“Oh man, that was rich,” a lightbulb salesman named Hicks said. “Tell us another.”
“Okay,” Izzie said. “An Iranian living in the United States goes to the doctor, says he doesn’t feel well. The doctor examines him and says, ‘I want you to go home, shit in a paper bag, and leave it out in the hot sun for a week. Then I want you to stick your head in the bag, and take a deep breath. I guarantee you’ll feel better. The Iranian comes back a week later, tells the doctor he feels great. Then he says, ‘But doctor, what was wrong with me?’ And the doctor says, ‘You were homesick.’”
The five salesmen slapped the card table and roared some more.
“I think we should bomb Iran,” Hicks suddenly said.
“Nuke ‘em,” another of the salesmen piped in.
One hundred and twenty-eight Americans were being held hostage in the U.S. embassy in Tehran, and sentiments were running high toward retaliation.
The room grew quiet. Betty stood in the doorway holding a cardboard tray with their sandwiches. She wore tight-fitting jeans, an I LOVE NY sweatshirt, and had a cook’s apron tied around her waist. Even in those drab clothes she was a looker.
“Here’s the grub,” Josh said.
Betty crossed the room. Josh leaned back in his chair, watching.
“Give me a deck.” Izzie said, pointing at the two decks on the table.
Hicks slid the blue Squeezers toward him. Izzie picked the Squeezers up with his left hand, then slid his chair sideways, allowing Betty to come in, and put the cardboard tray on the table edge.
“I got the corn beef,” Izzie said.
Betty passed the sandwiches around the table. She was the perfect shade, and Izzie stuck his hand into the pocket of her apron, and switched the cards for the stacked deck.
Betty flirted with the salesmen and left. Izzie began to deal. Josh stared in disbelief as the cards sailed around the table. His brother was holding a deck of red Bicycles. Betty had put the wrong decks into the pockets of her apron.
Josh knew he had to do something to save his brother. S.W. Erdnase, a famous card cheater, once wrote, ‘The resourceful professional, failing to improve the method changes the moment.’ Picking up his cup of coffee, he poured the hot drink onto his lap.
“ My balls, my balls!” Josh screamed.
It didn’t work. Hicks rose from his chair and pointed an accusing finger at Izzie.
“Hey! Those cards changed color,” Hicks said.
The other salesmen stared as well. Then, all hell broke loose.
Even nice guys turned into monsters when they thought they’d been swindled. The salesmen beat the living daylights out of Izzie and Josh, took their money, then dragged them outside, and tossed them into a garbage-filled Dumpster behind the bar.
“You’re lucky they didn’t kill you,” Seymour said a half hour later. They were driving on the outskirts of Nyack, the windshield wipers beating back the rain.
Josh sat beside Seymour. He’d lost a tooth and several of his ribs were bruised from where Hicks had kicked him. Izzie sat in backseat with Betty. His older brother had two black eyes and his swollen lips looked like blood sausages.
“I’m sorry I messed up,” Betty said.
“It’s okay, baby,” Izzie said.
“You sure?”
“Positive. Mistakes happen. It’s part of the business.”
Josh glanced at Seymour and saw his younger brother roll his eyes. If Betty kept screwing up, they’d all end up in the hospital, or a graveyard.
“I love you, Izzie,” Betty whispered.
“I love you, too,” Izzie whispered back.
The unmistakable sound of Izzie’s fly being yanked open shattered the silence. Josh shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Betty was like one of those sirens in the ancient Greek stories. Izzie was her slave, and she wasn’t going to let go of him.
An convenience store materialized on the road side. Josh said, “I need some smokes,” and Seymour pulled into the lot and the two brothers went inside. They nosed around the potato chip aisle, killing time while the lovebirds got it on.
“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Josh asked.
“I sure am,” Seymour replied.
“I make a motion that we lose her.”
“I second the motion.”
“All those in favor, say I.”
“I.”
“Done.”
Five minutes later, Josh and Seymour were back in the car. Izzie had his arm slung over Betty’s shoulder and was breathing like he’d just run a marathon. Seymour started to drive away, then slammed on the brakes. “Damn. I left my wallet on the counter.”
The tires spun on the gravel as Seymour backed up. Josh turned in his seat, and looked Betty in the eye. “Would you do my moronic brother a favor, and get his wallet?”
Betty giggled. It was no secret that she thought Seymour was a putz.
“Sure,” she said.
She hopped out of the car, and went into the convenience store. When Betty was happy, she walked with a little skip. It was the only thing remotely child-like about her.
Josh grabbed her purse off the back seat. Rolling down his window, he flung the purse with all his might, and it hit the convenience store’s front door with a loud Wham!Seymour threw the car into drive and punched the accelerator.
“Hey!” Izzie exclaimed. “What are you doing?”
“We’re leaving,” Josh said.
“What about Betty?”
“She’s not coming.”
“Who said she’s not coming?”
“We took a vote, and you lost.”
Izzie made a strangled sound, then fell silent. For a while they drove in silence. The highway was dark and unforgiving. Road hustling was tough work, and the brothers knew that it was time to change locales. Miami Beach was nice, and the money was always good in Chicago. But Josh wanted to branch out, and from the glove compartment he removed a glossy brochure from Resorts in Atlantic City, and passed it around the car.
Josh and Seymour took turns reading the brochure. The brothers had often fantasized about pulling an Ocean’s Eleven-type caper, and taking down a casino for a huge score. It was every hustler’s dream, yet only a handful had ever tried it. The risks far outweighed the rewards.
“I thought the mob was running Atlantic City,” Izzie said skeptically. “If those guys catch us cheating, they’ll kill us.”
“Screw the mob,” Josh said. “I’ve got this plan that will let us steal five grand a week from Resorts, and the mob will never have a clue. On top of that, we’ll get to stay in one place, and not have to move around. No more crummy motel rooms and shitty food.”
“Five grand a week? That’s huge,” Seymour said.
“You thought this out?” Izzie asked.
Josh tapped his forehead with his finger. “Every last detail.”
“Count me in,” Seymour said.
“Me, too,” Izzie chorused.
An exit sign loomed ahead. They’d been driving around aimlessly for over an hour. Seymour flipped on his indicator. Soon, they were heading south on I-95 toward New Jersey, ready to take on the mob without hearing the details of Josh’s plan, or fully understanding the dangerous risks they were about to assume.
It was another decision the brothers would later regret.
Chapter 5
Valentine’s Sicilian grandmother had a favorite expression. He doesn’t know that he doesn’t know that he doesn’t know.She liked to use it when describing really stupid people. Valentine had never thought it applied to him. But it did apply to Mickey Wright. Mickey was a fixture in Atlantic City, and for years had worked as a concierge at hotels around the island. When Resorts opened, Mickey had pulled some strings, and wound up running the casino’s surveillance department. The fact that Mickey had no casino experience hadn’t fazed the people running Resorts. Mickey was theirman.
Mickey had shown Doyle and Valentine the basics of casino surveillance. He taught them how to operate a VCR, how to start the Time/Generator machine so each video tape was properly certified, and how to fill out Incident Activity Reports.