Mario Puzo - Fools die

Cully went on. “Your brother, Charles, owes my hotel in Vegas, the Xanadu, over fifty thousand dollars. He owes another two hundred and fifty thousand scattered around Vegas. Let me say right now that my hotel will never press him for his markers. He’s been too good a customer and he’s too nice a man. The other casinos may make things a little unpleasant for him, but they can’t really make him pay if you use your connections, which I know you have. But then you owe your connections a favor which eventually may cost you more than what I ask.”

Eli Hemsi sighed and then asked in his soft but powerful voice, “Is my brother a good gambler?”

“Not really,” Cully said. “But that doesn’t make any difference. Everybody loses.”

Hemsi sighed again. “He’s not much better in the business. I am going to buy him out, get rid of him, fire my own brother. He’s nothing but trouble with his gambling and his women. When he was young, he was a great salesman, the best, but he’s too old now and he’s not interested. I don’t know if I can help him. I know I won’t pay his gambling debts. I don’t gamble, I don’t take that pleasure. Why should I pay for his?”

“I’m not asking you to,” Cully said. “But here’s what I can do. My hotel will buy all his markers from the other casinos. He won’t have to pay for them unless he comes and gambles and wins at our casino. We won’t give him any more credit, and I’ll make sure no other casino in Vegas gives him credit. He can’t get hurt if he just plays for cash. That’s strength. For him. Just like letting people sign markers is our strength in our operation. I can give him that protection.”

Hemsi was still watching him very intently. “But my brother keeps gambling?”

“You’ll never be able to stop him,” Cully said simply. ‘There are many men like him, very few men like yourself. Real life is not that exciting to him anymore, he’s not interested. Very common.”

Eli Hemsi nodded, thinking that over, rolling it around his buffalo like head. “But this isn’t too bad a business deal for you,” he said to Cully. “Nobody can collect my brother’s debts, you said that yourself, so you’re giving away nothing. And then my foolish brother comes with ten, twenty thousand dollars in his pocket and you win it from him. So you gain. No?”

Cully said very carefully, “It could go another way. Your brother could sign more markers and owe a great deal more money. Enough money to make certain people think it worthwhile to collect them or try harder to collect them. Who knows how foolish a man can get? Believe me when I tell you that your brother won’t be able to stay away from Vegas. It’s in his blood. Men like him come from all over the world. Three, four, five times a year. I don’t know why, but they come. It means something to them that you and I can’t understand. And remember, I have to buy up his markers; that will cost me something.” As he said this, he wondered how he could make Gronevelt accept the proposition. But he would worry about that later.

“And what is the favor?” The question was finally asked in that same soft, yet powerful voice. It was really the voice of a saint, the voice seemed to give off a spiritual serenity. Cully was impressed and for the first time a little worried. Maybe this wouldn’t work.

Cully said, “Your son, Paul. He gave testimony against my friend Merlyn. You remember Merlyn. You promised to make him happy for the rest of his life.” And Cully let the steel come into his voice. He was annoyed by the power given off by this man. A power born of his tremendous success with money, the rise from poverty to millions in an adverse world, from the victorious wars of his life while carrying a foolish brother.

But Eli Hemsi did not rise to the bait of this ironic reproach. He did not even smile. He was still listening.

“Your son’s testimony is the only evidence against Merlyn. Sure I understand, Paul was frightened.” Suddenly there was a dangerous flicker in those dark eyes watching him. Anger at this stranger knowing his son’s first name and using it so familiarly and almost contemptuously. Cully gave back a sweet smile. “A very nice boy you have, Mr. Hemsi. Everybody is certain he was tricked, threatened, to make his statement to the FBI. I've consulted some very good lawyers. They say he can back off in the grand jury room, give his testimony in such a way so that he will not convince the jury and still not get in trouble with the FBI. Maybe he can re-tract the testimony altogether.” He studied the face opposite him. There was nothing to read. “I assume your son has immunity,” Cully said. “He won’t be prosecuted. I also understand you probably have it arranged so he won’t have to do his Army duty. He’ll come out of it a hundred percent OK. I figure you have that all set. But if he does this favor, I promise you nothing will change.”

Eli Hemsi spoke now in a different voice. It was stronger, not so soft, yet persuasive, a salesman selling. “I wish I could do that,” he said. ‘That boy, Merlyn, he’s a very nice boy. He helped me, I will be grateful to him forever.” Cully noted that here was a man who used the word “forever” pretty often. No halfway gestures for him. He had promised Merlyn he would make him happy for the rest of his life. Now he was going to be grateful forever. A real fucking claim agent weaseling out of his obligations. For the second time Cully felt some anger that this guy was treating Merlyn like such a schmuck. But he continued to listen with an agreeable smile on his face.

“There is nothing I can do,” Hemsi said. “I can’t endanger my son. My wife would never forgive me. He is her whole life to her. My brother is a grown man. Who can help him? Who can guide him, who can make his life now? But my son has to be cared for. He is my first concern. Afterward, believe me, I will do anything for Mr. Merlyn. Ten, twenty, thirty years from now I will never forget him. Then, when this is all over, you can ask me anything.” Mr. Hemsi rose from his desk and put out his hand, his powerful frame bent over with grateful solicitousness. “I wish my son had a friend like you.”

Cully grinned at him, shook his hand. “I don’t know your son, but your brother is my friend. He’s coming out to visit me in Vegas at the end of the month. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of him. I’ll keep him out of trouble.” He saw the pondering look on Eli Hemsi’s face. He might as well sock it to him all the way.

“Since you can’t help me,” Cully said, “I have to get Merlyn a really good lawyer. Now the district attorney has probably told you that Merlyn will plead guilty and get a suspended sentence. And everything will blow away so that your son not only will get immunity but will never have to go back into the Army. That may be. But Merlyn will not plead guilty. There wile be a trial. Your son will have to appear in an open court. Your son will have to testify. There will be a lot of publicity. I know that won’t bother you, but the newspapers will get to know where your son, Paul, is and what he is doing. I don’t care who promised you what. Your son will have to go into the Army. The newspapers will just put on too much pressure. And then, besides all that, you and your son will have enemies. To use your phrase, ‘I’ll make you unhappy for the rest of your life.’”

Now that the threat was out in the open Hemsi leaned back in the chair and stared at Cully. His face, heavy and cragged, was more sad in its somberness than angry. So Cully gave it to him again. “You have connections. Call them and listen to their advice. Ask about me. Tell them I work for Gronevelt at the Xanadu Hotel. If they agree with you and call Gronevelt, there is nothing I can do. But you’ll be in their debt.”