Poker Articles

A House Full Of Death - A Poker Cop Murder Mystery

Part 15- Family Pot
By Robert Arabella

Psychologists call the need for the rich to build themselves palaces in which to live, "The Edifice Complex."

In Las Vegas the super rich live the life of luxury in casino penthouses. The late Bugsy Siegel's Flamingo Penthouse, the late Howard Hughes' Desert Inn Penthouse, and, where Red Penny and I are now headed, the late Frederick Blake's Glitter Palace Penthouse.

Fred Blake, Las Vegas' "Frederick The Great," and his arch rival Lester "Benny" Binion are known as "The Fathers Of Fremont Street."

When Fred Blake merged his Plug Nickel Hotel and The Pair O' Dice Club to create The Glitter Palace, Benny Binion, not to be outdone, merged his El Dorado Club and The Apache Hotel to create The Horseshoe.

When Benny Binion created The World Series Of Poker, Fred Blake came back over the top with The Super Bowl Of Poker.

When Fred Blake displayed $500,000 in gold at the Glitter Palace, Benny Binion one-upped him with a $1,000,000 in cash on display at The Horseshoe.

When Benny Binion built for himself a luxurious rooftop apartment, "The Top Of The 'Shoe," in a world-class example of edifice envy, Fred Blake gutted the entire top floor of The Glitter Palace and, sparing no expense, created The Glitter's Penthouse."

Even in death they were rivals. Benny Binion's coffin was rumored to have been fashioned out of old Horseshoes' Poker Room tables. Fred Blake had his lined with the green felt from the Glitter Palace's table games.

Many believed their sons, Theodore Binion and Fremont Blake, would carry on the family feud, but it turned out that "Fremont Street Fatherhood" was not kind to either of them. The death of Benny Binion's son Ted is officially listed as an unsolved homicide, although many people believe he was murdered by his live-in girlfriend Sandy. The death of Fred Blake's son Monty is officially listed as accidental death, but many believed he was murdered by his newly wedded wife, Sally.

"Sally Blake," says Red Penny as we enter the Glitter Palace, "is not a murderer."

"I've got nine dead poker players who say otherwise."

"No. You have two serial killers, Sammy, Sr. and Sammy, Jr., who, for reasons known only to themselves, have combined to murder every player who anted up at what you insist on calling The Flesh Bet Game."

"What else would you call a poker game in which two men play for ownership of a woman? Sally Blake has murdered her husband and every one else at that poker table. She is, without a doubt, 'The Black Widow Spider Of Poker.'"

This silences Red Penny. I knock on the Glitter Palace's Penthouse door, which is opened wide by the still very beautiful Sally Blake.

Lisa Gherardini was only twenty-four years old when Leonardo DaVinci painted her portrait in 1502. What if the great artist had returned to Florence thirty years later and done a second, middle-aged, portrait? What would the Mona Lisa have looked like then?

Sally Blake was only twenty-four years old when Harry The Pimp wagered her in The Flesh Pot Game. Now, more than thirty years later I can still see she was worth the bet. My surprise that Fremont Blake's bride had aged well is short-lived. Replaced by a much bigger surprise when she says, "Hello, Miss Fallon, Mr. Talbot. We've been expecting you. Won't you please come in."

She shuts the door behind us and I think to myself, "Welcome to my penthouse said the spider to the fly."

The room is dominated by a floor-to-ceiling picture window looking out on Fremont Street far below. Sally Blake leads us to a couch, sits down in a chair opposite. I ask, "How could you be expecting us? No one knew we were coming here to see you."

"Strange that you should say that," she replies. "My son told me the two of you would be coming here to talk to me about Harry's death."

Red Penny and I exchange a confused glance. Why would her son, LVPD Strip Homicide Detective Weldon Blake, suspect that I wanted to talk to his mother about the "Harry The Pimp's" murder?

Sally Blake continues, "Now that you are here, what is it that you want to know about Harry's death?"

"What is it," says Red Penny, "that you want to tell us?"

"Everything!"

"Everything?"

"Absolutely!"

After Red Penny and I exchange another confused glance, I say to Sally Blake, "Why don't you just start at the beginning?"

She begins with a declaration of love, "I loved Harry." And moves on to to a denial of guilt, "I never meant to kill him." And then to a confession of guilt, "It was just that he was so ... so ... " I stay absolutely still. Red Penny prompts her to complete her confession, "He was just so ...? "

I can barely breathe as she says, "He was just so ... hungry."

This is what I think, "Hungry?" This is what I ask, "Hungry?"

"That's why I gave him the food. How was I to know it would kill him?"

This is what I think, "Food?" This is what I ask, "Food?"

"The tainted dog food. That's how I accidentally killed him!"

Before I can think and then say, "Dog food?" Sally says, "That's why I called the ASPCA. I never meant to kill Harry!"

One very confused glance later I tell her, "We are not from the ASPCA. We are here investigating the death of Harry Ratzinsky."

"Harry The Rat is dead?"

Red Penny says, "Shot to death."

"Well," she replies, "I'll sure miss Harry The Dog a lot more than Harry The Rat."

Now totally confused, I ask, "Didn't you see Harry Ratzinsky earlier tonight?"

"We were with him all last night."

"We?"

"My son and I."

"No," says Red Penny. "That can't be right. I was with your son Weldon all of last night."

"Weldon? I'm not talking about Weldon. I'm talking about my other son, Weldon's older brother, Samuel."

"Samuel?" I stammer out the question, "You have a son named Sammy?"

"We don't call him 'Sammy.' We call him 'Samuel,' after his late father."

Red Penny asks, "Wasn't his father Fremont Blake?"

"No," says Sally," Samuel was an infant when his real father died. My husband Monty adopted Sam and gave him the Blake name."

I ask, "What was his father's name?"

"What does it matter?"

"It could matter a great deal. What was his father's name?"

She replies, "de Ciprio, Samuel de Ciprio, Sr."

Red Penny whispers, "Sammy, Jr."

I ask, "Where is Sammy ... Samuel now?"

"He's here at home. Samuel," calls Susan Blake. "Samuel, there are people here to see you."

"Coming, Mother!" says a voice from down a hallway. Footsteps. Closer. Closer.
"Here I am!" says Sammy, Jr.

Red Penny and I draw our guns.

Sammy, Jr. puts his hands in the air, and says, "Mr. Talbot. Miss Fallon! We've been expecting you!"

Sammy sits down next to Sally. "Mother. These are the nice people I told you about. They've taken quite an interest in us. Unfortunately they don't seem to understand Las Vegas' Golden Rule: The casino owners with the gold make the rules. And here's the fun part. We have the gold! So, no matter what these people have to say, we don't care. Having gotten all that out of the way, Mr. Poker Cop, the floor is yours."

Red Penny, gun in hand, sits opposite Sammy and Mother. I take the floor, "I may not have all the details straight but I think the story of 'like murderous father and mother/like murderous son' goes something like this: Thirty something years ago Sammy, Sr. thought he was a wad of cash away from being a high stakes poker player and Sally The Stripper was one sugar daddy away from supplying that wad. Two kids, crazy in love and, pretty soon, a kid of their own-that's you, Junior-on the way. A true Las Vegas love story. Only Sammy, Sr. was not just crazy about you, Sally, he was also just plain crazy. He was in and out of mental hospitals all the time and, one of those times, when he was wearing the State's straightjacket you had to let go of the Stripper Pole and begin to turn Strip tricks."

"Shut up!" yells Sammy, Jr. Red Penny waves him back with her gun.

"To keep food on the table while waiting for Sammy. Sr.'s shock treatments to work, Sally went into the employ of a poker playing pimp named 'Harry The Rat.' Now the story gets interesting. Harry, who is strictly a low-end poker player, buys into the richest game in town. The one that Fremont Blake frequents. When all of his chips are down to the felt against Monty Blake, Harry Bet Sally. Monty shows down an A and Harry folds his cards. Monty wins Sally. That's the story everybody believes, only it's too good to be true. I think you and your pimp Harry suckered Monty into that game, into your bed, and into his bank account. You were still waiting for Sammy and the Glitter Palace Penthouse was as good a place as any to wait. Only suddenly baby Weldon comes along and Monty Blake not only wants to make an honest woman out of you, but to adopt Sammy, Jr. as well. You're just a girl who can't say 'No!'"

"I'll kill you!" yells Sammy, Jr., who is once again silenced by Red Penny's gun.

"It runs in your blood. Sally marries Monty and, when she finds out Sammy, Sr. was going to be released, kills Monty Blake, and uses his money to cover up the whole thing. The four of you were supposed to live happily ever after in the Glitter Palace's Penthouse. I love a happy ending, don't you? Only the fairy tale didn't quite work out the way Sally planned. She never told Sammy, Sr. the truth about the Flesh Bet Game and one day Sammy, Sr. stops taking his medication and the voices in his head tell him to murder every poker player in The Flesh Bet Game. He had already murdered five, leaving behind Monty's winning A as his calling card, when LVPD Strip Homicide caught up to him. Sammy, Sr. was killed trying to resist arrest with his work only half done. Junior here must have inherited those voices in his head because when he grew up he decided to finish off dear old dad's work."

"Shut up!" Shut up!! Shut up!!!" yells Sammy, Jr., who jumps out of his chair so quickly that Red Penny can't get out of the way of his fist.

I have seen a lot of knockout blows-Joe Lewis knocking out Max Schmeling, Muhammad Ali knocking out George Foreman-but I have never seen anyone knocked out like Red Penny, who now lays on the floor dead to the world.

I raise my gun.

"Samuel?" asks Sally Blake. "Is any of this true?"

Sammy, Jr. is unable to say a word and so confesses in silence.

"Why, Samuel?" she begs. "Tell me why!"

"For you, mother," he replies in a injured voice. "I did it for you."

"Me? You killed all these people for me!"

"I had to. They were all party to your shame. Players in your public humiliation. You think I don't know about the disgrace you suffered in The Flesh Bet Game? How you were wagered in a card game? How my father died trying to erase the stain on your reputation? Can you possibly think that I, his son, could let anyone who did that to you live?"

Sally Blake runs her hands through Sammy's hair. "Just like your father," she says, kissing her son on the cheek before saying to me, "I will give you $500,000 to go away and leave us in peace."

"No. Sorry."

"The LVPD charged me only $250,000 to cover up Monty's murder. But with inflation and all ... "

"Mother, please! $500,000 is way too much. Not a penny more than ... "

"Not a penny at all. I'm not for sale."

"Everyone is for sale. We just haven't found out how much you cost."

I pick up the telephone.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to call the ... "

"Police!"

Only I'm not the one who ended that sentence. I turn to find the person who did and suddenly I'm looking down the barrel of Detective Weldon Blake's Glock 22.

Look at it from his perspective. I am in his home holding a gun on his mother and brother while his girlfriend lays unconscious on the floor. I'm surprised he hasn't already shot me dead.

One look in his face tells he he's thinking about it, "Put down your weapon, Talbot!" he yells.

I try reason, "Detective Blake. This is not what it looks like ... " and, when he yells, "Put it up down NOW!" I do as I'm told.

I hold my gun out in the flat of my hand and tell the Detective, "Take it."

"No!" says Sammy, quickly grabbing my gun, "I'll take it."

"Thank you Sam," says the Detective. "Now call the LVPD."

Sammy retreats behind his mother. They do not move.

"Sam? What's wrong? Don't be frightened. I won't let him hurt you. Mother, call the LVPD."

"I'm sorry, Welly, dear," says Susan Blake, "Sam can't do that. Neither can I. "

"What?!" Blake asks, "Why?"

"They can't call the LVPD," I tell the Detective, "while I'm still alive."

"Mr. Talbot," says Susan Blake, "this is a family matter. Please be quiet while I explain this to Weldon."

"How exactly are you going to explain that you murdered his father?"

"My father wasn't murdered!" says Weldon Blake. "That's all just a vicious rumor spread by jealous rivals and ... " I don't let him tell me any more of the family lie.

"I'm sorry, Detective. Your mother murdered your father so that your mother could be with Sam's father."

"Sam's father? Sam and I have the same father. Mother, tell him."

Mother says nothing. After a long uncomfortable silence, Blake asks, "Who was Sam's father?"

"His father was ... "

"Shut Up! Shut Up!! Shut UP!!!" yells Sam, pointing his gun straight at me. I shut up.

Susan Blake doesn't, "His father was Samuel deCiprio."

Weldon shifts his attention to his half-brother. "Sam. Is that true ... Sammy deCiprio, the Full House Murderer, was your ... "

Sammy shields himself behind Susan Blake, placing my gun to her head and yelling, "Nobody move!"

Weldon doesn't. Sally does. "Samuel, stop this! Mommy will make it all right."

She tries to pulls away and Sammy's gun goes off.

The half-brothers watch their whole mother die.

Weldon Blake recovers first. He begins to say, "Samuel Blake, you are under arrest for ... " and never finishes. Sammy, Jr. starts shooting.

Weldon Blake takes the first two shots. Each equally fatal. I take the third, right in the gut, non-fatal but a whole lot of blood and pain. I curl into a fetal ball and watch from floor level as Sammy, Jr. steps over the no longer unconscious Red Penny and begins to walk towards me.

"Only one more death and my mother's shame will be hidden, my father's plan will be complete, and I will be finally free of the family curse."

After he's past her, Red Penny starts belly crawling her way towards Sammy, Jr.

Little Orphan Sammy jams the barrel of his gun into my eye, "Goodbye, Mr. Poker Cop."

Red Penny collapses face down.

"Sam, listen to me! There's something I need to confess to you before I die. Something about your father " The pressure on my eye eases slightly, "I'm not giving absolution."

"I'm not looking for it. Just let me get this off my chest and then we are done."

"Make it quick. I still have to clean up this bloody mess."

Red Penny struggles up and crawls closer.

"You don't know this but before I was The Poker Cop I used to be Chief of LVPD Homicide. The night of the Full House Murders I was the one who caught your father. The story was he was killed trying to resist arrest but that, Sam, was a lie."

Red Penny crawls over Weldon.

"I executed your father, Sam, in cold blood. You were probably asleep up here in the Penthouse when I dragged him into the alleyway just off Fremont Street. The one right below your big picture window. I took him there and cut his throat. Five cuts. One for each of the five poker players he had murdered. I wasn't letting an insanity plea get between your father and the hangman. And now, all these years later, with you about to kill me, it's really very funny." I start to laugh.

Red Penny struggles up on all fours.

"What's so damn funny?" asks Sammy, Jr. in a rage.

Red Penny nods. I tell him, "That you're going to die in that same alleyway." At a huge cost in pain I uncurl out of the fetal position and kick Sammy, Jr. in the gut. He falls over Red Penny, crashes into and then through the floor-to-ceiling glass picture window, and screaming freefalls into the alleyway far below. His screams end when he hits the pavement. The agonized moaning goes on for another five minutes. One for every poker player he has killed.

Red Penny crawls up besides me and staunches my bleeding. I say, "Thank you," and she answers, "Tiddlywinks."

"Tiddlywinks?"

"Yes. I wish to God you played Tiddlywinks."

I ask, "Why?" and am told, "Because I'm pretty sure Tiddlywinks Cops never have the kind of day that Poker Cops do."

Copyright ©2007 by Robert Arabella