Forty years ago, I accepted this behavior because I didn't know any better. These days, we have more knowledge on how to minimize such bad seeds but despite obvious red flags, way too many ooze through the cracks.
The question is, Who murdered Willard "The Heat" Lafitte? And was he, (or she), a hero?
In Part-1, I made a realistic list of suspects who might have been justified to squash this despicable cockroach. But the police implied it was a simple mugging gone wrong. So lucky you, in Part-2, rather than thinning out the herd of possible killers, you'll see that were plenty of marginalized people standing in line to do him in.
*
In early-March, on a beautiful, warm, sunny morning, I was again dreading work. Inside Slots-A-Fun, I dragged my burnt-out, numb carcass into position for another eight hours of mental agony. Until I saw a new dealer, Floyd Yockers (41). At first, I wasn't smart enough to see it coming but Yockers would soon represent the fresh-start associated with the arrival of spring. Floyd also had a unique arrangement with Mr. O'Boyle.
Yockers was a clown in a traveling circus. For each of the last four years, while the circus took the winter off, he dealt craps for a month or two, at Slots-A-Fun. Far better, I soon learned that Yockers was a boundless reservoir of positivity...which translated to being a thorn in Willard's side.
Floyd was clever enough to use childish self-effacing humor, yet a beacon of maturity versus infantile, rude and obnoxious Willard. Yockers knew how to talk to people and combined his experience with an understanding of craps and the psychology of the human spirit. But best of all, deep down he didn't give a rat's ass about Slots-A-Fun because he was independent and didn't really need the job.
He won me over immediately, as he chastised Willard, for kicking out a Latino player and telling him to get his Wet-Back Mexican ass back over the border.
Yockers said, "That gentleman spoke perfect English. How do you know he's from Mexico?" Before Willard could answer he added, "I thought his accent was from Texas or maybe Louisiana..."
I saw the befuddled look on Willard's face. He didn't like being challenged by a stranger and stewed as he gathered his wits on why the new fuckin' guy (NFG) chose to stain the good name of the residents of his home state, Louisiana.
Floyd Yockers used plenty of dry wit to goof on Willard. Most of the time, the "Little Corporal," had no idea he was being lampooned, (Floyd's nickname for Lafitte was a sarcastic reference to Hitler).
Even funnier, we, (the other grunt craps dealers) soon realized how intellectually challenged Willard was and that he could dish it out but couldn't take it.
At six-foot-one, Floyd resembled an ever-smiling, blond Henry Fonda. He saved his serious facial expression when ridiculing Willard's mistakes, clothes, weight, height or hair. Far better, Yockers did spontaneous celebrity impersonations. When his repartee included trashing Willard, it represented the first fun, I experienced at Slots-A-Fun.
Later, to re-establish his authority, Willard busted on me by nit-picking over trivialities. Floyd was the stickman and when he and I caught eye contact, he winked.
Floyd pointed his finger at the table's bank and said in a Jimmy Stewart voice, "S-s-say there W-w-willard, y-you gotta nickel, in your reds."
The frantic Little Corporal hurriedly examined his five-dollar chips. On the third stack, he realized that he was being put on...all nickels are red.
Lafitte was steaming but Yockers remained a step ahead of him and intentionally made a mistake.
Willard over-reacted as if it was his hundredth error and exclaimed, "Stop!"
But Floyd not only corrected the mistake but imitated Willard's voice while doing it, "Go back Yockers. So y'all doan git confused, pick up dem reds. Now start agin and hit duh odds twice wit whites."
Willard wasn't sharp enough to realize that he was getting mocked.
Until Floyd looked him in the eye and said, "Now, what y'all see dere's CO-rrect." All the players were smiling and staring at Willard when Yockers added in a W. C. Fields voice, "My boy, what you see here is five, one-dollar chips which equals one five-dollar chip..."
Willard's meager response was, "Shut-up!"
Willard was so full of himself, he thought the players appreciated his counterattack and were laughing with him...but they weren't.
Floyd addressed the audience, pumped his eyebrows and used a Groucho Marx voice, "Gee Willard, what game are you watching?"
Defused, Willard "The Heat" Lafitte sat and sulked for a long time.
Later, Willard summoned Mr. O'Boyle to the game and pointed at Floyd, "This Yockers fella thinks he's perty funny."
Up till this moment, none of us were unaware that Floyd had a history at Slots-A-Fun and that O'Boyle liked him.
O'Boyle said, "Is that so."
Yockers fought off a chuckle, looked down at Lafitte and said in a John Wayne voice, "You know Brod, those who can't deal, sit box. Isn't that right, pilgrim?"
Willard Lafitte's jaw dropped when O'Boyle slapped Floyd's back and laughed, "This guy kills me."
Willard was still a jerk to the players. But only terrorized the craps dealers when Floyd was off.
By the end of March, the weather warmed up and most Slots-A-Fun dealers spent their breaks outside. Next door, the Circus Circus Casino had fountains with short, white walls that were perfect to sit on. It was there I chatted-up Mary (21), a blackjack dealer from Caliente California. Soon, we were dating.
From Mary I got the female prospective on "Will." She said he hit on every girl in the casino...and was refused by each one.
She said, "Remember cute little Millie?"
I said, "No."
Mary said, "She was from the Philippines." I was shaking my head as she continued, "He used to follow her home after work. And show up in front of her apartment before work. The last straw happened as she was dealing. He rubbed his...well you know...against her backside as she dealt. Then whispered in her ear that he'd have her fired if she didn't go out with him."
"She tell Mr. Broderick O'Boyle?"
Mary said, "Hell no! I told her to. But she was scared to death, went home and never came back."
*
My friend JLUPY from craps school, was my roommate. He lost his job downtown and got hired at Slots-A-Fun, on swing shift. By working nights, he had it easy because without O'Boyle and Lafitte, it was just a bad job.
On a mutual day off, we were driving north, on Las Vegas Boulevard, in his black, 1972 Buick Electra convertible with torn-up, black vinyl seats. We stopped in traffic six cars from Slots-A-Fun. He gingerly inched forward until we saw a car that seemed to be stalled in the left lane. JLUPY was about to merge into the right lane as the driver got out, began cursing, shook his fist at our place of employment and threw a rock at the giant lollipop-shaped neon sign. It was Chuck Czyrz and inside the car, I saw his crying wife and his frightened little girls.
JLUPY didn't know Shirts and said, "Another satisfied customer?"
*
I came back from my days off and Floyd said, "Notice anything different about the craps table?"
"No," I said.
"Yesterday this game lost over $1,000 to one guy. Look at the greens, (the two stacks of $25 chips in the bank), they're gone and been replaced. They hadn't been touched in months. Remember how dusty they were? Ol' Brod was so pissed, he took the dice off the game and threw them in the street. Willard was such a ten year old, he begged O'Boyle to let him throw one."
"Did he?"
"He looked at the Little Corporal and told him, 'shut-up.' Even better, O'Boyle supervised the rest of us to move the table exactly 7/8 of an inch closer to the door. You should have seen Brod on his hands and knees with a tape measure."
I said, "O'Boyle's superstitions are funny, he once burnt the dice with a cigarette lighter and many other times, he threw pennies under the table."
Yockers laughed, "The pennies are still down there but Brod got a chubby when he found a nickel chip under one of the table's legs."
O'Boyle appeared out of nowhere and said, "What are you two clucking ducks jawing about?" His glasses were askew as he stared me down and growled, "Edelkranz, don't look at me with those cow eyes, get a roll."
*
On a break, Mary told me about another blackjack dealer, Franny Foley (29). This dopey bleach blond was from the East Flatbush section of Brooklyn. "Will" as he insisted the female dealers call him harassed her so bad, she transferred to graveyard shift.
Mary said, "Franny had a habit of twirling her hair or tending to her split ends on live games. Will called this a breach of game security and used it to put her on the defensive. He hit-on her a lot but was always turned down. Sometimes on his breaks, he'd stand behind her and as she called it, 'rub up against her.'"
I said, "She should have screamed!"
"No," said Mary. "Franny said she's had experience with 'rubbers' and they are harmless."
I said, "She should be in Sparks."
She said, "What's Sparks?"
I said, "Long story. Forget it. You were saying about Franny."
"He would watch her deal and one of those times, she lost three table maximum bets ($50.00), in a row. On Franny's break, he confronted her. She was told that she's unlucky and to do something different, like put your panties on inside out. When she said okay...the creep said no. I can't trust you. Go in the bathroom, take off your panties and bring them to me. I'll wait here."
I said, "She told him to go to hell..."
"No," Mary said, "Franny's so ditzy, she said, 'Will is so scary...and I couldn't tell Mr. O'Boyle. He'd tell me to do it too and I would've been out two pairs. What else could I do?"
I was shaking my head when Mary surprised me, "If you could go back in time..."
I smiled, "Heh?"
"It's a philosophical question. You know how Floyd Yockers calls Willard the 'Little Corporal.' Well, if you could go back in time and saw infant Hitler, for the good of mankind, would you kill him?"
*
Three weeks ahead of schedule, Floyd Yockers shocked Mr. O'Boyle by quitting to deal at the Nevada Club, downtown.
O'Boyle was aggravated and vented to Byron Burns, "What a complete lack of loyalty from someone who I was very good to." When Byron shrugged he continued, "That piece of shit also said, 'this was the weakest help he ever worked with here,' and he wasn't talking about the dealers. Tell me, how did Willard piss-off the nicest, goddamned fuckin' funniest guy around. Jesus, the man's a real clown."
Byron said, "He didn't say anything specific?"
"No dammit. I asked him to explain. Instead he said, 'T-t-t-that's all folks,' like Porky fuckin' Pig and left. I was madder than hell, 'cause ...I laughed. I should have strangled the son-of-bitch."
Byron said, "Yockers?"
O'Boyle whined, "Are going soft in the head too? No Willard. I should have choked the life out that worm."
*
One night I told Mary that O'Boyle was grooming me to become his next "yes-man" boxman.
Mary got serious, "I've watched you deal. You really improved. You should start taking auditions and get out of there."
*
The next day, two men around forty came to my side of the table. These friendly guys were from St. Louis and were joking that they were hiding from their wives. They both held cash in their hands and paid for individual bets with fives or ones. Ten minutes later, they were our only players and everything was going smooth.
A winner ten the hard way was correctly called by the stickman. Both men had a dollar on the pass line and the taller one had a half dollar on the hard ten and the other had twenty-five cents. While I was paying the pass line bets, Willard leaned forward from his stool and pushed the dice off five-five and onto five-four. He then broke protocol and took the hard way bets off the layout, as if they lost.
"Yo my man," the shooter said, "you accidentally took our hard way bets."
Willard said, "Come easy. Dey lose."
"Like hell," the shooter tapped the stickman's arm and said, "Tell the man, tell him what's what."
Frozen, the stickman was speechless. It was his second day and Willard who didn't have the capacity to teach was rough on him from the start.
The shooter's friend smiled, "C'mon sticky, you don't want to sting a couple of brothers. Tell Mr. Bossman what you saw."
The stick agonized over his decision and finally spit out, "Come hard. The ten came hard."
Both men said, "See..."
Lafitte said, "Doan mattah. He doan know his ass from a hole in duh wall. It come easy."
The shooter said, "Looky here trailer trash, you better pay us or it'll get ugly."
Willard said, "I ain't a gonna be a rasslin' with y'all. But um gonna learn y'all nigras sumthin quick..."
A brutal barrage of racially charged profanity ended when the shooter's friend lunged over our game at Lafitte. Willard reached under the table and brandished a sawed-off baseball bat and swung it full force at his head...and missed.
 |
| IN LIEU OF SECURITY GUARDS, SLOTS-A-FUN HAD THEIR OWN GIMMICKS TO DEFEND THEIR PROPERTY. I'M CERTAIN THE DINGUS WOULD HAVE CAUSED SEVERE HEAD INJURIES. |
The two men were still calling Willard out, as he waved the dingus and pretended to step around the table. They fled, leaving sixteen dollars in chips, in the rail and on the table.
From the distance, O'Boyle had seen Willard try to split the customer' s head open. He hurried over as the men ran out.
Willard said, "Ten came easy and dose boys tried to jive me with the ol' dosey doe. Dey know dey full o'shit cause they ran like scared rabbits and lef' about $16.00 behind."
Mr. O'Boyle nodded, "Sixteen dollars? Good job. Lock their money up, (put it in the casino's bank)."
O'Boyle noticed me eavesdropping and sneered, "I hope you didn't hawk those wise-acres over here."
I had enough. I visited six casinos that night, filled out four applications and scheduled one audition.
*
The next morning, JLUPY let me borrow his car, to go on my first audition, at the Hacienda Casino.
 |
| THE HACIENDA (1956-1996) WAS A MEXICAN-THEMED CASINO. LOCATED AT 3950 LAS VEGAS BOULEVARD SOUTH, (THE SITE OF TODAY'S LUXOR), IT WAS THE FIRST GAMBLING HOUSE CALIFORNIANS SAW ON THE STRIP AND WAS ACROSS FROM McCARRON AIRPORT'S FREIGHT TERMINAL. |
I was excited at the prospect of dealing craps at the Hacienda. The dealers averaged $45/day in tokes, (tips), I would be exposed to better caliber action, learn more about my craft and upgrade my outlook.
At 9:00AM on April 20th, it was already 85 degrees. I was scrubbed and polished as I got into JLUPY's hot box. I had no clue how to operate the convertible roof so for less than a mile drive, I didn't try. My tension combined with the black interior and no air conditioning meant I was drenched in sweat from my fingertips to my toes.
Every inch of my body was cold and wet as I hustled from the Hacienda's parking lot inside. My heart was racing as I headed into the restroom to splash water on my face. Refreshed, I marched into the casino resolved to succeed.
The audition went well but the pit boss said, "We're looking for someone with more experience."
I was devastated and said, "Oh."
He saw how crushed I was and said, "You work for Brod O'Boyle over there?"
I wasn't sure how to answer and bleated, "He's very, very nice."
"Yeah I know exactly how nice that old buzzard is." The pit boss snapped his fingers and said, "I know. Have you tried the Western?"
He telephoned this tiny bingo parlor with the same amount of tables as Slots-A-Fun. Income-wise, I guessed it would be a lateral move but to get out of O'Boyle and Lafitte's Svengali grip, I was stoked. After a short personal conversation with his friend, the pit boss arranged an audition for me. An hour later, I passed and was hired to start the next day.
I called Mary with the good news.
She said, "When you get in today, tell O'Boyle right away it's your last shift. If not, it'll eat at you. You've gone so far, this is no time to chicken-out."
*
At ten minutes to noon, Mary and I ran across Las Vegas Boulevard. We noticed four cop cars parked in front of Slots-A-Fun. I saw O'Boyle but he talking to a man in a suit, (a detective). I was jumpy because I had been rehearsing my resignation speech but it looked like I'd have to wait.
Another blackjack dealer told Mary that Willard was stabbed to death.
The two embraced as the girl sobbed, "The police think it was a random robbery." She composed herself and whispered to Mary, "Franny Foley was a no-call, no-show this morning."
I was digesting the news when butterflies attacked my innards as I imagined O'Boyle biting my head off when I quit.
It was time to start work and Mary said, "Do you think it's possible that Franny..."
I cut her off, "No she's too soft."
Mary said, "I'll call her on my first break."
"Besides, there's a gazillion people who want Willard dead," I said.
*
Nobody missed Willard. The first thirty minutes on duty felt like it was his day off. Between dice rolls, I became entranced as I practiced my exit statement. That's when I noticed Mary next to me.
She had a scared look on her face and whispererd, "I called Franny. No answer. I'm going to give it one more try. And, don't forget to do what you have to do."
On my break I found Mr. O'Boyle.
He seemed busy with a slot technician.
I looked over my shoulder and saw Mary gesturing me forward as she mouthed, "Go on."
O'Boyle was saying, "Yeah, the cops called me back down here as soon as I got home. I had to ID the body. There was blood splatter all over the white walls. Hell, I seen a lot of shit in my day but this was different..."
When I cleared my throat, he stopped in mid-sentence and snapped, "What now Edelberg?"
I never asked him for anything. I was so annoyed that it was easier for me to proceed.
Still, I stared at the floor and squeaked, "I'm giving you notice. I'm resigning. I got hired at the Western, downtown. Today's my last..."
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he bellowed. "Another traitor thinks the grass is greener. What ever happened to loyalty? Is everyone dying to get out of here?" His pause made me think that he realized "dying," in lieu of Willard was a poor choice of words. Instead he plowed on, "Resign? That's bullshit! You're a quitter and there ain't nothing worse..."
He was still blithering as I wanted to dig a hole and jump in.
When his jack-hammering jaw stopped, I meekly said, "I would have liked to give more notice..."
He interrupted, "I don't want your fuckin' notice. I can't even look at you and I sure as hell won't trust you with my money. You wanted to 'black cat' me and you waited till I needed you the most before deserting me. Just get the fuck out of my sight."
In the awkward moment before I turned away he said, "Wait. Lookit, between you and Willard, I'm really shorthanded. How about, you start off right now as the new boxman at say, $57.50/day."
He was trying to entice me with less than he paid Chuck Czyrz when he had no shot even if he offered me more.
O'Boyle tried another tact to lure me in, "You're leaving a job on the strip to deal downtown?"
I was thinking, a toilet is a toilet but their casino doesn't have you swimming in it.
O'Boyle was waved over by the bartender to verify a beer delivery and sign the invoice.
He said, "Give me a sec."
I was remembering in February how O'Boyle reamed-out the snack bar's counterman for wasting napkins or some such nonsense when he reappeared with his arm around Yung Yune's shoulder.
I think he was trying to hurt my feelings but I was internally jumping for joy when he said, "I got this fuckin' Chinaman right here." He pounded the skinny, old-timer's back and roared, "Ain't that right...Buddy."
He probably never took time to learn his valuable utility man's name.
O'Boyle continued, "Edelman, I know you don't give two shits about me. So I made another arrangement. Get the hell out of here, I don't need you after all."
I escaped the steamy abyss of Slots-A-Fun. The next morning, I was dealing at the Western and I was the coolest new hire they ever had.
*
The next day, there was a small item, on page eight in the newspaper. It called Willard's death a random robbery gone wrong. I looked for an obituary in the hope of gathering more information but I never saw one. For over a year, I saved the Mint Casino's $3.95 buffet receipt when I took Mary out that fateful night. But I didn't need to account for my whereabouts nor did anyone else we knew at Slot-A-Fun.
At 9:00AM on April 20th, it was already 85 degrees. I was scrubbed and polished as I got into JLUPY's hot box. I had no clue how to operate the convertible roof so for less than a mile drive, I didn't try. My tension combined with the black interior and no air conditioning meant I was drenched in sweat from my fingertips to my toes.
Every inch of my body was cold and wet as I hustled from the Hacienda's parking lot inside. My heart was racing as I headed into the restroom to splash water on my face. Refreshed, I marched into the casino resolved to succeed.
The audition went well but the pit boss said, "We're looking for someone with more experience."
I was devastated and said, "Oh."
He saw how crushed I was and said, "You work for Brod O'Boyle over there?"
I wasn't sure how to answer and bleated, "He's very, very nice."
"Yeah I know exactly how nice that old buzzard is." The pit boss snapped his fingers and said, "I know. Have you tried the Western?"
He telephoned this tiny bingo parlor with the same amount of tables as Slots-A-Fun. Income-wise, I guessed it would be a lateral move but to get out of O'Boyle and Lafitte's Svengali grip, I was stoked. After a short personal conversation with his friend, the pit boss arranged an audition for me. An hour later, I passed and was hired to start the next day.
I called Mary with the good news.
She said, "When you get in today, tell O'Boyle right away it's your last shift. If not, it'll eat at you. You've gone so far, this is no time to chicken-out."
*
At ten minutes to noon, Mary and I ran across Las Vegas Boulevard. We noticed four cop cars parked in front of Slots-A-Fun. I saw O'Boyle but he talking to a man in a suit, (a detective). I was jumpy because I had been rehearsing my resignation speech but it looked like I'd have to wait.
Another blackjack dealer told Mary that Willard was stabbed to death.
The two embraced as the girl sobbed, "The police think it was a random robbery." She composed herself and whispered to Mary, "Franny Foley was a no-call, no-show this morning."
I was digesting the news when butterflies attacked my innards as I imagined O'Boyle biting my head off when I quit.
It was time to start work and Mary said, "Do you think it's possible that Franny..."
I cut her off, "No she's too soft."
Mary said, "I'll call her on my first break."
"Besides, there's a gazillion people who want Willard dead," I said.
*
Nobody missed Willard. The first thirty minutes on duty felt like it was his day off. Between dice rolls, I became entranced as I practiced my exit statement. That's when I noticed Mary next to me.
She had a scared look on her face and whispererd, "I called Franny. No answer. I'm going to give it one more try. And, don't forget to do what you have to do."
On my break I found Mr. O'Boyle.
He seemed busy with a slot technician.
I looked over my shoulder and saw Mary gesturing me forward as she mouthed, "Go on."
O'Boyle was saying, "Yeah, the cops called me back down here as soon as I got home. I had to ID the body. There was blood splatter all over the white walls. Hell, I seen a lot of shit in my day but this was different..."
When I cleared my throat, he stopped in mid-sentence and snapped, "What now Edelberg?"
I never asked him for anything. I was so annoyed that it was easier for me to proceed.
Still, I stared at the floor and squeaked, "I'm giving you notice. I'm resigning. I got hired at the Western, downtown. Today's my last..."
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he bellowed. "Another traitor thinks the grass is greener. What ever happened to loyalty? Is everyone dying to get out of here?" His pause made me think that he realized "dying," in lieu of Willard was a poor choice of words. Instead he plowed on, "Resign? That's bullshit! You're a quitter and there ain't nothing worse..."
He was still blithering as I wanted to dig a hole and jump in.
When his jack-hammering jaw stopped, I meekly said, "I would have liked to give more notice..."
He interrupted, "I don't want your fuckin' notice. I can't even look at you and I sure as hell won't trust you with my money. You wanted to 'black cat' me and you waited till I needed you the most before deserting me. Just get the fuck out of my sight."
In the awkward moment before I turned away he said, "Wait. Lookit, between you and Willard, I'm really shorthanded. How about, you start off right now as the new boxman at say, $57.50/day."
He was trying to entice me with less than he paid Chuck Czyrz when he had no shot even if he offered me more.
O'Boyle tried another tact to lure me in, "You're leaving a job on the strip to deal downtown?"
I was thinking, a toilet is a toilet but their casino doesn't have you swimming in it.
O'Boyle was waved over by the bartender to verify a beer delivery and sign the invoice.
He said, "Give me a sec."
I was remembering in February how O'Boyle reamed-out the snack bar's counterman for wasting napkins or some such nonsense when he reappeared with his arm around Yung Yune's shoulder.
I think he was trying to hurt my feelings but I was internally jumping for joy when he said, "I got this fuckin' Chinaman right here." He pounded the skinny, old-timer's back and roared, "Ain't that right...Buddy."
He probably never took time to learn his valuable utility man's name.
O'Boyle continued, "Edelman, I know you don't give two shits about me. So I made another arrangement. Get the hell out of here, I don't need you after all."
I escaped the steamy abyss of Slots-A-Fun. The next morning, I was dealing at the Western and I was the coolest new hire they ever had.
*
The next day, there was a small item, on page eight in the newspaper. It called Willard's death a random robbery gone wrong. I looked for an obituary in the hope of gathering more information but I never saw one. For over a year, I saved the Mint Casino's $3.95 buffet receipt when I took Mary out that fateful night. But I didn't need to account for my whereabouts nor did anyone else we knew at Slot-A-Fun.
1 comment:
Movin’ on up...ba-bye Slots-A-Fun! Still dreading the 8 hrs of mental agony! Next stop......??
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