From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [77]
“I’ll re-enlist,” Maggio said. “Right in your eye, with all six inches of it.” He looked at his hole card. “Two more weeks till payday. I’m ona hit Honolulu like a fifty caliber. Look out, Service Rooms!” He picked up the deck. “Last time around,” he said.
“Ha!” Sussman said. “A good piece of ass and a ride on my motor would kill you, Angelo.”
“Listen to him,” Maggio said, looking around. “The Waikiki Beach Kid. Him and his motorcycle and his one string gittar. Last time around,” he said. “Last time around. Any cuts, burns, or bruises.”
“Dealem,” Prew said.
“The man says dealem.” Angelo passed the cards, his thin hand flickering nervously, pouring out the energy, as he deftly made the round. “I aim to win this, friends. Oh, oh. Two Jacks to Andy. Jesus Christ! I closed my eyes. Two Jacks bets.”
“Its a ukelele,” Sussman explained. “Originally Hawaiian instermint. And besides, it gets the wahines. Thats all I care. My motor gets more pussy than all the dough in this compny.”
“Then why dont you put the other three strings on it?” Maggio said. “You cant even play it anyway.”
“I dont have to play it,” Sussman said. “Its ony atmosphere.”
Maggio peeked tentatively at his holecard. “When I have to start playin a one string fiddle and buy me a motorcycle on time to get wahines, I’ll start payin my three bucks at the window.”
“You pay your three bucks at the window now, Angelo,” Sussman, whose motor was the dearest thing in his life, said testily.
“Thats what I said, dint I?” Maggio said disgustedly. “I call that two bits, Andy, and hump it two. Four bits to Reedy.”
“Horse frocky,” said Pvt Readall Treadwell, the sixth man, who had not won a single hand and who came from southern Pennsylvania. He heaved the fat-lined barrel that was his chest and belly in a lazy sigh and turned over his cards and tossed them in. His round face grinned lazily, belying the tremendous strength that was underneath the fat. Beside the nervous swiftness of little Maggio he was like a fat cross-legged Buddha. “You guys done broke me. I aint got no business playin cards with sharpers no ways.”
“Hell,” Maggio said. “You still got twenty cents. Stick around. I’m just beginning to win.”
“Gotohell,” Treadwell said, getting up. “I got enough for two beers left is all. An I aim to drink em, not you. Ah cant play poker no ways.”
“Hell no,” Maggio agreed. “All you’re good for is a BAR man, to lug that 27 pounds around so some noncom can take it away from you when its time to shoot it.”
“Man, you know it,” Reedy Treadwell said. But having stood up, he was no longer a part of the circle. He stood behind them looking down a minute, then ambled out, no unhappier than if he had won ten dollars.
“What a character!” Maggio said, shaking his head. “I almost hated to take his money. But I convinced myself. Everybody in this compny is characters except me and Prewitt. And sometimes I’m gettin so I wonder about Prewitt. All right, all right,” he said to Andy, “what you gonna do?”
“What you got there?” Andy stalled, sullenly studying Maggio’s cards.
“You can see em,” Maggio said. “Four clubs up, one club in the hole. That makes a flush.”
“Maybe you aint got it,” Andy said.
“Call and find out,” Maggio said. “Thats my advice to you.”
“You checked the bet on the last card,” Andy said sullenly. “You checked a cinch into me.”
“I dint have that last club on the last card,” Maggio said. “Quit stallin. You gonna call?”
Andy looked sulkily at his pair of Jacks, then at the third Jack he had for holecard. “I got to call,” he said. “There aint no choice. But you screwed me on that last card, Angelo,” he accused.
“Balls!” Maggio said. “You seen them four clubs up before you bet. Put the blame on Mame.”
“I call,” Andy said.
“Money talks,” Maggio said.
Andy threw in a quarter, reluctantly.
“How about you, Prewitt?” Maggio grinned.
“I got to call,” Prew said, studying Andy’s face. “I’m low man on this totem pole, but if he’s ony got a pair I got him beat.” He threw in his money.
“Read em and weep,” Angelo chortled, triumphantly