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