I turn my attention back to the two guys playing pool to check out the status of the game and make sure my cash is still on the rail. They’re going strong, so I continue searching for my next mark.
To the right are a group of men who’ve pushed two tables together. All of them, except one, sit with their backs to the wall, legs outstretched, shot glasses lined up in front like toy soldiers. They’re cleaner cut then the rest of the clientele—no tats that I can see and a semblance of basic hygiene.
I recognize the older one as the man who’d been handing out those wonderful, thick, white envelopes, and who’s obviously the numero uno in charge. With a thick head of salt and pepper hair and a clean-shaven face, he has the look of a successful Latino businessman who’s been at the game for a wh
