How Can You Mend This Purple Heart (29 page)

“Hey, ain't you guys the veterans that were at the beauty pageant?” He looked over everyone with a quick roll, pointing his finger toward somewhere. “The ones in the spotlights.”

“Yeah, that's us,” Moose said with a little caution.

“You guys are the ones been to Vietnam. You're over in Philly, right?”

“Yeah, that's us.” Moose had stepped a little closer inside.

“Well, you're in luck,” the handsome man said. He turned to the other man who was standing about two feet behind him. “Frank, help me get 'em set up. Come on you guys, follow me.”

Frank was about six-two or -three with broad shoulders, slim-waisted and very fit, and looked to be about thirty years old. He was wearing a light gray sport coat, a black crewneck shirt, and dark slacks. He didn't have the suave, smooth mannerisms of the first guy, but was more rigid and alert, like a secret service agent.

The bar in Reg Morgan's ran the entire length of the left wall. The right side housed a few small booths with couples crowded together. About two-thirds of the way down on the left was a stage with a three-piece jazz group cramped in its tight space. A beautiful black woman was caressing the microphone as if it was a part of her, and her low, lusty voice had the place mesmerized. Every bar stool and booth was occupied and not one person turned to look at us or our two escorts.

At the very back and to the right was a horseshoe-shaped bar that was empty and dark. We followed the two men back to the horseshoe, giving each other quick glances as if preparing a defense and escape plan.

The lights over the horseshoe bar came on, and Frank was standing on the other side lifting every gin, vodka, scotch, and whiskey bottle from the back shelves and placing them on the bar top. Bottles of Coke, Sprite, and ginger ale, along with ice, lemon and lime slices, and olives were placed next to the liquor.

“The name's Dave Marzetti,” the guy in the green sport coat finally offered. “You guys help yourselves. Tonight the bar's all yours. And you ain't going to pay a dime.”

We all wondered if we hadn't fallen into a Candid Camera trap. But, hey, who's to look a gift horse in the mouth?

I slid Big Al from my shoulders onto the bar at the point of the horseshoe and Moose, Roger, Earl Ray, Bobby Mac, Ski, and I took our places at the half-round counter with gusto and delight.

“What'll you have?” Frank asked.

“Scotch and soda.” Ski was the first to order.

Frank asked Ski what kind of scotch and started to make the drink. He set the bottle and glass down with a thump. “What the hell. You guys just mix your own. You don't need me to do this.” As he leaned over from behind the bar, his sport coat flapped open, and a shoulder holster with a small handgun came into plain view.

Our second round of drinks wasn't half finished when the man named Dave Marzetti came over and put his arms around Ski and me. “You guys got everything you need? Anything you want, you got it.” It was not a bragging, bravado tone; it was an “I'm here to give you anything you want, this is your night, and just ask” sincere offer from someone who truly gave a shit.

Ski looked at me as if Santa had just come down the chimney.

In a half joking response and looking straight at me, Ski winked. “Well, dwe could always use a little pussy.”

Dave Marzetti just smiled and walked toward the long bar and ordered a drink.

Our laughing and chatter were covered over with another slug of drink, and we continued eating the sandwiches overloaded with ham and cheese that Frank and a waitress brought out of the kitchen. The beautiful black woman and her band were taking a break, and we could talk across the bar without having to lean over and yell at each other.

“So, you think Frank is a cop?” Roger asked.

“Are you dumb, or what?” Moose jibed. “He's Dave's bodyguard, man.”

“No shit?” Big Al whispered.

“You country fucks don't know what makes the world go 'round, do you?” Moose said.

“Okay, smartass city fuck, why does Dave need a bodyguard?” Roger asked.

“Because he does things other people don't like, that's why,” Bobby Mac laughed.

“What kinda things?” Big Al asked.

“What's it fuckin' matter?” Earl Ray jumped in from his wheeled position near Big Al. “He's doin' right by us, ain't he?”

“Guess so,” Big Al said, looking around the bar.

“We gotta remember to thank that bartender back at the hotel,” I said.

“Yeah, who would have believed this?” Roger said.

“No shdit!” said Ski. “We've heet the jackpot, baby!”

The jackpot was just about to get a little more enticing.

It was less than thirty minutes when Dave Marzetti came busting through the front door to Reg Morgan's, whistling loudly through his fingers in his mouth and motioning us toward the doorway.

“Come on!” he shouted. “We're going for a ride! And I mean a ride!”

Frank came from around the bar like a leopard ready to pounce. He stood next to Dave and made a nervous look up and down the bar.

“C'mon. It's okay,” Dave said.

We all looked at each other, and without a word between us we knew it was time to do what our generous host was asking of us.

Waiting outside were three Yellow cabs, each driver standing next to the open back door of his taxi. Dave and Frank climbed into a large blue car that was parked in front of the line of cabs.

We loaded up and started our little caravan down the darkened streets of Atlantic City. Five blocks later, we were parked in the back of the Holiday Inn next to the loading dock.

We stood next to Dave and Frank on the dock waiting for the service elevators when Frank nudged Dave on the shoulder. “Dave, I think the cabbies want pay.”

The cab drivers had shuffled their way up onto the dock and were standing several feet from us, seeming to know to keep their distance. They were all three looking down in nervous silence and fear of doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. Not that Dave or Frank would have harmed them—at least we didn't sense that they would—but they had just ferried a group of Dave's guests, and well, maybe he expected the ride to be covered.

Dave started toward the three nervous men. “Oh shit,” Dave said as he reached in the pocket of his sport coat.

“Oh shit, is right!” I thought. “He's going to shoot them, for God's sake!”

His hand came out with a wad of bills—twenties, fifties, and hundreds. He walked over and gave each driver a twenty dollar bill for the five-block fare. They shambled back down the loading dock ramp and got quietly into their cabs.

Our two hosts stood at either side of the heavy doors as we all scuttled onto the large freight elevator, and we rode in silence for the few floors up.

The room was spectacular: a suite with a king-size bed, sliding glass doors out to the pool, and a sitting area just inside the front door. The wet bar had been freshly stocked with all the best liquors, two buckets of ice were on the huge coffee table, and an assortment of nuts, cheeses, and fruit filled a silver tray setting on the bed.

The bartender behind the small counter of the wet bar mixed drinks for everyone, and Frank nodded for him to leave. We all found a place to sit, not believing what had happened over the past couple of hours.

“Nice job!” Frank said to Dave.

“Shit, this is nothing,” Dave said with a proud smile. “Let's go in the other room.”

The adjoining room was smaller than our party room, but it was big enough to hold two king-size beds and nothing more—nothing more except two gorgeous women lying with nothing on but their underpants.

“What's this?” Dave said to the blonde, pointing to her panties. “Take 'em off, for Christ's sake!” he chuckled.

We couldn't believe that fate had brought us together with this man and his generosity. We didn't give a damn what he did for a living; for all we cared, he was a saint.

We made our way back to the party room with a clumsy silence and an unusual fidgeting. It's not like this was the first time we'd seen a whore, but these ladies could have beaten out any one of the Miss America pageant toddlers. They were like women from a James Bond movie. I thought of Rosie, her pink bathrobe and Tabu-laced room.

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” Dave said as he motioned toward the open door and the two hookers.

“That's all I needed!” Moose said. He made his way over to the brunette in the far bed with Ski right behind him, headed for the blonde.

Roger got up and closed the door to our room.

“Oh shit, you know how we need our privacy!” Bobby Mac laughed. “Open up that door. I want to watch. Been so long I think I forgot how!”

Earl Ray kicked over a large round hassock and rolled it toward the door. “Just like the choppers in 'Nam, this is the jump seat,” he said. “Even for you, Shoff.”

And the party was officially in full progress.

Ski and Moose came back to the party room at about the same time.

“Next?” Dave encouraged, which we really didn't need.

“Go ahead, Shoff,” Earl Ray said.

“You go, Earl. I'll get my turn.”

“No, you go, Shoff,” Earl Ray said without looking up “I don't think I can do it.”

“Sure you can, Earl,” Bobby Mac laughed. “Just lay down and let her do the rest.”

“It's not that,” Earl shrugged. He stared past the bed and through the double glass doors out to the pool. “It's Jennifer,” he said to nobody. He slowly maneuvered his wheelchair through the glass doors out to the pool and sipped on a Jack and Coke.

I carried Big Al in and slipped him into the first bed with the blonde and joined the brunette in the other bed.

For the rest of the night, each guy took a turn jumping from the hassock into one of the beds, rotating in and out of the rooms. Earl Ray returned from poolside and spent the time talking and drinking with our gracious hosts.

“You better hope none of you bastards have the clap,” Earl Ray laughed.

“Too late now!” Big Al joked. “I still got the fungus from 'Nam!”

“If you still got that shit from 'Nam, your dick would've fallen off by now!” Bobby Mac jabbed.

“Yeah, well, go ask the blonde about my dick,” Big Al smiled.

“My deek better not fall off. I dwill keek what's left of your ass!” Ski laughed.

Dave and Frank spent most of the night on the phone placing large bets on what we could determine as horse races. They used a color and bird combination code like “blue cardinal” or “yellow robin.” After a couple of the calls, we didn't really pay much attention to what they were doing. They were just taking care of business and politely leaving us to our drinking and the ladies.

After a heated call, Frank slammed down the phone.

“So how bad did we do?” Dave asked.

“Dropped twenty-five hundred,” Frank said casually.

“Fuckin' pocket change,” Dave said.

By now it was almost six-thirty on Sunday morning, and the hookers thought it was time to call it quits.

“Dave, we need to pay them,” Frank said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dave said coolly.

Dave and Frank went into the hookers' room, and Dave once again reached in his sport coat pocket pulling out the wad of bills. He gave the blonde what we thought was three hundred dollars and the brunette only two hundred. She didn't take kindly to the insult.

“You need to pay me as much as you paid her!” she shouted.

“What the fuck did you say to me?” Dave said in a cool, smooth voice. He took a quick step toward the brunette and she backed into the space between the beds. “You know who you've had the privilege to fuck tonight?” This time his voice was harsh and loud.

“C'mon, Dave, take it easy. We've all had a long night and a lot to drink,” Frank said, trying to calm Dave down a little.

“I did as much as she did! You give me my money or I'm telling my man!” she screamed back.

“You're going to do what?” Dave said, starting toward her again.

“You heard me! He's gonna beat your ass and get my money!” she screamed louder.

“Aw fuck,” Frank winced.

We couldn't believe what this hooker was doing. Just take the money and get the fuck out, we all want to go home.

“Do you know who the fuck you're talking to? You little slut!” Dave shot back.

Frank tried once again to calm him down, but it was too late. He looked at us and shrugged, stepping aside from Dave.

In an instant, Dave's fist came up and hit the hooker square across the nose, blood splattering everywhere. The brunette flew backwards across the bed, hitting the wall and slumping down in the narrow space between the wall and the bed.

“Give that to your fucking man! Tell him Dave Marzetti sent you, and I'm waiting for him!”

He tossed a hundred-dollar bill onto the bed and told them both to get the fuck out of his sight.

“Sorry guys, sometimes you have to let people know who's boss,” Dave told us after we were all back in the party room. “How would you guys like a little breakfast? I know where there's a great buffet.”

We all told him how much we appreciated everything he had done for us and that we really needed to get back to the hotel; we didn't want to miss the bus back to Philly.

“Okay, but I'm getting your cabs back to your hotel. Where are you staying?”

While waiting for the cabs on the back dock of the Holiday Inn, Dave Marzetti gave us each a business card and told us if we were ever back in Atlantic City to call him. And if we were ever back in Atlantic City and didn't call him, he would know it.

The bus ride back to Philly and Q Ward was quiet and uneventful. No drinking, no dope smoking. No pissing out the windows, no puking on the seats. We were real gentlemen. For what Corporal Brown had done to those long-hairs on Friday, we would have washed and waxed his bus for the next six months.