Wild Card

Chapter 14

Izzie missed Betty.

He missed her soft cooing voice, and the taste of her cheap lipstick mingling with the smell of her hair and her sticky skin. He missed her throaty laugh, and the liquid heart-stopping sensation of having sex with her. Having sex with Betty, Izzie had come to the conclusion that no movie or book had ever gotten it right.

Izzie missed her so much, he decided to call her one night during a poker game in the house he and his brothers had rented in Ventnor, a fancy suburb just south of Atlantic City. Excusing himself, he’d gone upstairs, and used the phone in the extra bedroom to call her apartment. Betty answered on the fifth ring, still sound asleep.

“Hey baby,” he said.

“Who the hell is this?”

“It’s me, Izzie.”

“You crummy bastard!”

“Hey, I’m sorry.”

“Fuck you’re sorry! Do you have any idea what time it is?”

Izzie glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was two A.M. They’d been bringing suckers to the house every night from Resorts’ casino, and he’d forgotten what normal hours were. “I’m sorry. I missed you so much, I had to call.”

“You left me at that convenience store,” she shouted into the phone.

The receiver was jammed into the crook of Izzie’s neck, leaving his hands free to stack the cards he would soon switch into the game. “It was my brothers’ idea—”

“I thought you loved me!”

“I do.”

“Then why didn’t you make them come back?”

He finished stacking the deck and tucked it into his back pocket. “How was I going to do that?” he said without thinking.

Betty screamed like he’d stabbed her. “I’ll get you for this,” she declared.

Izzie went downstairs in a funk. His brothers had always said women were not cut out to be grifters. They did not understand the rackets, and held grudges when they got cheated. Cheat a guy, and eventually he’ll forget it. Cheat a woman, and she’ll carry a grudge for the rest of her life.

Izzie found the game the way he’d left it. Three rug merchants sat around the felt-covered card table in the den along with Josh and Seymour. The rug merchants were in town for a convention. They were all named Patel. A deck of cards sat at Izzie’s spot. Sitting down, he pointed at them. “These shuffled?” he asked.

The Patel to his right said yes. Izzie asked him to cut the cards. The Patel obliged him. Picking the deck up, Izzie dropped his hands below the table to adjust his chair. When his hands came up, he was holding the deck he’d stacked in the bedroom.

As Izzie dealt the round, he looked around the den. He and his brothers had spent days making it look presentable. They had built a bookcase and filled it with second-hand books, then hung photographs that looked like someone’s family, but wasn’t theirs.

“What are we playing?” one of the Patels asked.

“Draw poker,” Izzie said.

“Anything wild?”

“Betty.”

“Who’s Betty?” the Patel asked.

“I mean deuces,” Izzie said. “Deuces are wild.”

The deck played out the way he’d stacked it, with the Patels losing their shirts. They paid up without a beef, and Izzie hid a smile. Their scheme to beat Resorts was simple enough. Every night, he and his brothers scoured the casino, looking for suckers who’d won big, and convince them to come to the house. Then, they’d beat them out of their winnings, but never their stake. It was Resorts’ money they wanted. So far, it had worked like a charm.

When the Patels were gone, Seymour got the strongbox and counted their winnings. Minus expenses, they were ahead twenty thousand bucks. It was the most money they’d ever made.

“I need some fresh air,” Izzie declared.

Izzie went outside. Josh and Seymour followed their older brother into the front yard, where Izzie stood smoking a cigarette. Izzie pointed north, in Resorts’ direction. “For every sucker we bring back, we’re leaving ten inside the casino. I think we should add more games, turn this into a real show.”

“How about craps?” Seymour said.

“Craps would be a winner,” Izzie said. “So would roulette.”

“I’m game,” Seymour said.

“What about the mob?” Josh asked. “We don’t want them finding out.”

The Hirsch brothers had spotted a number of wise guys hanging around Resorts’ bar and restaurants, and had figured the mob was running a scam inside the casino. Dealing with the mob was like dealing with a mean dog; if you stayed off their turf, the mob left you alone. If you didn’t, they bit you hard.

Izzie finished his cigarette. “We have to tip-toe around the mob, make sure they don’t catch wind of us. I still think we should do it.”

“I agree,” Seymour said.

“Sounds great, except for one thing,” Josh said.

“What’s that?”

“Betty.”

“What about her?”

“You’ve been talking to her, haven’t you?”

Izzie jabbed his forefinger in Josh’s chest. “Don’t talk about Betty.”

“You’ve got to stop sneaking off, and calling her.”

“Why should I?”

“Because Betty’s bad news, that’s why.”

“Don’t talk about Betty like that. Ever.”

“Bad news Betty. It sort of rhymes.”

“I don’t even want you saying her name.”

“Betty, Betty, Betty.”

Izzie tripped Josh, then fell on top of him on the grass. Izzie never fought with his hands. He couldn’t throw a punch without risking breaking a finger, and putting them out of commission for a few months. They grappled and grunted like a pair of Greco-Roman wrestlers. Seymour went inside and got a bottle of pop from the fridge, then sat on the stoop and drank it while watching his brothers hash it out. Ten minutes later, they stopped out of sheer exhaustion. Their clothes were ruined, and Josh’s nose was a bloody mess.

“Promise you won’t say her name again,” Izzie said.

“Betty, Betty, Betty!” Josh said.

Then they started fighting again.