Chapter 18: Night At The Abbyshire

Chapter 18: Night At The Abbyshire

One night at a fancy Mississippi River casino where Christina Roy would be introduced to the Gougers and the Delveccios. The three couples would gamble and drink and dine in luxury. Unbeknownst to the ladies, the gentlemen would be filtering some of their ill gotten gains into the light of day.

Ronnie Delveccio and his pudgy cherub of a wife, Jackie, picked up Steven and Lauretta in Jackie's king size SUV. Ronnie completed the leg to the Roy residence at an average speed of 72 miles per hour, counting the time spent at two stop signs and a red light. The passengers would shower compliments on the tall raven-haired beauty who happened to be Roger Roy's wife and mother to three of his children. Steven had met her a couple of times before and did not eye her as closely as Ronnie.

In many ways Christina balanced, if not contrasted her husband's presentation.. She had dark hair and pale skin. Roger had white-blond hair and an always ruddy complexion. He had coarse manners and hers were refined. He was loud and she spoke softly. His was a cracker accent and hers was southern aristocrat. In a long, royal scarlet skirt and black and scarlet top she stood apart from her pastel companions. Her black riding boots did not exactly complement her darker than coal Mary Hartman pigtails, but they certainly captured one's attention in a not offensive way.

The party of six poured back a pitcher of margaritas. Roger yelled at his kids and spoke softly to his mother-in-law who would be staying overnight at the Roy house. Then the revelers were off to the Abbyshire Resort and Casino.

The Abby, as it was referred to even before its opening, celebrated the Edwardian Era. Britain at her proudest. Pomp and frills and oversized paintings of fox hunts and croquet matches. Lots of faux antiques and portraits of stately geezers. The bedrooms were ultra-modern by contrast with king-size beds and jacuzzis that could saline or glycerin or proprietary-comfort bubble baths.

The guests would check into their rooms, toilet and muster on the floor of the Lords and Ladies of Linen Casino Parlor. The ladies would split from their husbands and wander as a trio deep into the jungle of flashy-splashy slot machines. The men would stay huddled at a kiosk of progressive slots. All three had tried to explain to their wives the advantages of progressive jackpots and all three had failed in their edification. Never mind that one could actually find a casino game that puts the odds in the player's favor. The girls would rather search for machines that engaged their attention with graphics and catchy ring tones.

As soon as the ladies wandered off, the gentlemen increased the stakes. Their first choice in progressive machines, a sixteen feed that paid homage to Kikuchi Motorcycle Company by displaying a model crotch rocket and cranked acceleration noises through each machine's speakers, seemed to be monopolized by a team of prog chasers.

The trio would settle for a nine feed kiosk that was on the cusp of break even. Prior to arrival they had consulted the Joseph-affiliated Mondo Investor website in search of positive return machines. One feed was in positive territory and two almost there. Rather than trying to sell cusps and positives to the wives, the boys emphasized the quaint charms and luxuries of Abbyshire with its TV series tie-in, a series the ladies all enjoyed.

They played a cramped row of Virtual Janitor machines, a tie with the surprise blockbuster developed by Joseph Games. With the deez and doze grumblings of bald-headed Frank in the foreground the astute gamblers took full advantage of their wives absence to discuss matters of discretion.

Steven Gouger worked the middle box, leisurely feeding the max bet via his new Abbyshire card that was wedged into the provided slot. Ronnie Delveccio also fed the max and he slid to his right to whisper to his friend, “We failed,.” referring to his and Jackie's in vitro efforts.

“So did we,” Steven Gouger said flatly. “Let's have some fun tonight.” Then he added, “Roger's having some problems with his friend. I'll bring you up to date.” Ronnie Delveccio collected a thousand dollars from each of his comrades to cover the upcoming celebration of his fake win and he left for the blackjack tables.

Of the three wives, only Jackie handled household finances. Steven and Roger could hide their cash here and there and pay monthly bills from their stashes. Ronnie did not pay household bills so he falsely won money to clear things with his wife. For all of her common sense Jackie was naive on things related to gambling.

Ronnie found his way to the Fox Hunt Blackjack Den where he seated on an imaginative piece of furniture that combined the best features of an executive chair and British saddlery. There he would exchange fifteen thousand dollars in cash for table chips. He would guzzle margaritas and play wildly until he hit either the ten thousand or twenty thousand dollar mark or until his wife caught up with him. He would tell Jackie that he started with a thousand dollars and a few hours later the chips had bred faster than Brooklyn hamsters. He would tell his cohorts that he could count cards even when he was sloshed and that is what always threw the pit bosses off his trail.

Back at the progs Roger Roy discussed his problem and Steven grew concerned. He unnamed informant blew into Mississippi a little over a year ago with “GANGSTER” written all over him. Roger and his buds tripped him up and Roger was able to use his influence to classify him as a “covert informant.” Off the books, so to speak.

The informant knew what he had to do which was to lad Roger to criminals with cash. Of course the CI was reluctant to give up his fellow gang members so he outed a few drug dealers his people had sold to. Still a dangerous proposition and one that his people would certainly view disapprovingly.

The prior jobs were small and the CI contented himself with a finder's fee. He knew the job he set up on Khalid Christopher was large and he wanted a cut. “How much?” Steven asked. Roger mouthed the figure.

“Ain't gonna happen!” Steven roared.

Roger nodded then added. In a whisper, “It's worse than that.” He paused and and once more pressed the “Maximum Play” button and turned back to his colleague. “He was supposed to get the hell out of Dodge. His people aren't stupid. They are going to figure out who set up their Bozo and then they will come after my guy.”

Steven's machine registered three push brooms. Not the progressive jackpot three plungers would have yielded but it put him up a few thousand dollars. “What's your plan?' he coolly asked Roger.

“When I met this guy he was clean. Tox screens confirm that. But I been around a while and I know cokehead confidence when I see it. He figures he's got as much dirt on me as I do on him. Maybe he's right. But I don't have a whole gang of California Negroes breathing down my back like he will. Not yet I don't.”

“Things could get messy if his people come after him,” Steven whsiper3d about the janitorial sound effects of scrubbing brushes and flushing toilets.

Roger's machine hit three push brooms and placed him in the “Up” column. “I thought about it, believe me. There could be a public dispute and he gets nabbed. What's he got to lose? That's when he writes his tell all.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Steven asked as his machine lit up three cleanser drums, assuring that the evening would be prosperous even if he missed the progressive jackpot.

“Actually there is,” Roger purred and held the silence to enhance the drama. He grumbled about a streak of machine spins and then spoke deliberately. “My man says he has a golden goose. But he wants to play on the team. Four way split.”

Steven let loose a long, slow, deliberate groan accompanied by the “Piece of Cake” declaration from Frank The Janitor. “The deal was....”

“I know what the deal was,” Roger cut in. “This guy is already in. He doesn't need to know your identity. We'll do one more gig and then he'll leave town.”

“And if he decides to sick around?” Steven asked in a soft voice.

Roger Roy took his fingers off the machine and turned directly to Steven. With a cold stare that reminded his colleague why he was a feared and fearsome presence, he deliberately stated, “Then I will solve the problem all by myself.”

Steven nodded. “It has to be unanimous and I'm not much of a salesman.”

Roger returned his focus to his machine. The big jackpot would elude them but they would both come out a few thousand ahead and they would legitimatize a few thousand more. The ladies would check in from time to time. Jackie and Lauretta would each lose a few hundred and Christine would gloat about the forty two dollars she was taking home.

When Jackie caught up with her husband he had twelve and a half thousand dollars in chips on the table. He left the dealer a generous tip with the stipulation that he back up his story that he started with just a thousand dollars in chips. Jackie would not question his success. She would throw herself into her husband's arms and kiss him deeply. “Dinner's on me!” Ronnie announced triumphantly.

The genuinely British concierge arranged for a party of six in the Kipling Suite. The ladies had packed their evening gowns and shoes as had Steven and Ronnie. True to form, Roger Roy ignored his wife's instructions and forgot his suit. This would cause a brief shouting match in the Argyle Room with Ronnie acting as peace maker.

Somehow sensing Roger's forgetfulness on matters not related to work and also anticipating spilled cocktails, Ronnie packed a second suit. Like the one he would be wearing, it was a traditional cut coat with a starched white shirt and tepid tie.

In Ronnie and Jackie's room Roger Roy tried on his duds. Perfect fit! The waist. The hem. The sleeves. The men were skeletal twins except for their feet. Ronnie wore size ten and a half and Roger wore twelves. No way. No how.

Once more, Mr. Bristle, the stuffy but affable concierge solved the problem instantly. He had a pair of size twelve black Wingtips sent to Roger and Christine's room and the delivery man placed the shoes on Roger's feet using an ivory shoehorn that featured a handle of bas-relief honoring the finer equine specimens of the Edwardian Era. Roger paid handsomely for his room service kicks and still found something in his wallet for the shoe guy and Mr. Bristle.

In their classic, toned-down suits the gentlemen could have been cast as extras in almost any decade. Christine would steal the show with a florid design that accentuated her stature. Her Southern grace would have an opportunity to shine and it would light up the room.

Lauretta attempted to look less perky and girlish with a dreamsicle orange and white gown that made her look extra perky and extra girlish. She too, would display a subtle Southern grace challenged at times by abundant libations.

Jackie chose a plum gown that suggested the word “prom.” “It's a beautiful shade pf plump,” a perky and inebriated Lauretta Gouger pronounced ever so innocently. Jackie's Malden manners would reveal themselves throughout the evening and the pretty plum gown would serve as a catch basin for food and drink and one wayward sneeze.

It would be a night to remember conceptually if not in detail. At the Kipling Suite a chess piece of a waiter the party appetizers none of them had ever heard of. They would drink cold beer and frothy margaritas and guzzle fine wine during dinner. They would all order variations of beefsteak, potato and salad. They would sip and then chug a brilliant liqueur. Finally, they would be treated to a Brandy Broadside dessert. Twelve variations on sugar and butter and pastry and cream with the common denominator of Snidingham Exquisite Brandy soaked into every morsel. They tipped exorbitantly.

Mr. and Mrs. Roy would be golf-carted back to their room via the VIP elevator. The Gougers would be next. The Delveccios, the unofficial host and hostess would find themselves in their room as the sun rose over Mississippi.

Ronnie Delveccio would sleep face down on the carpet. Roger Roy vomited repeatedly and begged his wife not to tell anyone. Steven Gouger would lie in bed with his wife cuddling him. “If I die right now, I will be a happy man,” Steven declared.

“You can't die,” his tired wife said softly. “You're all I got.” She kissed him and they both fell asleep.