Vinny and the Bets

July 22, 2020

I have made a decision.  I was day dreaming the other day about the things I miss since Coronavirus hit.  I was thinking about how I haven’t worn a suit in half a year.  Hell, I haven’ t written a story in half a year.  Or how I may not be able to go to the Cowboys/Ravens game for my birthday this year as I was planning.  Or, as crazy as it sounds, I kind of miss taking the subway into work.  But no, I finally came to the real choice of what I was looking forward to the most.  When COVID is over I’m gonna find the dirtiest, grimiest, bluesiest pool hall I can find, give the waitress a 50, tell her to bring me “that beer” every 30 minutes until the 50 is gone, and take all challengers on the table.  I even posted it on Facebook.  And as expected, some of my old school, bar hopping friends reminisced with me over some great times.  There was one particular story that came to mind that was too long to put in a Facebook reply, but I said I would tell the story when I could.  So, Darryl and John, this one is for y’all.

When I moved to New York from Texas fresh out of college, I got my first real job and apartment of my own.  By apartment, I mean that in the crudest sense of the word.  It was a 10×10 ft furnished room on the top floor of a walkup brownstone.  All it had was a twin bed and a dresser.  The bathroom was down the hall that I shared with people I never saw in two other rooms on the floor, and there was no kitchen at all.  I did most of my eating in a place across the street called Kansas Fried Chicken, with the slogan “Kansas Fried Chicken, Best Pizza in Town”.  You can’t make this stuff up.  The job was online media development for a book publisher.  We really never accomplished much of anything worthy of anything, but for fresh out of college living in New York, it paid well.  I didn’t really have a real bank account outside of my Dallas credit union, so they cut me hard checks for the first few months I was there.  I didn’t care, money was money.

For a week or two, I’d go back to my room after work and read, or listen to music, or stare out of the window at Kansas Fried Chicken.  I quickly realized that my apartment was not exactly a place worth hanging out in from 6pm until bedtime, I had to find something else to do after work.  What I found was the Bleecker St Bar a block away from my office.  It was a dark, wood paneled, smoky bar that played Johnny Cash on the jukebox at least once an hour.  In the back were quarter-fed pool tables and a crew of regular pool hustlers.  The place rivaled the Star Wars Cantina.  It became my second home.  I would go there straight from work, order bar food and a beer and hang out playing pool until the wee hours.  Then I’d take the train back to my room, pass out, wake up and do it all over again.  It was my Cheers, and I was Norm.

One Friday, I got my hard paycheck, headed straight to the check cashing place then headed straight to Bleecker St.  It was a good day.  The pool table was hot and the beer was cold.  All the usual suspects were there.  There was Gabe.  A tall, lanky middle-aged guy with a bushy black beard and thinning hair.  He was an interesting blend of chivalry and dirty jokes, always with a smile on his face.  He was the one that taught me the “beer every 30 minutes until the 50 is gone” technique, saves time ordering on crowded nights. Then there was Paul, a stubby British guy addicted to Guinness.  The more he drank, the better he played.  But he talked more than he shot.  There’s a great story about him I must tell in the future, but not today.   And then there was Vinny.  And when I say Vinny, what ever image comes to your mind is exactly what he was.  Remember Dice Clay?  There ya go.  He was a better hustler than pool player.  Nobody really knew what Vinny did.  If you asked him, he’d just say, “I work in fabrics and textiles.”  Still not sure exactly what that means, but okay.

So, there we all were, shooting pool and shooting the shit.  I’ve got a pocket full of cash, just in time for rent, and I’m in a great mood.  I was playing with Vinny who was being typical Vinny.

Vinny: Ey yo, you feeling good today Big G?

Me: Oh yeah!  Just got paid, feeling good, doing good!

Vinny: Yeah, me too buddy!

Something in me decided to strut a little and flash a little cocky.  In a really bad De Niro imitation I replied back.

Me: I dunno, I think I’m doing a little better than you.

That was my first mistake.  With a cigarette dangling from his lips, Vinny immediately stopped mid-shot and looked up at me and smiled.  He stood back up and pulled his smoke out.

Vinny: You think so, eh?  What makes you think that?

I looked around the room with a smirk and a shrug. 

Vinny: That sounds like a challenge to me.

Me: Well let’s find out.  Your wallet against mine.

I don’t know what made me say that.  We might as well have just unzipped our pants and laid them on the pool table.  All I knew is I was making big time money in my mind.

Vinny: Big bank take little bank, eh?  You sure you wanna do this?

Before he could finish asking, I’m reaching for my wallet.  Vinny’s just looking at me like I’m crazy.  I asked if he was ready, he nodded with a smirk.  I pulled out my cash and smacked it on the pool table.

Me: Two G’s, bro!  Count it if you want!

Why I was that loud about my money in a hustler’s bar I have zero idea.  Must have been one too many tequila Red Bulls.  Gabe and two girls he was schmoozing look over at our interaction with curiosity.  I looked into Vinny’s face for a reaction.  He nodded, eyes big.

Vinny: Impressive!

I’m all excited, thinking I’m about to get some extra pocket cash from this sucker.  Because who else in their right mind would carry around more than two grand in their pocket in New York City on a busy Friday night.  Nevermind the fact that me doing it was pretty stupid in its own right.  The smart thing would have been to cash the check and go straight to the 10×10 and drop it off.  But no, I had to strut.  The problem is I forgot who I was talking to.  Vinny reaches down into his pocket, not for his wallet, but for a wad in his front pocket.

Vinny: Here’s what I got.

I looked at the two stacks of hundreds he calmly placed on the table.  On the wrap of each stack was printed “$10,000”.  I immediately got light headed.  I partially collapsed against the side of the pool table.  I had never seen that much cash in my life.  My arrogance got the best of me, I greatly underestimated fabrics and textiles.  All I could think as Vinny blew smoke in my face was, I’m about to be homeless in New York City.

Vinny: I got some tens and twenties in my wallet too if ya wanna count it.

I began to grovel in an incoherent stuttering mumble.  He shoved the stacks back in his pocket, then picked up mine.  I quickly started to sound like a ten-year old begging not to be punished.  Before I got loud enough for the others to hear, he stepped close to me pressing the money against my chest.

Vinny: Just shut up and take it kid, put it away.

I thanked him profusely, bowing like he was the Godfather as I quickly shoved the cash back in my wallet.  I was definitely more contrite after that and paid for Vinny’s drinks the rest of the evening as a thank you.  I’m not sure I won another game that night, and I didn’t even care.  I learned a very important lesson from Vinny, boys do stupid shit.

-TGY-