Reply Hazy, Try Again.
by Bill Prindle
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4 |
part 3
For two months, it was peaceful at home. Paulie was content with getting Billy’s occasional sure-fire tips. Employing his new, more disciplined but still losing betting system, Paulie’s winnings were piling up faster than he could gamble them away. Billy had no inkling when the 8-Ball was going to deliver a prediction, but it seemed to happen just after Paulie had a few big losses.
Billy regularly asked the 8-Ball, “Do you have a winning horse for me?”
But the 8-Ball had its own timetable for doling out winners. Billy’s too frequent requests received the usual answers: “Reply hazy; try again,” or “Ask again later,” or “Concentrate and ask again,” which Billy did to no avail. When it finally revealed a horse’s name, Billy immediately told Paulie, who would bet and win. When he knew he had a winner, Paulie sometimes borrowed from loan sharks because he knew he’d be able to pay them back when he played Billy’s tips.
Teresa still wondered if Paulie had really given up gambling. Even though he was being more attentive, bringing home what he made at Lucky’s, and not staying out all hours, she remained guarded. As for his winnings, Paulie had squirreled the cash away in the attic and garage. He had decided that for now, laying low and accumulating the money was better than spending it. And he had started making big plans.
Paulie kept pushing Billy for more picks, but Billy told him it was no use. One day, over Billy’s protests, he ordered Billy to close his eyes and run his finger down the list of horses. Paulie bet on the selected horse and lost.
But at the beginning of May, as the weather grew fairer and track conditions improved, the 8-Ball seemed to have a change of heart and started delivering two, three, or even four winners a week. Most of them went off at short odds, and the returns weren’t that great, but the horses the 8-Ball picked performed as predicted. Paulie abandoned his system and bet exclusively on Billy’s picks. With each bet, he’d risk large amounts of his previous winnings, doubling and redoubling his money.
Paulie insisted Billy continue betting his own money as well until Billy had accumulated almost two thousand dollars. He’d abandoned the cigar box under the floorboard and now hid the cash in three old books he’d hollowed out, a trick he’d learned from an Alistair MacLean spy novel.
Billy knew from the way his stuff had sometimes been moved around, Paulie had been snooping. He also knew Paulie didn’t deposit his winnings in a bank account because then there would be a record of it. So Paulie had to be stashing his money somewhere in the house or garage. One afternoon, when Paulie was at Lucky’s, Billy did some snooping of his own, and his curiosity was rewarded.
* * *
Oddly enough, Billy took no pleasure in the money he’d won and had no desire to spend it. He worried there was something wrong with the way he’d acquired it. The money felt tainted, maybe even cursed. But he had a bigger worry. Even though the 8-Ball had told him to help Paulie and the result had been fewer arguments at home, Billy worried that he and Paulie were headed down a dangerous path that seemed to have no good end in sight.
First of all, Billy would never be able to explain to his mother how he’d come by so much money. His paper route, delivering groceries, and running errands for the neighborhood nonnas brought in barely ten dollars a week. And at this point, Paulie had won so much, Billy grew anxious just thinking about all that money, what Paulie might do with it, and what would happen when his mother found out Paulie was gambling and even worse, that her son was helping him do it.
* * *
One morning after he’d given Paulie another winner, Billy asked, “Are you going to pay off the loan Mom took out?”
Paulie grabbed Billy and shook him so hard he bit his tongue.
“You little strunz! That’s between your mother and me and none of your damned business. Got it?”
Billy couldn’t help it when his eyes welled up. Paulie had really scared him and his tongue was throbbing.
Paulie immediately saw his mistake. “Okay, look, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t’ve said that.” He sounded apologetic. “Besides, I’ve got enough to pay that loan off ten times over. All in good time.
“I got bigger plans for the three of us. I might buy a coupla businesses, you know, or some choice real estate. Maybe we’ll move to Long Island, some place like Oyster Bay, a big house with a swimming pool. How’d you like that?” Billy mumbled he would. “Well, that takes a lot more scarol’. Keep feeding me winners, kid, and you’ll be fartin’ through silk undies. You’ll see.”
* * *
At Lucky’s, most of the customers still regarded Paulie for what he was: a loser, a degenerate gambler. It was agony for him to have won so big and keep it secret, as he’d been warned by Billy.
But he was sick and tired of people thinking he was a loser, so he told himself that Billy had meant the source of the tips had to be a secret, but that he was betting and winning didn’t necessarily have to be a secret, except from Teresa.
When I finally come clean with her, he figured, how can she be upset about all that dough? And it’s not even gambling because there’s zero risk.
One night he was chatting up a regular, Carmine Fiore, a made guy from the Genovese family. Paulie hinted he had a new betting system that was paying off.
Carmine was skeptical. “Paulie, you have sfortuna. You shouldn’t gamble.”
“I’m playing it smart this time.” Paulie tapped the side of his head. “I do my homework. If I don’t like what I come up with, I don’t bet. I haven’t lost a cent in six months. When I bet, it’s a sure thing.”
“Sure things cost you this bar.” Carmine sipped his Johnny Walker Black.
Paulie took a deep breath. “All right. Take a look.” He produced the Daily Racing Form from under the bar and pointed to a name circled in red. “Belmont tomorrow, I’m putting down a grand on Firefly. Bet a couple hundred. You lose, I’ll cover it. How’s that?”
“Why?”
“Hey, we’re friends. I’m trying to work my way back, get some respect.”
Carmine gave Paulie a dubious look but still peeled a hundred dollar bill off his roll. “Here’s a C-note,” he said. “Make me some money.”
When Firefly won, Paulie was up five thousand dollars. Carmine dropped by a few days later and collected his winnings.
“Thanks, Paulie. Let me know when you got another winner.”
A few days later the 8-Ball had a tip at Aqueduct. It only paid three to one, but to impress Carmine, Paulie passed it along. Carmine was grateful and, unbeknownst to Paulie, shared it with his associates.
And so it went for a few months. Paulie didn’t tell Carmine about all the tips he was getting. He’d share one every now and then because he thought he’d impress Carmine that way, like he was saving only the best tips for his pal.
Then 8-Ball began offering winners less frequently, sometimes seven or even ten or more days apart. Paulie asked Billy what was up. Billy said he didn’t know — and he didn’t. The 8-Ball never explained why it did what did.
“Hey, Paulie, cosa c’è? Did the well go dry?” Carmine asked.
“My research takes time,” Paulie answered, “but it pays off.”
Carmine admitted it had. He and his capos had made some nice walking-around money.
As for Paulie, he was so awash in cash now, he didn’t know what to do with it. The experience of winning so often and so much was like being in a foreign land and not knowing the language. He kept telling himself that someday soon he’d go completely legit but had no idea how. He loved thinking about the businesses he’d buy, the big house he’d build, the cars he’d drive, and what a big shot he’d be, but gambling was all he really wanted to do. Winning or losing was incidental. Lately even the thrill of placing a bet had waned. It was about as exciting as going to the bank to cash a check.
* * *
One evening, when Paulie arrived for his shift at Lucky’s, the usually crowded bar was empty. Carmine and four of his guys were sitting at the round table in the center of the room, the late afternoon light slanting through a cloud of cigarette and cigar smoke drifting above them. Joey Two Fingers guarded the door. Carmine gestured for Paulie to sit in the empty chair.
He smiled at Paulie’s uneasy expression. “Relax, Paulie. If we were going to kill you, you’d already be dead.” Carmine’s pals chuckled.
Paulie asked if he could get anyone a drink.
“Maybe later,” Carmine said. “You’re off-duty for now.” He drew on his cigar and exhaled the smoke in a thin stream.
“Paulie, you’re a stand-up guy.” The others nodded in agreement. “You made us some money. For this we are grateful, but we’re curious how you’re doing it.” He glanced around the table. “Here’s why. We’re a bunch greedy degenerates.” Everyone chuckled. “I mean, a lot of horses are running every day, but we don’t have money on them ’cause we’d rather bet on your sure things. Maybe you could help us out with that.”
Paulie cleared his throat and again said how his system took time, but Carmine was shaking his head before Paulie finished.
“Yeah, so you told me. Now, we don’t think you’re holding out on us, do we?” The others shook their heads. “But I still don’t get what kind of system you got that pays off so infrequent.”
Paulie never thought he’d have to offer a better explanation, so he didn’t have much more to say. He shrugged and said, “That’s just the way it is.”
“Not good enough,” said Vinnie Albanese, sitting on Carmine’s right.
Carmine held up a hand, signaling restraint.
Paulie remained silent. The five men smoked, stared at him, and didn’t say anything.
Finally, Paulie said, “If I bet more often, I can’t guarantee results. It’d be like killing the goose that’s laying the golden eggs, know what I mean?”
“We don’t want you to kill no goose. Just a few more eggs — win, place, or show,” said Vinnie.
Carmine leaned back in his chair and parted his hands in a gesture that said he wasn’t asking that much, was he? “You can do that for your friends, can’t you?”
Paulie knew he couldn’t. He’d already pushed Billy for more tips and had gotten nowhere. But he knew he couldn’t tell them no, so he took a chance.
“Tell you what. The Carter Handicap is coming up at Aqueduct. Tom Fool is the big favorite, but I might have the dope on an upset. If I get something good — I mean rock solid — you guys’ll be the first to know.”
Carmine considered the offer and looked around the table.
“Okay. Sounds good. That’s a big race, a lot of money. You get a tip, we go in big. You know what we want.” He rapped on the table. “Now you can get us that drink.”
* * *
“Billy, get down here — now!”
Billy placed a bookmark in his copy of Treasure Island and picked up the 8-Ball. It had been eight days since the last winner, and he hoped a name would appear in the window to get Paulie off his back. Sure enough, a name floated into view. He joined Paulie at the kitchen table where he’d spread out the racing form.
“I need a winner for the Carter Handicap.”
“How many times do I have to tell you, it doesn’t work that way.”
Paulie yanked Billy’s arm so hard Billy felt something pop. “You watch your mouth, buddy boy.”
“I only get a name. Not the race.” Billy’s right shoulder was throbbing.
“I know, but I need a winner for this race or there might be trouble.”
Billy asked what kind of trouble, and Paulie said how he’d shared a couple of tips with his friends, and they wanted more, especially for the Handicap.
“You were supposed to keep it a secret. You promised.”
Paulie said it was still a secret, just more people knew about it. “Come on, what you got?”
“I’ll try.” Billy closed his eyes, pretending to concentrate. He had no idea if this horse was in the Carter Handicap, but at least he had a name. “It’s kind of foggy, but I think it’s Squared something.” Billy had taken to adding more drama to his predictions.
Paulie checked the form, muttering along as he read a summary for the Carter Handicap. “Tom Fool, going-away favorite. There he is: Squared Away! A solid sprinter, maybe better than anyone knows; current odds 13 to one. That’s the right name, isn’t it?”
Billy confirmed it was Squared Away.
“You’ve saved me!” Paulie exclaimed. “You want in on this?”
Billy said he was done with gambling. His shoulder was throbbing so much he closed his eyes.
“Suit yourself, kid.” Paulie stood up and paced around the kitchen. “Man oh man — we start a new life after this one — you wait and see. Here’s the deal. I’ll buy a few things and, after we get past this race, we’re getting out of this dump and out of Bensonhurst for good. Don’t tell your mother, okay? I want to surprise her. Your arm okay?”
Billy nodded.
“Atta boy!”
* * *
Copyright © 2021 by Bill Prindle
