The Tale of Two 'Sammies'

Location: Undisclosed (Foreign, warm and sunny)

Not even mom said there'd be days like these. Wow-ee, where to start boys and girls?

First I want to thank all of my fans and readers who went out to see the replacement act I booked at The Greek. I'm touched by your support. There's a "Thanks Sinatra" lighter to each and every one of you.

Now, on to the big news. Last time we had a chit chat, (or rather when I last spoke and you listened) I was leavin' Sammy's residence at Cedars. Jilly had to swing by his house to get fresh duds so we split up. I was headed back to the Twin Palms.




I'm rarely tired at 4:00 AM, but being under the pressure cooker all of the sudden, made me wanna' give the night a point in the win column. Once home, I headed straight to the bar to pour myself a nightcap.





After killing the Tennessee milk in one gulp, I poured another. That's when I found out I wasn't alone.

"Whatsa madda' Frank? You nervous or somthin'?"

I looked up and near pissed my drawers. There in a chair, not ten feet away from me, sat a dead man and he'd just talked to me.

The dead man giggled at me while I stood as if I was etched in stone. I hate to say it, but Bobby K. was right. This guy giggles like a little girl. It was Momo. Finally I got my wits back enough to start talkin'.

"Either I'm dead, pal or your..."

"You ain't dead Frank. Not yet anyways." More giggling. This was beyond Creepy-ville, baby.

"But Sam, I saw the photo of you, lyin' in a pool of your own blood on the floor. Seven bullets Sam. Seven to the head."

"Since when do you believe evrathin' you read in da papers? You know for a man of da world Frank, you ain't dat fuckin' bright."

"So you walked?" I asked, still shocked.

"No, I gotta' great plastic surgeon... what da' fuck you think Frank?"

"But no one uses photos when they walk. Just a death certificate and a news clipping."

"Not everyone whose a walker's ditchin' the F-fuckin'-B-I and da outfit."

He got up from the couch and walked up to me holding his arms open, almost like Christ. He was laughing again. I ain't scared of much, but this was a bit too much.

"Ain't you gonna show me some respect you fuck, or should I be givin' you your real walkin' papers?"

Yep, I wasn't hallucinating, it was Sammy G., alive and in the flesh. I gave the guy a good back slapping hug. "You sly bastard," I said, "Only you could pull off the greatest escape of the 20th century."

The shock was wearin' off, but I started to worry and wonder. What the fuck did he want with me after more than 30 years? Sam only came around when he wanted you around him and that usually involved walking a razors edge.

"So what's the scoop Sam? What ya' doing back?"

"Pour me a drink Frank." I grabbed another tumbler and poured while he talked, "You in a world a shit right now, ya know Frank?"

I stopped pouring. My nerves were still enough on edge to think he was gonna' clip me.

"Relax Frank. Jesus. If I wanted ta whack ya, you'da looked like my walkin' picture by now." Relieved, I resumed my bartendin' duties while he continued.

"So nigga' Sam went and popped off to "tall, dark and handome" and got 'imself punched for his troubles, and now you's all fucked good. Am I right Frank?"

"Where'd you hear?" I said, handing him his drink. He went to the couch and sat, taking his hat off and setting it next to him.

"I hear everything Frank, you know dat. Whaddaya' fuckin' care? Anyways, you's in dutch but good and I know abouddit. So what, right? So now you know I know, so we're all upta speed on da bullshit and da chit chat. Let's talk business."

Sam's always got an angle. He's got a degree in street smarts. I've dined with Presidents and with Kings. I've met every giant in the business world, but none of them, not a one of them is half as smart as Sammy G. He is, hands down the sharpest person in any room. It's made him wealthy. It's also what makes him deadly. Sharp like a knife and it cuts both ways.

I pulled up a chair in front of from him, pulled a sip out of my drink and said, "I'm all ears Sam."

"When me 'n some of da other big guys walked outta' da life, we put some guys in for us. Ya' know, some markers, puppets, guys we could control no matta' where we was."

I nodded, "Smart."

Sam snapped back, "Nah, it was fuckin' stupid. Deez guys start thinkin' dat they're real bosses, ya' know? But not a one of 'em had a brain between 'em. Dey start makin' moves wit out approval from on high. Eventually we ended up wit da special olympics of our thing and dat idiot Gotti wuz da' capt'n of da team. Fucked da whole thing up real good. Fuckin' talk more then broads dose guys. So membership was down, money went down and all da' power followed da' money. Fuckin' Chinks & Spooks running da' neighborhood, thinkin' they got da' muscle, and for a while they do. Big fuckin' mess. Took us fifty fuckin' years to build our thing here and ten to waste it. We all got fuckin' lazy."

I was curious, "So you're not the only one who's back?"

"Uh-uh, not by a long shot, and don't even think 'bout askin' who else. We gotta' new rule and believe me, da' less you know, da' better. Anyways, let's just say da' brains all got back together and we drove out da' dumb muscle. Almost everybody. No walk outs, only one way tickets for dose bums.

I was starting to see where this was heading. If everything Momo was telling me was true, then he must know the 'quiet guys' who were behind The Greek. I was gettin' hopeful. Cautiously hopeful.

"So that's how you heard about my little predicament," I said.

Sammy laughed, "now ya gettin' smart again, Frank. Keep dis up and maybe we let you run anotha casino. Yeah, dats how I heard abouddit." Then he leaned forward and dropped his voice. "See, the thing is, da' boys runnin' that joint, Da Greek? Dey are what's left of da' dumb asses dat we flushed. Dey figure deys well hid in a little joint, skim some cash and no one's gonna' find 'em or fuck wid 'em there."

"And you intend to show them the error of their ways."

"Give dis man a dolla'. Yeah, they gettin' took down."

"Well I couldn't agree with you more Sam. But what can I do?"

"Nothin'"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I want you to lay low, don't stay anywhere you can be found, become impossible to get a holda'. Find some broad in a foreign country and fuck 'er brains out, whatever. Let dis beef between da' Candyman and da' Crooner stew. Don't tell no one, not even Jilly and especially that dizzy broad Marilyn about it, just vanish. Then, after a couple a days, dos guys are gonna' try 'n put pressure on ya', ya' know, muscle ya'. "They'll threaten everything but ya' socks. Fuck 'em. When dey do, send word back that dey can suck ya' dick, ya' got it?"

"How will I know?"

"You'll know."

I knew it was a mixed blessing that Sam was back. It's always a mixed blessing. This time, there was less of a bless in the mixin'.

"So how long do I let this go on, until I DO get whacked?"

"Nah, nah, nah. You ain't gettin' whacked. Listen, you keep up da' routine like I said 'til I tell ya' udderwise."

"I don't know Sam, this is soundin' like a dangerous game."

"Ya' gonna' fuckin' trust me or ya' gonna' wish it was a game. It's already more than you want to play wit. Look, who ya' fuckin' think shielded you after I walked outta' da' life? You do it my way and we'll all get real well at da end of dis. Ya' don't, and you start to regret ya' came back at all, capiche?"

I nodded, "Yeah, alright Sam. My chips are on you, Pal. Like you said, what have I gotta' lose?"

"Believe me Frank, you ain't got nothin' to lose and everything to gain. I wouldn't have brought ya' in if I didn't think you were da' man for da' plan." He rose from the couch and grabbed his hat. "I ain't gonna' tell ya' anymore for now. Ya' know enough. You'll hear from me when ya' hear from me. Right now, ya' gotta' pack ya' bags and fly the fuck outta' here."

We hugged goodbye and then he said, "By this time next month Frank, I'm gonna' be listenin' to you sing 'Chicago' in my new casino. Ya' gonna' have a piece of it too, just like before. It's gonna' be better then ever and no one will be able to touch us, ever." He headed toward the back door and then stopped and said, "Hey, I almost forgot. Dat butler a yours? George?"

"Yeah, what about him?"

"He wrote a book. Dey gonna' make a movie outta' it."

"That fuckin' asshole!"

"Nah, I heard he was pretty easy on ya'. He kept da' main secrets out of it, even da' one's about King Arthur, which is why George lives to see his movie. He threw in a few lies too. Said you was hung like a horse." Sam started laughing that maniacal laugh.

"Get da' fuck outta' here Sammy," I said laughin'.

He turned to walk out and I said, "Hey Sam. Thanks Pally."

"Leave town Frank." Then he walked out.

And so here I am. In an undisclosed location like that lard ass Vice-President we got. I can't complain, but you know I will. I'm in a place that looks like paradise, even though in reality, I'm limbo. When I think about it, that's pretty much where I've been all my life, somewhere between heaven and hell.