From Here to Eternity_ The Restored Edit - Jones, James [76]
“So,” Maggio said. “You dont believe it, Prewitt. You dont think I’ll take your money. My ace is high, bet two bits.”
“Jesus Christ!” Prew said.
“Its your own fault,” Maggio said. “I warned you.”
Andy dealt the next round and Maggio’s ace was still high. It stayed high through the whole hand and won it for him. He won the next hand, and the next one, and the one after that. The sparking energy radiating from his knobby bony frame seemed almost to call to him the cards he wanted and repel the good cards from the others.
“Man,” Maggio said, “I’m hot. I can feel it in my balls. A nail, Prewitt,” he said bitterly, “a stinking nail. I’m thirsty for a nail.”
Grinning, Prew reluctantly pulled out his almost empty pack. “First you take my money, then you want me to provide you with tobacco. I had to borrow money to buy this pack.”
“Buy another pack,” Maggio said. “You got money now, you hebe.”
“Buy your own pack. If I furnish butts to the players, then I cut the game. I’ll split it,” he grinned, “but thats all I’ll do, see?” He handed out two of his small stock, one to Maggio and Sussman, the other to Andy and Sal, and took one for himself. The others passed their paired cigarets back and forth between them as they played, and as Angelo went on winning.
Andy was dealing when the saloondoors opened and Pfc Bloom came in, pushing the door back so hard it banged against the wall and then swung back and forth squeaking loudly. Pfc Bloom advanced on the men around the blanket with a heavy, meaty confidence grinning and shaking his flat kinky head, so big the tremendous shoulders seemed to fill the door.
“Quiet, jerk,” Maggio said. “You want the CQ up here and break up the game?”
“To hell with the CQ,” Bloom said, in his customary loud voice. “And you too, you little Wop.”
A transformation went over Maggio. He stood up and walked around the blanket, up to the huge Bloom who towered over him.
“Listen,” he said in a contorted voice. “I’m particular who calls me Wop. I aint big and tough, and I aint one of Dynamite’s third rate punchies. But I’m still Maggio to you. I wont mess with you. I work you over, I’ll do it with a chair or a knife.” He stared up at Bloom, his thin face twisted, his eyes blazing.
“Oh yeah?” Bloom said.
“Yeah, yeah,” Maggio said sarcastically. Bloom took a step toward him and he leaned his head forward pugnaciously on the thin bony shoulders, and there was the sudden attentive silence that always precedes a fight.
“Lay off, Bloom,” Prew said, surprised at the clear loudness of his voice in the silence. “Come on and sit down, Angelo. Five up to you.”
“I call,” Maggio said without looking around. “Take off, you bum,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away. Bloom laughed after him self-confidently and nastily.
“Deal me in,” Bloom said, elbowing in between Sussman and Sal Clark.
“We got five players,” Maggio said.
“Yeah?” Bloom said. “So what? You can take seven players in draw poker.”
“This is stud,” Maggio said.
“You can take ten then,” Bloom said, missing the point.
“Maybe we dont want no more,” Prew said, squinting at his holecard through the smoke of his cigaret.
“Yeah?” Bloom said. “What’sa matter? Aint my money no good?”
“Not if its in your pocket,” Maggio said. “Its probly counterfeit.”
Bloom laughed loudly. “You’re a character, Angelo.”
“To you I’m Maggio. Private Maggio.”
“Cheer up,” Bloom laughed. “You may make Pfc yourself someday, kid.” He looked down and brushed the new stripes on his shirt caressingly.
“I hope not,” Maggio said. “I sincerely, truly hope not. I might turn out to be a son of a bitch, too.”
“Hey,” Bloom said. “You mean me? Are you callin me a son of a bitch?”
“If the shoe fits, friend, you wear it,” Maggio said.
Bloom looked at him a minute, puzzled, not sure if he had been insulted or not, not able to understand why the antagonism, then he decided to laugh. “You’re a character, Angelo. For a minute I thought you was serious. Who’s got all the cigarets?” he asked. Nobody answered. Bloom looked around, and spotted the bulge in Prew’s shirt pocket. “Gimme a