Mob Blog: Breakfast With The Bookmaker, December 11, 2013

bookmaker

 

 

[dcs_p]Mob Blog: Breakfast With The Bookmaker, December 11, 2013[/dcs_p][dcs_p]_

 

 

 

 

In Louie’s words …[/dcs_p][dcs_p]

 

 

 

News Café, in South Beach. We’re sitting curbside with Victor’s bookmaker, a character if there ever was one. Victor’s bookmaker is pushing eighty. He’s an old time book, with a mane of shaggy gray hair and bright blue eyes. His skin’s a little weathered—this is South Florida, but other than the skin damage, Victor’s bookmaker doesn’t look his age.[/dcs_p][dcs_p]

 

 

 

Victor’s into his book for thirty gee’s, slipping an envelope to him beneath the table.  Victor’s the loser, so the tradition is the bookmaker buys, even if it is just bacon and eggs. And bread pudding with vanilla sauce, which is what Victor always gets when we come here.[/dcs_p][dcs_p]

 

 

 

It’s a mild day, with a low bank of scudding clouds blowing in from the Atlantic. It’s December in Miami, and we’ve got the usual bimbo mix on the sidewalks clashing with suntanned coeds and middle-aged Germans. There’s a lot of eye candy, and we’re all looking, even the bookmaker.[/dcs_p][dcs_p]

 

 

 

He tells us women have been his downfall. Being that he’s on his fifth wife, and she’s forty years younger than him, I’d have to agree. “At my age, I’m still paying child support,” the bookmaker says. “Imagine that. I’ll never be able to retire.”[/dcs_p][dcs_p]

 

 

 

“Well, you’re doing pretty good this year.” Victor says. “Another week like last week, and I’ll be able to retire you.”[/dcs_p][dcs_p]

 

 

 

The bookmaker laughs. “Believe it or not, I had more winners than losers last week. The lines Vegas puts out are garbage nowadays. I miss the old days.” He sighs, thinking back to a time when being a sports book was easy. “I used to write three million on a weekend back then, and nobody bothered you. Now you’ve got cowboy cops busting ten dollar bettors.”[/dcs_p][dcs_p]

 

 

 

If you enjoyed Breakfast with the Bookmaker, you may consider reading one of Patricia Bellomo’s mob thrillers. Books include, Louie Morelli’s Mistress, Stella di Mare, and Louie Morelli’s Daughter.[/dcs_p][dcs_p]

 

 

 

Breakfast with the Bookmaker was written in the voice of Patricia’s main character, savvy mobster, Louie Morelli.[/dcs_p][dcs_p]

 

 

 

All books available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and in all e-reader formats. Also available on AmazonUK and AmazonEU.[/dcs_p][dcs_p]

 

Fantasy Football, January 12, 2012

money

Fantasy Football, January 12, 2012

[dcs_p]My talk radio pal Buddy Shuler used to be a sportscaster for the Saints. In fact, it’s where I first met him. Since we both live in South Florida and neither of us was able to be at the Dome last Saturday, Buddy invited me, Victor, and twenty of his friends over to watch the game. Buddy’s lavish Palm Beach estate has state-of-the-art media equipment, and we watched the Saints beat up the Lions on a theater-wide screen that made you feel like you were standing on the sidelines. Buddy put out a big spread, and everybody was happy. Everybody except the book who needed the Lions to cover and Buddy’s knock-out girlfriend.[/dcs_p]Rachel is as hot as a chick can be and Buddy thinks she is as pure as the driven snow, but I knew her before she was going with Buddy, and let me tell you, she’s no saint. She cornered me at the end of the 3rd quarter, dropping a hand onto my knee and leaning close to remind me of our previous connection. I let her know that I don’t disrespect my friends, not ever. But the thought lingered, and it was hard to concentrate on the game.

Recession Blues, Detroit, August 3, 2011

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Recession Blues, Detroit, August 3, 2011

dcs_p]The season is on, but where’s the money? The way things are around here, I’m wondering if I’m going to have any customers. Everybody in this town is crying the blues, and it’s no wonder. Half the plants are closed, all the auto-parts places shuttered. Shops that used to breed money … and gamblers. I talk to the builders; they’re broke. Real-estate people surviving on their neighbor’s foreclosures and grand-kids moving into their grandparent’s basements. Everybody’s struggling, everybody’s hanging. It’s like a cyclone tore through southeastern Michigan, taking all the money with it. The joke is … the money got dropped in Washington. [/dcs_p]

The Collector, Detroit, June 28, 2011

money

The Collector, Detroit, June 28, 2011

[dcs_p]I ran into a guy I haven’t seen in years, and we started reminiscing about the old days. My buddy started as a collector,  and he tells me about going downtown on Friday afternoons. This was in the seventies and eighties, when bookmaking was a lucrative business. My friend always wore an overcoat and boots, and he’d hit the black neighborhoods first.  “Never had any trouble,” he says. “The main man was there … with his muscle, and he’d just hand it over. Always polite and respectful. A real businessman.”[/dcs_p]

[dcs_p] He tells me about going into the upscale offices at the BUHL Building–one of Detroit’s toniest addresses. “A hundred dimes on a Friday, easy,” he says. “In fact, it was probably the low end.”[/dcs_p]

[dcs_p]The guy he was working for was under indictment–who wasn’t back then? Anyway, my buddy would stuff the money in his boots and the inside pockets of his overcoat. During peak season he’d be carrying two-hundred grand. One day he takes it to his boss’s house, and his boss is sitting there with a guy he’s been seeing all over town. “This man was in every bar and bowling alley and rib joint I went into,” he tells me. “I walk in with all this cash, start laying it out on the table. Turns out this man was a Fed. He never did any thing about it–never said a word–and I’m wondering if maybe he wasn’t on the take.”[/dcs_p]

The Proposal, June 14, 2011

money

The Proposal, June 14, 2011

[dcs_p]Baskets on one television, and hockey going on another, and my daughter’s boyfriend decides  to propose. They’ve only known each other a month, and they’re not kids, so they certainly don’t need my approval. But here he comes, on the final day of the playoff’s, when all my money is on Miami, and Dallas is kicking butt. I’m getting agitated, and he shows up with flowers and a ring. My daughter’s beaming–and I’d be happy for her if I thought it was going to last. Hell, if he had any money, I’d be happy for myself. Let somebody else pay her bills. But he doesn’t have two nickels to rub together, and I think he’s looking for a free ride.[/dcs_p]

[dcs_p]Anyway, he can’t even wait till halftime. He’s got to come right into my face and show me the ring, and tell me how much he loves my daughter. “Good for you,” I say. I’m trying not to be rude, but he’s blocking my view, and I have to ask him to move. If this guy wants to be in my family, he’d better catch on quick. The Proposal, June 14, 2011[/dcs_p]

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