Quick Eddie

 Part 1 of 2

From Children of Vallejo

 

The sun was breaking through a thick gray overcast and it looked like it could turn into a decent afternoon. Eddie Clark drove across the Carquinez Bridge, then took the Sonoma Boulevard exit and headed toward downtown Vallejo. He had time to kill before heading on to Napa. In fact, he had all Sunday afternoon and evening. His meeting wasn’t scheduled until the next day. He had recently moved back to San Francisco and been assigned a territory that extended into the North Bay.

Eddie had not been in Vallejo in nearly twenty-five years, since November of 1941, and he wanted to check out some places he remembered. He approached the downtown area not knowing how much might have changed. Then he saw the old Vallejo Bowl, still standing at the corner of York and Sonoma. A little up the block and across the street was the Greyhound Bus station. Things had been cleaned up and painted, but at least these two landmarks were standing. The scene of the crime, Eddie said to himself.

He continued across Georgia Street, the main drag of town, and up the hill to the Casa De Vallejo hotel at the corner of Sonoma and Capitol. By God, it was still there too, and looked to be in pretty good shape. As he passed the front of the hotel, he saw the coffee shop inside the lobby on the street level. That’s where he’d met Jodie.

Eddie turned left onto Capitol and found a place to park at the curb. Just down the hill from the hotel was a bar, now called the Ritz. He pushed open the door and went inside. It was dark, but he could tell there had been changes—probably remodeled many times over the years. There were a handful of patrons sitting at the bar or in booths along the wall. He sat at the bar and waited for the bartender to approach.

“Hi, what can I get for you?” The bartender was a young man and Eddie wondered for a moment if he was old enough to serve drinks.

            “Gimme a draft,” Eddie replied, letting his eyes take in the interior as they adjusted to the light. The bartender returned and set his beer down on a coaster. Eddie extended his hand across the bar. “Name’s Eddie. Eddie Clark.”

The young man shook his hand. “Hi, I’m Don.” Don sized-up the middle-aged man sitting across from him: slick hair, slick clothes, too much jewelry. Had to be some kind of salesman. Or a pimp.

“Donnie, tell me something, when is a woman like a good draft beer?” Eddie smirked a little, waiting for the answer.

“Don’t know,” Don replied. He could tell a punch line was coming.

“When she’s got a good head and goes down easy.”

Eddie let the line sink in then let loose a laugh that was way too loud. Don laughed too, then glanced away, a little embarrassed. He moved away to help another customer at the bar.

Eddie sat at the bar and nursed his beer. He was in no hurry today. He picked up a copy of the Vallejo Times-Herald and thumbed through to the movie section. He noted that The Hustler was back in the theaters again. Great flick, he thought. Fast Eddie Felson, Minnesota Fats. They don’t make ’em like that anymore. Eddie laughed out loud. That’s what he needed when he was hustling in bowling alleys, a good nickname. How about Quick Eddie? Quick Eddie Clark. He wondered how many people knew there were hustlers in bowling, just like pool, and lots of other games. Any game where you could get somebody to put down a bet, there you’d find hustlers making a living.

He remembered the sweet little hustle he and Pete had going back in ’41. Pete Pannel! What a guy, may he rest in peace. Pete was thirty years older than Eddie, big and barrel-chested with his stomach hanging over his belt. Bigger than life, that was Pete. Eddie could still hear Pete’s voice booming through a bowling establishment, challenging anybody to bowl him for money. Then he’d bust out with that huge laugh of his.

Eddie recalled how Pete could hold a sixteen-pound bowling ball on his palm, let it roll down his forearm, pop it up in the air with his biceps and catch it in his hand. He saw a lot of guys wreck their arms trying to match that stunt. Pete was a powerful man, and a great bowler. He taught Eddie everything he knew about the game—angles, lane conditions, how to find the groove, how to adjust—but especially how to get into the other man’s head. Pete was a master at that. He knew just where to stick the needle.

Bowling was a different game then. Lane conditions were rough, the pins were heavy, lots of variables to consider. You had to “hit ’em to get ’em” in those days. Not like today, with these plastic-coated pins flying around like ping pong balls. Hell, in the thirties and forties, if a bowler could average 180, he was damn good. Now guys are carrying 210, 220 averages like it was nothing. It’s a damn circus.

Eddie looked around and he thought about Jodie. They used to come in here for a drink. God, she was a doll! Auburn hair, beautiful little figure, and light, light green eyes. Those eyes: that’s what did it to you. What a doll.

He and Pete were working their hustle down at the Vallejo Bowl when he met Jodie. He remembered how their little game used to work. They’d pick a bowling establishment in one of the smaller towns, well outside of Frisco. In any good house, when the league bowlers wrapped up around midnight, the pot games would start. A bunch of guys would get a couple of lanes, hire a pin setter and a scorekeeper, throw a few dollars in the pot, then bowl winner-take-all.

There was nothing like it after midnight in a good house, all the lights turned off except for the lanes where the action was taking place. The bowlers, all kind of nervous and jumpy, messing around with their gear. And there’d be a few people watching, enjoying the action, maybe waiting to jump in when the stakes got high enough. Eddie focused the picture in his mind, right down to the sign on the wall saying, “No Gambling On These Premises.” It was a beautiful thing to see.

Well, the games would go on and the stakes would go up. Pretty soon, guys would be tapped out and it would come down to a couple of bowlers. Finally, all the money would go in the pot, and somebody would walk away a little richer. By that time, the sun might be coming up.

Eddie had seen men lose their paychecks. They’d put up anything—rings, watches, golf clubs, pink slips—to stay in the action, sure that in the very next game, they’d come out on top. It was sad to watch sometimes. Unless you had an edge and knew you’d be the winner. He never found a bowler in any one of the small towns they worked—Orinda, Walnut Creek, Pacheco, Fairfield—who could beat him when all the money was in. Hell, this was Eddie’s job! These other Joes had to put in fifty or sixty hours a week on a damn shipyard or some other gig.

So, Eddie would go into a town first, start hanging around the lanes and getting into the pot games. After a couple of days, he’d have a reputation built up. He was good and none of these small-town guys could touch him. Then Pete would blow in on the weekend and start shooting off his mouth about how nobody could beat him for money. The hometown boys would find Eddie and the match would be on. Of course, nobody knew they were connected. So, Eddie would win a few, and Pete would win a few, and there would be other bowlers that would be in for a while, until they tapped out. Finally, Pete would start talking up the stakes until the pot got nice and big. He’d be drinking beer and going to his bag for a silver flask he carried, and he’d be nipping at that flask and getting louder all the time. There wasn’t anything in the flask but water. He’d scare off everybody but Eddie, and finally, all the money was in. Pete would make a few mistakes and Eddie would win. Then it was time for Pete’s big speech.

“I’ve got five hundred dollars says you can’t beat me again,” Pete would bellow, and he’d flash a roll of bills.

“Hell, I don’t have that kind of money,” Eddie would say.

“What’s the matter, kid? Tell him, guys. No guts no glory!” Pete was something when he got going.

Eddie would flash some anger then: “You old fart, I’ve been beating your ass all morning, and I can keep on beating your ass. I just don’t have that kind of money.”

Five hundred dollars was a fortune in those days. But sure enough, somebody in the crowd would offer to put up the stakes for Eddie. It could be a bunch of guys going in together, or it could be the manager of the house. They wanted to see Eddie beat this loudmouth drunk and make a little money in the process.

Then the game would start and Eddie would miss a shot or two and suddenly, Pete was the winner. And that was it. They were careful not to be too greedy. After the big finale, it was time to make an exit. Eddie would tell the men who put up their money he’d be back that night with a new stake, and they’d all get their money back. He’d challenge Pete to show up and try to take him again. Of course, Pete would accept, at the top of his lungs. What a guy, Pete!

They’d leave separately and Eddie would beat it back to wherever he was staying and grab his suitcase. Pete would be waiting for him in the car when he came out, and they were gone. It was a sweet hustle, and they worked it through a bunch of small towns during the summer and fall of 1941.

That’s what brought them to Vallejo that November. And that’s when he met Jodie. Eddie checked into the Casa De Vallejo—everybody called it the “Casa Dee”—then walked downstairs to the coffee shop. Jodie was working behind the counter. They were about the same age, mid-twenties, and they hit it off right away. Her shift was over around 2:00 PM, and he asked her if she’d like to catch a movie. He had lots of time to kill before he went to work around midnight.

They saw a movie that first afternoon, then had dinner together with a nice bottle of wine and ended up back in his room at the Casa De. They made love until it was time for him to head for the Vallejo Bowl, just down the street. Just like that, he thought. She was a beauty.

He saw Jodie the next day, then the next, and the day after that. He was really getting to know her. She wanted to go to college to study art and was working hard, saving her money. Her father didn’t think girls should go to college, so she got no help there. She was about as nice a girl as Eddie had ever met, and smart too.

Eddie remembered his room at the hotel, looking out on Sonoma Boulevard, with the neon light from the hotel sign turning everything kind of a rose color inside, and he and Jodie snuggling and laughing after making love. There was an old steam radiator near the window for heat and they’d turn it up to take the chill out of the room. Jodie would put her underwear on the radiator to warm up a little before getting dressed. God, what a girl!

            Well, Pete rolled into Vallejo on Saturday and they were all set to do their thing that night. Eddie checked out of his room Saturday morning and left his bag with the desk clerk. His cover story with Jodie was that he sold bowling equipment, and that he had to move on to his next customer. He made plans to come back and see her in about a week. He wasn’t sure how he would work that out with Pete, but he knew he wanted to see Jodie again.

            First, there was business to take care of.

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Coming soon: Part 2. What happens to Eddie and Jody? Don't miss the conclusion of "Quick Eddie."

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