Page 15 of Phoenix Fire

“You're welcome. It has not been shared with many people.”

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, touched it with a feathery kiss.

“Oh, by the way,” he added, with a schoolboy grin, “you give me a great deal of pleasure as well, Jenny Anne. After we see 'Apple Brown Betty' maybe you can do some talking, like, what gives you pleasure and what you want out of life. Seems only fair.”

Jason exited the freeway, made a few turns, and headed toward a distant mountain. A huge dust devil seemed to be leading their way a hundred yards ahead and to their right.

Chapter Ten

Danzetti smiled a crooked smile as he accepted the cash from Carlton Prince. Meticulously and slowly he counted the bills and checked the denominations.

“It's all there, Danzetti, dammit! Please take it and go. It is not comfortable meeting you here.”

Danzetti paused briefly to cock his eyebrow toward Carlton and smile a menacing smile. Finally, he completed his counting.

They stood in the carpeted area just outside the men's room of the Beefeater's Restaurant. They were much too exposed for Carlton Prince. He wanted the short, squat, darkly sinister man to be out of his sight. Danzetti looked for all the world like the stereotypical thug Carlton remembered from movies and books. Carlton could not leave because Danzetti was blocking his way. Carlton was cornered between the cigarette machine and the joining juncture of walls.

Enjoying the drama, the slow and methodical motion of his action, Danzetti pocketed the money. Someone was just emerging from the men's room. Without any words and with crab-like movement, Danzetti turned to his left and allowed Carlton his access for exiting. A sneer was pasted on his ugly acne scarred face.

Carlton went straight to the bar and ordered a Manhattan on the rocks. He would not leave the restaurant until he was sure that Danzetti had gone. He sighed into his highball glass. Finally, it was over. He would not get himself into this mess again. There would be no more dealings with Lupo and the likes of Danzetti. He saw from the large back bar mirror the image of Danzetti moving toward the front door of the restaurant.

Carlton gulped down his Manhattan in two swallows and ordered another. Danzetti was gone. The bastard!

Carlton began to relax. The sweat on his palms and in the pits under his arms began to dissipate. A second Manhattan helped considerably in the relaxation process. He decided that he should have a third, one for the road, as they say.

Yes, the ugly business was over. How had he allowed himself to get so absorbed in such a sordid world of thugs?

The answer, he thought, was easy. Gambling! He liked to gamble, and, who controlled gambling? Crooks, gangsters, thugs. He must have known this going in. He was not a naive bumpkin and an easy mark. Or, was he? Of course, he was not.

It had all started innocently enough. Yes, of course, he thought, 'innocently!' Hell, he had dropped twenty thousand dollars the first shot. That was not too damned innocent, thank you very much. But, then, he had come back, and, wow! Fairly big, he had won. For a while, he had won, a very short 'while.'

He sat on the bar stool, thinking. Who had introduced him to the first private game? Sheila’s friend, Joanna Snead? Well, more or less, she had set it up, through her boyfriend, Larry. They were all out for dinner in Scottsdale, some sort of Mensa group affair. Ha! That was rich! A Mensa group dinner led him into gambling. Well, extrapolation came easy these days. Actually, Larry had introduced him to Lupo. Lupo was an intriguing character and had invited him to a private game at someone's house in Carefree. Wonder of wonders! A damned gangster at a Mensa group dinner. So what! Really! Gangsters were everywhere, taking a piece of everybody's pie.

That's how it began. A fun adventure! Checking out the wild side of life! He had never done much gambling, just a bit in college. He had gotten caught up in the drama and excitement of it all. He had learned the nuances --- the bluffing, the dark glasses, the down-turned mouth feigning a bad hand, the quick darting eyes, the snide little smiles, the sweaty brows, the whole body language repertoire. He got to the point where he thought he was pretty damned good with the nuances.

That's when 'they' began taking him to hell in that proverbial hand basket. That's when 'they' got him hooked. He was playing in all the private games. They were all good poker games, no 'piss in the sink' or 'baseball' or any of the sissy juvenile games. They were good poker games with no wild cards: jacks or better; five-card stud; seven-card stud; progressive; low ball, straight draw, open on your guts, dealer's choice. All, a real gambler's poker options. He loved all the true 'no frill' poker games.

When he started losing, he did it in a very big way. No small stuff for Carlton Prince. Just the big ante stuff for him, all the way. And, Mr. Lupo? Good ole Mr. Lupo? Well, he was just, what? Mr. Lupo was just omnipresent, that's all. He was at all the private games, always there to give a marker, to help out. He was such a nice guy, a real gentleman He dressed elegantly and spoke the way he dressed. He was a man Carlton could trust. Lupo was a man to whom Carlton could show off a bit, show off his big stakes gambling style. Lupo was a man with whom Carlton could laugh and joke, share a drink, a real pal in the lurch, always there with the markers. A first class guy, Mr. Lupo!

In that old pig's eye!

Carlton decided on a fourth Manhattan. They were tasting really good, and he was feeling so much better. The nasty business was over. Over, and out. Finis. 'Taps' was playing. 'God Bless America' TV sign off music was playing. All over!

Well, it turned out that good old elegantly dressed trustworthy buddy-buddy Mr. Lupo was also omnipotent as well as omnipresent. When Carlton had gotten in so deep, too deep, his playing became too defensive. He lost big and he lost often. Someone told him, “scared money don't win,” and he had told that someone to go diddle himself. His money was not scared. He had plenty of money, an unlimited source. But Mr. Lupo lost his understanding and his patience. He called in all his markers too damned fast.

There was Mr. Danzetti suddenly showing up at the games, an aberration in the crowd, someone who could get your attention. Mr. Danzetti had that intimidating aura, the muscle. Oh, yes, he was a big time attention getter. He was a creep!

All of a sudden Carlton had begun borrowing large sums of money from Grandmother Wimsley. Then, the awful thing happened. He saw the ease with which he could set up at work a bogus account, then, two bogus accounts, even, more bogus accounts. From these accounts he could siphon off some needed dollars. At first he was so nervous, setting up that first bogus account. He must have been nuts, diseased, doing something like that! Then, it got easier to do. He had himself covered. He could correct any problem situation that might come up. Sure, Grandmother Wimsley could be getting a bit suspicious, but she would not let him flounder. If it got too tough she would bail him out.

He would not let it come to that. He could find the control button before things went too far. He knew what he was doing. He had borrowed money from grandmother for his 'look good' investments, and, well, investments went south sometimes.

Now he was clear. Lupo's markers had all been made good. He was free of Lupo and Danzetti. He could begin to focus on those bogus accounts and get them off the books.

Carlton was only peripherally aware of the people around him in the crowded bar area, only remotely connected to the tinkle of glasses, the noise from the cash registers, the laughter and singing from the piano bar. The bartender had broken into his thoughts for a drink order, but he had lost track of time.

The fourth Manhattan relaxed him so much that he began to have flashbacks from his past. He thought of Jason, brother good, true, a brother he should acknowledge more than he did. For some reason, he recalled the camp out days with Jason and his grandparents. They had enjoyed those times so thoroughly, romping, playing among the cacti, scrub brush, sand, and pebbles. They were closer then. A melancholic smile came to his lips in the remembering.

The death of his parents had crippled him emotionally in ways he could not fully grasp, but his grandparents had helped him immeasurably through that rough passage. He knew that. But what had happened to him and Jason? Their relationship? It was some slight, perhaps erroneously perceived by Carlton, some conjured up favoritism shown to Jason by his grandparents, something vague and illusive. It was not fair to think in these terms of his brother and his grandparents. They were fair to him, more than fair, all of them. It was he, Carlton, who, for some inscrutable reason, had drifted away, had gotten off the family path.

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