On the Coat Tales of a Gambler
“Have you ever been to Florida?”
I had about five more months free before reporting to the navy. It was early spring in the South, and I was living on my own at the time. I moved from home to a small room over the Senate Lounge, with a bathroom down the hall. It was fairly quiet, even for being over a tavern. Most of the customers were railroaders who would come in throughout the day, starting at seven in the morning when the joint opened. Dobbs usually shut the place down at nine in the evening. Nothing went on at the Senate; there was one pool table and a little dancing to honky-tonk jukebox music on Friday and Saturday nights. The owner’s name was Doug, but everyone called him Dobbs. He ran a legitimate business. I did odd jobs for him around the tavern in exchange for my rent.
Back in those days, the only phone was the one down in the bar. Dobbs would not allow any of the tenants to have calls, limited messages only. Early one Wednesday morning, I still remember it, Scarpone knocked on my door. I had just gotten up and was not fully dressed. I answered the door to Scarpone and the first thing he said to me was, “Sailor, have you ever been to Tallahassee?” “What?” I spoke. “Florida!” was Scarpone’s blunt reply. Still trying to wake up, I said, “No, ah, Yes, whadda you mean?” “Throw some water in your face, get dressed and meet me down in the bar,” Scarpone ordered.
Dobbs was just opening up the bar. He already had a customer, a brakeman that worked on the Missouri Southern line. This guy went to the bar even before Dobbs most mornings. Three shots of Seagram Seven and two hard-boiled eggs with oyster crackers and he was off to work.
Scarpone waved me over to a corner table. Two cups of coffee were already waiting. It was typical of Scarpone to take care of the small things that could add up. I was ready for that cup of joe. Simple as a cup of coffee was, it made me feel all the more special. That and the fact that Scarpone wanted to see me about something.
Scarpone had a game set up in Tallahassee, and he wanted me to be involved in the deal. He trusted me. Of all the guys that he ran with, he trusted me the most. (The acquaintance was not that long.) Scarpone was invited to play poker at a fancy private club, a ways out from the city. It was a “men’s only” club, with a golf course, tennis courts, all that stuff and of course, bocce. Scarpone, knew the guy from the old farmhouse, playing poker with him. He drove up for games once or twice a month.
Scarpone wanted to run a scam. He knew one of the members and the other guys were in the same league, including a retired politician… congressman or something. Not so much that they were high rollers, but they had money and could gamble large. Anyway, Scarpone asked if he could bring an associate. He was going to give me ten grand to play in the poker game with him. At the time, I was clean cut and all, he figured with some new clothes, which he would buy, I’d fit right in. This was going to be a high stakes game. For my part, I was to lose early to the club members then excuse myself when I got down about 6g. Then, I would drive back to the motel and wait for Scarpone to call me to come pick him up. This would be after he had skinned all those fat cats, of course.
I was the chum-bait in the water to make it look like the two “fellers” from Alabama were easy pickings. The club members would get to drinking, get loose with their play, then Scarpone would clean their clocks.
“Got any church clothes?” Scarpone asked me. “These guys are rich sob’s and we gotta look rich too!” Well, I didn’t go to church much back then unless somebody died or got married. Next thing I know, Scarpone is telling me that we were going to Montgomery to get me a suit and a pair of Italian shoes.
Scarpone always dressed nicely. He was never without a jacket. I think it was partly for all the pockets, because in one of them pockets he kept a “38”. Scarpone always got his suits at Harry Stein’s, a men’s store in downtown Montgomery. A couple of days later we headed to Montgomery for my new suit. I didn’t know at the time, but it would end up being part of my cut along with the damn shoes, I really didn’t need. It was a nice suit. I still have the jacket. The shoes were tight, but it didn’t matter since I would be leaving for the navy. Anyway, we met Harry. Harry and Scarpone picked out my suit. It was a really nice grey and pinstriped suit. Harry measured me and fitted the suit. Then he asked Scarpone when he wanted to pick it up. “Next Friday!” replied Scarpone. As it turned out, it was better to drive from Robstown to Montgomery and then south to Tallahassee anyway.
The following Friday, we headed out for Tallahassee by way of Montgomery. Harry had my suit ready. I looked sharp as a tack in pinstripes. Scarpone covered all the expenses. We started off with a big breakfast early in the morning. He had sandwiches and a couple of thermoses of coffee for the road. He wanted to arrive in Tallahassee the night before the game.
Scarpone did not like being rushed. Once, in a game, he pulled his pistol on a guy who was harassing him for taking time thinking over a raise. Scarpone flew into a rage. He calmed down and put the gun back into his jacket. Composed, he then re-raised that pushy fellow. Well, this guy figures that Scarpone is all bluff and bullshit, with that act, and he raised all in on him. Scarpone was sitting on a nut flush against this guy’s wheel. After the river card, the pushy guy started up again with his mouth. Scarpone only had to move his hand up toward the opening in his jacket to shut him up. The wise guy got up quietly and left busted after seeing Scarpone’s two cards. And maybe that pistol.
When we got to Tallahassee, we checked into a motel, freshened up and had an early supper. Afterwards, we went to a strip joint for a few drinks and then hit the sack. The game was scheduled for three o’clock in the afternoon at the clubhouse. Scarpone wanted to be rested and he wanted to make sure that I was clear on how the “take-down” was going to play. I must say, I was not nervous in the least bit. All I had to do was play poker, my favorite pastime, and lose Scarpone’s money. I was more uncomfortable wearing the new shoes Scarpone bought for me.
We drove out to the country club. Scarpone had just bought a new Lincoln. It really helped with our cover. The place was piss elegant. I started to get nervous. Scarpone passed me a hip flask of Jack Daniels and ordered me to take a slug. “At least you’ll smell like a gambler after that.”
I will never forget meeting the other players. White was in. Everyone, except for Scarpone and I, was wearing white. They were wearing white everything, so it seemed. Scarpone and I were in black and pinstriped grey. Were we ever out of place!
Eight of us sat down in a quiet, posh game room. At first, the game did not go well. Instead of losing, I could not do anything but win. Those guys were too tight and my betting out, even on cold hands, ran them off. They were too timid for strong play, and they folded every time. I could see that Scarpone was getting pissed. I could not turn it off. I kept pulling good hands. Of all times to be on a “heater!”
After the second hour, the boys in white finally started to loosen up and stayed in my game. Eventually I got to losing and they became more relaxed about playing. In the end, it took about four hours before I hit that place in the bankroll where Scarpone told me to exit and not to lose any more. I excused myself, said good night and drove back to the motel to wait for Scarpone’s call. The men in white, gave me that, “better luck next time son,” routine while saying, “sucker” through their smiling teeth. It didn’t bother me because I knew what was coming. I just acted humble, smiled back, and left. I lost about six-and-a-half grand. When I picked Scarpone up, he showed me just shy of 46g. Not a bad turnaround!
Scarpone called the motel about 1:00 am. The night clerk came to the room to let me know that Scarpone was ready for me to pick him up. I gave him a “fiver,” as promised, for delivering the message. On the way back from the club, Scarpone filled me in with the details.
He did not tell me at the time, but Scarpone knew these guys played regularly and usually ended their game by one or two in the morning. It was a tricky play all the way around. First, I had to lose, in order to soften them up. You know how it is, letting the marks win a little, getting ahead and that way when they began losing, it sets-up a feeling of, “What the hell, I’m just losing the money I already won.” That was Scarpone’s plan all along, to get them into accepting losing and then take them for as much as he could, comfortably, without them noticing. As it turned out, it averaged about six grand each, though one guy got done in for over sixteen of it.
So, Scarpone played this group like a violin. After I lost, he had to gradually start pulling the game his way. Knowing that he had six to seven hours to not only win back the money I lost, but to also take as much as possible from the other players. He had to work fairly quickly without causing them pain as he was doing it. He told me how he pulled it off.
Mostly he won small pots, folded a lot, keeping his losses small. Waiting for the “nuts,” he set the trap, pretending to be playing a weak hand. Then he banged them going over the top with a big raise. They followed like sheep, in Scarpone’s words. “I hit’em twice good, near the end of the night with a feather hammer; they never felt a thing.” He said they actually seemed relieved when he asked if he could use the phone to call for his ride.
Scarpone instructed me to check out of the motel, before leaving to pick him up. We were not about to hang around Tallahassee any longer than we needed. As we were leaving the club, he told me to head west on the interstate until I found a good motel. “We’ll sleep in for a day and then head over to Pensacola and get some girls to celebrate,” he told me. “Let’s take the long way home.” My cut was 3%, less the cost of the suit and shoes that I never wore again.
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On the Coat Tales of a Gambler continues in Episode 7 – How I Lost My Marbles