Chapter 5
The sun streamed in through the window, playing on Bob's face. He lay flat on his back on the floor, and as his eyes struggled open, he was bewildered. It took him a full minute to orient himself to his surroundings. He finally figured that he had fallen out of bed sometime in the night, and had just lain there in a drunken stupor.
He sat up and looked over at the bed. Both women were sound asleep, breathing noisily, completely out of it. He rubbed his face and ran his hands through his hair, a crooked smile crossing his face. Some night! she thought. Really something, the way Connie broke the ice with Laura!
He picked himself up off the floor and fumbled his way into his rumpled clothes. He didn't want to awaken either woman. He hoped that after he left, Laura would wake up and, finding herself alone with Connie, really would go back for another hot lovemaking session with her. Bob wished he could have a picture of Laura's face when she woke up in the arms of another woman! And when she remembered what had happened, he'd like to be able to peer into her mind!
Bob walked out quietly, closing the door carefully. He hurried to his apartment and changed clothes, pausing to carefully count the stack of money before he put it into his wallet. He felt good, If the game was going yet, he would really teach those suckers how to play cards. He made a call to Manny, and was told that he was at a game that was being held at Jerry Morgan's place. Morgan owned a garage and filling station, and on the second floor, he had a room that was often used by the poker playing bunch. He also had a craps table that he'd built, and it was one of the action places that the local gamblers liked.
In spite of a slight hangover, Bob felt lighthearted as he drove to the garage. It had been a strangely thrilling night for him. He'd never been with two women at the same time, and it had really turned him on. He hoped that they really went for each other when they awoke, because he wanted more sexy sessions like that.
That was really all Laura needed was a little shaking up. She had responded readily enough, once Connie had got working on her. Hell, she wasn't any different than most women, once she dropped that holier-than-thou attitude.
He parked his car and made his way up the back stairs that led to the gaming room.
When he walked in, a hand was just finishing and the men began to heckle him in a good-natured way.
"Well, if it isn't lover boy himself!" One mocked.
"Yeah, Connie's latest playmate," another laughed.
"How is she, Bob? Still a good lay?"
Bob waved his hand at them and pretended he was insulted. "You don't have to tell the whole world about it. Move over and make room for a good poker player." He dragged up a chair and they made room for him.
The men quieted down quickly and the entire mood became tense. The cards weren't going good for Bob, and in less than an hour, he was out almost three hundred dollars. He was becoming surly and impatient, and the angrier he got at the way his luck was running, the worse he played.
He drank beer steadily. Jerry had a refrigerator in the room that the players kept stocked with beer by kicking in a couple of dollars after each game.
After three hours, there were only four players left, and Bob was down to two hundred dollars. He began pressing, trying to force the others to drop out by constantly raising their bets, but it wasn't working. When he lost a sizable pot, Bob angrily threw his cards on the table, gathered up his money - a hundred and twenty dollars - and left.
It broke up the game, but Bob was feeling the beers and he was beginning to worry a bit. If he went broke this time, he didn't know where he could raise any money. He couldn't borrow anymore on the motel and he was wearing out his borrowing power among his friends. He swore that he wouldn't do anymore borrowing' from Joe Wilkins. Joe was a loan shark, and rumor had it that he was a member of the syndicate. It was also rumored that Joe had much of the illegal betting action such as football pools and a bookmaking operation that handled all the tracks.
It was a known fact that he was behind a bordello that had existed for years, because he had been arrested and convicted and served time for this operation, and the house had been closed.
Ostensibly, Joe made a living from a used-furniture shop that had to be on the up-and-up, because the police were constantly checking on him because of his former activities.
And it was Joe who had pressured Bob for the payment that had forced him to take out the second mortgage. No open threats had been made, but word had been passed by some of the known hoods and sharpies that Wilkins wasn't a good guy to fall behind in payments with.
But as he fingered the last of his money, Bob was mulling over the idea of perhaps visiting Wilkins - they called him "The Barber" - if and when he found himself broke again. He didn't have much choice, he knew, for the motel was a dead issue as far as borrowing - or making money. He wished in a vague way that he had used the money wisely that he had borrowed, to put in the needed improvements that would attract more customers. But that was crying over spilt milk. He hoped that when the track opened in two weeks, in the heart of the vacation season, that the motel would be jammed, and he would at least have access to some money to try to hit the jackpot with the bangtails when they held forth for a couple of months.
It was typical of Bob's thinking that, although he was walking a precipice of financial disaster, he never thought about what sort of job he might take to add a steady income to the motel's intake. He knew it, but would not admit it even to himself, that he was incurably hooked on gambling. He had even toyed with the thought of going to Las Vegas or Reno, to become a part of the gamblimjscene ... the big time.
He knew, however, that he wouldn't ever make it there, and he had stubbornly decided that he would be the giant in his own home territory. He didn't know how, but he knew he would wind up being a big name in local gambling. He fancied himself as an operator, much more shrewd than any of the others with whom he gambled ... smarter, even, than Wilkins and the phantom-like figures who reputedly backed him.
Bob had an idea forming in the back of his mind. He had always been able to make out with women. He didn't know why the thoughts of Wilkins' whorehouse had crossed his mind, but he wondered vaguely why he hadn't made some of his sexual charm and virile sex powers pay off for him. Instead, he had married the beautiful, but wishy-washy Laura ... and in his secret thoughts, he knew that he had let the idea of her inheriting the motel influence his feelings. Oh, Laura was pretty, but it had been a hassle to even get her to let him feel her tits, when they had gone together, and she was really a virgin when they had married.
Without realizing it, Bob had begun to walk, his head down, deep in thought. When he became aware of how far he had walked, mulling over plans to make some fast money, he found that he was in front of Larry's Bar and Grill... one of the hotspots of the town, where a lot of bar pickups were available most of the time.
He was thirsty, disgruntled and in a quandary, and he headed in, noting the three girls that sat at the bar, along with seven men. Other couples were scattered about the place at the small tables. It was a reputedly rough place, with a lot of fights and a few police raids, but the women that hung around the place drew the studs from around town ... married or single.
He ordered a beer and eyed the chicks. He knew one, a girl named Sally, who was sitting alone. He told the bartender to give her a drink, and as he mixed it, Bob moved down the bar and sat beside her. She recognized him and raised the drink he'd bought, not saying a word, but smiling invitingly.
"What's doing later on?" Bob asked, grinning at her.
"Nothing that involves you, Bob." She said it without rancor, in a matter-of-fact way.
"What the hell does that mean?" She had taken him by surprise.
"You're a loser, Bobby boy." Again, Sally said it as if it were a published and authenticated fact.
"Who says so?" he snapped back, rapidly losing his patience.
"Everybody who knows you. For instance ... " Sally looked archly at him from the corner of heir eye, "you're running the motel into the ground ... borrowing ... begging..."
He frowned, wondering where she was getting all her information. He knew that some of the guys he bummed with often took Sally to bed ... when they had an extra twenty to spare ... but nobody but his wife knew about him taking out the second mortgage to pay off his gambling debts!
"I don't owe one damned dime in this town!" he exploded.
Sally shrugged and sipped at her drink. "That not the way I hear. I hear that Joe Wilkins has a hammerlock on the motel."
"Where the hell do you get all this shit?"
Bob's voice was loud now, causing the others at the bar to peer at him curiously.
"He's a friend of mine," Sally said calmly. It flashed across Bob's mind that Sally had worked at the joint that Joe had been jailed for running! Friend? She'd probably sucked his cock a hundred times! And made thousands of bucks for the guy!
He suddenly remembered what he had originally been contemplating when he had come into the bar. He decided to plunge into the deep water. Smothering his anger, he said boldly, "You're a hustler, Sally ... what would you think of working for me ... at the motel?"
Her eyes widened in disbelief as she swung about to stare at him. "You've got to be kidding!" she snorted. "You just don't open up a place around here on your own! You wouldn't last a week!"
"What are you talking about?" Bob was genuinely puzzled by her statement.
She looked at him, shaking her head in wonder at his naivete. "Look, dummy, selling fresh female meat is big business! You need connections. You just don't go off on your own with the 'local boy makes good' thing!"
It slowly dawned on him that she was talking about the syndicate. But who the hell knew any contacts in that direction, even if he did want to go that route?
"I see what you mean ..." Bob said softly. He sipped at his beer, aware that she was eyeing him closely.
"Are you serious?" Sally asked, still dubious about his sanity.
He shrugged. "I been kicking the idea around... that's all. Forget it. I'll see you around." He got up and walked out, wishing he hadn't even mentioned it to her. She had a big mouth, and some fancy ideas that she was the best fuck in the whole area.
He felt suddenly alone, and reckless. He walked rapidly now, heading back for Jerry's garage. There might still be enough guys around to get a game going, or else he might take Jerry himself for a couple of bucks at gin rummy. Jerry thought he was the best gin player in the world, and he seldom turned down a game.
He was in luck. There were four there, just playing some plain rummy for quarters, and he made enough for a halfway decent game. He reminded himself that he had only a little over a hundred left, and that he should play them smart, and let the others make the mistakes.
He didn't like that kind of poker, but he forced himself to play cautious, and inside an hour, he had picked up over a hundred in winnings. He felt a little more confident. As the time wore on, two more players joined the game and the action picked up considerably.
He had good hands and bad, and he played them well, but after about three hours, he was back down to about a hundred and fifty dollars.
He was debating whether to call it quits for the time being, or go all out and try to make a good hit, when he saw a man enter whose face was vaguely familiar. He was swarthy, sharply dressed, and had a slight cast to one eye. His name came to Bob in a flash - Mike Calucci - a flunky for Wilkins. He walked straight to Bob and stood staring down at him, cold-eyed, cocksure.
"The Barber wants to see you." His voice was as cold as his eyes. "Now!"
Bob bridled. He didn't like being ordered around, especially by strangers.
"What for? I'm off the hook to him." He protested.
Calucci shrugged. "He wants to see you. I-gave the message. I don't explain. At the store." He turned and walked out, casting a sour glance at the rest of the card players.
Bob sat frowning after him. What could Wilkins want with him? He'd paid him off to the penny. Yet, there was something in the manner of the messenger that warned Bob he'd better find out. He pocketed his money and left, getting into his car and driving to Wilkins's shop. When he walked in, Joe was waiting. He motioned Bob to follow him into his small office.
As Bob sat down opposite the old-fashioned, carved desk behind which Wilkins seated himself, his face was worried. He had never liked Joe, nor felt at ease in his presence. Now the dark-eyed money-lender was eyeing him quizzically. He said suddenly, "Want a drink, gambler?" It surprised Bob and he mumbled, "Yeah, I could use one."
He reached for a bottle of scotch and poured a hefty shot into a tumbler, handing it toc Bob without ice, or an apology. Bob felt small as he sipped at the warm liquor. He kept his eyes fastened upon the beady ones of The Barber, wondering what he had done to incur the obvious animosity that oozed from the man.
Wilkins reached into his coat pocket and took out a thick, legal-appearing piece of paper. He tossed it upon the desk and said in a low, confident voice, "You owe a lot of money, man."
Bob set his drink down and looked at the paper. It was the first mortgage on the motel! It stunned him. He held it weakly in his hands and stammered, "but... I... I.. . don't owe that to you!"
"No?" The Barber said sardonically, "Maybe not, but you owe it to ... some friends of mine. And..." his tone turned nasty and he leaned forward menacingly, "they want the money!"
"Come on!" Bob blurted. "They can't do that! That's a fifteen year mortgage!"
"And you've defaulted by being late at least seven times in the past couple of years. That makes the principal sum due upon demand! You didn't know that, huh?" Joe gloated.
"I... I..." Bob floundered, "...what's this all about?"
"Glad you asked." Joe said jauntily. "As I said, some friends of mine bought up the note ... and ... they also bought up the second mortgage you took out a week ago. That tell you something?" He peered at Bob, who hastily gulped a slug of the whiskey, white-faced, now.
"All you've got to do is to give me your gold-plated signature of these papers..." he reached into his desk drawer and drew out two bills of sale, "... and you don't owe a dime! How's that for a deal?"
Bob gulped. He didn't understand, and his stare was blank.
"In fact, you can sign yourself into a real nice job, for a cunt-hound like you!" Joe continued. "You just turn over the motel to one of our companies, and you and your wife can stay on and manage the place. Now, isn't that a fair deal?"
Bob was stunned. He still didn't know what the idea behind all this was. Why would some company buy up the mortgages, then offer him a job as a manager?
Joe cleared up the question.
"Sally called me awhile ago. Said you were interested in opening a whorehouse, pal!"
Sally! She had talked to The Barber. The big-mouthed slut!
Joe waved a hand airily. "Don't get your shit hot, pal. We already had ideas of our own, but when you let her know that you were thinking of opening your own little girlie joint, it made it that much easier. So, you sign up, you're in the clear on the mortgages, and you manage for us! How's that sound?"
Bob was still in a daze. It was all happening as if in a dream. He'd toyed with the idea, and now, here it was, right in his lap.
"Of course, we'll fix up the joint.. . put a nice cocktail bar on the grounds, spruce it up ... " He offered a cigar, and Bob took it numbly. "That joint is a lemon, pal, and you know it. Now, you got a chance to really make some good dough. Of course . .. one of our boys will be there from time to time, to check up on things ... you know . .. but in the long run, you'll come out way on top. What about it?"
It was a demand, not a request, and Bob knew it. He had no choice. But... his mind was telling him ... why not? It could be the best deal he'd ever made in his life! It solved all his probleMs. No more debts. A steady income. And a lot of time to himself to play cards with the guys ... visit the track when it was open ... be recognized around town as a part of the syndicate, even!
"Just don't get any ideas of making a few grand on the side," The Barber warned sharply. "You'll get a nice chunk every week, and all the pussy you can take care of... when it isn't busy making money. You just be a good boy and you'll do fine, but don't try to outsmart anybody ... okay?"
He shoved out a pen and the' bills of sale.
Bob's hand was trembling as he signed the papers and shoved them back. His smile was haggard as he said in his most friendly, but toady manner, "Okay, Joe ... let's have a good drink to it!"