Donna Francesca says, "Gyp asked me to look through his nonno's things for something about a Card House. This was all I could find."
It's a $25 poker chip from a notorious bust-out joint called THE LIMP INN.
"I must get back home," say Donna Francesca, "Ever since his father and nephew were killed by this double-barreled shotgun-wielding maniac, my son Paulo worries I will die in the same manner." I walk her out to the street where Vittorio and Jake stand by her town car. I open her car door. She stops, asks, "What is a bust-out joint?"
"A crooked poker room where you buy-in and bustout." "The Don would never play in such a place. He would cheat but never be cheated."
Vittorio opens the town car's back door. "What does this 'bust-out' place have to do with Gyp's death? With the Don's?"
"I don't know." I hold up the $25 chip. "I'll take this orphan home and find out."
"Thank you, Mr. Thayer," says the Donna getting into the back seat. "You, like Gyp, are a cheat. The Don always said, 'The game belongs to the cheaters.'"
I close her door and step away. Vittorio starts the car. It explodes.
My hole cards are JaJd. Bloody Fishhooks. I bet half my chips.
"Alcoholya," says the late Gyp.
The flop comes, Jack, Jack, Jack.
I raise with the other half of my chips.
"Yore bluffin,'" says Gyp, "use ain't got no five Jax!" I come over the top re-raising myself with the third half of my chips.
Fourth Street: Jack!
Fifth Street: Jack!
"What ya got?" asks Gyp. I show down my seven Jacks.
Gyp shows me A's and 8's says, "How come ahm hold'en the Deadman's Hand but the deadman's hold'en, "Jack, Jack, Jack. . . ."
"Jack, Jack, Jack," I open my eyes. Jake say's, "I though you we're a dead man." Lying in the street, I feel like I am.
He exclaims, "That bomb blast threw you half-way across the street. Are you all right?"
I wiggle everything.
Everything, except my left arm, wiggles back. A sudden wave of dizziness, I say, "Something's . . ."
. . . wrong."
"Don't ah no it!" say Gyp, "For startahs', ahm dead."
He deals again. My hole cards are JsJf. Black Jacks. I ask, "Whose action is it?" "Don't matta. Ahm awl-in. Yore awl-en."
The board is 6 6 6 4 4.
Gyp turns over 4 4.
"Four Dead In O-Hi-O," he says.
I turn over my wired Jacks. Gyp says, "Jack's In Hell." I start to scream
. . . of a ambulance siren.
Jake yells, "Over here! Over here!" A Paramedic runs over and asks . . .
"Whatsamattawityou?"
I answer Gyp, "Every time I think about your murder I get the feeling. . . .
"Something wrong!'" yells the Paramedic, "Sir? Hello!
Can you hear me? Hell. . . ."
"Hell?" I ask Gyp, "Are we in Hell?"
"Naw," he answers, "In Hell dey make poka playahs like us play Go. . ."
" . . . Go! Go!" yells someone and the ambulance speeds off. I come to, tied tightly down to a stretcher. The Paramedic, his back turned, is filling a hypodermic needle.
I ask, "Am I going to live?"
The Ugly Man, holding the long needle, turns around and says, "No, you're going to die!"
