| standing right in the middle of dozens or more serious looking poker games and my own destination was before me just as the guard had said. Although I’m not a card player, I did take note of the atmosphere around the card parlor before I proceeded on. Hunkered down along the outskirts of at least a dozen green felt covered poker tables were ashen-faced and weary-eyed men; some paying close attention to the game in front of them while others appeared easily distracted The action looked slow and mechanical, like passing time… a long time. The poker tables were littered with half–empty drinks on paper napkins, foamed plastic coffee cups with stirrers in them and plastic water bottles of various sizes and shapes and degrees of emptiness. Multi-colored wager chips were piled neatly or scattered haphazardly in front of card players wearing baseball caps or sunglasses and t- shirts or polo shirts. The ceiling was high with white fluorescent bulbs and there was no music or much talking as they watched the dealer’s hands flick and turn the cards around the table. Cocktail waitresses in short gold skirts, high heels, and stockings delivered drinks, receiving tips in the form of low-dollar chips and rolled dollar bills placed in a short glass on the serving tray. Suddenly, my attention shifted to petite Chinese women in a tight red cocktail dress. She was standing behind a man in his late 50’s at one of the tables and digging her sharp elbows into his broad, fleshy shoulders providing him with a sort of on-the-spot deep-muscle tissue massage. The man grimaced as the young woman bore down even harder with her elbows, her eyes wandering about the room as this might have been her ninth hour and fiftieth massage of this day working mostly for tips and hoping to service the winners. The other players seemed oblivious to the spectacle as the man continued taking stock of his chips, cards, and drink in front of him in this room with no view—no sky, clouds, beach, rain, or any weather at all. Directly behind the poker tables and games in progress, was the horse race betting area that I had walked so far to find. I wondered why it had to share space with poker as if it were placed there as an afterthought, but the bank of flashing television screens broadcasting horse races a few yards away caught my attention away. I took a few steps forward and, in doing so, crossed an imaginary line between poker and the rest of the casino and into the Horse Book at the Trop. It is was that act which led me into the world of “Papa Joe.” Chapter II Nate He was sitting in a chair in the first row on the aisle, the spot closest to the betting windows. In front of each seat was a small color television which could switch from race to race. Above all the first-row seats were yellow pieces of paper scotch-taped to a shelf above the compact color television sets saying RESERVED in black block printing with the first names were written in by hand. His seat was the very best seat near the three |
| “Papa Joe” (continued) |