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The Journal of Tommy C, 1932...
Slipwater
Member Posts: 3,664
I decided to tidy up the attic over the weekend, a task which - although a little daunting at first - was one that soon presented me with an unbelievable discovery. In amongst the old photographs, broken video recorders, board games without lids, puzzles without all the pieces, and mantelpiece ornaments that had not seen the light of day since they belonged to my great-grandmother, I came across an old suitcase tucked away in a dark corner. I remember throwing it up there many years ago, and had not used it since.
There had never been any reason to move the case, and to be honest – other than my loose end on a Sunday afternoon – there still wasn’t, but I pushed it to one side anyway. Behind it, I found a rather nondescript A4-sized leather binder. It was thick with dust, which I wiped off with my sleeve. The name on the front was Tommy Caprioli. It’s not a name I recognised as someone in the family, nor was it the name of the previous occupants of the house.
I opened it and on the first page was this crude introduction:
**
March 17, 1932
Round here they call me Tommy C, less you don’t know me real well , then it’s Mr Caprioli. The way I see it: you give me respect and I leave you be. But you forget who’s running this joint, and, well... you don’t wanna know what happens next, know what I’m saying?
Momma bought me this journal for my birthday, says it’s good to get my feelings down on paper. Crazy old broad. Forty-one years old and she still treats me like I’m in short trousers. Still, ain’t no harm in it, less my crew finds out, then things’ll get messy. But this ain’t gonna be about the business.
A little while back I see these guys playing cards in some dive out west of Chicago. I ask them what, and one of them turns to me – thin guy, needs a meal – and says it’s called Texas Poker, like I should know what he means. Now I only been down that way once, and it was filled with cowboys and coyotes, so I wasn’t too sure how good any of their games were gonna be.
But I sat and watched them for a while, and I kinda got to like it, so I showed my boys back home, and now I run this game every Friday night underneath Julio’s Barber Shop out on Riverside Drive. So anyways, I’m gonna use this journal to keep a record of my Texas Poker – keep momma happy.
**
I’ve had a brief look through and it’s pretty good stuff. The journal’s a little worse for wear after having been in the attic all that time, but I’m going to clean it up and maybe post some of the entries if there’s any interest.
There had never been any reason to move the case, and to be honest – other than my loose end on a Sunday afternoon – there still wasn’t, but I pushed it to one side anyway. Behind it, I found a rather nondescript A4-sized leather binder. It was thick with dust, which I wiped off with my sleeve. The name on the front was Tommy Caprioli. It’s not a name I recognised as someone in the family, nor was it the name of the previous occupants of the house.
I opened it and on the first page was this crude introduction:
**
March 17, 1932
Round here they call me Tommy C, less you don’t know me real well , then it’s Mr Caprioli. The way I see it: you give me respect and I leave you be. But you forget who’s running this joint, and, well... you don’t wanna know what happens next, know what I’m saying?
Momma bought me this journal for my birthday, says it’s good to get my feelings down on paper. Crazy old broad. Forty-one years old and she still treats me like I’m in short trousers. Still, ain’t no harm in it, less my crew finds out, then things’ll get messy. But this ain’t gonna be about the business.
A little while back I see these guys playing cards in some dive out west of Chicago. I ask them what, and one of them turns to me – thin guy, needs a meal – and says it’s called Texas Poker, like I should know what he means. Now I only been down that way once, and it was filled with cowboys and coyotes, so I wasn’t too sure how good any of their games were gonna be.
But I sat and watched them for a while, and I kinda got to like it, so I showed my boys back home, and now I run this game every Friday night underneath Julio’s Barber Shop out on Riverside Drive. So anyways, I’m gonna use this journal to keep a record of my Texas Poker – keep momma happy.
**
I’ve had a brief look through and it’s pretty good stuff. The journal’s a little worse for wear after having been in the attic all that time, but I’m going to clean it up and maybe post some of the entries if there’s any interest.
Comments
made me laugh slip...
got to post up the next instalment ...
dev
Bring it on!
Or, as the kids like to say (they LOVE copying each other....)
SUBSCRIBED
The first time I showed the game to the guys in McGinty’s bar, there was a band playing something real sweet in the corner. I winked at the girl with the lungs and she smiled like she knew what I was angling for.
But that night it was all about Texas Poker, except we didn’t get much playing done. I spent most of the night telling them what beats what, you know. You got your three of a kind that wins over a pair. All a pair beats is nothing, nothing at all. A straight hand beats all that. Then you’ve got suited hands above them. A boat is next, and that’s three of a kind along with any other pair. Top of the line is all four cards the same – like four kings or four sevens, or whatever. Then right at the top of the tree you got a straight hand and a suited hand together, and that’s called a suited straight, and if you got one of them you best be betting the house, because cards don’t come much sweeter than that.
I explained all this to the boys two, three, maybe half a dozen times before they got it through them thick skulls of theirs, and after that we played out a few just to see what was what.
When we was finished I snapped my fingers and the broad came over to me. She was just finishing her set. Turns out her name is Amber. I asked her what she drank and she said gin. I told her I knew a place, and she went to get her coat.
Next morning I found out she makes a fine breakfast omelette.
Excellent thread Slip.
Unless we're confusing that was something else?
I’ve been keeping Amber sweet for a few days, or I thought I had, but these last few nights she’s been clinging on like a leech with abandonment issues. I may have to cut her loose soon if she don’t start giving me some room to breathe. I don’t know – some broads get a good thing and ain’t happy til it’s broken.
Last night I stayed in McGinty’s long past closing time. Most of my crew had gone home hours ago, but I was looking to avoid another bust up with Amber so I wasn’t too keen on going home just yet. Besides, it was raining, and my suede jacket don’t look too good when it’s wet. I didn’t see no harm in sinking a few more. Lamberto was the only one left. We all just called him Lamb, since he’d spent most of his life running from the cops for some dime-store hold-up he’d pulled back before he was part of the family. I took him under my wing a few months back and he’d been learning the ropes pretty good ever since. The kid still had a lot to learn, but credit to him, he’s got a fine thirst for knowledge. I got my eye on him: one day my job may be his.
TK behind the bar was looking to close up and catch a few zeds, but I convinced him to stay and play a few hands of that new Texas Poker I’d seen the other week. TK was the oldest guy on the block, and he’d been around these parts since before the turn of the century. He was the only guy I knew who wore a toupee, and he spent half his time adjusting it, checking himself out in the mirror behind the gin and bourbon. I can remember Pops used to talk about him when I was just knee-high, and even then TK was pushing sixty.
Still, the old guy was harmless enough. He wiped down the counter, said he’d kick us out at three, and slapped a bottle of Scotch on the table to fill our glasses.
I turned to Lamb and shuffled the deck.
Great Thread!