when I told him the story. “Why in the nine underworlds does Max care if he has a good time?”
“My guess is it’s Max’s price for not stomping me flat. I make Bogen happy… Max is happy.”
“I dunno, Manny,” Glottis said in a cautious tone, “I don’t think I like this crowd.”
“Don’t worry, mano,” I said. “As long as we make money,” and Max had reputation for treating his associates well, “I don’t care how sleazy our company is.”