the fuck happened?”
“You’d make some guy a great fuckin’ wife, you know that, Greek?” the Digger said. “That fuckin’ mouth of yours, come inna my place and start playing it like it was a fuckin’ radio, anybody ask you to do that? Fuck you, Greek.”
“Fuck you, Dig,” the Greek said. They sat at a table at the rear of the Bright Red. They had draught beers in front of them. It was early in the afternoon and the air conditioner made a steady white ripple of interference across the ball game on the television set above the front door. “That’s my fuckin’ eighteen K you’re getting so fuckin’ big about. It was your eighteen, you had eighteen K, I might come around and be nice. But it’s my paper and I know fuckin’ well you haven’t got the dough and that makes you a big fuckin’ problem . Them I don’t like.”
“Look at that,” the Digger said, “a hundred and sixty-five thousand a year and the bastard can’t get the fuckin’ ball outa the fuckin’ infield, for Christ sake.”
“I assume you’re not down on them,” the Greek said.
“Line’s wrong,” the Digger said. “No way them bastards get five more’n Cleveland, McDowell there. I laid off.”
“Still at it,” the Greek said. “I’m beginning to see it, now, how it happened. You just haven’t got no fuckin’ sense , is all.”
The Digger thought for a moment. “That’s about right,” he said, “I think that’s about right. I start off, blackjack, twenty-one, they call it. I had eight hundred and twenty bucks and three days and I’m there the first night, I just couldn’t wait.”
“The fuck you doing playing blackjack?” the Greek said. “My little kid knows enough, don’t play blackjack.”
“Look,” the Digger said, “my little kid too. My holy brother. Everybody knows that, got any fuckin’ brains at all. But see, I see this old bastard, brown sportcoat. He’s betting thousand-dollar bills. I never saw more’n two of them in my whole fuckin’ life, and one of them was queer, a guy, stupid shit, wants to sell me a hundred of them. This guy, he’s got the genuine and he’s peeling them off like they’re onna outside of something he’s gonna eat, all right? So, I got to be all right, I see that. I pay a grand, the trip, the eight-twenty’s somebody else’s, I’m peeling fives, it’s gonna last me a long time, I lose every goddamned hand. Which, of course, I’m not gonna do, I’m too fuckin’ smart for that.
“I win some,” the Digger said. “I lose some. The old coot drops twenty of them things that I see. Don’t mean nothing to me. I’m thinking: you grab that son of a bitch in the alley, before he starts, you wouldn’t have to work again for the rest of your fuckin’ life. So, he’s got this credit card. You been to Vegas, Greek?”
“Nah,” the Greek said. “I went to fuckin’ Havana before that fuckin’ Commie took over, I lost my fuckin’ shirt. Nothing like what you did. About five hundred. Isaid, ‘I’m not doing that again.’ Got hell from my wife, too. I don’t go for that shit, making other guys rich with my money.”
“Your wife,” the Digger said. “My fuckin’ wife, she knew about this she would fuckin’ kill me. Anyway, the old bastard’s got a credit card. Shows it, he can cash checks. He writes out the check and this sleepy-looking cocksucker okays it. The old bastard gets his own thousands back, he starts in again. Only now, of course, he’s out the check. Now right fuckin’ there , Greek, is when I should’ve quit, right onna fuckin’ spot . But I don’t.
“I think,” the Digger said, “I think, I’m different, not like the old coot. I had about sixty of the house money. I had eight-eighty. Beautiful, I think, old bastard’s using up all the bad luck. I’m gonna sit there and make hay. He sits there, calm as hell, nerves like he’s got he oughta be robbing banks, all I gotta do is bet steady and fast and I make a bundle.
“See
“You’d make some guy a great fuckin’ wife, you know that, Greek?” the Digger said. “That fuckin’ mouth of yours, come inna my place and start playing it like it was a fuckin’ radio, anybody ask you to do that? Fuck you, Greek.”
“Fuck you, Dig,” the Greek said. They sat at a table at the rear of the Bright Red. They had draught beers in front of them. It was early in the afternoon and the air conditioner made a steady white ripple of interference across the ball game on the television set above the front door. “That’s my fuckin’ eighteen K you’re getting so fuckin’ big about. It was your eighteen, you had eighteen K, I might come around and be nice. But it’s my paper and I know fuckin’ well you haven’t got the dough and that makes you a big fuckin’ problem . Them I don’t like.”
“Look at that,” the Digger said, “a hundred and sixty-five thousand a year and the bastard can’t get the fuckin’ ball outa the fuckin’ infield, for Christ sake.”
“I assume you’re not down on them,” the Greek said.
“Line’s wrong,” the Digger said. “No way them bastards get five more’n Cleveland, McDowell there. I laid off.”
“Still at it,” the Greek said. “I’m beginning to see it, now, how it happened. You just haven’t got no fuckin’ sense , is all.”
The Digger thought for a moment. “That’s about right,” he said, “I think that’s about right. I start off, blackjack, twenty-one, they call it. I had eight hundred and twenty bucks and three days and I’m there the first night, I just couldn’t wait.”
“The fuck you doing playing blackjack?” the Greek said. “My little kid knows enough, don’t play blackjack.”
“Look,” the Digger said, “my little kid too. My holy brother. Everybody knows that, got any fuckin’ brains at all. But see, I see this old bastard, brown sportcoat. He’s betting thousand-dollar bills. I never saw more’n two of them in my whole fuckin’ life, and one of them was queer, a guy, stupid shit, wants to sell me a hundred of them. This guy, he’s got the genuine and he’s peeling them off like they’re onna outside of something he’s gonna eat, all right? So, I got to be all right, I see that. I pay a grand, the trip, the eight-twenty’s somebody else’s, I’m peeling fives, it’s gonna last me a long time, I lose every goddamned hand. Which, of course, I’m not gonna do, I’m too fuckin’ smart for that.
“I win some,” the Digger said. “I lose some. The old coot drops twenty of them things that I see. Don’t mean nothing to me. I’m thinking: you grab that son of a bitch in the alley, before he starts, you wouldn’t have to work again for the rest of your fuckin’ life. So, he’s got this credit card. You been to Vegas, Greek?”
“Nah,” the Greek said. “I went to fuckin’ Havana before that fuckin’ Commie took over, I lost my fuckin’ shirt. Nothing like what you did. About five hundred. Isaid, ‘I’m not doing that again.’ Got hell from my wife, too. I don’t go for that shit, making other guys rich with my money.”
“Your wife,” the Digger said. “My fuckin’ wife, she knew about this she would fuckin’ kill me. Anyway, the old bastard’s got a credit card. Shows it, he can cash checks. He writes out the check and this sleepy-looking cocksucker okays it. The old bastard gets his own thousands back, he starts in again. Only now, of course, he’s out the check. Now right fuckin’ there , Greek, is when I should’ve quit, right onna fuckin’ spot . But I don’t.
“I think,” the Digger said, “I think, I’m different, not like the old coot. I had about sixty of the house money. I had eight-eighty. Beautiful, I think, old bastard’s using up all the bad luck. I’m gonna sit there and make hay. He sits there, calm as hell, nerves like he’s got he oughta be robbing banks, all I gotta do is bet steady and fast and I make a bundle.
“See
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