Chapter 4

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“Daddy! Just hold still, and I’ll help you with your tie.” Annie was following her father as he darted around his bedroom. “You should let me fix the pocket of your dinner jacket. It has a big hole, so don’t use it for anything important.”

Mother would be aghast to see how her usually meticulously dressed husband looked tonight. There wasn’t enough time to send his tux out to be cleaned and pressed, and his black wing tips hadn’t been polished since the funeral. His mood and expression did nothing to enhance his appearance.

“I cannot believe those sisters of mine talked me into this,” Matthew fumed. “The Foundation was Father’s pet project, but so what? Why in the hell do I have to go?”

“Well, I suppose because you’re the head of the family, as well as the company. These dinners are nice affairs,” Annie insisted. “Look Daddy, I know you feel uneasy about this, but maybe it’ll be nice to get out for a change.” It had been several weeks since the funeral, and Annie wanted him to go. Perhaps that was a mistake, she thought, as she put the finishing touches on his tie. There was already an unmistakable odor of liquor on his breath. She had a feeling of impeding disaster.

Finally, he was ready to go. “You look fabulous, as usual, “ Annie lied as she helped him slip on his top coat. “And don’t try any tricks, Daddy,” she called after him. “William will give me a full report in the morning.”

“Ha!” Matthew scowled. “Who signs your paycheck anyway,” he muttered, pushing past the traitorous chauffer to open his own door.


When Matthew arrived, the banquet hall was already glittering with lavishly dressed guests making sophisticated small talk. Matthew surrendered his topcoat and reached for a long-stemmed glass of Champagne and a cigarette. Damn, he hated these stuffy affairs. He and Kathleen used to watch who smiled the broadest or patted each other on the back the most. Then they scanned the business and society pages for those peoples’ names in stories of cutthroat, corporate takeovers and newly announced divorces. Kathleen was always better at their game than he was. She had an uncanny knack for reading people. God, how he wished she was with him tonight.

His plan was to eat and make an excuse of an illness in the family to make an early exit. He stood back from the crowds, but unfortunately, he was soon engulfed by his four sisters. They chattered away mindlessly as usual. Esther, the oldest and most dominate, managed to take control and silence the other three.

“Well, Matthew,” she chirped, “it’s wonderful to see you tonight. But you know, Papa would absolutely-- Matthew, must you smoke? You know it bothers me so!” she whined. And then, without breaking cadence, she continued. “Is that Harold Brinton’s wife?”

“Not unless she’s lost twenty-five pounds!” retorted Mavis, the youngest of the four sisters. “I’ve heard he’s been carrying on with his secretary, but I can’t believe he’d show up here tonight with her, for goodness sake.”

“Well, things have certainly changed in this town. There is no such thing as civility and good manners any more,” Esther said. “Look at her! It is obvious she has no class! I have no intention of saying one word to either of them all night.”

“Look at Ruth Compton,” hissed Vivian, Matthew’s particularly sarcastic second sister. “I’d bet lunch at the Ritz that she had a face lift. She looks ten years younger than she did at the Christmas ball in December. There’s probably bruising under all that makeup.”

“Well at least she’s with her husband,” said Ruth, the fourth sister. “I heard she needed to do something. He was going to leave her, you know.”

So it went, the tittle-tattle blabbing that had the whole room buzzing. Matthew began plotting a new scheme to escape before dinner. As he rehearsed excuses in his mind, he shook his head yes and no in accordance to his sisters’ tones. Then he became aware that another female had joined their little group and was being introduced to him. The lady was smiling demurely, batting her long, fake eyelashes.

“It’s all been arranged,” Esther was saying.

“What’s been arranged?” Matthew blurted.

“Well, Matthew, weren’t you listening? Lucille will be seated next to you on the dais.”

He stared at the woman incredulously. He was stunned because he thought Esther and the others had seemed bereaved by the illness and death of his wife. But, here they were, six weeks later, already playing matchmaker. The deep, scarlet in his cheeks and tight-lipped grimace were unmistakable evidence that he was incensed.

“Matthew, why are you so shocked?” Esther retorted. “You need a partner for dinner, and you’ve known Lucille for years. Don’t you remember? Her husband was a partner at Wells, Juneau, Wells, & McKinley.”

“Yes, Matthew,” Vivian chimed in. “The poor dear just lost her husband recently, too. Perhaps you can --”

“Ladies, I am sorry,” Matthew interrupted, “but as you know, the only reason I came tonight was out of respect for my father and his foundation. But-- Lucille, is it? You’re going to have to find yourself another dinner partner. I really don’t have much of an appetite these days, and I just lost what little I had.”

“Matthew! Where are you going?” shrieked Esther as her brother walked away.

He could hear choruses of scolding from his matronly sisters and grunts of righteous indignation from the injured lady, but he paused only long enough to take two glasses of Champagne as he strode out the door. He burst out into the cold February night and hailed a cab, preferring to let William continue napping in the limo.

He crawled into the cab, flinging his tie and the two empty glasses into the slushy gutter. The night air was invigorating. Having left his sisters open-mouthed and embarrassed, he felt more unburdened than he had in a very long time. He wanted to stop off at home to grab some cash, but it was still early. Annie and several of her brothers would still be awake. He was in no mood for their well-intended meddling tonight. He gave the cabby the address of his office and instructed him to wait while he ran inside.

Rosetta, who had been the cleaning lady as long as Matthew could remember, was having a cigarette with Julius, the night watchman. When they saw the boss stride in, they jolted to attention like sentries caught napping.

He gave a playful, mock salute toward his father’s portrait as he moved it aside to gain access to the stash of cash hidden behind the secret panel. Matthew’s grandfather had it installed and called it “passion money”. Considering the strict, straight-laced women his father and grandfather married, Matthew had a fair idea for what kind of “passion” it was intended. However, Matthew used it more than a few times to stake himself to a friendly poker game. He grabbed several handfuls without bothering to count it and returned old Dad to his customary place. On impulse, he thrust a couple of bills into the hands of the shocked Rosetta and Julius as he rushed back to the cab.

“Here’s fifty bucks and I’ll double it if you find me a good poker game, the higher the stakes the better,” Matthew directed the cabby. He lounged back as the driver twisted his way through traffic until he came to a little corner tavern on the lower East side.

“Just say Roberto sent you,” they cabby said, waiting with an out-stretched hand for the promised reward. “Enjoy yourself and good luck,” he called as he drove off.

Matthew walked in, rubbing his hands in blissful anticipation. He loved this kind of place. It reminded him of overseas during the war. The room was dimly lit with the unmistakable aroma of Italian cooking coming from the kitchen off the side of the barroom. Matthew suddenly had an overpowering appetite for a heaping plate of spaghetti, along with a bottle of house wine.

As he was eating, Matthew watched the activity around the room with keen interest, taking care not to be obvious. He suspected he was being scrutinized, too, as was the custom in such places. There must be a game going on in the backroom, he thought. An expressionless sentinel stood outside the door. Several times word was sent that more wine was needed, and once a tray of sealed decks of cards was passed inside. Matthew leisurely finished his meal and pushed aside his plate.

“Are you sure I cannot get you something else, sir?” the waiter asked. Good, thought Matthew, This guy knows I have money and probably a good tipper. Matthew did not disappoint. He threw out a fifty-dollar bill, but placed his hand across it as the waiter reached to pick it up.

“Not so fast, young man” Matthew said, smiling. “I’d be glad to let you have this, but first you need to do something else for me. You see, I’d really like to sit in on that game going on back there.”

The waiter seemed to be hesitating so Matthew decided he needed to be a little more persuasive. “My good friend, Roberto, the cabby, told me this just might be where I could find a good poker game.” Matthew unbuttoned his coat so the waiter could see his bulging pockets of money.

The waiter stepped over to the guard and they spoke in hushed tones for a few moments. The guard knocked quietly and stepped inside. Matthew smoked his after dinner cigarette unconcerned. Getting into there games was fairly simple if you had enough cash and you could convince them you weren’t a cop. In a few minutes, the guard returned and gave Matthew the go-ahead nod. He was in!



As Matthew sat down at the table, he didn’t notice the young man standing in the shadows. He wasn’t supposed to. The kid’s job was to move around the room quietly, attending to the needs of the players. He did it very well. The regulars liked having him around. He was smart without being mouthy, confident without being cocky. He never drank or interfered in any way and could seemingly go for days without sleep. No one knew where he came from or where he lived, and no one cared. Hardly anyone knew his name. They just said, “Hey, you!” or “Injun’ boy”. He had high cheekbones, a square jaw, and a dark expressionless face. He wore a rolled bandana around his forehead and his long, jet black hair. He was tall and lean with a presence of quiet strength.

Tonight, Sonny Jackson stood back inconspicuously in his usual place away from the table, leaning on his mop. He had just cleaned up some broken glass, the end result of an “unfortunate accident” of one of Mr. Gonatelli’s guests. The gentlemen had lost several successive hands and found himself relieved of all his cash. Perhaps that is why the boss allowed the stranger to enter the sacred confines of his private game.

“Gentlemen, you ante please,” the dealer said. “The game is my old friend, draw with deuces wild”.

It didn’t take Matthew long to see that these were worthy adversaries. With an opening ante of $1000, this was the high stakes game he wanted. Matthew was no stranger to games like these, and though he managed to keep his poker face in place, inwardly he was having the time of his life. The necessary skill and concentration was a wonderful distraction. He had nothing to lose, except the money, which he lost rapidly. After the first hand, he found himself relieved of $3,700. The benefactor of Matthew’s bad luck was the host, Mr. Gonatelli, a round dark man with shrewd, piercing eyes and a small, unsmiling mouth.

There was seldom much idle chit-chat around Mr. Gonatelli’s table, but tonight only the barest necessities were spoken. There was a simple tap-tap if two cards were needed or a nod of the head when chips were piled on the table. The pots became enormous as ten to twenty thousand dollars were won or lost with each hand. Matthew began to think that this night would be cut short as his money dwindled fast. But then, toward morning, Lady Luck came over to his side of the table as he began winning more than he was losing. One by one the other players dropped out but no one left. At one point, Mr. Gonatelli dispatched an assistant to bring more cash from the safe. His jaw seemed to tighten with each successive hand as his cold dark eyes stared across the table.

Finally, the edges of his mouth began to twitch a little. “I believe the dealer takes all.” He laid down his cards and began scooping up his winnings. The cards on the table showed a straight flush, king high. It was the best hand he had been dealt in hours.
“Just a moment, please.” There was only one possible way that Matthew could take this hand. Mr. Gonatelli stopped and glanced up at the stranger incredulously. His smirkish, half smile disappeared as the spectators pressed closer. Matthew laid down a royal flush – ten, jack, and queen of spades with two deuces wild.

Gonatelli rested his elbows on the table, pressed the fingertips together, and watched as Matthew retrieved his winnings. He nodded for a fresh deck of cards, shuffled them methodically, and presented them for the cut. He dealt their allotted cards and slowly picked up his hand. There was not a flick of an eyelash or slightest change in his expression to reveal what he saw when he fanned out those five cards. Matthew watched carefully as he, too, picked up his cards. This was probably the last hand, and he had a buzzard’s taste to lick this arrogant bastard clean.

Replacement cards were dealt and then Matthew opened with the amount he knew Gonatelli had left -- $14,200. He slowly pushed it to the middle of the table. Gonatelli did likewise, leaving a vacant spot where excess of $100,000 had been. Matthew followed by adding several more thousand on the pile, inviting his opponent to either fold or call. And then, it happened.

“Mr. Marconi.” The words cut the silence like a thunderclap. “Would you please go back to my office and bring me the little red box?”

No one said a word as Gonatelli’s assistant left the room and returned with a scarlet velvet box. The boss opened it and took out a folded, yellowed piece of paper. He laid it on the table for Matthew’s scrutiny.

“This is a deed. I, myself, won it in a game such as this a few years ago. I’ve never seen the place myself, but I have been told these are 420 acres of prime land in the Mississippi valley. I must tell you, I consider this to be somewhat of a good luck piece for me. I do not wager it lightly. At $1,000 an acre, I’ll bet it against everything you have.”

Matthew fought mightily to keep his composure as he sat listening to Gonatelli speak. Hoping that no one noticed his hands were trembling, he picked up the document. The deed was for a parcel of land in Shannontown Township, Dubuque County, State of Iowa. Still fighting hard to focus, he nodded his acceptance of the wager and pushed his pile of winnings to the middle of the table. His heart was pounding in his throat as he turned over his cards. He looked across the table. His answer came soon enough. Mr. Gonatelli’s mouth became twisted and his cheeks flushed deep crimson. Everyone in the room knew he was beaten.

Matthew waited an appropriate time before gathering his winnings. “Mr. Gonatelli, I believe you have to sign this? Here on the back.” Matthew presented the deed for the loser’s signature.

Long, gut-retching moments passed before Gonatelli scrawled his name. And then, as though some invisible spotlight had moved, all eyes shifted toward the stranger. It suddenly occurred to Matthew that he was outnumbered in an enemy camp.

“I certainly want to thank you for your hospitality,” Matthew said, not wanting to sound cocky. He thrust the deed and the cash into the pockets of his dinner jacket. “It is always a pleasure to play in the company of gentlemen such as yourselves.” As he spoke, he took side steps in the direction of the door. For a moment, it looked as though the guard was going to block his exit, but then he stepped aside. Matthew slid out, offering a friendly salute as he passed. In quick, wide strides he crossed the barroom and sauntered jubilantly into the brisk early morning air.

He guessed it to be around 5 or 6 AM. It was Sunday so the streets were deserted and there was no cab in sight. Not sure where he was, he turned from side to side trying to get his bearings. It was then that he saw two large men step out of the shadows. Matthew recognized them to be Gonatelli’s men. Quickly he spun around, but he was cut off there, too. He darted across the street and foolishly turned into a dark alley. They were on him in a flash. He kicked and struggled, but they held him down as they went through his pockets. Matthew knew what they were looking for, but was powerless to stop them.

Suddenly, a dark, blurry figure jumped into the fray. He flung one assailant against the wall and wheeled quickly to send another to his knees with a vicious blow to the gut. Matthew took on the third, grabbing the guy around the neck and bit his ear with all his strength. With his free hand, he picked up a brick and beamed him over the head.

That left only the fourth and largest assailant and the stranger. They began circling each other slowly. Gonatelli’s man had a long knife clutched in his hand. “Hey, Injun,” he sneered, “the boss ain’t gonna like this.”

It was then that Matthew recognized the young man. He had brought in wine and cigarettes a couple of times. Matthew had no idea why the kid was helping him, but there was no time to ask questions. He flung his trusty brick at the huge man. It only grazed him but it gave Sonny Jackson enough time to kick the knife away. He spun quickly, smashing the guy’s knee and then landed a vicious undercut to his jaw. The giant was stunned, at least momentarily.

“C’mon,” Sonny cried, “we gotta get out of here. Let’s go”

They ran out into the street, and by some act of divine intervention, there sat an empty cab. They both jumped in, ordering the driver to pull out…”and fast!”

“Young man,” Matthew said breathlessly, “you’re hurt.”

There was a nasty cut across Sonny’s upper arm, but he ignored it. “Did they get it? Is it gone?” he asked, still gasping for air.

“Oh my God, let’s see! Where did I put it?” Matthew frantically searched his pockets. A slow smile spread across his face. “My daughter warned me not to put anything important in this pocket.” Reaching deep inside the lining of the jacket, he found the much sought after document. He held it up jubilantly and kissed it. “She had no idea how wrong she was.”

Chapter 5

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