Lucky Charm

Lucky Charm by Colin Linder1

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I'll never forget the feeling I had entering Blackeyed Pete's Pool and Arcade Emporium that day. It was surreal, like following the white rabbit down that absurdly large rabbit hole. Every window in the run-down century old building had been painted over with a thick black paint. It reminded me of the grease that always got all over my hands every time I had to put the chain back on the second hand bike I'd gotten for my sixth birthday. The only illumination in the dim room came from the weak glow of the fluorescent lamps that hung suspended above the pool tables. 3

The smoke in the room was so thick that my eyes immediately started to tear. Everywhere I looked, I could see men smoking Camels and Lucky Strikes or my fathers brand of choice, unfiltered Marlboros. The smoke drifted off the ends of what seemed like hundreds of cigarettes, wafting upwards in lazy swoops and whirls and collecting under the light of those fluorescent lamps, an acrid stormcloud waiting for the proper moment to unleash its torrential downpour. 4

The year was 1979 and I was turning nine that day. My father, a man of such small stature that he was known to all by the dubious moniker of 'Little Willie', was once again unemployed, a not unusual occurrence for a man whose resume sported more holes than the PGA tour.5

"Now listen up, Justin," my father said to me as we stood outside the door to Pete's that day. "I'm not really supposed to be bringing you in here. Pete's not exactly fond of children. But since your mother was called into work today, and I sorta promised the guys I'd be here for The Big Game, I ain't got any choice." 6

With my father, every poker game was 'The Big Game'. The way he said it, you knew it was meant to be capitalized in his mind. 7

"So you just stay with me and be very quiet. And if anyone happens to say anything to you while we're in there, you just smile and say 'yessir'. And after we're done here, we'll get home before your mom does and setup for your birthday party. Okay?"8

I grew up in Atlantic City and Pete's was definitely not one of the fancier places in town. The fact that my father had to resort to illegal backroom poker games in a city where gambling was not only legal, but a religion, was a true testament to how badly bitten by the gambling bug he was. He was an infrequent visitor to Pete's at that time, as were all of Pete's customers; the only clientele that frequented those illegal games were the men who, like my father, sometimes woke up and realized their gambling was a problem and voluntarily banned themselves from all the casinos in town. 9

Little Willie tended to do this two or three times a year, never banning himself voluntarily for more than a couple months, because, as he put it, "all I need is a couple of months downtime to break this streak of bad luck I bin havin." Black-Eyed Pete's, however, was one place that didn't enforce a voluntary banning rule; Petes was the alternative to voluntary banning. 10

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During this particular period of self-banishment, my father was my primary caregiver, long before the term 'primary caregiver' had been invented. He was as usual between jobs. My mother, the long-suffering Elayne Larkin, did what most people who lived in Atlantic City did - she worked at a casino, dealing blackjack at the Royal Dragon. The tips she made were more often than not the only source of income for our family. On those rare occasions that Little Willie decided to "turn himself over a new leaf" and managed to go out and actually find himself a job, he always seemed to get himself fired within a few weeks, a month at the most. 12

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That's not to say that my father was a lazy or shiftless man; he wasn't. He was just a man who had never found the job in life that he was suited for. He'd been everything from a casino doorman to a door-to-door insurance salesman. He had tried selling used automobiles at Uncle Johnny's Deals on Wheels, but had been fired from that one after only two days on the job. 14

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"I just couldn't sell that piece of junk to that nice old lady", he'd explained apologetically to my mother when she found out. It was the third job he'd been fired from in less than three months, but still she couldn't be mad at him. He always seemed to have such a good reason for getting fired; it was never his fault, he'd explain. Was it his fault he'd accidentally walked in on his boss and the girl who sold the makeup getting to know each other rather affectionately in the mop closet of the Woolworths after only two weeks of working maintenance there? Why, no, of course not. 16

And could he really be blamed for taking a swing at the man who'd thought to sic his dog on him, when all he'd wanted to do was demonstrate the amazing cleaning power of the Bissell Steam Clean Deluxe? That he had spent the weekend in jail for that one was just one more example of how bad his luck was, as my father saw it. After all, he'd only been defending himself, hadn't he? 17

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And he would promise that next time, the next job he got, that would be the one, we'd see. And my mother would sigh, and nod supportively, knowing in her heart that the next one would be the same. Try as she might, she couldn't help but love him, for it wasn't that he was a bad husband; he was just a bad provider. As a husband he was great, she'd say. . . loving, faithful and, as I overheard her telling my Aunt Lucy one day when I was seven, wonderful in bed. I hadn't known what that meant at the time; my young mind conjured up pictures of pillow fights and tickling contests.19

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Primary caregiver or not, most days I rarely saw Little Willie. I'd see him before school when he'd make my breakfast, scrambled eggs, the same thing every morning. I believe it was the only breakfast food he knew how to cook. It wasn't until my first Saturday night sleepover at Ronnie Ellisons that I realized eggs could even be cooked any other way. Then I'd be off to school and by the time I returned home in the afternoon he'd be gone, off to some poker game or other. My mother always worked the midnight shifts and by the time he'd return home to let her go to work, I'd be fast asleep. 21

Little Willie never took me to a movie, or a baseball game or even tossed around the football with me in the park. I'd see other kids my age doing these things with their fathers and wonder what made my relationship with Little Willie so different. I asked my mother once, and she just smiled at me with sad eyes and said, "Your father loves you, Justin." And those sad eyes were what stopped me from telling her that I just didn't believe that was so. 22

I knew Little Willie liked to go to Black-Eyed Pete's to play poker. He talked about it often enough. But I'd never expected him to take me with him there. In a way I was excited, not only because I was doing something with my father for once, but because I knew my mother would be furious if she found out and the very illicit nature of it woke the butterflies in my stomach. 23

It seemed to me that the moment we walked in, everyone in the room stopped what they had been doing to stare at us. Perhaps the mistaken impression of a child, but it was enough to make me uncomfortable, and very conscious of how out of place I was. My father too I could tell, for his face seemed a bit whiter than it had been moments ago. It was not everyday at Black-Eyed Pete's Pool and Arcade Emporium that the door to the outside world opened up to admit a child barely tall enough to see over the pool tables. And it seemed that our presence had attracted someone elses attention as well. 24

Sitting on a stool at a bar strewn with overflowing ashtrays and empty beer mugs was the largest man I had ever seen. Seated, it was hard for me to tell how large he really was, but a guess would have put his weight nearer to five hundred pounds than four. The massive head which swiveled slowly around to view our arrival was covered almost entirely in thick, shaggy white hair, leaving only his eyes and mouth visible through the beard. His cheeks, what could be seen of them, hung down from his face like the jowls of a bulldog to be lost in the thick folds of his neck. Even from twenty feet away and through thick smoke and dim lights, I could clearly see the fleshy stomach that protruded from under the porcine mans' once white T-shirt. It was marked with dark purple veins that formed a crazy roadmap, broken here and there by open sores like potholes in the road. One hand with fingers as round and greasy as breakfast sausages lay idly scratching one of those sores. 25

As I watched him watching us, he labored himself off his stool, a feat somewhat like watching a house lift itself from its foundations. As he lumbered towards us, Little Willie bent down and whispered in my ear. "That's Pete. Now remember, you just stand there and don't say anything but yessir". 26

"Now just what do you think you're doing, bringing a kid in here?" Those deep rumbling words were directed at Little Willie, but the harsh glare that came with them was all for me. "I don't recall this place being named Black-Eyed Pete's Babysitting Service! Do you?" 27

"Well, no Pete ... uh, but -" my father began. 28

"Madigan! Get over here Madigan!" Pete bellowed. From out of the dim 29

shadows of the back of the room came a man I assumed was Madigan. He was whip 30

thin and stood tall enough that he had to duck the high-hanging table 31

lights. He was dressed all in black, as if he had formed from the 32

shadows he had walked out of, like some evil spirit had been hovering there 33

waiting for Petes call before coalescing into the shape known as Madigan. The skin on his face was stretched so tightly over his sunken eyes and sallow cheeks that I had the impression I was looking at a skull. Even his hair was sparse and brittle looking and that sickly yellowish color one would expect of a long dead and decaying corpse. More terrified than I'd ever been in my life, I grabbed desperately for my father's hand. That was something I never did but the warmth of it seemed the only link to normality I had. Little Willie looked at me in surprise, but merely squeezed my hand tighter. 34

"What's up, Pete?" the walking cadaver asked and his voice was suprisingly soft 35

and lilting, not at all like the creaking of bones or the hissing of snakes 36

that I had expected. 37

"What's up? I'll tell you what's up! Little Willie here seems to be under 38

the mistaken impression that we're running a babysitting service!" His outraged tone was accompanied by the shaking of one meaty finger pointed right at me. "Now I may be mistaken, but I don't recall seeing any signs saying 'childcare provided' anywhere around here, do you?" 39

"Now, now, just relax," Madigan said. Looking at the two of them standing 40

side by side, the emaciated Madigan and the corpulescent Pete, I couldn't help 41

but think of Abbott and Costello. Although I couldn't imagine anyone playing 42

straight man to Pete. From the thunderous look on Petes face, I wasn't sure 43

that laughing was something Pete was even capable of. "He's just a boy, what's 44

it gonna hurt, him being in here?" 45

"Now you listen here," Pete stormed on, the waggling finger now 46

turned towards the skinny man and leaving me relieved that the attention was 47

somewhat off of me. "When our Daddy owned this pool hall, we weren't even allowed 48

in as kids." I stared at the two of them in shock. Brothers? I couldn't imagine 49

any two people looking more unlike brothers than these two. "And now that he's retired and left it to us, I ain't about to start changing his rules." 50

"I don't seem to recall Daddy running illegal poker games in the backroom 51

either," Madigan replied in an icy tone. "Seems to me that our 52

Daddy's somewhat of a religious man, or have you forgotten all those Sundays 53

spent in church? I don't think that he'd cotton too much to learning about your 54

little sideline business. Do you?" 55

Pete's face had gone that peculiar shade of white that I had always 56

associated with the glue-sticks that we used at school. You know the kind that pushed up from the bottom of the tube nad never really held anything together? Until then. After seeing his face at that moment, that color would always remind me of Pete. "You wouldn't dare," he whispered. "You're in this just as much as I am," and with each word, the whisper got louder and louder, until he was just short of yelling. "What do you think paid for that new Buick you're driving? If you tell Daddy -" 57

"Hold on, hold on," Madigan interjected, his gaunt hands held up in a 58

gesture meant to be placating. "Nobody said I was gonna tell Daddy nothin'. I'm 59

just making the point that sometimes the old rules are just that ... old rules. 60

And if Little Willie here wants to bring his son in, I don't see what harm it's 61

gonna do." 62

"Uh, really, Madigan, it's all right if -" my father began, breaking off 63

as Pete's enraged visage swung his way. I'd never seen anything like the way his 64

white face became as red as an over-ripe tomato in the blink of an eye. It was like all 65

the blood in his considerable body had risen to his face as his surely overworked heart had gotten confused and finally given up directing all that traffic. 66

"Now you listen to me, Little Willie. If you insist on bringing that 67

little brat in here I'll allow it this one time, only because you're one of my better customers. But if he so much as makes one little peep, breathes too heavy or even passes gas near me, you're both outta here quicker than a fly sticks to shit. You got that?" 68

"Sure, Pete," Little Willie agreed quickly. 69

Centering his red-faced glare on me, Pete growled "Got that, kid?" 70

Still too terrified to speak, I couldn't even squeak out the 'Yessir' I 71

had prepared. A jerking nod was the best I could manage. Giving me one last 72

malevolent stare, Pete thundered off back to his post at the bar. 73

Madigan bent down on his haunches in front of me. "Now don't you pay Pete no mind. He's not half the bear he'd like everyone to believe." I wasn't sure how much I believed that. "Well, all this commotion over you and I don't even know your name. Mine's Madigan. What's yours?" 74

"Yessir!" I blurted out. That had been the only word on my mind to say 75

for so long now, it was like my tongue had forgotten how to form anything else. 76

Madigan looked up at my father quizically. "It's ok," my father smiled 77

down at me. "Madigan's one of the good guys, you can tell him your name." 78

I looked at the skeletal figure as he smiled at 79

me encouragingly. "Jus- justin. Justin La-lar-larkin," I managed to stammer out. 80

"Well Justin, Justin Larkin, it's certainly a pleasure to meet the young 81

master that Little Willie's always bragging about." I stared at him. Bragging? 82

Little Willie? About me? Surely he had something a little backwards. "So 83

you've come to lend a little luck to your Daddys poker hand, have you?" 84

Wide eyed and still trembling, I merely stared at him. 85

"That's right," my father answered for me. "My boy's gonna bring me all 86

the luck in the world today, so I hope you and the boys brought your checkbooks." 87

Madigan let out a bellowing laugh, making me cling to my fathers hand even tighter and leaving me wondering how such a rumble could come from so skinny a chest. 88

"I'm sure he will at that. He couldn't make your luck any worse," he 89

said, his warm grin showing the remark for the joke he'd meant it to be. "Well, no 90

sense wasting anymore time, the boys are all back there and they're just waiting on us." 91

With that, he strode off towards the back of the pool hall leaving my father 92

and me to follow, both of us nearly running to keep up with his long strides. 93

He rapped on a door set into the back wall and it opened from the inside to reveal a room more brightly lit and, if possible, more filled with smoke than the one we were in. 94

Seated around a large wooden table were four men, all with cigarettes in 95

one hand and cards in their other. 96

"Well, 'bout time you slowpokes got here," one of the men said, his voice 97

a lazy drawl. He wore a dark brown Stetson hat and his long grey hair hung out from it on all sides, framing a face as granite like and weather-beaten as any cowboy I had ever seen on all those late night Westerns I wasn't supposed to watch. A toothpick hung lazily from one side of his mouth and looking at him, I immediately thought of the Marlboro Man, that smokers champion, before all those anti-smoking fanatics picketed for his removal from ads. And I noticed that the cigarette he held tightly between two yellowing fingers was indeed a Marlboro ... unfiltered, of course.98

"Hey Little Willie, that your kid?" came a gravelly voice. Sitting beside 99

the Marlboro Man was the quintessential old geezer that one would expect to see at 100

any self-respecting poker game. He sat rocking back and forth in a wicker 101

rocking chair that looked like it had been bought in some garage sale in the forties. The light from the obligatory fluorescent bulbs overhead shone off the top of his bald head, the exposed skin of which was wrinkled and speckled with liver spots. 102

"Jeffrey, Harlan," my father said, nodding in turn to both. "Yes, this is 103

my boy Justin." 104

"Boy, I've heard of losing your kids in a poker game, but I never thought 105

I'd see it!" Marlboro Man quipped. 106

"Hey Little Willie, I'll see your kid and raise you my wife!" the old 107

man put in. "Now there's a bet I'd rather lose!" 108

"All right, all right," Madigan said after the laughter had died down. 109

"Justin's gonna sit in on this game with his Dad today, so I expect you animals 110

to play nice and keep the swearing to a minimum." Breaking open a brand new deck 111

of cards (the same Bicycle brand that garnished the spokes on the wheels of my 112

bike), he expertly shuffled them, cutting and bridging them faster than my eye 113

could follow. "The game," he announced, "is five card stud, one draw, no limit 114

and the buy in is a five hundred minimum. Shall we proceed, gentlemen?" 115

All joking was put aside and the five men at the table became deadly serious. 116

For two hours I watched my father play, the pile of chips in front of him 117

growing smaller with each hand, until I thought he was going to lose it all in the first hour. But slowly his pile began to show signs of growth, as if it took the cards a few hands to realize he was a good guy and deserved their support. By the end of the second hour, Little Willies original amount of chips had more than tripled, and I noticed that something else had changed. There was a light in my fathers eyes that I'd never seen there before, and the smile on his face was as bright as the noonday sun. He looked more ... alive somehow, like he was actually enjoying life. In nine years I'd never seen him look like that and as I watched him win pot after pot I knew there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. 118

After the third hour, only two players remained in the game - my father and the Marlboro Man, the other three having lost all their chips by this time. 119

"Well, Little Willie," Madigan said with a smile towards me. "It seems 120

you may have found your good luck charm. I haven't seen you win this much in 121

forever." 122

My father smiled at me and tousled my hair, the first time he'd ever done 123

that. I could see the sweat glistening on his brow and feel a slight tremble in 124

his hand. Playing poker must be hard work, I thought, although I couldn't see 125

what could be so strenuous about sitting around a table drinking beer and playing cards. 126

"Shall we continue, gentlemen?" Madigan dealt the cards and the game went 127

on. For another hour the two men continued playing, with Little Willie winning 128

most of the hands, until finally all of Marlboro Mans chips resided in my fathers pile. 129

"Well, if that ain't the damnedest piece of luck I ever seen!" Marlboro 130

Man said. "You have horseshoes and four leaf clovers for breakfast, didja?" 131

"Now why would I bother with such a breakfast when I've got the only 132

lucky charm I'll ever need right here?" my father laughed , clapping me on the 133

back. I smiled with pleasure and satisfaction. Even though I knew I hadn't done 134

anything to help my father win so much, he seemed to think I had, and that was good enough for me. 135

"I told ya a poker game was no place for a kid." Marlboro Man sighed good-naturedly. "I guess I should've stayed home today!" 136

I could understand his point. He must have lost close to a thousand dollars to my father. I felt a little sorry for him that day; a thousand dollars was alot more money in 1979 than it is today. 137

My father cashed in his chips to Madigan and we said our good-byes. And 138

before we went home, Little Willie took me for ice cream. And pizza. 139

And then we went bowling. My father was in as good a mood as I'd ever seen him 140

in. Of course, winning a couple thousand dollars will do that to a person. After 141

that day, it became a ritual for us. Every second Saturday, Black-Eyed Petes 142

held a big game and every game my father would take me. He never won as big as 143

that again; indeed, in time he began to lose more often than not, even with his 144

'good luck charm' with him. But I think by that time, he wasn't in it for the 145

money. I think he was simply enjoying the time we got to spend with each other, 146

now that we had found something we could do together. 147

I'll never forget the look on his face the day I told him I couldn't make the game because I had my first high school football game that Saturday. I thought that he would be mad ... we'd been going to Pete's every second Saturday for almost five years by then. But he wasn't mad. The tears that welled up in his eyes were pride, he told me. That 148

Saturday, for the first time in over ten years, my father missed his game, and came to mine. There he was, in the stands, cheering himself hoarse as I ran for two touchdowns and over fifty yards in my first game. And when my coach said to me after the game, "Helluva game Larkin, are your shoes made out of rabbits feet or something?", I told him, "Nossir coach, the only lucky charm I need is right there in the stands." 149

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Twenty years have passed since that day at Petes. It's January, 2000 now. The glorious millennium. Only it's not so glorious for me. My father died two weeks ago, quietly in his sleep. I think he must have known it was coming, because he phoned me up that day and asked me to go with him back to Pete's. I was concerned at first: we hadn't been in fifteen years. My father hadn't gambled at all in all that time; he'd given it up for good I'd thought. But he set my mind at ease with "Just one final time Justin, for old times sake?" and there was such pleading in his voice that I couldn't say no. 152

Black-Eyed Pete's had changed considerably in the fifteen years since we'd been. The majority of the pool tables had been removed and replaced with dozens of those loud and violent video games, and the crowd was much younger ... obnoxious teenagers with tie-dyed hair and holes in their faces where God never intended there to be. Madigan met us as we came through the door, a little older and still as skeletal as ever. 153

At least some things remained the same, I thought. Pete had died a few years ago, he informed us. Weight related heart failure, which surprised noone. I was quite upset to hear of his death, for regardless of his crabby nature and professed dislike of children, I'd grown quite fond of Pete over the years, and I suspect he had developed a bit of a soft spot for me as well. 154

The game was still being held every second Saturday, though the only player who remained from the old days was Marlboro Man, who greeted us with such warmth I thought he would break my ribs before his bear hug was through. He was still dressed in his cowboy style. 155

"Thelma asks about you all the time," he told me. I had dated his daughter through all my high school years before we drifted apart in college. "She's still single, you know," he added with a wink. 156

"Uh, I'm engaged Mr. Perrin," I lied smoothly, shooting my father a warning look that served to quiet his burgeoning smirk. I had begun calling him Mr. Perrin when I had dated his daughter, but in my mind I always thought of him as the Marlboro Man. And I'm not engaged, not even seriously involved, and that's the way I like it. 157

"Lucky girl. Well Little Willie, it's been a long time since I've had the chance to take your money. You sure you're up to the challenge?" 158

My father laughed and laid five crisp C-notes on the table in reply. There was a sparkle back in his eyes that I hadn't seen there in the five years since Mom had died. I was suddenly glad we had came. They played for five hours, cleaning the other players in the game out in less than two. I was in awe watching them play. Two stately old lions fighting for supremacy. At the end, once again all of Marlboro Mans chips sat in front of my father and a huge smile, which had been such a rare sight in the last few years, was plastered all over Little Willies face. 159

"Well my old friend, it's a pleasure losing money to you again," Marlboro Man said with a grin as they shook hands. "See you and Justin here next time?" 160

My father looked at me and I nodded. "We'll be here, Jeffrey. Me and my lucky charm." 161

But God had other plans for Little Willie. That night my father died. I found him in his bed the next morning, a deck of cards on the nighttable, a book on poker lying open on his chest and a peaceful smile on his face. 162

Marlboro Man and Madigan came to the funeral, where Madigan gave the eulogy. And at the end, before the closing of the casket, he laid five cards in Little Willie's right hand; a royal flush in hearts. He put a stack of chips in his left. 163

"The game goes on," Madigan whispered to me as the casket was closed, and I nodded through my tears.164