Today's article features the classic clash of casino titans; a Hall-of-Fame worthy darling of dealers or an angry, demanding asshole player, hell bent on making everyone miserable.
For an expert, the solution should be obvious. Laymen can succeed too by finding hidden clues in the story. So tally up those hints and in the end, see if you picked the winner.
*
In 1980, Dina drove
behind Las Vegas
Lit only by diffused office lights, she checked her make-up in the rear view before rifling
through her bag. From inside a box of Marlboros, she removed the two twenty-dollar bills that she had taken from her boyfriend Jake’s bureau drawer.
Dina stuffed the cash into her blouse pocket and got the urge for a cigarette. She fought off the impulse because she knew it would piss-off Jake that she was smoking again. To occupy her hands, she sprayed Binaca in her already sparkling mouth and began filing her perfect fingernails. Her mind wandered as she pictured her twofold plan springing into action.
The first part was to surprise her comical yet high-strung Jake. She wanted to take him out, (with his own money), to celebrate their rocky, one-year anniversary of living together.
Second was her attire. For this occasion she bought a white man-tailored dress shirt, a short, white, black and gray plaid skirt, white knee socks and saddle shoes. Underneath, she was bare.
Dina stuffed the cash into her blouse pocket and got the urge for a cigarette. She fought off the impulse because she knew it would piss-off Jake that she was smoking again. To occupy her hands, she sprayed Binaca in her already sparkling mouth and began filing her perfect fingernails. Her mind wandered as she pictured her twofold plan springing into action.
The first part was to surprise her comical yet high-strung Jake. She wanted to take him out, (with his own money), to celebrate their rocky, one-year anniversary of living together.
Second was her attire. For this occasion she bought a white man-tailored dress shirt, a short, white, black and gray plaid skirt, white knee socks and saddle shoes. Underneath, she was bare.
Jake's emotions were still raw since he caught her straying a second time. To apologize, Dina sought redemption through sex and intended to prove her devotion by pandering to his fantasies.
Dina’s anticipation mounted. She set aside her Emory board and recalled how she smoothed over her first transgression. Her eyes closed as she stroked her breast. Dina scraped a fingernail across her areola as she toyed with and pinched her nipple. A gentle smile came to her face as she envisioned the semi-public liaison that she had orchestrated. Her arousal intensified as she remembered the thrill of that fantastic sex act, up against a wall, obscured by an armoire, in the corner of a furniture store.
Unbeknownst to her, it had been a rough night for her man. While Dina’s hand drifted under her skirt, an incensed quartet of dice dealers burst through the door and into the back-of-the-house corridors that led to the time office.
Ahead of them, I was meandering through that maze of hallways, enjoying the up-tempo Liszt concerto being piped in as Jake's crew blew by. He was drowning-out the music as he waved his arms and cursed their eleven-dollar tip night.
They turned into the next hall and stopped as Jake bellowed, “That fucking geriatric piece of shit. Somebody should choke the life out of that rat bastard, the way he suffocated us.”
I came up behind them as one of his mates squeaked, “Yeah, put him out of his misery.”
They were complaining about Donny Steinmetz. In my first six months at the Stardust, I only knew his reputation as one of the dealer’s most hated craps regulars.
Steinmetz (70) was always dressed from head to toe in white. Uninteresting, conservative and a small money player, the nature of his tight relationship with the casino’s hierarchy is unclear.
It was bad enough that this bespectacled statue would position himself next to the third base dealer for hours but he’d expect full service, while puffing great plumes of nasty cigar smoke. For all this special consideration, he never toked, (tipped). Far worse, if he suspected a dealer was soliciting tokes, even on the other side of the table, he would demand they’d be fired.
Jake Gerritsen was saddled with Steinmetz all night which stifled any chance of earning decent money. Halfway through the shift, blinded by frustration, Jake cryptically asked another player to place a bet for the dealers. The player didn’t pick-up on his indirect inference...but Steinmetz did. Luckily for Jake, after a short verbal confrontation with the old man, the floor supervisor quelled the potentially volatile situation.
I saw Jake wave to Dina through the glass door of the time office. Her unexpected presence and eager smile erased Jake’s tension. Chet the timekeeper rapped on the window and motioned Jake into the office.
He was still grinning at Dina when Chet called out, “Gerritsen.”
Jake Gerritsen said good-night to his buddies and went inside. At a desk cluttered by a sea of white papers, the timekeeper pointed to a single rosy sheet, a termination slip.
Jake controlled himself as he read the standard pertinent information until he roared, “Change of fuckin’ personnel!”
Chet sighed, “Sorry.”
Dina’s anticipation mounted. She set aside her Emory board and recalled how she smoothed over her first transgression. Her eyes closed as she stroked her breast. Dina scraped a fingernail across her areola as she toyed with and pinched her nipple. A gentle smile came to her face as she envisioned the semi-public liaison that she had orchestrated. Her arousal intensified as she remembered the thrill of that fantastic sex act, up against a wall, obscured by an armoire, in the corner of a furniture store.
Unbeknownst to her, it had been a rough night for her man. While Dina’s hand drifted under her skirt, an incensed quartet of dice dealers burst through the door and into the back-of-the-house corridors that led to the time office.
Ahead of them, I was meandering through that maze of hallways, enjoying the up-tempo Liszt concerto being piped in as Jake's crew blew by. He was drowning-out the music as he waved his arms and cursed their eleven-dollar tip night.
They turned into the next hall and stopped as Jake bellowed, “That fucking geriatric piece of shit. Somebody should choke the life out of that rat bastard, the way he suffocated us.”
I came up behind them as one of his mates squeaked, “Yeah, put him out of his misery.”
They were complaining about Donny Steinmetz. In my first six months at the Stardust, I only knew his reputation as one of the dealer’s most hated craps regulars.
Steinmetz (70) was always dressed from head to toe in white. Uninteresting, conservative and a small money player, the nature of his tight relationship with the casino’s hierarchy is unclear.
It was bad enough that this bespectacled statue would position himself next to the third base dealer for hours but he’d expect full service, while puffing great plumes of nasty cigar smoke. For all this special consideration, he never toked, (tipped). Far worse, if he suspected a dealer was soliciting tokes, even on the other side of the table, he would demand they’d be fired.
Jake Gerritsen was saddled with Steinmetz all night which stifled any chance of earning decent money. Halfway through the shift, blinded by frustration, Jake cryptically asked another player to place a bet for the dealers. The player didn’t pick-up on his indirect inference...but Steinmetz did. Luckily for Jake, after a short verbal confrontation with the old man, the floor supervisor quelled the potentially volatile situation.
I saw Jake wave to Dina through the glass door of the time office. Her unexpected presence and eager smile erased Jake’s tension. Chet the timekeeper rapped on the window and motioned Jake into the office.
He was still grinning at Dina when Chet called out, “Gerritsen.”
Jake Gerritsen said good-night to his buddies and went inside. At a desk cluttered by a sea of white papers, the timekeeper pointed to a single rosy sheet, a termination slip.
Jake controlled himself as he read the standard pertinent information until he roared, “Change of fuckin’ personnel!”
Chet sighed, “Sorry.”
In disbelief, Jake looked skyward and concentrated his gaze on the fluorescent ceiling bulb.
Jake pictured a ghostly, all-white image and shouted, “Steinmetz!” He slammed the rickety office door, burst by me and screamed, “I’ll kill that bi-focal mother-fucker!”
I watched Jake get into the Mustang. Gerritsen’s tantrum exploded on his “innocent” girlfriend. She tried to comfort him by professing her allegiance. I left when I was satisfied that he wasn’t going to hit her.
During a pause in his rant, Dina suggestively said, “Take me dancing."
“Dancing?”
She gyrated her unbridled breasts, “Yeah, let’s go to the Plush Pony for drinks and...you know....”
Dina was disappointed by his vacant stare...he didn’t even notice her garb.
Jake alternated wringing his hands and punching his fist into his palm. Lost in vengeance, he didn’t notice that Dina’s legs were spread as she drove or that her skirt had hiked-up past her thighs.
He ended a long silence and hissed, “Let’s just go to the Elbow Room and get wasted.”
She moaned, “Okay.”
The Elbow Room was far less avant-garde than the Plush Pony. The dive’s generic theme was epitomized by Murph, (55). the stout, ex-marine bartender. He was chatting with the only other people there, at the farthest booth. Jake was impatient and was getting angrier until Murph finally sauntered over.
Jake squinted to make out Murph’s tattoos. Buried by a carpet of gray hair, he had a faded globe, chain and anchor on one forearm and a hula dancer on the other. Dina didn’t notice because she transfixed on Murph’s abundance of chest hair flowing over the vee-neck and through the pores of his white tee-shirt.
Gerritsen slugged down his double shot in one mammoth swallow, slapped his hand on the bar and called out, “Service!”
Murph came their way but didn’t stop. He continued to the end of the bar to fiddle with the flickering TV. Jake was in no mood to be slighted and started whining about losing his job. In an attempt to get his mind focused on something positive, Dina turned her back to the others and undid her blouse.
In the mirror, Murph saw Jake groping Dina and growled, “Get a room before I hose you down.”
Dina unevenly buttoned-up as Jake snarled, “Another wild turkey on the rocks...make it a triple.”
She shushed Jake, “Calm down. We’ll be okay.”
Dina rubbed his back and whispered in his ear until Jake’s refill came. A second after it was set down, he carelessly snatched at it. The drink slipped out of his hand, spilled in his lap and the glass smashed on the floor.
Murph said, “You’re eighty-sixed buddy! Get out, sleep it off and take your trollop with you.”
“You can’t kick me out...”
The barkeep came around to sweep up the glass shards and insisted that they leave. Jake refused.
Murph advanced to the telephone as Jake flailed his arms and repeatedly said, “Fuck you.”
Murph hung up and said, “The cops’ll be here in a minute.” Jake’s
grousing continued as Murph used his thumb to point to the door, “Kid,
do yourself a favor...”
Jake
cut him off, “I’m goin’ asshole. But I ain’t drunk and I’m never coming back to
this shithouse.”
Outside,
Gerritsen was still hot as a Metro Police cruiser jumped the curb and skidded
to a stop.
Patrolman
Allen Pomeroy was quickly satisfied that Gerritsen was leaving peaceably. He
also didn’t think Jake was drunk or a threat to anyone even when Gerritsen
thrashed about while itemizing the details of his bad day.
Dina
sighed, looked at the young officer and rolled her eyes.
The officer appreciated her tight body, outfit and near exposure. She interpreted his glance as sympathetic regard. While Jake continued raving, the cop gestured at her blouse and pointed to a button on his uniform shirt. She blushed and turned away to realign her buttons.
The officer appreciated her tight body, outfit and near exposure. She interpreted his glance as sympathetic regard. While Jake continued raving, the cop gestured at her blouse and pointed to a button on his uniform shirt. She blushed and turned away to realign her buttons.
She was looking at Pomeroy with a pouty smile of interest as a second
police car stealthily entered the lot from behind Jake. On foot, a rookie patrolman approached. Jake, stinking of bourbon was still shouting as he pantomimed choking Dina. The ignorant second policeman reacted to the aggressive behavior and grasped Gerritsen’s shoulder. Jake reflexively turned to strike his would-be
assailant. The rookie twisted the would-be perpetrator's arm
behind his back. Jake resisted and his
arm was broken.
*
The next night, I was chatting with a dealer on my new crew, “Courtesy”
Bob Lee.
Bob and Benny were much alike but didn’t get along. They were both mercenary towards getting tokes but the means to their ends differed. Benito was forcibly direct with players, offered little service and rarely used his personality artfully. His key asset was being “connected” with our predominately Italian-American upper management. Within reason, Soldi did whatever he pleased.
He
told me how Jake Gerritsen got fired and added, “In case Donny Steinmetz comes
in again tonight, you and me’ll work third base.” Bob explained his strategy and added, “Just follow my lead and with a little finesse, we’ll
have the old crow off our game in a jiffy.”
Benito
Soldi (50), another crew member joined us. “Benny” was the same age as Bob and was
also of small stature. An Italian
National from Rome
 |
| LOUIS JOURDAN (1921-2015) WAS A DEBONAIR, FRENCH-BORN ACTOR. BEST KNOWN FOR HIS ROLES IN 1947's "THE PARADINE CASE," 1958's "GIGI" AND 1983's "OCTOPUSSY," HIS FILM CAREER SPANNED FROM THE 1930's TO 1990's . |
Bob and Benny were much alike but didn’t get along. They were both mercenary towards getting tokes but the means to their ends differed. Benito was forcibly direct with players, offered little service and rarely used his personality artfully. His key asset was being “connected” with our predominately Italian-American upper management. Within reason, Soldi did whatever he pleased.
Benny
called me aside and calmly asked, “Whatsa you nut?”
I
answered, “I’m sorry. What?”
He
didn’t like repeating himself. He
spouted off in Italian and made hand gestures to express his impatience. I was baffled.
Benny strained his voice to a higher octave and sounded like Chico Marx, “Utza matta for you?” He carefully pronounced each syllable, “What...izza...you ...nut?”
I wasn’t trying to be obtuse, I was twenty-three and the “nut” reference went over my head.
I said, “I don’t understand.”
Italian vulgarities flowed until he said, “Don’t fock with Dino,” (for some unknown reason, he frequently referred to himself as Dino). “How mucha money...do you need...to paya you bills each munt?”
Benny strained his voice to a higher octave and sounded like Chico Marx, “Utza matta for you?” He carefully pronounced each syllable, “What...izza...you ...nut?”
I wasn’t trying to be obtuse, I was twenty-three and the “nut” reference went over my head.
I said, “I don’t understand.”
Italian vulgarities flowed until he said, “Don’t fock with Dino,” (for some unknown reason, he frequently referred to himself as Dino). “How mucha money...do you need...to paya you bills each munt?”
“Oh," I conceded and began an internal audit of my expenditures.
I was single and living in a luxury apartment with a married couple, paying $130.00 a month. I wasn’t responsible for any utilities and only paid for my long distance calls. I had no credit cards, my used car was paid for and I didn’t carry any insurance.
I thought it was a good idea to inflate my expenses and blurted out, “$200.00 a month.”
To emphasize his torment, Benny used the common Italian gesture of gathering all five fingertips upward as he wailed, “Momma Miá!” He collected his thoughts and groaned, “Kid, umma payin’ for two divorces, capisce. I pay the fockin’ mortgage on a house I doan live in. I gotta paya child support and all kindsa incidentals. Plus, I gotta my own rent, car payments, insurance and other shit. Dino even sends a hundred thousand lire, to his sick mother in
*
Later,
Courtesy Bob pointed out Steinmetz in front of the casino cashier talking to Aldo
“Pug” Pugliese, our shift boss.
Bob said, “I heard that hot-head Jake Gerritsen would kill him if he ever got the chance.”
Bob said, “I heard that hot-head Jake Gerritsen would kill him if he ever got the chance.”
In an outfit that included white orthopedic shoes, white slacks and a white Izod shirt, Steinmetz came our way. He looked like a harmless, walking marshmallow with black horn-rimmed glasses. Yet, as he pulled up next to Bob, I felt a
lump in my throat. For the next three
minutes, Bob tormented the old coot exactly how he said he would. But now Bob was going on break and it was my
turn to continue unnerving the curmudgeon.
I knew what Benito expected of me but I was too inexperienced and far
too inhibited to do what Bob did. Therefore,
Benny continually burned a evil-eye my way as we did “pro-bono” work for the next forty minutes.
Aside from the intimidation factor and his nauseating cigar smoke, watching Steinmetz’ mannerisms were entertaining. He just stood there like an emotionless, smoky sentinel, only breaking the stillness to set new chips down for bets or gather up winnings.
On this occasion, his Asian wife joined him. Mrs. Steinmetz mirrored Donny’s disciplined stance. She stood behind him and spoke in whispers, but only when spoken to.
Steinmetz broke his rigid regiment to take a squeezable blue, rubber coin purse from his pocket. I watched his deformed, arthritic right index finger probe through a sea of pennies. With a subdued exclamation of victory, he pulled out his quarry...a dime. Still, he wasn’t satisfied because he repeated the search until he produced a nickel.
Donny never a missed a bet as his liver-spotted hand fidgeted with these two coins causing them to flip from heads to tails in the wooden grooves of the table’s semi-tubular chip rail.
A cocktail waitress magically appeared with two stubby eight ounce bottles of Schweppes Ginger Ale, (the waitresses were also forced to kowtow to his whimsy).
At the Stardust, soft drinks were served in glasses but not to Steinmetz. He must have been afraid of germs because he examined each bottle. The twist-off cap intrigued him most; maybe he was being sure it hadn’t been tampered with. In a few seconds, he seemed satisfied and without speaking, extended his right arm towards the slouched server. She sprang to attention, handed him two straws and resumed waiting.
Donny ran his finger up and down the paper sheath. If Steinmetz had a jeweler’s loop, he would have inspected it as if it were a precious stone.
In the middle of the second straw, he stopped and removed his glasses. Using his thumbnail, he concentrated on scraping an imperfection off the paper. While this ritual continued, our floor supervisor offered a stool to Mrs. Steinmetz. She didn’t acknowledge the kindness and stared into her husband’s back.
Steinmetz, looked over his glasses at my supervisor, shook his head and mouthed, “No thanks."
The waitress' body language signaled her dissatisfaction as Steinmetz twisted the cap off and handed a soda and straw to his spouse. I thought I was going to puke when she bowed forward and whispered her thanks. Donny opened his and took one sip. He removed the fifteen cents from the rail and put the “tip” on the girl’s tray. No one could ever accuse Steinmetz of spoiling the natives.
Like shooing a fly, he waved his hand to release his vigilant servant and grunted, “Thanks.”
Expressionless she said, “Thank you too.”
Bob relieved me. After my twenty-minute break Steinmetz was still there. From my stickman position, I saw Bob, ever so hyper, yet with complete earnestness badger the old man with a ceaseless barrage of senseless chatter. Each statement he made lent itself to a response and none ever came. Even under the pressure of being looked in the eye, Steinmetz’ muted resolve never faltered.
When Steinmetz became the shooter, Bob continued his plan...with an added feature. Each time Donny tossed the dice, Bob would lean forward to straighten a bet that didn’t need to be neatened. How irksome it was, for Steinmetz to strain to look around Bob to see the results of his own roll.
Steinmetz soon “sevened-out” (lost), but Bob kept jabbering away about the weather, sports and the stock market but the old-timer never budged.
“Steve,” Bob said to me, “offer the dice Mrs. S.”
Mr. Steinmetz snapped, “No!”
Bob, sensing a chink in the armor didn’t let up. While the man to Donny’s left shot the dice, Bob would again block Steinmetz’ view and kept up his annoying, one-sided conversation. When his mundane ammunition ran low, Bob directed similar triteness to Donny’s wife.
“Are you going to the Flower Show at the Convention Center?”
More bashful than defiant, she didn’t answer.
Fortunately, the next shooter lost fast. The entire table got frustrated at the same time and left. Even Steinmetz and his human shadow sought a luckier table.
Bob joked, “An hour and ten minutes, to get rid of that cancer, I’m losing my touch.”
*
Steinmetz was
drifting away when I saw him cross paths with another man dressed in all
white.
Benito Soldi noticed too and broke the unwritten decorum rule by calling, “Here Jimmy, here!”
 |
| THE STARDUST WAS ON THE FABULOUS LAS VEGAS STRIP. IT MAY HAVE CATERED TO LOWER-ROLLERS THAN THE BLUE BLOOD CASINOS LIKE CAESAR'S PALACE AND THE MGM BUT OUR CRAPS PIT, (LIKE THEIR'S) WAS TREATED LIKE A CATHEDRAL. SO SHOUTING OUT TO "HAWK" PLAYERS ONTO YOUR TABLE WAS STRICTLY VERBOTEN. |
Eighty-three year old Jimmy Figaro hobbled towards us. For long time, this "whale" made several trips a year to the Stardust, (and usually lost hundreds of thousands of dollars each time). A few steps behind him, a blonde bombshell
wearing a powder blue nurse’s uniform followed.
The "nurse" reminded me of a Vaudeville actress from a “doctor sketch.” She was a buxom six-footer sporting an
exposed cleavage that popped out from her short, skin-tight uniform. This costume was augmented with white stiletto heels, nude
hose and a centered nurse’s cap with a thin powder blue line along its
crest. Despite her slow gait to
accommodate Figaro, she had a jaunty bop in her step, (as if a song was playing in her head), as she swung a sleek black attaché case to and fro.
 |
| SHE TURNED A LOT OF HEADS BUT BENNY'S FOCUSED ON HIS TARGET, JIMMY FIGARO. |
Jimmy Figaro noticed Soldi and came to our table. They spoke Italian and laughed as pit
boss Chick Halversen ran over to greet him. Chick was so excited, I expected him to kiss Jimmy's hand.
“Jimmy, what’s up with the girl?” the pit boss asked.
“Gotta her lasta week. Umma gettin’ more crippled every day.”
“Can
I get you something?”
“Yeah get Pug,” Figaro said.
“I wanna pay off somma my markers.”
Chick got on the phone as Benito, between dice rolls, chatted with Jimmy. Shift boss Aldo “Pug” Pugliese soon arrived and joined in, to make it a private, three-way conversation in Italian.
“Hey
Jimmy,” Pugliese said in English, “for tomorrow I got you tickets for Wayne
Newton, at Caesar’s.”
Figaro
nodded, “Mille grazie.”
Pug
said, “What can I do for you?”
Jimmy
glanced over his shoulder, put an index finger to his lips, “How
about a smoke?”
“Sure.”
Pugliese said, “Can you
handle Lucky’s?”
Before
the cigarette could be lit, the nurse grabbed it, broke it in half and threw it
on the floor.
Pug grinned, “Is she a real nurse?”
“Yeah
she’s a fockin’ bitch too.”
Pug
lecherously leered at her, “She don’t look so tough.”
The
nurse and Pug smiled at each other as Jimmy said, “Looka, I wanna pay
off somma my marker.”
He
signaled for his briefcase. She set it on top of the craps rail and opened it. Our game was stopped. The case looked empty but inside a pocket, Jimmy pulled out three packets of ten thousand dollars and flung them onto our table.
While
the money was being counted, Pug whispered to Jimmy, “She looks double sharp. What's her name? I’d like to show her around.”
“I
dunno, I forget. Rita, Rosie, somma such shit.”
Jimmy
exchanged winks with Pug and told the nurse to take a break with him.
Pug said, "I'll call you tomorrow to find out what time you want the limo."
The couple disappeared as the last of the
thirty thousand dollars was counted.
Chick
Halversen informed Figaro as the thud of the money being stuffed into the
drop-box repeated itself many times, “Thirty down, thirty to go.”
Jimmy took off his glasses and tore up his markers as Benito said, “Take a shot at our
table.”
Figaro
pulled out a handful of black chips and bet one hundred each on the six and eight.
For
twenty minutes every time he’d hit that six or eight, he’d clearly announce,
“You giva me da black, you keepa da change for da blow-job.”
In
addition to being amused, we made over $200.00 in tips from him. His system was simple, hit his six or eight
and win $116.00. He’d keep the hundred without changing the bet, and give us the
excess $16.00.
If
they both lost, he’d progress to $200.00 each, still giving the change to the
dealers. But if things got worse, he’d
press the next bet to five hundred each.
At this point, he’d become serious and not toke. If his luck still didn’t produce a winner,
he’d go to a thousand each and if the “shit hit the fan,” he’d “max-out” at two
thousand each.
On
this occasion, he never went beyond two hundred and left when a messenger told
him his baccarat game was starting back up.
Benito
told us about their conversation; “Jimmy said, six months ago, Pug was walking
him through the casino. A special slot
machine’s jackpot was a replica, 1933 Mini-Mark sports car, worth forty
thousand."
Benny continued, "So, Jimmy saw it and said, ‘Hey Pug, datsa a nice car you gotta dere.’ Pug said, ‘You want that car, it’s yours.’ So I ask him how it ran and Jimmy laughed, ‘Forty grand? It’sa piece a shit, I traded it in for a $17,000 T-Bird.’”
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| INTERNET PHOTO. IT RESEMBLES THE ONE ON DISPLAY. |
Benny continued, "So, Jimmy saw it and said, ‘Hey Pug, datsa a nice car you gotta dere.’ Pug said, ‘You want that car, it’s yours.’ So I ask him how it ran and Jimmy laughed, ‘Forty grand? It’sa piece a shit, I traded it in for a $17,000 T-Bird.’”
*
Later, Jake Gerritsen
walked through the casino. Passersby stared in disbelief because his entire right arm was immobilized in a grotesque extension cast. The severity of the spiral-fracture of his ulna gave doctors no choice but to use a
special support-bar to hold his arm up, almost over his head and
out at a 45°angle.
Jake stood next to Bob and droned on about his physical pain and mental anguish. He added intimate details about Dina, cursed Steinmetz, his injury and the complications that were leading
to a third surgery.
He grumbled, “When I needed that whore the most, she left me for a goddamned cop.”
Jake became animated and lashed his free arm to explain his mounting case of police brutality.
At the same time, Jimmy Figaro’s nurse jiggled by in route to the baccarat pit. All interest in Jake stopped as she fussed over her clothes with her once centered cap off to one side.
Benito chimed, “Jake shudda known, American girls gotta no loyalty and dey gotta no class. You losa you job,” he snapped his finger, “dey leave you. Now look atta dat classless nurse, I betcha she justa focked Pug on his desk.”
Gerritsen felt ignored and said, “See you...”
Distracted by the nurse, none of us reacted as he shuffled towards the bar. Jake was close with the bartender and would front a $5.00 tip to drown his sorrows in free booze.
Benito continued, “Its likka da udda night, I was ina da Brewery, (a high profile discotheque). Dis girl came over and said, ‘I wanna fock you.’ See what I mean, U. S. girls ain’t gotta no class.”
Innocently I responded, “So what did you do?”
“Whadda think omma crazy? Dino took her back to her hotel and focked her.”
He grumbled, “When I needed that whore the most, she left me for a goddamned cop.”
Jake became animated and lashed his free arm to explain his mounting case of police brutality.
At the same time, Jimmy Figaro’s nurse jiggled by in route to the baccarat pit. All interest in Jake stopped as she fussed over her clothes with her once centered cap off to one side.
Benito chimed, “Jake shudda known, American girls gotta no loyalty and dey gotta no class. You losa you job,” he snapped his finger, “dey leave you. Now look atta dat classless nurse, I betcha she justa focked Pug on his desk.”
Gerritsen felt ignored and said, “See you...”
Distracted by the nurse, none of us reacted as he shuffled towards the bar. Jake was close with the bartender and would front a $5.00 tip to drown his sorrows in free booze.
Benito continued, “Its likka da udda night, I was ina da Brewery, (a high profile discotheque). Dis girl came over and said, ‘I wanna fock you.’ See what I mean, U. S. girls ain’t gotta no class.”
Innocently I responded, “So what did you do?”
“Whadda think omma crazy? Dino took her back to her hotel and focked her.”
*
Two nights
later, we were standing dead when Figaro came to our table. He shot the dice alone, played his usual
system and had no success. A few minutes later, Jimmy had lost $1.000.00 each on six and eight.
At
that point a couple in their mid-fifties, over-dressed for the Stardust,
opened-up the opposite side of my table.
Bedecked in dazzling diamonds, the lady wore an elegant backless evening
gown. Polished, tanned and trim, the tuxedo-clad gentleman requested a marker for twenty-five hundred.
Jimmy
Figaro was “snake-bit.” Instead of rolling for himself, he waited for their paperwork to be done, just to let someone else shoot the dice.
The woman shot first and rolled a nine. Jimmy bet two-thousand each on six and eight. The husband placed a three hundred dollar come bet and she did the same with seventy-five. Her next toss was a four. There were no decisions but now the couple needed a nine or a four.
The come bet odds were being set as Jimmy, with four grand in play, muttered impatiently in Italian. The next roll was another four and the composed shooter suddenly roared as she and her husband had a return of two hundred twenty-five and nine hundred dollars respectively.
Warming up to the fun, she tossed the dice and shouted, “Nine or four, baby.”
In her excitement, the dice slipped from her hand and one die traveled half the length of the table.
Bob the stickman called, “Four again four.”
The jubilant couple received the same payoffs.
Spectators gathered to watch the budding action as the woman barked, “C’mon sticky, I'm hot, gimme the dice.”
Annoyed Jimmy cried, “Hey lady, hitta da back wall.”
She shook the dice hard and exclaimed, “This is for you, cutie.”
The dice properly caromed of the rubber wall. It was a four...and a three.
Bob was nearly inaudible as he croaked, “Seven-out.”
Jimmy Figaro lost four thousand dollars as somber Benito locked-up his chips.
The craps pit was no cathedral as Jimmy loudly broke the silence, “You motherless cunt!”
Tuxedo man was incredulous and insisted, “Sir, you owe my wife an apology.”
Jimmy Figaro countered, “Fock you too!”
Our floorman fearing an attack, hollered for the pit boss and rushed to get between the advancing husband and the feeble old man.
Chick Halversen offered no apology to the gentleman. White froth formed at the corners of the husband's mouth as he demanded satisfaction. The pit boss said nothing as the man spewed ultimatums and bandied the word lawsuit.
Halversen smiled, “Why don’t you shut up or we’ll make it tough on you.”
A cordon of security circled the area until Chick signaled them forward. A plainclothes supervisor talked the man down. A minute later, the angry couple was brusquely escorted from the premises.
The woman shot first and rolled a nine. Jimmy bet two-thousand each on six and eight. The husband placed a three hundred dollar come bet and she did the same with seventy-five. Her next toss was a four. There were no decisions but now the couple needed a nine or a four.
The come bet odds were being set as Jimmy, with four grand in play, muttered impatiently in Italian. The next roll was another four and the composed shooter suddenly roared as she and her husband had a return of two hundred twenty-five and nine hundred dollars respectively.
Warming up to the fun, she tossed the dice and shouted, “Nine or four, baby.”
In her excitement, the dice slipped from her hand and one die traveled half the length of the table.
Bob the stickman called, “Four again four.”
The jubilant couple received the same payoffs.
Spectators gathered to watch the budding action as the woman barked, “C’mon sticky, I'm hot, gimme the dice.”
Annoyed Jimmy cried, “Hey lady, hitta da back wall.”
She shook the dice hard and exclaimed, “This is for you, cutie.”
The dice properly caromed of the rubber wall. It was a four...and a three.
Bob was nearly inaudible as he croaked, “Seven-out.”
Jimmy Figaro lost four thousand dollars as somber Benito locked-up his chips.
The craps pit was no cathedral as Jimmy loudly broke the silence, “You motherless cunt!”
Tuxedo man was incredulous and insisted, “Sir, you owe my wife an apology.”
Jimmy Figaro countered, “Fock you too!”
Our floorman fearing an attack, hollered for the pit boss and rushed to get between the advancing husband and the feeble old man.
Chick Halversen offered no apology to the gentleman. White froth formed at the corners of the husband's mouth as he demanded satisfaction. The pit boss said nothing as the man spewed ultimatums and bandied the word lawsuit.
Halversen smiled, “Why don’t you shut up or we’ll make it tough on you.”
A cordon of security circled the area until Chick signaled them forward. A plainclothes supervisor talked the man down. A minute later, the angry couple was brusquely escorted from the premises.
*
Months later, depressed Jake Gerritsen returned to the Stardust. He was already high and on his way to another night of free drinks, when he stopped at the craps pit to vent to anyone who would listen.
Still
debilitated and encumbered by the crazy cast, he ranted to nobody in particular, “My arm got
infected and they had to re-break it.” Between
the dice rolls on my game Jake said, “Just when I thought this nightmare was going to end...” He interrupted himself,
“If I ever see that prick Steinmetz, I swear, I’ll break his back!”
In a lucid moment, Jake realized nobody was listening and ambled to the bar, for more free liquor.
An hour later, Jimmy
Figaro wearing white dress shoes, white pants and a white vinyl windbreaker, slowly came out of the baccarat pit using a walker. Surprisingly, he had tubes up his nose and was connected to a dangling plasma IV bottle being wheeled for him by a different gorgeous blonde nurse.
Figaro played craps on Benito Soldi’s end. While he shot the dice, Benny spoke in Italian and kept
him laughing.
Through a hacking cough Jimmy
called out to Chick, “How about a smoke.”
The
pit boss tapped the bottom of his pack and said, “Camels okay?”
Simultaneously we all stared at the nurse. She shrugged
as if she didn’t care.
Seconds
later she whimpered to Chick, “H-h-he hasn’t much time.”
Jimmy did well for us and his nurse's dire statement got lost in the
excitement.
Later
at 3:00AM, Figaro got up from the baccarat table. Pug's eyes were glued on the nurse as he volunteered to escort them to Jimmy’s suite.
At the same time, drunken Jake Gerritsen slid off his bar stool in search of the men’s room.
Blinded by alcohol, Jake spotted Jimmy and Pug as the nurse lagged ten feet back pushing the IV drip. Jake picked up his uneven pace. He disregarded the walker, the dangling plasma bottle and tubes, and thought the man in white was Donny Steinmetz. He had to be completely delusional if he mistook the nurse for Mrs. Steinmetz because unsympathetic to any handicaps, he passed the nurse as vengeance pulsated through his body.
He passed the nurse and cocked his good arm high above his head. Mortified, the daydreaming nurse screamed causing Pug and Figaro to turn around. Jake never realized it was a case of mistaken identity. Pug warded off the surging fist and pushed the handicapped drunkard down. He punched Gerritsen’s face several times. Pug was choking Jake when the security team swooped in.
Jimmy Figaro had been jostled but didn't fall. Pug was delighted that Jimmy was unharmed and Jimmy was thrilled to be a part of the scuffle. He was further pleased to learn that while in the casino's custody, Jake “accidentally” fell down a flight of concrete stairs...twice.
Having re-re-broken his arm, Jake was handcuffed to a railing in a casino holding cell and threatened by the director of security, “Sonny, you're permanently barred from the Stardust. If you ever walk in again, you won’t be able to walk out.”
Jake didn’t respond appropriately. His arm was mercilessly pulled, pushed and prodded until he relented with a screaming cry of understanding.
Gerritsen was driven to the hospital after he signed a release, deeming the Stardust “safe and harmless” in perpetuity, for any and all injuries, either physical or emotional in nature.
At the same time, drunken Jake Gerritsen slid off his bar stool in search of the men’s room.
Blinded by alcohol, Jake spotted Jimmy and Pug as the nurse lagged ten feet back pushing the IV drip. Jake picked up his uneven pace. He disregarded the walker, the dangling plasma bottle and tubes, and thought the man in white was Donny Steinmetz. He had to be completely delusional if he mistook the nurse for Mrs. Steinmetz because unsympathetic to any handicaps, he passed the nurse as vengeance pulsated through his body.
He passed the nurse and cocked his good arm high above his head. Mortified, the daydreaming nurse screamed causing Pug and Figaro to turn around. Jake never realized it was a case of mistaken identity. Pug warded off the surging fist and pushed the handicapped drunkard down. He punched Gerritsen’s face several times. Pug was choking Jake when the security team swooped in.
Jimmy Figaro had been jostled but didn't fall. Pug was delighted that Jimmy was unharmed and Jimmy was thrilled to be a part of the scuffle. He was further pleased to learn that while in the casino's custody, Jake “accidentally” fell down a flight of concrete stairs...twice.
Having re-re-broken his arm, Jake was handcuffed to a railing in a casino holding cell and threatened by the director of security, “Sonny, you're permanently barred from the Stardust. If you ever walk in again, you won’t be able to walk out.”
Jake didn’t respond appropriately. His arm was mercilessly pulled, pushed and prodded until he relented with a screaming cry of understanding.
Gerritsen was driven to the hospital after he signed a release, deeming the Stardust “safe and harmless” in perpetuity, for any and all injuries, either physical or emotional in nature.
*
The next
night, our craps table was out of control.
We had an uncustomary ten players crammed onto each side and should have
made a ton of tips, but Donny Steinmetz was there.
Benito Soldi saw Jimmy Figaro inching along in the aisle and called out, “Here Jimmy, here.”
It
wouldn’t do us any good. Even if he was healthy, there was no way to squeeze
another body in.
Soldi,
playing on the compassion of the entire staff suggested to our floor supervisor,
“Tell Chick to let Jimmy play here, between Steve and the boxman.”
The
pit boss came over, weighed-out this outlandish contradiction of casino policy
and said, “Okay, but don’t stop the game.”
Like
a kid ringing the firehouse bell, Jimmy was overjoyed to play from inside the pit.
Consistent
with his method, every time a six or eight rolled, in a noticeably less robust
voice, he'd call out, “You giva me da black, you keepa da change for da blow
job.”
To express our appreciation, we used his generosity as a catalyst to encourage other
players to tip.
Incensed Steinmetz
confronted Chick, “The dealers run your pit. And that vile man should
be removed from his ‘illegal’ spot because he’s disrupting the game.”
The
pit boss was polite yet firm, “It’s okay, the game never slowed down.” Without mentioning that Figaro was dying
Chick cracked, “I let him play there!”
Afterwards,
Steinmetz tracked down Pug and insisted he fire Benito for hustling tokes. He also wanted Chick to be reprimanded for
speaking disrespectfully to him and letting the game deteriorate to the depths
of a “Bohemian Brothel.”
“What
can I say Don?” rationalized Pugliese. He
put his arm around Steinmetz’ shoulder and said, “You’ve been coming here
forever and you’ve always been treated like a king.” As Steinmetz began to speak, Pug cut him off,
“I won’t lose any sleep if you don’t play here any more.”
That
night was the last time either of these men in white ever graced the Stardust
with their presence.
*
Seven months
after being incapacitated, Jake Gerritsen left the Clark County
Municipal Building
Encumbered
by a fresh cast, Jake trudged past the police station. Lost in hateful thought, he crossed in front of a
parked car inhabited by his ex, Mrs. Allen Pomeroy.
Dina
was wearing only her husband's over sized, red ‘Maui-Wowie’ tee shirt, as she waited to surprise
him getting off-shift. Even with
Jake’s crazy cast, she didn’t notice him because her eyes were shut as she
masturbated, absorbed in the delight of her Hawaiian honeymoon. Seconds away from a self-induced orgasm, she
focused on how she and officer Pomeroy made love at dusk, in the surf, in full view
of their hotel’s observation deck.
Now,
she was hoping a wild escapade in the car would prove her love and
devotion. That such an act would help
reconcile a marriage, already marred by adultery.
*
Were you able to figure out the winner? It should have been easy because casinos are such money-grubbers. So all you had to do was follow the bigger cash trail.
Forty years later, in memorial, hats off to Jimmy Figaro. He was far from the biggest tipper I was fortunate enough to serve, but he was definitely the most entertaining.
As for Donny Steinmetz, who cares...
As for Donny Steinmetz, who cares...
