The Blackjack Casanova

Excerpt from Chapter 1

It was 1954 and the newly promoted 1st Lieutenant Jamey Habeeb--womanizing-gambler extraordinaire--had just returned to the States after a tour of duty in Korea. It was when he was flying home to the East Coast that he saw her. She had gotten on in Cleveland, and was walking up the aisle of the airplane. He was a sucker for a beautiful woman and this one spelled trouble.

As luck would have it, the gorgeous creature ended up sitting next to him. Jamey quickly shuffled his nearly six-foot frame into a more upright position in his seat and took inventory: mmmm, big brown eyes with lashes that wouldn't quit, rich, full lips and a decolletage revealing promises of pleasure to come. She must be Italian or Greek, or maybe even one of my tribe, Lebanese, he thought. She was the first American girl he was this close to since Korea. Her perfume permeated the immediate area and there was a sensuous aura about her.

She was either frightened to death or it was a great way to open a conversation with Jamey. 'I'm scared to death of flying.'

However, in spite of this, Jamey's piercing dark brown eyes undressing her didn't go unnoticed. 'You shouldn't be,' said Jamey. 'It's quite safe.'

'You wouldn't mind if I hold your hand or grab onto your arm when we take off?'

'No, not at all,' answered Jamey. Is she kidding, he thought. This was more than he could hope for.

As the plane taxied out to the proper runway, revved up its engines, then started its takeoff, she linked one arm through Jamey's and grabbed both his hands and pressed them down in his lap, pressing mercilessly against 'Johnny.' When he was only 13, his sexual organ had been named 'Johnny' by Carmella, an older girl who had seduced him and taught him the ways of the world. His new seat-mate had her head on his shoulder and her eyes were closed. Her legs were pressing against his at takeoff.

'It's going to be OK. Please believe me,' he assured her. Meanwhile, he couldn't believe his good fortune. She must be aware of where her hands are, he thought, as 'Johnny' was twitching and growing by the second.

As the plane reached a cruising altitude and leveled off, she gradually released her grip on Jamey's hands. 'I'm sorry,' she said, 'I'm such a fraidy cat.'

'That's all right. By the way, I'm Lieutenant Jamey Habeeb.'

Extending her hand, she said, 'And I'm Maria Cinelli.'

Excerpt from Chapter 8

The barrack was standard GI type; a long wooden building--bare inside--with an occasional supporting upright beam. The bunks were lined up along the two long walls, with the heads near the windows. There was space between the bunks with a footlocker at the foot of each bed. A pipe rack to hang clothes just cleared the head of each bed.

Jamey surveyed the place as they were assigned bunks and he soon started putting his clothes on hangers that were provided. Just as he placed the last piece of clothing on a hanger, the gruff voice of the sergeant bellowed behind him. 'All right, you men, gather 'round here.' Jamey's bed was about mid-way up the barrack. 'I'll use this bunk to demonstrate how it should be made up--the Army way. Now pay attention if you don't want to get gigged.'

The sergeant then proceeded to spread the sheets, folding the corners in the appropriate manner, then doing the same with the blanket. When he finished, he took a quarter out of his pocket. The blanket was stretched so tight, there wasn't a crease or wrinkle anywhere. 'That blanket has to be as tight as a virgin's pussy. This is the way you test it.' He flipped the quarter onto the blanket and it sprung up several inches. 'If the quarter doesn't jump, you haven't done it right. Do it over again. Is that clear?'

A murmur of 'Yes, yeah, sure,' rumbled across the barrack.

'Yes, sergeant!' bellowed the instructor.

'Yes, sergeant!' echoed the inductees.

Sgt. Strong turned to Jamey. 'What's your name soldier?'

'Jamey Habeeb.'

'Rip this bunk apart and start over. And you guys go to your own beds and get to work. When you get it right, we'll go to chow.'

Needless to say, it took a while before these neophytes started for the Mess Hall, where another surprise awaited them. Generally speaking, Army food is nutritious and plentiful. But because of having to serve large numbers of men, the food doesn't look like it does in a fancy restaurant. Jamey picked up a metal tray that had several indentations to keep the food separated, and moved along in line with the others. As he passed the food distributors, one plopped a large spoon of mashed potatoes into one compartment of his tray. The next, put a piece of toast down and a third man smothered the toast with some kind of cream sauce that was a tannish-gray color. It had little lumps of something in it. This was the Army's premier cuisine. Usually the cook waited for a few days before springing it on the new recruits.

Jamey turned up his nose at the unappetizing color. The next cook's helper spooned out some green peas, and finally a square of peach cobbler filled the final space on the tray. There was coffee, milk, bread and butter. As Jamey found a seat at the picnic-like wooden tables, he asked the man seated next to him, 'What the hell is this crap?'

Some GI from the end of the table answered, 'Chipped beef on toast--it's called SOS.'

'Why SOS?' Jamey asked.

'Shit-on-a-shingle,' came the answer.

There was general laughter as Jamey smilingly remarked, 'That's about what it looks like.'

Another soldier added, 'Yeah, someone with diarrhea.'

The tired, weary recruits soon found out that it didn't taste as bad as it looked. Jamey, along with the others, quickly gobbled up the food, walked over to a large garbage receptacle, wiped off any food left on the tray and added his to the pile. The trays were being readied for the KP boys to send them through the mammoth washers that were a necessity at Army Reception Centers.

Excerpt from Chapter 27

The time of the meeting came soon enough and all the board members but three were there: Jamey, Bianca, Izzy and Reardon, the lawyer, were anxiously awaiting the arrival of Patrick, Amanda and Jim. The mounting tension was like a volatile gas creeping into every crevice of the room, engulfing its occupants, and an anguished human voice could be the spark that would set off the explosion. The results of this hastily called meeting could very well change their lives.

The gray-haired Jamey, now pushing sixty, was pacing; his nearly six-foot and still athletically thin frame moved quickly, as if pacing would help the problem.

Bianca was seated at the table with the other two men. 'For heaven's sake, Jamey, sit down,' she said. 'That's not going to help.'

Izzy, now bald and rotund, put his two cents in, 'Yeah Colonel, why don't ya sit down and relax?'

Jamey stopped pacing. 'How could the son-of-a-bitch do this to me? After all I did for him--taught him everything he knows about the business--and now this. He's trying to take over.'

The toothpick-thin, Tony Reardon, joined the conversation. 'Why don't you wait until you see how the meeting turns out? We can't be sure--'

Jamey interrupted, 'If he has Amanda Winters in his pocket, and I think he has, we've all had it. I can't believe this is happening. What did I ever do to him to make him turn on me like this?' He sat at the head of the table, joining the others.

'We should have listened to Sally. She warned us about him,' interjected Bianca.

'We thought she was just a woman scorned. And what about Jim Woods? How could he side against me? I brought him in early as an investor and he's made nothing but money from this operation, without ever having to lift a finger in the running of it,' said Jamey.

'How do you know that he has?' asked Reardon.

'I found out that he's had several meetings with Patrick witho