The Digger's Game (13 page)

“I pull up a stool at the high-stakes,” the Digger said. “I pull out the roll which Sonny Siebert’s nice enough
to get for me. Girl starts dealing the cards. Barmaid comes along, would I like a drink. Sure. I get a very tall screwdriver. Playing along, ten bucks a hand, staying about even, girl keeps bringing screwdrivers, I keep drinking them, tipping her with chips, and I stay and I stay and I stay. This new dealer comes on. Nice set of boobs, nothing like the monsters inna bar, but she’s about thirty, they’re cranked up nice and high there, I can look at them as long as I play. I play. I tip the barmaid a few more chips. All of a sudden it’s daylight. I had about eighty dollars’ worth of screwdrivers if you count what I tip the broad for them, probably a pint and a half of vodka in me, no food, and I’m losing.

“Jesus Christ am I losing,” the Digger said. “I’m in a panic. I go up to twenty, got to get it all back. Sox don’t play before we leave, no way I can get it back off them. Girl with the nice boobs leaves and this other one comes on, got a mouth she got in a store, very mean mouth. Deals just as fast, and I can’t
buy
a hand.

“I think it’s about eight in the morning,” the Digger said, “Mikey-mike comes in, been out getting laid, three hundred bucks and they kept him leaping around all night and he’s
all
shot. Not as bad as me, though. Comes up, says, ‘Digger, Jesus, you don’t look so good. What happened, your face? You been up all night.’

“That finally makes me get up,” the Digger said. “See, you want to talk to somebody, you gotta get up and leave the place, somebody else can lose his shirt. Mikey-mike says, ‘You look down, Dig. You lose the five you win, right?’ Yeah. ‘I hope you didn’t go around signing no more things, there.’ I pull out the paper. ‘How much, Dig?’ I don’t know. I can’t even tell him. He stops right there, we’re inna middle of the casino
and all these dead people’re playing the machines and stuff, inna corner somebody jackpots and the lights’re flashing and everybody goes whoop, whoop, whoop, and he counts and I stand there. ‘Thirteen, Dig, that include the five?’ Uh uh.”

“What the fuck’d you do?” the Greek said.

“Look,” the Digger said, “I couldn’t kill myself, all them cocksuckers around, they wouldn’t’ve paid no attention. Don’t do me no good, eat the paper. All I got’s copies. I’m sick and I’m drunk the second time in a day and I don’t have nothing on my stomach, I just look at him. He says, ‘Come on, Dig, time to go home.’ I slept all morning and they got me up and load me on the plane and I slept on the plane and we get home, I go down to Mondo’s there and I have breakfast and coffee and I come home, sleep about ten more hours, get up and I said to myself, ‘All right, professional fuckin’ dumb shit, you’re inna jam. You been inna jam before, you got out. Let’s see how we get out of this one.’ ”

“I’d be interested to hear what you come up with,” the Greek said. “You got a little problem here. It isn’t like, I don’t understand and all, but still, Dig …”

“Whaddaya mean, I got a problem?” the Digger said. “This, this’s Tuesday. Friday I got a problem. I got two days before I got a problem.”

“Friday you got two weeks of problem,” the Greek said. “I can’t give you no special consideration, Dig, you know that, but, well, I’m not nailing you no vig for last week, today. Friday, Friday you owe for two.”

“Uh uh,” the Digger said, “you’re late. That’s your tough shit. I was right here Friday. Nobody come around, see me about no paper. You can’t sit there, tell me, you don’t come around, I’m supposed to send a
check to somebody, I don’t even know who’s got the paper, is that it? None of that shit.”

“Dig,” the Greek said, “Friday you owed the money the hotel.”

“Right,” the Digger said. “Way things’re going, this week too, most likely. But I didn’t owe it to you last Friday, because if I did, you would’ve been around. I don’t see the hotel here. They come around, I’ll deal with them. You, no juice for last week.”

“Dig,” the Greek said, “fair, okay? You lost the money. You don’t pay the money, you pay the vig. I got to pay the vig, you gotta pay the vig me. That’s the way it is.”

“Greek,” the Digger said, “you’re a nice guy, I like you and you always treated me all right. I don’t, I don’t blame you for nothing, all right?”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” the Greek said. “I always thought, I was saying …”

“But you’re a fuckin’
liar
,” the Digger said. “You being an old buddy and all, I don’t like to say it, but it’s God’s honest truth. You’re a fuckin’ liar and that’s all there is to it.”

“Dig,” the Greek said, “I hope we’re not gonna have trouble here, all these years, account a simple matter of business.”

“Me fuckin’ too,” the Digger said. “But you don’t owe no vig the hotel, and I know it, because I checked up on it and I know. You don’t owe no vig the hotel. There’s just one thing you gotta do: you gotta front the money back. That’s all. They stand you thirty-sixty-ninety, just like you went into Kennedy’s and bought a fuckin’ suit. There ain’t no vig, the hotel. I checked it. So don’t gimme no more of that shit.”

“Yeah?” the Greek said. “And where the fuck I get the money, the hotel? You want to tell me that? I’ll tell you. I get it, my business’s where I get it. I gotta get vig on dough I don’t collect, I gotta pay out. I don’t care what anybody told you, I gotta pay outa my regular cash. Who told you?”

“This angel,” the Digger said, “come to me in a fuckin’ dream. The fuck do I care, problems you got in your business? I got problems, my business, too. I come around and tell you, no dough this week, I got business things? No. Guys forget, ring up the beer, drivers leave nineteen cases, charge twenny, I don’t come bitching to you. The vig starts when the paper’s onna deck. Not before. You got some kinda problem with the hotel, that’s between you and them. Nothing to do with me.”

“Dig,” the Greek said, “right this minute, today, you owe me six hundred. Not Friday. Today. Friday, twelve. Six and eighteen today, twelve and eighteen Friday. Now, how you gonna pay, or am I gonna have a problem with you?”

“Six?” the Digger said. “More shit? What’s this six?”

“I’m doing you a favor,” the Greek said. “Six is low.”

“You think I’m a fuckin’ chump, Greek,” the Digger said. “I dunno as I go for that. You think you’re gonna whack me six on eighteen and I’m gonna sit still for a screwing like that, I’m just gonna fuckin’ let you
do
it to me? You know who you’re talking to? I’m gonna take your fuckin’
head
off and serve it on a fuckin’
platter
to my fuckin’
dog
, is what I’m gonna do, and I haven’t even
got
a fuckin’ dog. I’m gonna have to go out and
buy
one, and I will, too, Greek, you know me, you know.”

“Digger,” the Greek said.

“Digger fuckin’ nothin’,” the Digger said, “horsing around with me like that. You’re gonna juice me over three points a week on eighteen? You know the fuckin’ rate’s about two over five hundred. You know that. Bloom gives me eighteen for four big ones, I called him. I’ll get it off Bloom. Fuck you. You’re throwing shit at me. You come in here looking for money, I’m willing to give you money, I didn’t think you’re trying to make a fool out of me. You, you’re gonna have a mouthful of
teeth
pretty soon, and they’re all gonna be
loose
in there. I thought I was crazy, blowing the eighteen. You’re crazier’n I am, trying to shit me.”

“This is no shit, Dig,” the Greek said.

“You better change some things, then,” the Digger said, “some of the way you’re thinking.
Nobody
shits me and lives. Nobody shits the Digger.”

“Friday,” the Greek said, “I’m coming back here. Twelve big ones from you, and I see you the next one. Otherwise, eighteen, and six big ones.”

“Greek,” the Digger said, “Friday I’ll be here. You get eighteen and six big ones. But there is no way inna fuckin’ world you see twelve big ones Friday. No way inna world.”

“You’re pushing me,” the Greek said. “I run a business. You know that. The juice’s six. It’s the normal. You signed the fuckin’ papers. You pay the fuckin’ rate. Everybody gets treated the same.”

“Everybody that don’t, that don’t know he’s being shitted and can do something about it,” the Digger said. “I know, see, that’s the difference, and I can do something about it, too. Try me out, Greek. I’m not one of your dumb shits, and you think I am, you think I changed, this oughta be fun after all.”

“I’m not gonna fuckin’
argue
with you,” the Greek said. “Friday I come in for the twelve. You haven’t got the fuckin’ eighteen and I know it. Maybe then you’ll be ready, talk sense, I got some work I could put your way. Maybe we can straighten this thing out.”

“I’ll be here,” the Digger said. “Come in. I think now I’m looking forward to it.”

“M
ARTY, LOOK
,” the Digger said. He sat in the Saratoga Club, members only. It was a long, narrow room on the second floor of a three-story building near the North Station. It was open at three twenty-five
A.M
.

Marty Jay had heavy jowls and fat cheeks; his eyes were large, almost bulging. He had very little hair. From time to time he wiped his skull with a maroon silk handkerchief, and the hairs stood up in swirls.

“I seen the Greek today,” the Digger said. “Yesterday. I went to work, the Greek comes in. The Greek’s got the paper.”

“Huh,” Jay said, “I figured Bloom for that operation. Looked to me like something Bloom’d be interested in doing.”

“It was Bloom,” the Digger said, “things’d be different. It ain’t Bloom. It’s the Greek.”

“I wonder how come the Greek,” Jay said. “Richie’s got that. He’s got some piano player in there, but it’s Richie’s. He never had no respect for the Greek. I wonder how come it’s the Greek. I would’ve figured Bloom.”

“It was Bloom,” the Digger said, “I wouldn’t be here.”

“Maybe Bloom’s sick,” the fat man said. “Jesus, that’s all we need, Bloom sick. That’d really fuck it.”

“Bloom’s not sick,” the Digger said. “Bloom’s around. He’s not in it, is all.”

“Huh,” the fat man said. “Well, okay, Bloom’s all right. What’s the Greek want?”

“Six on eighteen,” the Digger said.

“You’re shittin’ me,” Jay said. “From you the Greek wants that? Infuckincredible.”

“No shit,” the Digger said.

“Oh for Christ sake,” Jay said, “it’s three a week, three points, and you cut it down. Five is right on eighteen. You, he oughta go you four. He’s crazy.”

“That’s the Greek,” the Digger said.

“Small shit,” the fat man said. “Always was. I wonder why the fuck, Richie gets the Greek. I wouldn’t touch the Greek with a pole if I was drownin’. You know something?”

“No,” the Digger said.

“Things’re all fucked up in this town with the shys, Mister Green dead and all.”

“Mister Green’s not dead,” the Digger said. “You got a thing, you’re dropping people off tonight.”

“Mister Green’s doing twenty down to Atlanta,” Jay said. “If that ain’t dead, it’s close enough.”

“Oh,” the Digger said, “well, and that. I agree with you.”

“Fuckin’ guys,” Jay said, “the only thing they want, get their name inna paper. Go charging around and they’re doing this and they’re doing that, ends up, you got the Greek doing things, he don’t understand. Lemme tell you, Dig, somebody’s gonna get hurt, result of this. Nobody gets hurt, Mister Green’s running things, things’re always quiet and nice. Now? Shit.”

“Look,” the Digger said, “I’m not payin’ the Greek no six.”

“I don’t blame you,” Jay said.

“Well,” the Digger said, “I gotta do something. I got five. I need thirteen.”

“Shit,” Jay said, “see Bloom. Bloom’ll use you all right. Bloom’s fair.”

“Yeah,” the Digger said, “but then I gotta pay Bloom.”

“What’s Bloom want?” Jay said.

“Like you said,” the Digger said, “four on eighteen. But I, I gotta wipe it up. I gotta get the thirteen, I’m into Bloom, I take it, I either take eighteen and use the five for vig, I find something, else I gotta take thirteen and I use the five, I gotta find something, get dough for Bloom next week, you know?”

“Well,” Jay said, “I mean, you owe the dough.”

“Sure,” the Digger said, “and I gotta get the dough. I got to do something.”

“Don’t make no waves, Dig,” Jay said. “You start making waves, somebody’s down to Atlanta. You, I thought you’re retired. Better stay retired. Things’re too hot. You’re liable, somebody else’s gonna go down Atlanta, you stir them bastards up.”

“Marty,” the Digger said, “I did something for Mickey.”

“I
heard
that,” Jay said. “I didn’t believe it. ‘Not the Digger,’ I say, ‘Digger’s retired.’ You unretired?”

“I told you, Marty,” the Digger said, “I need dough.”

“What’d Mickey give you?” Jay said.

“Fifteen big ones,” the Digger said.

“Not bad,” Jay said. “That particular piece of work, I would’ve, I think three’d be about right, but hell, I hadda guy, take fifteen, I would’ve taken it myself. Good old Mickey. Guys like you buy him them Jags and the broads and all. Everybody’s nice to Mickey.”